#which is Absolutely enough time for the opponent to get the upper hand which is All They Need

[or0ch1maru]

Could you write an angst to fluff fic where mihawks wife gets injured and maybe he's like depended on her and now he has to manage while she is maybe in a comatose state with a happy ending

hiii babes :3

I would just like to start this by thanking all of who wished me a happy birthday yesterday. My day at work was great, and I gifted myself 2 pairs of hello kitty sneakers ^.^

Warnings: none

Let’s get into it🫵🏻

•

-you and Mihawk met a few years back. Running into each other after being set after the same bounty. And neither of you have looked back since.

-married life has been great, your husband being the absolute best man. Treating you with such care, love, and respect.

-both of you sharing the household duties, cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc.

-Mihawk always called you his sunshine, as no matter what, you always brought light into his heart. Which, over time, caused him to be more and more open about his past, and, his feelings

-which many would say is rare. No one living long enough to see any other type of reaction from him besides his usual stoicism

-but you, you got it all and a part of him knew he’d become dependent on your love that he’s not really sure to handle the situation he finds himself in currently

-both of you got called to handle a rather ‘difficult’ bounty as the marines put it. And things were going well until your opponent got the upper hand on you

-causing you to miss calculate your neck move and resulting in you being in a comatose state.

-Mihawk’s private doctor said you’ll come out of it, it just depends on when. He unfortunately wasn’t sure. It was a waiting game

-you had your own private room set up in the castle, being hooked up to this and that. A nurse would come by everyday to check in on you and handle a few things

-Mihawk would stand in the doorway every time like clock work. Watching as she tends to you

-it’s only at night, when it’s just you and him that he sits in the chair beside your bed and talks to you. He’s unsure if you can hear him but he doesn’t care. He speaks all his worries, about how much he misses and needs you. Scared that he won’t be able to do this much longer without you

-explaining that he’d wait as long as you need for you to come out of this. As long as he gets to hear your voice, witness your smile, be able to feel you touch and hug him back

-during the day, he keeps himself busy. Cleaning, reading, paperwork, more reading, going into town to shop, buying things for you, anything to keep his mind preoccupied

-he has good days and bad, most of them blending together

-poor guy has used dissociating to get through most of this as he truly doesn’t know how to come to terms without you

-the castle is too quiet, he misses hearing your sweet voice bouncing off the walls when you call for him, or when you come bounding down the hallway towards his office to ‘annoy’ him

-when he’s tossing and turning in your shared bed, he has one of your shirts or hoodies with him. One that has the scent of your perfume lingering on it. Which eventually gets him to sleep

-now, today has been a particularly difficult day for Mihawk. Marines constantly on his ass, giving him shit for not handling every single bounty they’ve been giving him. It annoys him as they know of his personal situation and don’t show any sort of respect towards it

-so by the time he gets back home, his mood is sour. He stands in the doorway, watching you as the nurse tends to you once again

-“any change?” He asks, and even though he already knew the answer. Watching the nurse shake her head and reply with her usual “no, I’m sorry”, is when the damn breaks

-no one has seen him cry, you witnessed a single tear roll down his cheek the day you two wed but that’s it

-he waits until the aid is gone for the night and that’s when the tears come flowing. Hard, and heavy.

-he’s sitting at his desk, his chest heaving as he tries catching his breath, and every time he thinks he’s calming down, more tears come

-Mihawk doesn’t realize it’s a panic attack, as it’s his first time experiencing one since he was a boy

-this goes on for hours, before he eventually falls asleep at his desk, his forehead resting against his forearms. A single hand resting on the photograph he keeps on his desk

-but he’s jerked awake around 3am. At first he thinks it’s a dream when he heard your voice from the room next door

-but when he hears a choked “baby?” He almost falls from his chair

-he wastes no time running into the room you’ve been treated in all this time

-and that’s when he sees you. Your eyes open, a look of confusion on your face as you take in the tubes you’ve been hooked up too

-“my love?” Are the first words that fall from his mouth and he nearly collapses when you look over at him. A small smile forming on your face when you see your husband

-as bad as he wants to run over to where you’re laying and hug you. He keeps himself composed. Approaching the bed slowly, sitting down beside you

-his large hand engulfs yours. His thumb rubbing circles against the inside of your wrist.

-after asking if you’re okay, and giving you some water, he catches you up on everything that’s happened the entire time you’ve been out

-you can see the toll this has taken on him and you feel horrible. You’re so used to your strong and composed husband, that seeing how stressed his been breaks you

-your free hand comes up, cupping his cheek. Something you’ve done during the entirety of your relationship. He instinctively nuzzles into your palm and that’s when he begins to cry

-you’re slow with your movements, being careful as you sit yourself up before having him climb onto the mattress beside you. Your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him against your side as you hold him

-listening to his broken sentences of how scared he’s been and unsure.

-he stays there for a long time before lifting his head to look at you. Pressing his lips to yours after not feeling you kiss back in what felt like forever to him

-“maybe it’s time that I retire.” You murmur against his lips before kissing him again. You’d hate to have something like this happen a second time.

-you never liked seeing your husband worried, let alone about yourself.

-“I think I might just join you.”

•

Okayyyyyy so it’s been a while since I’ve written any angst so I apologize if this isn’t great😭😭

[dcficrecs]

The One Where the Justice League Almost Didn’t Figure it Out: The Training Room Incident

By batsandthebirds on AO3

The premise of this fic is "Nightwing joins the Justice League and no one knows he was the first Robin, so they think he's crazy for being so normal around the goddamn Batman." My favorite scene is the entirety of chapter 2, where the League sets up a sort of test fight while Nightwing is still pretty new to get a sense of his abilities as a fighter. I'm not gonna spoil how it goes, so here's the excerpt from it:

 “Look, I’ll fight him if you want, but I’m not sure it’ll be that useful. If pitting me against someone because of superpowers is really the issue, why don’t I just fight him?” Nightwing pointed, and it took Clark a moment to register that he wasn’t pointing at him or Diana, but between them, where Batman had stood looming silently this entire time.

You could have heard a pin drop. Before Clark could attempt to let the kid down easy, explain that there was no way he was fighting Batman as a new recruit and lasting more than a few seconds, and also that he’d really rather not have their newest member further on the Bat’s bad side than everyone else way, Batman stepped forward between him and Diana and regarded Nightwing with a frown.

“That’s not a good idea,” Batman growled.

Somehow, this just made Nightwing smile even wider. “Oh, I think this is a great idea, B.”

Clark had just enough time to think, Okay, that settles it, Nightwing has a death wish, before he registered that the corners of Batman’s mouth twitched up in a nearly imperceptible smile.

Without any other words spoken, Batman and Nightwing positioned themselves on either side of the mat and the small crowd of spectators all stood back. Clark thought about trying to stop this, and he could have, in theory, but he thought it prudent to let this die now. A lot of new recruits came in with a bit of a cocky attitude, trying to prove themselves against the more powerful heroes on the roster. A lot of times that meant trying to beat Batman at his own game. Best Nightwing got knocked down now, rather than screw something up on an actual mission later. But there was still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was off about Nightwing. He came off as cocky, yes, or maybe just too fearless for his own good, but something told Clark that there was more substance to that disposition than most young heroes had.

The two opponents squared off, and Clark took one look at Batman — imposing, heavily armored, and trained to his absolute peak — and Nightwing — young, lithe, relatively short, and still a virtual unknown - winced inwardly on Nightwing’s behalf, and signaled for the fight to begin.

The fact that Nightwing didn’t immediately end up on his back was a miracle in itself. He dodged the first blow, then the second, then the third, and flipped out of the way of the fourth, kicking Batman in the chest as he did so. Batman stumbled, recovering in a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for Nightwing to get the escrima sticks off his back. They crackled with nasty looking blue electricity, which would have worried Clark, if he didn’t know that they had no chance of getting through Batman’s suit.

Clark thought that Nightwing’s luck would run out, and soon. But the fight went on like that. Nightwing dodged any blows that would have knocked him down in an instant, and traded his own blows back with a vengeance. Neither could get the upper hand. After a minute, Clark remembered that he was supposed to be analyzing Nightwing’s abilities, not just staring dumbly as the young hero continued to stay on his feet. He was fast, that much was obvious, and his brain could certainly keep up with his body, if not think ahead. He landed strategic hits, trying to knock Batman off balance, using the weight of his suit against him, and, at one point, even managing to tangle Batman up in his own cape momentarily.

Then — absurdly — Nightwing started laughing. As the opponents traded blows, Nightwing cackled like he was having the time of his life, dodging when he could, taking the hits he couldn’t get away from without faltering, and landing his own blows in the slight windows of opportunity afforded to him. Clark caught sight of a fierce smile on the young hero’s face too, different from the rehearsed, easygoing expression he wore around the League. It was pure, unbridled excitement.

Just as Clark thought that the fight might go on forever, Nightwing raised a hand to throw one of his escrima sticks, but Batman lept at him, swinging his fist in an arc that Nightwing easily should have dodged, but he didn’t. Batman’s fist connected with the side of his face, the laughing stopped, and the weapon Nightwing was throwing went wide. Nightwing reeled from the harsh blow, and that should have been when Batman knocked him to the mat, ending the fight. He could have, easily. But Clark watched as Batman faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough for Clark’s ears to pick up on a ping, ping, ping noise, before Nightwing suddenly sidestepped, and the escrima stick that Clark thought he’d thrown wide connected squarely with the back of Batman’s head, having bounced around the room and off the back wall.

Batman fell forward, hitting the mat hard, and Nightwing stood victorious, laughing again as red bloomed on the side of his face and blood poured out of his mouth from a split lip. He picked the escrima stick up off the mat and attached both of them to his back again, then offered a hand to help Batman up.

To Clark’s further surprise, Batman clasped Nightwing’s hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. This was so unprecedented that Clark had no idea what to expect next, but Batman wordlessly turning and leaving the training room wasn’t it.

I cannot express how this is one of my favorite moments in any fic ever. I left a comment saying that writing a character outsmarting Batman usually doesn't end well: the writing doesn't make sense, it falls flat, or underestimates a character's (usually Batman's) abilities. This fic, however, does it so perfectly. Nightwing using Batman's care for him against him, and embarrassing him in front of a bunch of Justice League members including Superman and Wonder Woman. Later on in the same chapter, Bruce asks Dick why he didn't dodge the punch and Nightwing explains the whole "using your fear of hurting me to my advantage" thing and Batman is obviously disapproving of that, but it is so in character for Nightwing. He would totally get punched in the face if it meant harassing and/or embarrassing Bruce. It is so clever and absolutely brilliant and everyone should totally read the whole fic. I am in love with this.

[esta-elavaris]

I won't list all of my stuff here - just the things that I think are worth shouting about. Organising it all via fandom, with some little sub-categories within those because some of them *cough*James/Theodora*cough* have decided to become ungovernable.

Where to find me: AO3 -- IG -- Goodreads

Catch the Wind-verse:

Catch the Wind - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: Complete. [400k+ words] AO3 The behemoth that started the absolute sickness in me, and probably where you should start if you want any of the rest of my Norrington stuff to make total sense to you.

When it was completed, I also did a read-through on here talking about some behind-the-scenes type stuff. The tag is here, but it's obviously reverse-chronological order so spoilers abound! I plan on doing this for other fics when they're complete!

Sainted by the Storm - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: In progress, updated sporadically. AO3 The home for any random snippets of this pairing that I write - there are a few AU chapters here and there, mostly it's flufftober fills, or pieces not long enough to warrant their own story. Wicked Game - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: In progress. AO3 Semi-sequel to CTW, just a very small smutty series set after the events of the main story. Red Thread of Fate - Theodore Groves/Pirate!OC Status: In progress. AO3 Vague companion piece to CTW, taking place in the background of that story, and then branching into the timespan that follows it - with appearances made by Norrington and the OC I write for him.

Catch the Wind AUs

Fallen Through Time - James Norrington/Modern!OC Status: In progress, on a break. AO3 -- Tumblr An AU of Catch the Wind, exploring what might've happened had Elizabeth Swann been the one to find Theodora when she fell into the world of POTC.

As It Was - Modern!James Norrington/Historical!OC Status: Planning - a teaser can be found on tumblr for now. AO3 Another AU of Catch the Wind, where James Norrington is the modern character, and Theodora Byrne is the "canon" character from POTC who is fated to die.

Here, Where Fire Grows - Boromir/Modern!Amnesiac!OC Status: In progress AO3 Writing Catch the Wind didn't get the "modern girl falls for fictional dead man" trope out of my brain, so I had to inflict another on Boromir - but this time with an amnesiac twist, just for some added fun. Other mini-stories for these two written during flufftober can be found here.

Flufftober '23 The non-Theorrington flufftober fills can be found in this series on AO3, but all of the fills also be found on Tumblr where they have pretty banners to go along with the chapters.

About a Girl Captain Hook [Peter Pan 2003]/OC AO3 Hook sets out to manipulate a former member of The Lost Boys in order to gain the upper hand against Peter Pan…and learns the hard way that it's best not to underestimate one's opponent. Manipulations, trust issues, lots of "falling for you would be the worst possible idea so I won't do that haha...unless 👀" on both sides.

Obscure, Plain, and Little Aemond Targaryen/OC AO3 A Jane Eyre-inspired fic -- probably won't follow the events of the show/book.

Absolution Dracula [Van Helsing 2004]/OC AO3 Set in the modern day, lots of cliché favourites with (hopefully) some added twists to spice things up a bit! Free Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor AO3 Modern!Royalty!AU which will eventually follow the events of the game.

List of ideas for tentative future pairings and fandoms I want to go into can be found here. I'm also always open to suggestions, so don't feel too shy if you want to send me an ask or a message 💜

[creepy-feathers]

I never thought I’d see a creepy pasta t-word blog :0. Can you maybe do A-Y (unless someone already asked) for Tim/Masky? He really needs to smile more :’)

Yeah, unfortunately there aren't many out there 😞

He certainly does! I love the idea of Masky losing his shit lmao.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

A: Aftercare | What is their aftercare like after a heavy round of tickling?

If you just got wrecked by Tim, chances are he'll feel enough morality to at least give you a sweet pat on the head in silent commendation for surviving his attack.

Masky, however? You'll be lucky if he even stops before you pass out entirely. He'll utter some snide remark to remind you why you should never screw with him, then he'll walk away to go on about his business.

B: Bondage | How do they react to bondage, do they enjoy it and if yes, what is their favorite pose?

Bondage? Uh-uh, absolutely not, no thank you. Tim gets exceedingly anxious when he's unable to move, and Masky is just... He likes being in control of the situation. Which is why neither man will ever ever ever enjoy being restrained in any way.

C: Chase | What are their chances in a chase, both as a lee and ler?

Considering both of them are the ones usually doing the chasing, I'd say they'd be naturally inclined to keep that up when they're looking to pounce on someone. They're rather good at it, too—the ler would be doomed.

On the other end of the stick, however? I imagine Tim would be able to find a place to hide without much trouble, due to his history of running from imminent death. Masky would refuse to be chased at all and then proceed to gut-punch whoever was attempting to pursue him in the first place.

D: Death Spot | What is their most ticklish spot?

Thighs, no questions asked. A close second would have to be the neck. Either of these areas targeted will have them writhing in 10 seconds or less.

E: Expression | How do they express their wish to tickle/be tickled?

Tim has to be feeling very playful to get the urge to tickle someone, and since he isn't exactly a physical person by heart, chances that he'll actually go through with it are unlikely. The same goes for when he desires to be tickled, which, dare I say, is even rarer than the latter. If he craves it badly enough, he'll probably just outright say it. With reluctance and awkwardness, sure, but he doesn't like beating around the bush.

'Violence' is the one word that goes through his head on repeat throughout the day; it is the solution to every problem he can think of. It really is no surprise that touching someone without intending to cause them intense agony is a foreign concept to him, and an unappealing one at that. Simply put: the only reason on this earth that he would ever consider tickling someone is if he actually cares about them and wants to bring some form of torment that won't result in serious injury. As for the being tickled, aha, never in a million years will this man let his guard down long enough for someone to be successful, nor will he want to be touched in that regard. Try it and he will commit homicide.

F: Fight | What is their behavior in a tickle fight like?

Tim is a strong dude, so unless his weakest spots are being honed in on, he will have the upper hand. Thankfully, he practices mercy, so it usually isn't a time to panic—plus, he'll let up every now and then so his opponent feels like they're actively contributing to this 'fight'.

With Masky, there is no fight. There is just plain torture. He will pin you solidly and not relent until he is satisfied. 'Nice' is not in his vocabulary, apparently.

G: Gentle | How do they react to gentle tickles?

This man— He will snort if you brush your fingers against any remotely ticklish spot. He'll also squirm, which is an amusing sight.

Pretty much the same reaction as Tim, but he's much more aggressive with his squirming.

H: Habits | As a lee/ler or both, do they have specific habits when it comes to tickling?

This only applies if the two of you are romantically involved; if Tim's feeling affectionate or clingy, he'll nuzzle your neck or any sensitive, accessible area with his beard just to hear the giddy sounds you'll emit.

Pure roughness. He's left bruises on every lee he's ever gotten his hands on and lingering pain for sometimes hours, but somehow this violence is equally effective at drawing the rawest shrieks and highest-pitched laughter. It's unbearable in literally every way. This is a talent he doesn't even consider a 'talent'.

I: Interrogation | How well would they handle a tickle interrogation?

Tim would have the capability to last quite a while, even if his worst spots are targeted. But he would break eventually, and quiet, half-stifled giggles would break into full-blown cries for mercy. He tried.

Masky doesn't beg. Like whatsoever. But he also wouldn't put a lot of effort into hiding his raspy laughter, no. Instead, he would writhe relentlessly and spew threats at his progressor while losing every ounce of self-control he formerly possessed. He's a very loud lee.

J: Joy | Their absolute favorite thing about tickling?

If he had to choose something, it would be the way it bonds him with his loved ones. Before all the Slenderman crap went down he'd always use tickling to connect with his little siblings and cousins, and occasionally for his friends. He and Brian got into it a few times in college; the former won, but Brian was a worthy opponent.

Masky absolutely does not care.

K: Killer Move | As a ler, do they have special skills to use against their lees and drive them crazy with?

This isn't really a skill, but he'll start to laugh along with his lee after a few moments and that always seems to heighten the lee's nerves so they laugh even harder.

Like I said previously: stone cold force. He will attack your weakest areas without a bit of remorse, and he'll do it till you're on the brink of passing out.

L: Laughter | What does their laughter sound like when they are tickled?

Normally, it's pretty raspy due to all the smoking, but there's this sweet—extraordinarily rare—kind of giggle you can pull from both of them, but it takes incredible precision and the exact amount of pressure. Go for the side of the ribcage with firm yet tender claw-like scratching and watch them unravel in an instant.

M: Mornings | Their tickle behavior during mornings?

If you are anyone other than his romantic partner, do not try this or he will straight up bitch slap you. If you are dating him, however, feel free to wake him up with benign pokes to the stomach and/or tickly neck kisses. It will put him in a blissful mood for the rest of the day and he may reciprocate, even in his sleepy haze.

Do not touch Masky. Seriously. The only thing keeping him going right now is a mug full of coffee. If you even threaten to do something he will snap your finger in two.

N: Nights | Their tickle behavior during nights? 

At this point in the day, this man is completely exhausted and is looking for some downtime. He would need to be exceedingly close to a person to participate in tickles, and it wouldn't be for long periods.

Masky is done, man. He's so freaking done. He's put up with everyone's shit the whole day and dealt with his own problems and is not in the mood to be all physical and lovey-dovey. You best pray he doesn't strike at this interval because he's probably out for blood.

O: Online | Text messaging and social media, do they have some kind of online tickly behavior to tease their lee or ler with?

Not...really? Both of these dudes kinda just live in the moment. Tim might shoot a text every once in a while for shits and giggles but that's about it.

P: Partner In Crime | If they were to go after a lee and accept the aid of a tickle partner, who do they prefer to join hands with and why?

For Tim, it would probably be his s/o. If he doesn't have one, he'd go solo.

Masky also typically works alone, but if he's feeling vengeful enough he'll get Johnny to join him.

Q: Question | Their response to the question ‘are you ticklish’?

"Um, heh... Isn't everyone?"

"You'll never get close enough to find out."

R: Role | Lee or ler, what is generally their main role?

Both lers to the core, but if either of them were to be swayed it'd be Tim.

S: Safeword | If they were to suggest the safeword for a tickle session, which word will it be?

Tim is the kind of person that has always been very serious about safewords and consent in general. He will deadass go completely still if you say 'stop', not wanting to push boundaries.

Safewords are not a real thing to Masky. He will go for however long he wants to go and there ain't no arguing with him.

T: Teasing | Their most favorite methods of teasing their lee/ler?

Sometimes he'll drum his fingers against their torso with a certain mischievous sparkle in his eyes that drives the lee crazy.

Rapid, harsh scribbling, especially when he figures out what spots make you scream. No mercy.

U: Unusual | Do they have some unusual tickle spots? Where?

Their thighs. Also sorta ticklish on the upper back.

V: Victim | As a ler, who is their favorite lee and what makes this person their ultimate victim?

His s/o or Sally, but only occasionally.

Masky just targets whoever decided to royally piss him off. Though he must admit, Liu is quite a satisfying victim.

W: Word | What is their reaction to the T-word? Can they say it out loud or do they get embarrassed?

Tim moreso than Masky, but that only applies when he's asking to be tickled.

X: X-Over | In a crossover AU, which other fandom character would be a fitting tickle fight opponent for them and why?

Luna Lovegood and Tim I think would be a blast to watch. Luna would be super sweet yet good with her hands (plus there's the whole 'magic' that would definitely come into play), but she'd play fair too. She would push him out of his comfort zone to the point where he would be comfortable actually fighting back but it would all be in good fun.

Bahloo would be perfect for Masky because he's a literal bear and could just pin him down effortlessly and teach Masky some life lessons.

Y: YOU | Any personal self or reader-insert tickle fantasies/headcanons to share with this character?

Tim hated being tickled as a kid cause it was always a way to "make him feel better". It was nurses and the people keeping him in the hospital that would mostly initiate it.

Then he met Brian years later and realized how much of a playful person he was. His friend was the one that made him okay with receiving that kind of treatment again.

[chronic-longing]

... Relentlessly fighting, for somebody whose eyes sunk that much into their pockets with bags under them, begging their owner to rest already, he had put quite the fight. His hardened, white steel platings scattered and broken, chainmail ripped and trashed, partially showing his bare upper half of his torso which lightly bled from his left shoulder. Even without any medical care, he would eventually heal up on his own besides the dislocated shoulder that also bled. The arm he once held his masterwork of a sword with was limp. His eyes now shut, hiding the often blandly darting around deep blue eyes beneath his heavy eyelids. His opponent, a mighty giant, who seemed as young as the knight, couldn't be past his mid twenties. The giant himself had a few noticable injuries, still lightly bleeding. Around at least eight times bigger than the knight who was forced onto his knees, who was motionless, the giant loomed closer to his defeated opponent after dropping the tree he used to battle with. Not saying a word, his amber eyes fixated on the once proud knight. The knight however, moved suddenly, raising his head. Staring into the giant's eyes. "I am not spineless enough to.. Defy you now. You won. Do as you wish." He bowed his head, retaining a somewhat chivalrous attitude, bathing in the shame of being the weaker one.

"First of all.." The giant's voice boomed. He grabbed the sword, sliding it away from the Knight's limp fingers with surprising gentleness. Then tossed it to the distance with every bit of strength he had, making absolutely sure that the knight can't get hold of the sword, probably ever. He then kneeled down, grabbing the Knight's dislocated shoulder. The human in response shut his eyes, expecting the worst, maybe the giant was going to rip him apart. Yet, that never happened. No matter how gentle the giant was, it hurt, but it was obvious that he was not being ripped into pieces today. The exhausted man could do nothing but gasp in pain, as the giant suddenly put his shoulder back in its place with a swift motion, even though the human was merely reduced to a doll in the giant's grasp, it seemed as if the giant wouldn't be treating him as if he is any lesser. "There." The knight seemed somewhat surprised, as he didn't expect anything like that but torture. He glanced at the giant. On his eye level as he is held high. "What exactly are you plotting? I don't think you'd need to do anything for my favor. Considering how I am a criminal." The giant, in return, rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever you say." He didn't waste any time, and proceeded with what he had mind. Bringing the immobile knight closer to his now gaping maw, strands of saliva stretching from the roof of his mouth, to down onto his teeth and tongue. The knight didn't seem to protest, although he jolted in surprise. He didn't quite expect it but he also didn't say a thing. He was the loser after all.

Soon, his head and shoulders were inside the giant's wet maw. The tongue rolled around, rubbing around and tasting, coating all it got in touch with saliva. The giant was thoroughly coating the immobile young man with saliva, and pushing more of him inside little by little, with tiny swallows and his hand, to the entrance of his throat. After went in his torso, then his thighs, then calves, until only his feet were left dangling outside. Eventually slurped up rather casually with nothing remaining outside, and with an audible "glllk-", the knight was now being forced down through the squeezing, pulsating flesh of the giant's esophagus. He couldn't move as the kneading flesh clamped down on him at every opportunity from every direction, sucking him inwards. He couldn't help but succumb more and more into the giant's depths as the giant himself traced his new meal with his two fingers pressing on the meal en-route to his hungry stomach. The knight could hear the booming, strong heartbeats of the giant more and more, until he eventually slided through an opening and was deposited into somewhere far more spacious, but still rather tight.

From outside, the giant seemed satisfied. His meal was still rather sizable, his gut was stretched outwards, bulging noticably with the morsel now settling inside his groaning gut. He laid down in an opening, putting a hand on his satisfied gut, patting and rubbing it with considerably light pressure for the morsel inside, he didn't intend on crushing his meal to death. Inside, the knight didn't fight it, besides light squirms, trying to get as comfortable as he could inside. The soup of the giant's previous meal was all that was with him besides the various fluids oozing from the stomach walls and the strong, kneading stomach walls themselves. He murmured. Eventually speaking, raising his voice so he could even hope to be heard from the abyss of an organ. "Really..? You couldn't just step on me? Rip my head off clean? You intend on torturing me like this..?" His voice was muffled by the layer of muscle and skin, but the giant could hear him as his surroundings were mostly quiet. In response, the giant pressed down on the bulge with a finger, tightening the already tight space the knight had within. "Torture? I don't think I'll even be hurting you. I might be a giant, but you are the monster here. Literally and figuratively. You are lucky that I whooped your ass if anything. Still, though.. I'll hold onto you." The knight most certainly didn't like that answer. He squirmed as much as he could with his weary body inside. Yet with the same finger pressing down on the bulge again, he was smushed against the stomach walls all around tightly. "Didn't like that? Good luck getting out. You won't." With that, unwillingly, the knight settled inside. Kneaded nonstop and rubbed from outside, filling the groaning gut of the giant, but left unharmed as a prisoner within the churning organ as the giant was keen on not harming him. Thus, for god knows until when, he'd be kept inside the humid, hot and pulsating chamber.

[xaelia-au]

crying, screaming, throwing up (absolute favourites)

jude bellingham

opponents - @lqvesoph

it's the euro game between germany and england and you're getting quite defensive over the loss of your country

new years - @jdbellingham

as the bellingham brothers’ best friend, you had learned how to get the upper hand over them, and at new years when you are told to bring a game you have just the trick. but the one thing you didn’t expect from your game is what you got in return.

broken nose - @xhoplesslyromanticx

 In which Jude accidentally shoots Masons sister in the face with a football.

whipped - @sanchosgf

family holdiay with jude and his family

the taste of your lips - @judeswhore

making out demands all of your attention

shots - @judeswhore

shots from jude

jealousy - @judeswhore

jude receiving drinks from girls on holiday

jealousy pt.2 - @judeswhore

jealous jude

i love you - @judeswhore

tracings on jude

watermelon sugar - @judeswhore

jude just can’t get enough of you

prime - @xxblairexxss

jude and your nephew

please don't kill me mister ghostface - @judeswhore

jude is the perfect protector after a night of horror movies

this is what it feels like - @judeswhore

jude just can’t stop kissing you

twenty seconds or twenty years - @judeswhore

hidden away with the love of your life is the perfect way to enter the new year

charles leclerc

uncle darling - @illicitlimerence-writes

babysitter canceled/family date night

goodnight - @illicitlimerence-writes

the reader has a 2yrs old baby boy from a prev relationship and they go on family skii vacation with charles and his fam and just a cute domestic charles like him playing with the child in the snow and pascale admiring how her son is so easily adapting to daddy role"

pt.2

lourdes - @harley-sunday

Charles Leclerc is in some desperate need of good fortune after that terrible race in Sochi and so he embarks on a personal pilgrimage in search of his own lady luck, hoping Lourdes will treat him well. 

pt.2

hymne à l'amour - @spideyanakin

Reader who is the Princess of Monaco and dating Charles.

pt.2 pt.3

to be seen - @lovingperfectionsblog

charles leclercs girlfriend is like, really good at drawing but she keeps it hidden since she’s very critical of her artwork, and she starts doing these like portraits of the drivers in her own private time, like lots of them, since she has love for all of her boyfriends friends - like in a friendly, they treat me so nice way - and the reader like leaves them at places she knows the respective drivers will find them and everyone in the fandom and the paddock is like trying to figure out who does these drawings and they eventually figure out it’s her

little enzo - @mytinycrazymind

You would have never thought that walking into a hairdresser with little Enzo would turn your world upside down.  

those are mine - @norrisleclercf1

Charles being a dad, while his son steals his rings for himself 

details - @welld0nebaku

wanting to start a family 

i will never stop loving you - @rebelwrites

You had never seen Charles lose it like he did tonight, it was a side of him you didn’t know. But you never expect the evening to end like it did. 

tu sei il mondo per mi - @itsasainz

A collection of some of the monumental and mundane moments in your relationship with Charles. Childhood friends to lovers.

angel in disguise - @mytinycrazymind

During the hardest time of his life Charles is lucky enough to find you, to guide him through his worst moments. 

pt.2

before sunrise he’s your child - @rebelwrites

The season was now over and it was finally time to go on that family vacation

lucky charm - @shaarlslec

Charles Leclerc finds his son's paediatrician a little bit too pretty not to ask her on a date right before the Monaco GP.

pt.2

our chaotic little family - @moneymasnn

One where you daughter gets a boyfriend, and Charles is not happy about it at all.

three words, eight letters - @writingstoraes

the three times charles almost said "i love you," and the one time he finally did.

series:

home is perfect starts - @hey-kae

daddy&me +3 - @libraryofloveletters

and now? - @lightsoutsainz

the one where we hope the streets of monaco won't betray them again.

!angstseries

pierre gasly

tout - @lovingperfectionsblog

Pierre needs help writing a love letter

privacy - @lovingperfectionsblog

Pierre discovers y/n’s eating disorder

a moment to remember - @nonstoplover

the time she and her son accidentally meet his favourite f1 driver on the street and the time they meet him again at the race

pt.2

pull me back to you - @seasidepierre

Not going to lie, when Pierre came back home and suggested a night out with your group of friends, you hadn’t expected your creetin of an ex-boyfriend to show up in the bar you were at. Faking a relationship with your best friend seems to be the easiest way to insure that you’re left alone. Right?

pt.2 pt.3 pt.4

secret - @mytinycrazymind

He had broken your heart, and left you when you needed him the most. Should you give him a chance to make it up to you?

how do you do it? - @wizkiddx

Looking after Pierre's [fictional]  nephew for an evening or two may just impact your life forever. 

keeping score - @charlewiss-writes

the four times pierre made your nervous, and the one time you hit him back with the same tactics.

george russell

babysitting shenanigans - @russellrustles

when your nieces’ babysitter falls ill, there’s no way that you can say no when you’re asked to look after them for the day.

greek god - @racinggirl

going on a holiday with a friend seemed nice. it was nice, and it ended up giving you more than you could have imagined.

max verstappen

crying at the supermarket - @circiad

during the final race of the season, y/n browses the aisles of a grocery store.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

A Heavy Bargain (Say My Name)

Fandom: North and South (BBC Series)

Ship: Modern!Thornton x F!Reader

Trope: (Business)Enemies to lovers - Angst with a fluffy ending.

Word counts: 5 921

Note: @sorisooyaa I did it again x).

Warnings: Betrayal, SMUT, insults and bad words, incorrect mentions of what being an architect means.

Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

Getting the almighty holier than though Mister Thornton all riled up was fun.

His face was becoming a stern, emotionless mask when he was seeing his opponent beat him at his own game. In which case, you were the opponent. And you were crushing his hopes with a devilish grin.

“As you can see, once the factory is restored, the margins will increase by twenty per cent. And of course, it is without counting the profit made from the museum which will be added at the same time, as well as the branded products we will sell there.”

This project was yours, it was given at this point. Victory tasted awfully good when winning against him. After working for the same firm together for the past six years, the friendly competition you had entertained in the beginning had swiftly turned into a full-blown rivalry. If you were honest with yourself, it had turned you on more than once, seeing him do his absolute best to get the upper hand. Especially, when you knew the cards to be in your favour.

“Thank you for your time, that will be all for now.”

Architecture was a male-dominated field and being the only woman in the office was a feat, day in and day out. Every day you had to fight for a seat at the table and he did not make it easy on you. Not that you’d want him to.

After the meeting, Thornton approached you, ever so leisurely, to give himself a sense of control. It suited him. The confidence radiating from him. A pristine shirt he had to have bought a size too small, his three-piece suit a work of art along the lines of his shoulders, his pants taunt against his thighs. And that was just the front.

“Good work today.”

You stopped gathering your computer and portfolios. Was he joking ? You arched a brow, your arms instinctively crossed over your chest.

“What do you want Thornton? Snarl at me, like you usually do?”

He chuckled, leaning his hips against the table, looking at you intently. You could see him eying you from head to toe, ranking up your legs, stopping at your hips, then your chest - accentuated cleavage in your fitted white shirt, before meeting your eyes.

“No. I want to invite you to dinner. -Pardon? -You heard me.”

What game was he playing? That man always had a motive.

“I fear our little games have to come to an end. Only fitting to have a dinner to celebrate. I have been offered a promotion. Associate.”

You felt your mouth open, but no words came to you. You bit the inside of your cheek. Of course, he had come to gloat and run that tongue of his. What you wanted to do to that man could not be expressed in enough words. He was good at his job, yes, but not good enough to earn the promotion you had been fighting for, for months. Of course, the goddamn CEO’s son had to have it.

“So that’s why you were not trying to jeopardize my presentation today? Fuck, I should have known… You’re never that kind to anyone. Have a good dinner on your own, Thornton. And above all, go fuck yourself.”

His wide hand grabbed your wrist before you could leave. Your breath itched in your throat.

“You did not hear me. I have been offered a promotion. In another firm. -What do you mean?”

He let go of your arm, feeling as if you were less likely to leave now that he had your attention. Thornton’s lips perked in what could be treated as a smile.

“I mean that I am leaving. My sister and I are creating a new firm.”

Oh. Oh. His firm. This situation was taking unexpected turns.

“And what that has to do with me?”

He inhaled slowly, calming down his nerves.

“My sister, Fanny, thought it good to have you with us.”

Your laugh echoed in the empty office. He could not be serious.

“Are you joking? -I wish I were. She can be… very convincing at times.”

Saying those words, he recalled the week Fanny had called him asking about the prodigy he was working with. Not that he would tell you that. Your rivalry was the only thing keeping you in his life. And, even if he would never admit it aloud, the challenge you presented him with was exhilarating. He felt stimulated and pushed to always be on his best game with you around. Probably why Fanny wanted you in the first place. You kept him and his ego in check.

“Listen, you don’t have to make a decision now. Come to dinner with me, we’ll talk about the details then.”

Narrowing your eyes, you shook his extended hand.

“No promises. And give my thanks to your sister. She seems to be a brave woman to handle you every day.”

You smiled at your joke before leaving. In a fleeting dazed thought he wondered what else you could do with that mouth. Shaking his head, he went ahead and called his sister to tell her the news.

- After arranging a place and a date, the worst part of the ordeal was waiting. Wait for the week to be over. Wait for the evening to come. Wait for you to arrive. You had agreed it would be better for you to meet in a neutral place, where people would not recognize you. Sharks were everywhere and if they caught wind of you and him leaving the firm, it would stir more shit than you could handle. The French restaurant he had picked was on a side street, hidden from view by a beautifully decorated garden. You presented yourself and were guided to a table in a corner. He was already waiting for you, even going as far as pulling the chair out for you. You did not know how but this suit was even more enticing than the one he had on a few days before. He was wearing a dark shirt, sleeves rolled at his elbows, and no tie. He almost seemed relaxed, if not for the way his forearms were flexing against the cloth of his clothes.

“Wine?”

You nodded, the waiter pouring a glass for him and then for you. The menu was already on the table. As usual, yours did not have the prices written on them.

“Thornton? -Yes? -Could you pass me your menu, please?”

You reached for it before he could answer. To your surprise, he chuckled at your behaviour.

“What? -Nothing. You… You have a habit of taking what you want. I like that.”

The darkness surrounding you did little to cool the flush of your cheeks. He smiled wider. Then, the waiter came back. After having ordered, you put your credit card on the table, telling him you were the one to pay for tonight’s dinner and that next time his managers should do a better job at hiding their misogyny. The whole time, Thornton did not say anything, looking at you intently, focused like you thought you had never seen him before.

“Now that this is settled, first question: why is your sister not here with us? Second question: what makes you think I’ll join your firm after the hell on earth you put me through? -Simple. My sister is on vacation with her sons. You do know it’s Easter this week?”

He could not give a price to the face you made at that. “And I seem to recall, you gave me the same treatment.” He sipped on his wine, moving carefully, hoping you would not run. It was always the same dance with you. Him chasing you, in the hopes you would give him the light of day. Not always successful, but always worth it.

“Despite what you may think, I value your intellect and your sense of business. You are one of the only architects I know who makes a point of following the project from conception to finish, including regarding the contracts for the workers and the conditions in which they work. Going as far as talking with the unions and siding with them if need be. -Uh, duh? That’s my job. If the workers are unhappy the work is badly done and we lose money, that’s pretty simple math. -I know.”

He leaned over to you, pouring himself some water, spreading the smell of his cologne in your space. The wine must have been a tad too much because you clenched your thighs when he did. Deep into the night, you talked about the future of the firm, what projects you were willing to work on, what percentage you would be getting and who you would be working with. You wanted your work to be as ethical as possible, even in a world where you could lose it all in a heartbeat. The gentleman in him flared when you hailed a cab. He insisted on driving you home. You couldn’t say no to those eyes, pleading with you, an amused “I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” Escaping him, making him blush just as much as you did. Upon arriving, he opened the door for you, walking you up to the door of your building.

“Well, Thornton, for someone who always had a thing against me, you do know how to wine and dine a girl alright.”

He chuckled.

“I do hope it worked at least.”

You stared at him through hooded eyelids. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, the soft buzz leaving you to fend for yourself against your instincts. Or maybe it was him. The cologne in the air, his fingers brushing against your thigh in the car, the comfortable silence and quick wits exchanged during dinner. You did not know. And, honestly, you did not care.

“It worked like a charm.”

You leaned up, bravery overcoming you, and kissed his cheek. His breath hitched as he gritted his teeth, fighting against himself. Your hand had settled on his shoulder, and he did not stop himself from putting his on your waist. He sensed the shift in the air then. You pulled away before opening the door behind you. In a last attempt at seeing him break - the effect you had on him was visible, rendering his pants, even more, taunt against his ass (it was a sight to see) - you asked:

“So… You are coming or what?”

He followed you in without hesitation.

When you entered your apartment, you barely had the time to take off your coat and light up the room the door behind you was slammed shut and his hands were on you. Your back against his chest, his palms over your breasts, toying with your nipples through your top, no other place on Earth could compete with the one you were in now.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he grunted in your ear, biting down softly on your earlobe, “those dresses stretched over your ass I could barely hide the hard-on under the table… Would have to touch myself in the bathroom thinking of you…”

Breathless, you whimpered “As if your suits were not a size too small just to turn me on… Buttons-up ready to burst…” You could hear the pride in his smirk, his hands pulling your jacket off, pulling your shirt off as well as his own. When he finally turned you around, underwear was the only thing left between you. You lunged forward, meeting him halfway in a hungry embrace, never quite kissing but leaving a trail down his throat of hickeys he’d have a hard time hiding. Once on your knees, he tried stopping you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long, I…”

Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, once freed of his boxers. Without so much as an afterthought, your mouth was at the tip, then deeper down your mouth, taking more and more of him with each back and forth, the salty taste of precum rapidly coating your tongue, your hands finding a steady place to rest on his hips. His whimpers were sinful. Reaching your ears and eliciting a wetness you never knew yourself capable of before that moment. Your fingers found their way down, between your thighs, toying with yourself. In a desperate attempt not to come, he pulled away from you before forcing you up. You frowned, visibly disappointed.

“Why…”

He stopped you, slipping a finger in your mouth for you to suck on. His eyes had gone dark, he seemed animated by lust only. Not that you would mind. When you complied, he inhaled sharply through his nose, smirking again.

“Bend.”

The order was simple. And you were not one to say no. You found yourself bending over on the table, ass up in the air, waiting for him to move. The warmth of his hands on your hips spread through you like wildfire, a desperate moan cutting through the silence. His fingers were impatient with your underwear, tearing the seams as if they were nothing. Without another moment of hesitation, he pulled a condom out of his discarded coat, put it on and… nothing came. Well, more accurately, you could feel the tip of his cock against your clit, moving in slow motion. In other words: torture. You went to get back up, pissed, when his hand blocked you down, the palm over the expanse of your back, firm, not even straining in his strength.

“Oh, growing impatient are we?”

The smug bastard. He was pushing in you excruciatingly slow until he was completely up in you. Losing control, you clenched around him, your whole body a string ready to snap, your back arching, as you were mouthing a silent plea for him to move. He stayed there, pulling mewls out of you, while he pulled you to him, your back against his chest, leaving breathless mouth-opened kisses down the side of your throat, caressing your shoulders and your back in sinful patience. You were a mess, almost in tears, the temptation too strong when he put you back down, slamming into you with such force, his hips were to leave bruises. Where his cries of pleasure had been enticing, yours were only driving him insane, your warm tongue on him still on his mind. His thrusts quickly became erratic, and his end was met before yours, grunting into your ear. The emptiness he left behind made you whine. He left to drop the condom in your bin. He was heaving and was flushed. You pulled yourself up, coming back to your senses. He looked at the commotion, clearly not done with you. Not even nearly. His hands stopped you, their familiar heat on your hips. Face to face, you could see his eyes on you, ready to devour every parcel of your body. He sucked at the tender skin of your throat, earning a gasp, your hands going around his shoulders. Soon, his hands slipped under your ass, hoisting you up against him.

“Good girl.”

The sweetness in his tone erased every thought out of you. Your hands were pulling on his hair, his nose against your pulse as you stumbled into your bedroom. No words were exchanged as he all but threw you on the bed, knocking the air out of your lungs. He smirked, the effect he had on you glistening down your thighs. He was enjoying seeing you this willing to give him control, all of it for the mere pleasure of having him. It boosted his ego. And you enjoyed greatly as he kept his eyes on you, before kneeling between your thighs, his breath fanning over you, a heated reminder of where his mouth could be. Again, he took his time, pressing his mouth, tongue and teeth against your inner thighs, leaving bruises and deep-coloured stains under your skin.

“You really want this, don’t you?”

The words were hanging in the air between the two of you. He licked his lips, diving in. He went feral. All you could do was helplessly try not to be too loud, but it was damn near impossible. Thornton’s hands were not only good at keeping you down but also at keeping you open and pleased, teasing you in ways only he knew. The knot in your abdomen was gradually coming to a rupture point when he stopped altogether. A deep whine echoed through your chest, fist clenching into the bedding. He climbed his way back up your body, leaving marks on his way there. He murmured against your jaw, leaving traces there too.

“How much do you want this?”

You did not want to give him the satisfaction, yet, the ghost of his fingertips was hovering over your clit, sensitive and ready. He pressed on, his thumb running lazy circles around it now. You bit your lip.

“Please… -Please who? -Please, John, I’ll…”

He grabbed your chin, a frown settling on his face. You had never called him by his name. Well, his last name, all the time and the occasional insult but never his first name. Gradually, he lowered his mouth to yours, stealing your breath away yet again. This felt more sinful and intimate than what you were doing so far. He deepened the kiss, your hands meeting in his hair, nails against his scalp. A deep grunt resonated through you, while he looked at you with marvel in his eyes. He pulled you with him to the side, one of your legs above his hip, the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing even in these moments. It felt right, being there with him. As if something had been fulfilled inside of you. You felt the stretch of him, his hips meeting yours, while his hand was drawing you in, your lips finding yet again the soft spot beneath his ear. He rocked against you in slow motion, taking his time. The moment you let out his name felt pivotal, a shift had occurred in him when you did and you wanted to know why. The first instants were harsh and to the point. This was tender and careful, almost loving. When his fingers found your clit again, you were at his mercy, nestled against him. He was cradling your face, kissing you still. You never wanted this to stop. Never wanted to stop the fullness he provided you, the care, the utter devotion. The coil in your belly was growing stronger with each passing moment until you could not bear it anymore, your orgasm washing through you like a tidal wave. He pulled out right after, spilling himself over your stomach, his forehead against your collarbone. You pulled the covers over the both of you, silence all-encompassing, neither of you moving basking in the embrace the other was providing.

When you woke up, he was gone. It wasn’t late. Yet, he was gone. Nothing left behind. No note. No text. Nothing. While you showered, doubts started plaguing you. With good reason, you thought. The man was ruthless in business. Here you thought you had the upper hand, knowing him for so long. What if you had been wrong? Was he going to use this night against you? Was the deal he offered you even real? It was a low blow, but you would not put it past him. His intentions were never clear, especially not with you. The pain in your chest would not decline, still. The betrayal you felt was real and you could do nothing about it. Work would have to do as a distraction. The television was playing orchestral music in front of you, while you were lounging on your sofa. It helped soothe your mind. You were studying yet another case of wrongful termination by one of your contractors. It was the fifth this year. The man was starting to get a reputation for not honouring his contracts. Somehow, he was one of the most preeminent manufacturers your firm worked with. It felt odd to keep employing him when he was discharging his employees just because he wanted to and despite your firm’s demands. You were so engrossed in your computer screen, scanning numbers, and taking notes that the door softly opening and closing behind you went unnoticed. Not even the soft chuckle or the coat being hung up startled you. Thornton’s palms on your shoulders, on the other hand, elicited a scream. He laughed. The bastard laughed at you. You turned around in your seat. He was wearing different clothes. Professional ones this time. Not that you’d pay any mind whether he was wearing clothes or not.

“What are you doing here?”

The sharpness in your voice startled him. He gestured to a bag on your kitchen aisle.

“I brought breakfast.”

Oh. Fuck. Realization dawned on him. You bit your lip, anxiety unraveling in you.

“You thought… -Yes. I thought you had left. For good.”

John sighed. Even in your mind, it felt strange to call him that. His jaw clenched, as he exhaled sharply. He joined you on the sofa, sitting next to you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what conclusion to come to, you left without a word, nothing… -I did. -No, you didn’t.”

He pointed at your fridge. A small piece of blue paper tucked under one of the magnets with his handwriting on it.

“Oh.”

He could not stay mad at you when you were looking like this. Nothing out of the ordinary. There laid the issue though. Fluid pants, meant to be worn at home, no bra that he could see and a cotton shirt clinging to your skin. Embarrassment making you bite your lip. He could not bring himself to be angry with you. Really, he had no good reason to. Thornton knew of his reputation. He knew you knew about it too. The math would have been the same if he had been in your shoes. He went to get the groceries he had brought with him. Your eyes went back to your screen, his mocking smirk still on your mind. There was no real hurt, but your ego did not like it. You closed your computer before turning towards him. He had started cooking something, pulling his sleeves up his arms the jacket of his suit laid behind you. Your eyes wandered. Down his shoulder to the tip of his fingers. Up his back and to his shoulder blades. His ass, but that was a given. You were losing yourself in him. It scared you and enticed you all the same.

“Are you going to stare or are you going to help?”

Malice appeared in his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. God, you had never seen him smile so much. Not in all the years you had known him, not in the last months you had known him even. It was a sight, the dimples in his cheeks prominent, eyes shining with something new, the crinkles there lined up perfectly. You were indeed losing yourself in him. He chuckled, startling you into getting up. For once, you were the one without words. You, who always had something to say, opinionated and strong-headed. He saw your hands shaking while peeling apples, trying not to meet his gaze and breathing through your nose to keep a straight face. He found you endearing to no end. He had for a long time. You were a skilled liar and an even better architect, yet he could see, sometimes, the mask crack. Especially when it was him taking a jab at it. He never did it to anger you, per se. He did it because he adored seeing this other side of you. Your commanding posture was one he was used to, what he wanted to chase. What he wanted to stay for though, was this. Your natural state of affairs, no lies put up to hide behind. While he was cooking the eggs and pancakes, he could feel your eyes burning, tracing his shape all over. Once done, he turned around to find that you were still peeling the same apple you had been ten minutes before. You felt his hand pull the fruit away from your palms. They were sticky with the apple’s water and sugar. He opened your hand, prying the knife away from you before bringing your fingers to his mouth. Slowly sucking on your fingers drawing each into his mouth, one after the other, moaning around your skin. The bastard. That handsome bastard. Your thighs clenched, while you were trying to stay upward. It proved very difficult. You whimpered, before stepping out of his reach completely as he was sucking on his fingertips, never leaving you out of sight. The look in his eyes was nothing short of sinful.

“No. No, no, no, no. I need to get work done…”

His arms pulled you up, settling you on the counter, eyes boring into yours, his hands toying with the hem of your shirt, slipping under it. God, he was driving you insane. Your hands found their way against his chest, in a motion that could have been treated as resistance, had you not been so weak in the attempt to stop him. He smiled, studying your face. You found yourself smiling too. The rational part of your brain was going to burst. You still had several calls to make and plans to discuss with him - preferably with his clothes on, even more so if his sister was present. Your body was hearing none of it.

“John, please…” you pleaded.

That was a mistake. As soon as his name left your mouth, he made you look at him with a firm hand on your jaw.

“Say it again.”

His lips were right there. Just suspended in front of you, like a forbidden fruit. He was good at this. So, so, so, good.

“I really have to… -Say it again.”

Your hooded eyelids and heavy breathing were only bringing him closer and closer to you, incapable of resisting the pull you had on him. It felt right, to stand between your open thighs, morning light barely shining through the windows, as you were there, breathless and needy at his mercy.

“John…”

Greedily, he claimed your lips for himself, as if to taste them around the letters of his name. He felt the warmth of your hands slip around his neck, burying themselves in the depth of his hair. Your hips were trying to meet his, arching your back more and more into him. He pulled away for some needed air, his forehead resting against yours. Your fingers were digging into his shirt by now, praying to tear it apart.

“What was that for?”

Your breath was soft against his cheekbone, your voice somewhat proud and cheeky.

“No reason. -Come on, John.”

The insistence on his name murmured against the shell of his ear…You knew. You knew and you were doing it on purpose. That new knowledge ingrained itself in his brain and it took everything in him not to ravish you, here and there.

“My name… in your mouth… It sounds like…It sounds like I am yours”

The cheekiness was gone, replaced by a spreading wildfire inside of you. The warmth of it all taking you over by pure force. You pulled away from him, in awe. A few hours prior you could have sworn he was going to leave you hanging, and now he was telling you these sinful things in such a serious tone. He was going to wreck you. And you were going to let him. Your core clenched, empty, waiting to be filled by him. You pulled your shirt over your head, breasts bare before him. Soon after, his lips found their way to them, the nipples getting teased between his lips, warm hands heating your body up. What an exquisite way to start the day.

*

Somehow, the tension between you had not vaporized. It had gotten thicker. You could not keep your hands off of each other, often working in between intimate encounters rather than keeping said encounters in between hours of work. Although, you did manage to visit new offices, meet his sister - she was a riot of outlandish manners and quick wits - and keep your newly developing relationship a secret from the firm’s employees. After a few weeks and then months like this, you felt that you were getting into a stall. Your relationship was not new anymore, yet whenever you mentioned going public he’d recoil and diverge onto an another subject of conversation. At first, it had been fun. Now, it was getting tiresome. Yet, you could not bring yourself to break it to him. The frustration in you was growing restless.

“Good evening. -Good evening… Oh, you brought food! Thank God, I’m starving! -I figured.”

He rose a brow and smirked knowingly as he passed through your door. You heard the lock click and he joined you in the kitchen, while you were setting the table. Slowly his usual business posture fell. He now had a strange look on his face. Not quite worried. Just so serious. It had you stopping in your tracks.

“John, what’s wrong?”

His breath was altered, and you watched him slowly take off his jacket and put it away. His eyes were driven to look at the floor, finding patterns in the wood more interesting than your face maybe. A dullness settled on your heart, muffling its cries. Something was off, you could see it.

“I have something to tell you.”

Before he could say anything, you sat down preparing yourself for the worst. He did not move.

“Remember when you told me about that contractor who was firing employees and giving bad results for the firm? -Yes, but… -I know who it is. I’ve known the entire time.”

You almost laughed.

“I’ve told you the name of the company, of course you know who the chief is… -No. I mean, I know who signed off on those deals each time. -What? I’ve been tracking that information… -For months, I know…”

You felt him approach and stop in his tracks, his hand settling on the table next to you, fearing he might make you even more angry than you already were. In truth, you were not even angry at him. Disappointed, frustrated, sad because of him? Yes. Angry? That was for yourself. You should have known he was hiding something. Of course, you had been blinded by the sweet words and soft touches and tender times.

“Who?”

The sharpness there was unmistakably strangled. Tears on the verge of collapse. John inhaled slowly, lips pinched.

“My father.”

Finally, you met his gaze. You didn’t even know his father still worked for the firm and wasn’t on a Bahamas coast with luxurious size debts. This was news to you.

“Please, say something. -I… I don’t know what to say… What do you want me to say, huh?… What do you expect me to say? You’ve been protecting your father all this time and I cannot find it in myself to blame you for it… That doesn’t mean that I’m forgiving you for lying to me… Here I thought we were…”

You struggled for a minute, trying to keep the tears at bay, feeling your emotion well up and ready to implode.

“-We were partners. -We were ? -Yes. We were. -Can you not understand why I did this? -Why? You kept the truth from me. His actions could have cost us both our careers, without mentioning the damages he’s done to the workers and the staff on site. How could you keep allowing this to happen?”

His jaw clenched, keeping himself from saying things he did not want to mean but was feeling deeply right now.

“Keep allowing? You really think I would have left my own father to sign those contracts if I had been aware he was still making them? You really think me this careless? -I don’t know.”

The hurt on his face was discreet. The effects limited to his eyes. Steeled and broken.

“What does that even mean?”

Your heart was breaking. You should have known not to trust him. Nor to have faith in him. He had been so dodgy before why stop now that you were fucking, right? A little voice in your head told you it wasn’t true. You didn’t listen.

“It means that even beyond the fact that you did not tell me you father was still working for the company or that he had a soft spot for an idiot without morals, I don’t know what kind of choice you’d make about the people you do care about. I would not know because you do not make them. Or you don’t tell me about them. -What are you talking about? -Why do you not want to share what we are to one another? You keep avoiding the question or diverting my attention to something else. Why do you not want to say that we are together, in a relationship, in a couple, John! Are you that ashamed of me? Or do you care so much about what other people have to say that you won’t be seen with me?”

This time, he did not stop himself from reaching you, his whole body shaping itself around you. You could not stop the tears anymore as he wrapped his arms around you, not a breath separating you two.

“ I am sorry. I have been nothing but a fool. I was scared you would not want me to. I was scared that you were the one who would be ashamed of me. -How could you think that?”

You met his eyes, watery pupils and all.

“I’m in love with you, John. I could never, ever, be ashamed of you.”

A deep smile crept its way onto his face, illuminating an otherwise gloomy evening. He cradled your face in his hands, almost drowning you in his presence with the gesture.

“I love you, too. Please forgive me. -I already did.”

You felt his lips smooth down a path from your temple to your lips, pressing feathered kisses along the way. You both stayed there then, foreheads together, swaying in each other’s arms, to a melody neither of you knew.

“Why did you tell me about your father?”

Without interrupting the moment, he sighed deeply.

“I had him fired today. For malpractice. -What? -He was not very pleased with me.”

The attempt at lightening up the mood went to waste. You put your palm against his cheek, your thumb moving in slow circles against his skin, trying to calm him down.

“You did the right thing. For what it’s worth, I am very sorry that you had to do it. Also, I am glad you did. You would not be yourself without that righteous streak of yours.”

A chuckle passed his lips, finally. He pressed a kiss to your lips, growing stronger with each of your hearts beating. Once thoroughly breathless, he let you go. That night, you agreed never to keep a secret from each other again. Or to hide things from one another. Both parties involved made sacrifices regarding their futures together. As usual, John drove a heavy bargain, with brand new negotiations skills, bribes and promises. You met him at every turn. And he let you, for he had surrendered to you that day and all the days after, wholeheartedly.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

That was pretty quick lol I got some more if that’s ok?

1: if there was a starburst comic/cartoon/manga, how would you write it? Do two volumes for both kids separately showing their origins & before they meet and then bring them together in like the third volume/chapter?

2: since you mention they like to wrestle, what’s their favorite wrestling move; also to perform on goons?

3: what’s the power level gap between mar’i & Jake? Since both are probably already in the puberty stage, I can see Jake being a little bit more powerful due to the fact boys are stronger than girls with our bone density & stuff. (Unless tamaranians are build different lol)

4: even though they don’t kill due to being heroes, if they were in mortal kombat, what fatalities would you give to the boys? I can see Chris summoning the Nightwing entity and have the dragon eat the upper half of the opponent similar to liu kangs dragon fatality.

5: silly question :p you mention earlier that Chris gets powerful when the moon is out, does he get powerful when he looks at someone’s bare butt? Get it full moon XD I can see Jake or Conner making that type of joke & making Chris laugh.

Bring it all on my friend @gothicghost2000 XD. I got plenty of imagination to o come around

1. I think that’s an ideal approach enough though if we take into account that first issues/volumes of any comic are meant to entice the reader into the actual team themselves, I’d do their respective origins on one or two pages each of that volume, with narration from Chris and Jake themselves to help give the reader their points of view before then cutting to the present day for their first adventure shown in the pages.

2. Chris Kent by his the nature of powers is an absolute powerhouse and despite having some acrobatic moments, has a fighting style that reflects that. Hence his wrestling finisher of choice and one of his go to finishers against crooks and goons would be the Jackhammer Slam, a suplex which he carries his opponent on one arm up high before then slamming them on the ground back first. Best demonstrated by real life pro wrestler, Bill Goldberg

Now as for Jake, being more nimble and flexible, his preferred wrestling finisher of choice would be the Diamond Cutter aka the RKO. Here, he’d have a well placed headlock with his hands on the back of his opponent’s head, then slide forward onto his back, slamming the opponent face first onto the ground. Part of its charm for Jake is that he can strike with that move out of nowhere and anywhere, his stealthiness being utilized to great potential. Pioneered by wrestler Diamond Dallas Page and refined by Randy Keith Orton

When the play wrestle and spar in some of their free time, the Duo would also perform these moves albeit dialing back the intensity to sure they don’t hurt each other for real

3.I’d say Mar’i by a very thin margin has a little bit more power than her baby brother only though since she’s about to enter puberty (or as the Tamaraneans dub it ‘Gradual Transition into the Transformation’) while Jake has about two to three years to go before he can do so as well. That being said, other than that small margin, the Grayson siblings are somewhat even in terms of combat prowess and ability

4. Oh yes, Chris would do that for a MK fatality while for Jake, his would be charging up an esrcima with a starbolt, ramming the taster tip of it onto his opponent’s chest, unleashing it’s full blast, frying the guy but truly finishing them off with another supercharged escrima starbolt on the back to compliment the front one, finally causing the unfortunate opponent to explode in a blue blast of electricity and fire, leaving behind only a lower body with its top charred to a crisp

5. As hilarious it sounds, naturally Chris won’t be gaining a charge up of his powers via someone’s rear end anytime soon lol. And yes, his brothers and best friend would tease him about it but he’d take it in good fun. He’d probably quip that if those ‘full moons’ did count, they’re be a lot more werewolves during the nighttime hours of the city since that’s what Mom Lois told him about when he’s curious about what are ‘Adult Clubs’ all about.

[starsweepers]

Hi, hope this is alright to send! Just a few random headcanon questions for Red because I've been thinking about her and Angry again lately:

In a context where she has opportunity for such things - either in the world of her main verse or a modern setting - what kind of hobbies do you see Red enjoying? How would she spend her spare time?

How does Red feel about the way that Angry so often will talk 'for' her? Does she sometimes appreciate it when Angry speaks on her behalf, or does she wish that she wouldn't? Or does it depend on the context, are there some situations where she's happier with Angry doing it than others?

Do you think Red and Angry would have talked about their pre-meeting backstories with each other at all? Or would they be more likely to just have a mutual "I won't ask about yours if you don't ask about mine" thing going on between them?

probably don't need to preface this post but going to anyways that obviously these thoughts pertain to my version of red, with my backstory and musings. idk if there's still any other red rpers out there but due to my canon divergency, there are certainly things that won't align with canon/other depictions of her. so yeah, just my mini disclaimer which i don't think needed to be said, but i said it anyways lmao!

for the first question, i'm gunna kind of answer in a way that applies to both her main verse and a modern setting. i've always seen her as enjoying minor gardening and baking. she has a sweet tooth, so she absolutely enjoys crafting a variety of pastries and cakes that she can indulge in if given the opportunity. a little sugar gremlin, if you will. but she also really likes sweet fruits, so she'll put together things with berries as much as things with chocolates. she loves gardening in a small capacity. there's not much interest in, say, an entire greenhouse, but she would love to have a few flower and herb beds. she's actually a fan of their colors and the life they can bring to a location. the smells and flavors are also great aspects of them.

both of the above allow her to have some quiet, thoughtful moments. allow her to focus and work with precision, skill, but also some creativity and adventure. she likes having instructions but not instructions that are so strict that there isn't a way to really push the limits and attempt new combinations of flavors and colors.

other things i could see her into are a variety of certain sports. i could see her liking tennis and then something like karate or taekwondo. a measure of her aim and finesse. using her speed and ability to read opponents to get the upper hand. tennis she would prefer singles, but i could see her doing doubles. sports that at most have a partner but not a full team. i could see her getting too frustrated when the numbers of people start getting too big. harder to communicate with so many and beginning to feel the anxiety of pressure and expectations. but having a partner - someone she can learn the ins and outs with - is more attainable. she's not a solo person at heart really, it's just easier for her to manage.

in modern she's totally a parkour person lol.

i'm sure there's some other things i could pull out with more thought and exploration, but these are the major things that jump out to me when i imagine her having time on her own or going to for fun.

for angry speaking for red, it's a context thing. red genuinely struggles to speak to adults due to the trauma she had. while she speaks to angry, even then it is still short and sometimes withheld. it's almost physically painful for her to try and converse at times, so when angry speaks for her, sometimes it's actually a saving grace, and it's not like angry doesn't understand her. the two have enough of a connection that often there's agreement over matters. angry has the wits and cunning in terms of talking, so red prefers to let her handle it. it gets them out of situations, it helps them acquire what they need or want... it can make ordeals, situations, and circumstances far simpler for red because tackling her own exploding anxiety can push her too hard at times.

however there are certainly moments she despises what angry speaks for her. they're not identical in interests and goals, after all, and there are moments i do believe angry takes advantage of red or even looks down upon her because of her unwillingness to speak for herself. i feel like it's clear angry sees herself as the leader, and thus she wants to make the decisions and obtain outcomes her way or what she wants even if she perfectly knows it will make red uncomfortable or unhappy. but, of course, the full blame can't always be put on angry. there are opportunities that red just... doesn't let her friend know what she truly seeks. so angry thinks she's speaking for them both when that's not the case. red becomes agitated and may or may not express her displeasure with angry later, when it's usually too late to change it all anyways. but the more red bottles herself up, preferring to keep things simple between them rather than hash it out, the more it actually hurts their relationship as red does have moments of resentment towards angry. all these locked up things eventually lead to her exploding, and without healthy communication, red can view angry as no better than the adults who always spoke over her growing up.

but again, this isn't entirely on angry. even if red struggles with chatting at any capacity, she could still find ways to express herself or try and compromise with angry, but she continues to roll over for the most part and usually lets angry win. it's a power imbalance that red leaves herself exposed to because that's what she's always been accustomed to. just being the one who doesn't get to choose or express herself. it's why she's selectively mute.

for pre meeting backstories, i think it's both. aka, i think they know the basics, but there are details the two haven't exactly sat and hashed out. angry most likely because she's stubborn and wants to be seen as the strong, leader type ( this is my perspective, of course, anything i say about angry here is ultimately up to you or whoever interprets her, but for my own sake these are how i approach her with red in non-angry-involved threads ). i bet she's admitted pieces to red ( in my take, generic angry endured a bad foster system, so red knows angry went through the foster system, and maybe has heard a handful of stories about the families or people involved, but never been told anything super in depth ). and all red's provided is that her parents weren't very nice and so red ran away. with a few other minor details shared on occasion. enough to establish the thread between them of we're in this together, we won't give up on each other, but not enough to where they can sort out their problems and thoughts easily quite yet, as they've both still got a lot of communication problems to work on.

@outoftheirdifferences

[marysixnumbers]

D.Va Tickle Headcanons

-D.Va is a tickle fight chamption. Given her short stature and very high sensitivity, a fair few of her friends (and a couple of opponents) see her as an easy target for tickles. Big mistake - she’s agile enough to wriggle out of all but the firmest of grips, and competitive enough to always want to fight back.

-Those fast fingers aren’t just good for gaming! Her preferred tickling style is quickly spidering all over her lee’s body, switching from tickle spot to tickle spot in the blink of an eye, and zeroing in on their worst spots when she finds them (and she will find them).

-She’s a pretty big teaser, especially fond of mock sympathy (”Awwww, are you too ticklish for this? But I’m being so gentle!”) and getting you to confess to something (”Uh-uh! Not stopping until you say I’m the best!”).

-And if you try and tickle her while she’s gaming? May God rest your soul. You might think it’s worth it to see smirks and snickers break through her veil of concentration, to see her struggle to sit still as fingers leisurely explore her ribs, to see her thrash about and laugh hysterically while desperately trying to focus on the game. But if she ends up dying or losing, she will pounce on her assailant and tickle them until they’re a screaming mess, not stopping until they’ve admitted several times over that she was going to dominate that match and that her death was just a fluke.

-She never gets really annoyed about all this ticklish tomfoolery, and in fact quite enjoys it. Playfighting and friendly competition are a big part part of many of her relationships (and can be a kind of love language for her) - in this case, tickling is just another example of that.

-As mentioned above, she’s pretty badly ticklish all over. Her legs and hips are a little less sensitive than the rest of her, but you can get her pretty much anywhere and she’ll laugh.

-Her underams and upper ribs are definitely her worst spots. If she sees someone’s hands going anywhere near her upper body, she’ll immediately clamp her arms down... which can spell disaster if she accidentally traps that person’s hands in that sensitive area (which Tracer has managed to do a couple of times).

-She likes gaming in a cross-legged position, with soles facing upwards, and she’s lost count of the number of times an Overwatch or MEKA colleague has given them a quick tickle as they’ve gone by.

-Her laugh is absolutely adorable; lighter tickling yields these cute giggles and gasps, but even her more intense laughter has this light, bubbly quality that many find irresistable.

-If a friend of hers is looking slightly miserable or distracted, she’s been known to squeeze at their sides as part of her cheering-up tactics.

[colection-of-chaos]

Whumptober 2024 Day 16: Wound Cleaning; "No, I can't feel anything."

TW: gore, loss of limb, potential fatal injury, death of minor chracter

Bloody Loss

The blood was slowly pathing it’s way down her arm, coiling in her hand before doping to the ground. Her breath was labored. 

Luane was still standing, but it was only a question of time, unill she would collapse. The pain was so numbing, she barely felt the slash reaching from her shoulder to close to her elbow. The woman had been prepared to die, when the dagger of her opponent dug into her upper arm, she had hardly been able to be evade an immediate death, by turning, which had unfortunately ripped the knife though her arm. 

Not her brightest move, but to be hones, she hadn’t thought much about it at all, she had just reacted. It had been a reflex, certainly a shamefully idiotic one, but she was still alive and had an arm, even if she was actively bleeding out from it. 

Luane had also been able to kill her attacker, before running away to find a place she was saver, or at least saver than she was there, where one of her hunters found her. Should she die, then not because one of them killed her. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her die, she wouldn’t face her demise under the eyes of one of these dogs. If she had to die, then somewhere where no satisfied man could watch her do so. 

Luanne was perfectly prepared to die hidden away under some rock, leaned on Sharp-edged stone. Even that would be better, than giving them the satisfaction of having killed her. 

Or know that they had killed her. It was bad enough that she would know that they got her, when she would face her demise. 

The only hope she could hold onto was that they wouldn’t know, that they had won. She didn’t want to give them any satisfaction, if she had, it would make her inevitable death only worse. 

Luane didn’t feel the pain she should, from the arm would, maybe it was the compliance with death or that her brain just shut off the agonizing pain she was supposed to feel, that she had just lost too much blood to have feeling in her arm anymore was also a possibility. 

It wasn’t like she felt, no pain at all, but it was a more of a dull ache, than the cutting agony her injury would have called for. 

She was as dizzy as the amount of blood she was losing should make her, though, she had a hard time dragging herself through the stony terrain, away from the place of the fight, the place she had killed one more person.  

Luanne didn’t think about the trail of blood she was leaving behind, until she collapsed, falling down on ballast, certainly getting some bloody scraps from the sharp stone pieces. It did’t matter, she did’t have the energy to catch her self anymore, neither any to acutally care. She was still losing blood, it was becoming into a puddle surprisingly fast, the metallic smell so strong she could almost taste it. 

She was too exhausted to move, too tired to think, at least for the most part. Because that clearly went through her clouded head, was the thought that, if there were more of her pursuers than the one she had thought, they would be able to find her with ease by just following the trail of blood, she must have left behind, that they would find her any way and see that they had won. 

When Luane wakes up, she is confused. Not because she is in fact alive, her mind is not yet awake enough to wounded about that, no, it is because she is weirdly comfortable. She seemed to have woken up on something that wasn’t just ground, or in the few cases she got daring enough, a haystack. What she seemed to be lying on felt like pelt. She was also warm, she didn’t remember when she woke up with less than clam fingers and feet, if not absolutely freezing. Feeling warm and comfortable was rather unusual thing. 

Luane really had to figure out, where she was. Slowly she opened her eyes. It was surprisingly bright, it took a little while for her to adjust to the it. 

When she finally did, she saw an expensive looking wooden ceiling. This was certainly not a place Luanne had stayed in recently.

She should probably finde who ever lived here and ask what was going on, how the hell she had gotten here, for the mountain forest, she had hid in for the past months. 

She rolled to the side and wanted to push herself up when she noticed it. 

There was no arm. She had rolled to the side, and it wasn’t her arm present into her rib cage, but the pelts she was lying on. 

Where had her arm gone? 

The spot, where her shoulder was supposed to become her arm, also hurt like hell. It felt like a white burning iron was pressed into her flesh

She rolled back on her back. Blinking away the tears, that had accumulated in her eyes, due to the agony she now felt. 

What happened?

She remembered passing out on the one of the rockier paths in the mountains, after one of her pursuers had caught up to her. She remembered the wound in her arm, that she had been bleeding out from. After that, every thing was blank.

Luane felt from her neck carefully to her shoulder and then to the place where her arm was supposed to be. Her shoulder and the short stump that was left of her arm, were covered in fabric. It felt like the injury had been bandaged by someone, that knew what they did. Not that Luane was in any position to judge that, she had no more knowledge about treating any kind of injury that wasn’t anywhere beyond basic, than about why the sun was burning. But she wasn’t dead, so who ever had done it must had known more than she did. 

Luane let her fingertips glide over the place her arm was supposed to continue, but now there was nothing but a wound left. 

That’s when the lost started to sink in, it felt deafening. She had one less arm, it wasn’t her sword arm, but she had lost one vital resource to protect herself. 

It made her feel like she was choking. She that had lost something so important. 

She really wanted to cry. 

Not that she would have been able to, she had stopped being able to cry when her pursuers had found her the first time. The last time they had taken something from her. Everything. She had thought that she wasn’t able to lose something to them anymore, that that was her advantage. It seemed she had been wrong.

[apricusnights]

Olympus Tournament: Round Three, Batch Three.

"Hello everyone. My name is Bianca Gilios, I own and operate the White Wolf Bakery in Apricus. I'd absolutely love it if you found the time to stop in next time you visit our wonderful city. We're conveniently located in Evergreen Basin!"

"Now you may be thinking you've heard my last name before and you'd be correct. Both my younger sister, and my cousin are both competing but I assure you I am completely unbiased. With that out of the way I'd like to welcome you to the final fights of round three!"

"As you know by now, this entire round has been brought to you by Bundles of Lavender who have provided me with a lovely new dress."

A Bundles of Lavender commercial airs.

"I believe the matches are about to start. Shall we begin?"

Match One:

Hugo Knight & Cerise Gilios

Vs.

Roland Marigold & Kelly Maza

"I don't believe there will be anything fancy about this one folks. All four of these fighters are strength oriented and have a rather smash mouth style. Cerise squares off against Kelly for the second time this tournament while Hugo tries to hold his own against the imposing figure of Marigold."

"Cerise making some effort to use her small size as an advantage but Maza seems to have learned from their last encounter and isn't letting Cerise gain the upper hand on her so easily. Meanwhile Hugo doing his best to duck under the knockout blows of Marigold, attempting a stick and move strategy. Nothing seems to be making Marigold so much as flinch though."

"Hugo and Cerise manage to switch opponents and have some better luck. Cerise is just a little too quick for Marigold to hit and manages to trip him up, bringing the big man down for a moment. Hugo matches strength well enough against Maza, both crashing through a few walls as they grapple."

"The fights continue for a good several minutes, Cerise and Hugo switch opponents several times to try and keep them disoriented but Maza and Marigold are both members of the PWSB and are no strangers to adjusting tactics on the fly."

"Kelly showing her ironclad defense abilities as she absorbs everything thrown at her and slowly forces her opponents back to toward her partner. Marigold..looks to have been charging up his awakened ability which Cerise realizes too late. The heat around Marigold becomes unbearable, Hugo and Cerise both struggle to stand. Maza slams her hammer into the ground creating a shockwave that knocks them into the air as Marigold releases his stored up energy in a pulse which destroys nearly everything in the arena and launches both Hugo and Cerise out of bounds."

Winners: Roland Marigold & Kelly Maza

Match Two:

Ajax & Auburn

Vs.

Sterling Sobek & Onyx Cheshire

"Seems Auburn finally has a partner who can stand her. Well maybe not stand but is used to her at least. Ajax doesn't exactly seem to care what she says as she rushes over to fight with Sobek. Cheshire takes the momentary distraction to attempt to tie up Auburn with his wires but she barely manages to avoid it."

"Onyx using his wires again to navigate the arena and land a few surprise strikes on Auburn who despite her own quickness has a bit of trouble keep up with him. Auburn getting a little annoyed now and calls for Ajax."

"Ajax and Sobek battle back and forth, Ajax rolls his eyes and manages to reach back and toss a few throwing weapons at exactly the right point to snap one of Onyx's wires which sends him down right into a kick from Auburn. Onyx recovers and avoids elimination."

"Sobek has gained a slight advantage through his speed and abilities, cornering Ajax with a series of strong hits. Sobek manages to knock several weapons away from Ajax but Ajax seems just fine with his bare hands, catching a strike from Sobek and headbutting him."

"Onyx and Auburn exchange strikes but Onyx's inexperience as a fighter shows. Auburn is more well trained and to make matters worse has activated her ability. Onyx tries to fight through it but can't manage to find Auburn through the illusion and twisted landscape."

'Onyx goes to create distance again but the illusions throw him off and he ends up swinging right into Ajax who turns and grabs him, slamming him into the ground before throwing him into Sobek. Sobek tries to catch Onyx but it leaves him open, Ajax infuses himself with elemental energy and slams his fist into both opponents, creating a blast of lightning that incapacitates both."

Winners: Ajax & Auburn

Match Three:

Nilah Banders & Lapis Hamelin

Vs.

Jacqueline Edana & Skuld Kraka

"Here we are at the final fight of the round, time sure does fly by doesn't it? Don't worry, we have plenty more action coming up. In any case both teams have already squared off. Edana and Kraka don't exactly seem thrilled about working with each other but have come together for the sake of winning. Meanwhile Lapis and Nilah are showing some great teamwork."

"Kraka finds herself in a strange place as usually she likes to wait things out but facing off against a defensive master such as Lapis has forced her hand. She attacks repeatedly, attempting to find a weakness. Meanwhile Nilah and Edana seem evenly matched in everything but strength, Edana has that one in the bag but it doesn't help if she can't land a solid hit."

"Nilah is very good at keeping her distance, even managing to land a few strikes on Kraka who is now defending from her and Lapis. Lapis rushes forward suddenly and jumps off of Kraka's shield, launching himself through the air! It's like I'm watching a Hecaball match! Nilah suddenly breaks off from Edana and kneels down in time to launch Lapis again and keep him moving."

"Lapis flies through the air and slams into an unexpecting Edana, making her stumble. Lapis rolls forward and uppercuts her before slamming into her with whatever that makeshift weapon is which is enough to shockingly knock her out of bounds."

"Kraka seizes the moment though and rushes by Nilah, slamming into Lapis' back with her shield and causing him to take a step out of bounds, he's technically eliminated! A brilliant move! We're down to Kraka and Nilah. Both waste no time in fighting right near the edge of the arena."

"Kraka seems to have learned Nilah's attack patterns and is able to defend against her while hitting her with some strong strikes. Nilah though holds on and won't let it be over that easily. Nilah seems to understand that Kraka has figured her out."

"Nilah goes for an attack, causing Kraka to block but Nilah changes course and slides behind Kraka. Nilah starts attacking rapidly that it's hard for Kraka to defend. Nilah moves so fluidly it's like a dance, Kraka holds on but Nilah is able to knock Kraka's shield out of her hands."

"Nilah grabs her by the arm and spins her around, letting go and sending Kraka teetering on the edge. Nilah finishes her off with a beautiful spinning kick which sends Kraka out of the arena."

Winners: Nilah Banders & Lapis Hamelin

"That's going to do it for Round Three! Some absolutely thrilling matches to close out the round. There will be a small break before we come back with Round Four."

"For those that don't know, Round Four will be a special battle royale involving all competitors who wish to enter. It's going to be pure chaos, you do not want to miss it!"

"Thanks again to Bundles of Lavender for sponsoring this round! If you want quality, you can't do better than Bundles of Lavender."

"Have a lovely evening everyone."

[quotestomakemesmarter]

By Adam Something

Crowd vandalizes self-driving taxi and then sets it on fire in San Francisco - but where is the Left?

I did predict something similar in my video about robotaxis, as they are expensive, upper middle class tech-toys. This would, and seemingly has already made them a prime target for spontaneous public anger.

We live in an era of increasing wealth inequality, with nascent megacorporations controlling an ever-larger share of global wealth flows at the expense of nation states. Case in point, in a few years we'll get to "celebrate" the world's first trillionaire. This imbalance causes the old system of welfare and social democracy to break down, since financing those becomes increasingly difficult.

In simple terms, the money that could have paid for, say, a million citizens' annual pension is now sitting on a billionaire's offshore bank account, out of reach for tax authorities.

Due to this increasing economic pressure, people are not at all satisfied with how things are going, but most political systems around the world have yet to come up with an alternative. Our current choices in most democracies are:

A) more of the same, maybe a bit nicer

B) crazy far-right isolationist populism

As tensions grow, we'll see more and more instances of such spontaneous displays of public anger. Meanwhile, the far-right is going full steam ahead with culture war narratives, and it's proving relatively popular across the democratic world despite offering zero policy solutions. It's a completely vapid, empty, cynical ploy to get people riled up, while offering absolutely no solutions to any of the problems we face, economic or social.

The global far-right can get away with this empty culture war rhetoric and gain popularity with it, because their only real opponents are the centrists, who do not, cannot promise anything new, or fundamentally different. Many people find even the empty culture war narratives preferable to ineffective centrism, which is understandable.

So we have the far-right facing off the centrists, but where is the political Left? They are completely absent from the political landscape, unable to capitalize on public discontent. It feels like, while far-right thought leaders are out there protesting against various human rights loud and proud, torches in hand, leftist thought leaders are instead buried in dusty political scripture published a century and a half ago, in the dark corners of cafes and community centers.

The right is energized: eager, able and willing to spread their ideas of ethnic nationalism, ultraconservatism, the eradication of trans people, and the threat a gender-neutral Mr Potatohead poses to Western Civilization. They will find you, and they will tell you all about it. They scream it from the rooftops. They take meticulous care to remind you at every opportunity that the West™ is falling because of trans rights and brown people, and also because the female M&M mascot is not as sexy now. They. Will. Tell. You.

Meanwhile the left languishes, on two fronts.

Online, the left wallows in their own, perceived sense of superiority. They already figured it all out, they have the Holy Grail, the schematics of the Ultimate System in their hands. If only the stupid normies™ could realize how correct their ideology is, we could solve literally every problem tomorrow! "You want to know how our ideal world would function? Why should WE waste our time to explain? Educate yourself." The fundamental problem with the online left is that they view their own political positions as an achievement, having been smart enough to figure it all out. This turns their ideology into a precious object, something to shelter and cherish, and to put on a pedestal, as opposed to spreading it like wildfire among the populace. The fewer people believe what they believe, the more "valuable" the ideas are. If 8 billion people believed what they believe, many online leftists would lose their sense of self-worth. Their beliefs would no longer be "special". They would just be ordinary, as opposed to their current self-perception of politics-savvy whiz kids who have "figured it all out", as opposed to the stupid libs™ and normies™. Their sense of self-worth is dependent on their ideology remaining a highly esoteric niche held by a select, almost messianic few. This renders them politically irrelevant however.

The other front where the left wallows is actual, real-life political activism. Many leftist organizations, groups, "movements" and the like seem to be stuck in the past, and are often terminally over-professionalized. Their websites are incomprehensible, outdated, filled with esoteric text unintelligible to the average person. Some organize events, most often talks and presentations on high-level leftist socio-economics, attended by the same dozen people for the past decade. They hold valuable and interesting, pro-human political positions, they just have absolutely no ability and/or willingness to popularize them. Thus they remain on the political sidelines, doomed to irrelevance, churning out posts and pamphlets read by the same hundred people who already agree with them.

The only successful left-leaning politicians are social democrats, who live on borrowed time due to the aforementioned economic tendencies. Systemic economic changes are needed, such as economic (workplace) democracy, but social democrats cannot deliver those; their ideology does not entail such systemic changes. If it did, they would be leftists, not social democrats.

And so here we are. The far-right is going full steam ahead with endless, empty culture war narratives. Centrists are standing chest-deep in proverbial water, scoffing at far-fetched rumors about Atlantis sinking into the ocean. Online leftists are preoccupied with maintaining their ouroboros human centipede of a political community on Twitter. Political activist leftists are busy pouring endless time and energy into events and resources no one will ever engage with or care about. Of these four groups, one is gaining increasing popularity: the far right, in lieu of a popular alternative, which the political left refuses to provide.

We live in an era of populism and political polarization. The injustices, inefficacies and contradictions of our current system are about to culminate. A far-right populist wave is upon us, that centrism won't be able to stop. Centrism itself has become obsolete: there is no middle ground between "human rights" and "eradicate trans people", among many others. The chips are about to fall, and when they do, the stronger side wins. We need a popular, populist leftist antithesis to counter the far-right. For that however, the left needs to be made politically relevant again.

So how does one make the left politically relevant? What can an individual do on the left, if they want to see actual political change in their favor? Turns out, lots of things. Here are some of the things I would do in their place:

Mindset change. FORGET words such as "Marx", "Engels", "Lenin", "theory", "bourgeois", and most of everything in that realm. You don't "care" about Marx, Das Kapital, theory, and so on. You don't even know what those are. All you know is, it's strange how workplaces operate like monarchies to this day, and you'd like workers to have more say in how moderate-to-large businesses are run. Also Jeff Bezos needs to be taxed more.

Political engagement. Political parties rarely shift left or right because enough socially awkward people liked a smarmy, passive-aggressive tweet deriding one of their positions. Political parties shift far more often via new people with new ideas joining their ranks, and then spreading those new ideas within. This is partly why the Republican party is shifting to the far-right so quickly: far-right lunatics have infiltrated them over the years, and have become powerful enough to paralyze the old, neoconservative establishment, see the circus surrounding aid to Ukraine. Join a sympathetic, VIABLE political party. Get to know people. Go to events. Take part in speaking events. Introduce your leftist political ideas in a friendly, digestible, agreeable way. Change minds within the party.

Pro level: public speaking. If you do become a member of a political party, sign up for a public speaking course. Read Carnegie's book on the subject. Become a good orator. Most politicians' public speeches are not more than dry monologues that would put a person on cocaine to sleep. Instead, you can become the living triforce of political effectiveness:

1) an effective and entertaining orator, who 2) shares their pro-human, progressive ideas 3) in an agreeable and digestible way.

This is what I would do in the place of the concerned leftist. Additionally, if an angry crowd torched a self-driving taxi, I would be there to condemn the violence, then lament the regrettable influence that such untested, hazardous vehicles have on our cities, resulting in an unsurprising outburst of emotions from locals who want their neighborhood back, living in the shadow of massive corporations and their disproportionate, growing influence, including on our cities.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 285, Replies Part 1

1) “But alright alright, I know that there’s always a huge revelation or the title itself is a spoiler, I know how it works, it ain’t my first rodeo, so, where did we left last time? Oh Yeah, Bakugo taking steps on his redemption arc and Midoriya being fucking pissed. Yeah, that’s the gist of it, so let us jump in on Chapter 285!”- Hey, you know what the most popular form of redemption is?….dying through a heroic sacrifice to save the hero! It happened in Star Wars, and since Horikoshi’s a proven SW nerd….

2) “THAT CERTAINLY BODES WELL FOR THIS CHAPTER :)))) “- Well, they stopped Izuku from reaching the point of no return, but given who swapped out for Tomura as their main opponent, it might actually have been better to let him keep going, even with the sacrifice of his body….

3) “But even with that in mind, Midoriya seems to have been using a higher output of power and even so he hasn’t slink-ified his arms yet, so, it seems like we know what the chapter will be about.”- His arms are still pointing the right way, and he’s been training his body’s durability to better contain his full power. Sadly, AFO accelerated his plans so quickly there’s just not enough time to properly master his strength no matter how hard he focuses on it, so all Izuku can do is push himself to whatever limits he’s got and work with that, praying it’ll be enough….but it looks like that’s a vain hope regardless. Toura’s biggest advantage is no doubt his healing right now. No matter how hard Izuku beats him, the fact that Tomura can undo it means that he can always recover better than izuku, and nothing the heroes have hit him with has yet managed to psuh im beyond the point of no return. Unless somebody can figure out a way to make the damage permanently stick, conflict with Tomura is a steady losing one regardless of what advantages we have against him.

4) “huummmmmm… I know what it means when the arms looks like that, seems like we’re slowly getting to the point of no return for that limb.”- Not yet past the limit, but Izuku should prey that Eri’s managed to master her Rewind enough to get him back into fighting shape. At this point, he’ll have to cripple himself just to get AFO to back off from the fighting, let alone actually stopping him.

5) “You know Midoriya, I think it would be far safer and more devastating if you were using your legs to kick him around. Keep the arms intact to allow you to use blackwhip and kick him like the football”- On the other (non-broken) hand, Izuku still needs to walk and move under his own power. When the dust settles in the aftermath, Izuku needs his legs to be functioning more than he needs his arms, and whilst he is using all his limbs right now, he can more afford to go hog-wild with his upper set than his lower, because his Black Whip can, if needed, compensate for his arms, even if he can no longer throw a punch. If he’s gonna cripple himself stopping Tomura, then his arms are simply better to fully exhaust than his legs.

6) “Midoriya my boy I know you’re absolutely livid but jesus fuck that is a lot of punishment on your arms! I haven’t seen you throw a single kick so far even though that was supposed to be your thing, what happened? Did the rage clouded your mind, and you want to defeat him All Might-style?”- It might be a bit hard to tell, but Izuku actually is throwing kicks in there- just so fast it’s hard to see. The “st Louis” attack is one he used for his kick-based style, and his legs are constantly blurring throughout this barrage because he’s using all four limbs to batter Tomura’s shit in – if they weren’t in mid-air, he’d be an immobile target flopping about on the ground right now, but thanks to his current Quirk combination, he can fully burn through every limb he’s got until Tomura takes more damage than he can recover from – which also fuels the reasoning behind him going that far. Once Izuku stops, he won’t be able to fight at this 100% level anymore, and will be wide open, so it’s all or nothing right now.

7) “Okay so it is in fact working, even with the regeneration at a fraction of the expected it seems like Midoriya is managing to overpower it, but to be honest I don’t know if Midoriya’s body can keep it together long enough to finish Shigaraki. We’re on a point where it’s a race to see whose body’s blow up first.”- One boy’s racing towards self-destruction, the other’s trying to resist it, and it’s hard to tell whose physical conditioning will allow them to triumph – only that no other hero/villain could force the other to go this far to win. If nothing else, this fight cements that each other is the only counter to their immense full power.

8) “Midoriya please take a chill pill before you burst a vein on your brain”- Unfortunately, AFO’s here to throw a barrel of gasoline on the fire….

9) “I have a feeling this is gonna be a hell of a high-five they are about to inflict upon the world”- Izuku will throw hands until he literally only has stubs to thrash Tomura with.

10) “There must be a myriad of quirks that can be used to counter Midoriya’s onslaught, but can you manage to use them properly Shigaraki? This boy specializes in analyzing the situation and counteracting it immediately, and he just shut-off any sense of self-preservation, are you sure you have what it takes to stand up to him?”- Having so many powers you’ve only just wakened to and haven’t gotten a feel for is actually a massive disadvantage. It means you have too many options in a fight, whereas Izuku’s more limited number in comparison allows him to be quicker in action. Yes, Tomura may actually be stronger than Izuku in theory, but if he never gets a chance to use said strength, it’s meaningless.

11) “Also, yeah, Midoriya can’t, but does he care? And even if Shigaraki can regenerate, he himself already admitted that it is not managing to keep up, so he probably is gonna break down eventually. Both of them will in fact.”- The Hyper Regeneration is the key element here. With it, all Tomura needs is rest and the Quirk will eventually restore all the damage he’s taken like it never happened at all. In contrast, if Izuku gets too damaged, it means he can’t recover to the same extent, and with him accumulating injuries every time he’s gone overboard like this, it means if they both break down, Tomura’s the one who’ll come off better in the aftermath, so Izuku’s only real chance is to put everything he’s got into play, in hopes that Tomura get stuck with an injury he can’t recover from.

12) “Alright, so Shoto got promoted to lift operator, he’s gonna bring them closer to the two clashing titans so they don’t waste their precious firepower. Literally on Endeavor’s case. The roads have no idea what’s coming for them…”- Endeavour’s heat control and the ability to carbonise cells beyond Hyper Regeneration’s capacity to heal is their second-best option after OFA’s might- I believe that’s why parts of Tomura’s body are crumbling off after his barbequing – they’re too damaged to heal, so they’re being ejected from the main body for new tissue to replace them. Which means that the prominence burn was enough to almost kill Tomura….but sadly, pushing him to the brink of death just allowed his master the opportunity to step in and take the reins once his grip slipped.

13) “Rock please, you have no idea how many times they face death every week, trust me, they’ll be fine. The same can’t be said about endeavor, he’s about to go out with a boom, so to speak.”- Rock Lock being faced with the fact that he, the adult in this situation, can do nothing to protect them, despite the fact he logically should, because he’s ultimately just a side-character in this clash of titans. He wouldn’t have been even able to help with carbonising Tomura if he stepped in now. On the other hand, I like that the characters always acknowledge that these kids shouldn’t be doing this, fighting on the front lines, because whilst this is a war, it doesn’t need to be theirs. Unforcedly, whether he likes it or not, it’s always been Izuku’s war, his burden to bear alongside OFA, and his classmates are there to help him shoulder it however they can.

14) “WAIT BAKUGO, I THOUGHT THAT SHOTO WAS GONNA BRING YOU UP THERE AS WELL SO YOU DIDN’T WASTE YOUR SWEAT ARE YOU THAT IMPATIENT?!”- Might need a re-read. Bakugo says that he’s got the lifting covered, Shoto’s just there to help cool Endeavour down as much as he can so he can unleash a maximum Prominence Burn to his very limits.

15) “Look, by the time you guys get in there he’s gonna be a bit more than a piece of flesh barely holding on to itself, but still fighting. There’s no way to stop him now, even if Shigaraki is put down, he won’t stop.”- If he breaks off his limbs, he’s still got his teeth.

16) “Ooookay bakugo, this moment again… tell me, are you suspecting about something? Did you figure out on your own what is it that All Might was keeping from Midoriya? Have you found out how the not-Nana user meet their end?”- It’s not so much that Bakugo’s figured something out – in fact it’s the opposite. It’s what he doesn’t know about OFA, the unspoken mystery around the 4th and all the changes that have been occurring in the power that not even All Might is fully aware of or has any context for, and what the end result of these will be for Izuku – why him specifically, did it manifest? Will he be negatively affected by this transformation? Can he handle the full power, or will it be too much for his body, even after non-stop training? These and all the rest of the flashbacks tie into the underlying theme- Bakugo’s worried for Izuku, specifically because he knows him better than anybody else, and he knows he’s not worried for himself, no matter the damage he takes.

17) “I mean, yeah it is pretty much the same thing, we already talked about it before. They are the same, but they operate on opposite ends of the same scale, one grows by taking by force, the other grows by giving with consent. They are the same, but also, they are opposites.”- The opposite, but the same. In much the same way, for all the benefits that OFA gives Izuku, it brings him a lot of disadvantages- the self-damage to his body, the unknown changes taking place within it, how Izuku’s somehow in connection with actual ghosts of dead people, the fact that it makes him a massive target for Villains and specifically AFO – OFA has let Izuku do a lot of good, but it’s also been a curse to him as well, looking at all the negatives it’s brought into his life.

18) “Oh I remember this moment… Seems like you’re having some bad flashbacks right now Bakugo”- Worried for izuku’s wellbeing, because he’s seen him at his lowest, and knows he’s played a large part in that – guilt over how his insecurity lead to him bullying Izuku out of rejection for him, and how that fed into izuku’s low self-esteen which is playing a part in him brutally destroying himself at present right now, heedless of the self-damage.

19) “okay sorry I’m immediately distracted by the person back there on the right with eye-stalks. I want to know more about them, are they a slug? I want to see the Slugson (Slug person)”- But as much as the power has resulted in some negatives in Izuku’s life, it inspired him and Bakugo both, allowed All Might to show them what a real hero was like and gave them both a direction to channel their efforts into, gave Izuku hope of actually becoming a hero despite his powerlessness, even if it was originally created for a darker purpose of killing an evil madman, it’s become so much more than that. It’s been a blessing to Izuku in many ways as well, one that Bakugo is actually grateful for as much as he’s scared for Izuku’s wellbeing, because it allowed Izuku to confront him and Bakugo to acknowledge his own weakness that lead to their falling out. Good and bad things have both come from this power. @thelreads

[luckgods]

so i just watched The Sting (good movie, HIGHLY recommend, especially if you like cons and/or capers), and the main character gets knocked around a good bit throughout the film, but the thing that really struck me was that he pretty much dropped after the first good hit, every time

so this is me, gently requesting that movies STOP showing us Gritty Combat Scenes where everyone involved just Keeps Going No Matter What in order to pad their running time, and that they START giving us more of “realistically, getting kicked into a wall is going to put our hero down for a minimum of two minutes while they catch their breath”

which is Prime Whump Material bc it means we spend less time on the Fighting and more on the aftermath, and also really drives home the fact that Fighting Is Serious Business, and if one hit can knock the protagonist down, what would happen if the antagonists KEEP hitting them? bad things? very bad things :)

[aphroditestempleimagines]

Chapter 2: Going all Pansy

16+ (read warnings for more accuracy)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x gryff!fem!reader

Colour: Naughty

Masterlist

Warnings: first and second base (although it's a bit unclear where that begins and ends), I'm building a relationship here, fluffy stuff, tops coming off & kissing/massaging of naked upper bodies is the more apt description, language

Time: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Words: a lot. Longer than the last one. Two fast scrolls maybe

Synopsis: The twins have a crazy idea; one of you is to sneak into the slytherin common room and steal the Inquisitorial Squad's schedule so you can all pull a prank in Filtch and the Slytherins you hate. You draw the shortest straw (in a matter of speaking) and it is you who are chosen to execute the mission. But will you once Draco comes your way?

"Come on come on, someone's gotta do it!"

"Step up step up, we appreciate your help!"

Fred and George's jingles sung in the Gryffindor common room. They passed a hat around the sitting area where most students gathered at this late hour. A lot of first years, profoundly fascinated by the Weasley twins' evergrowing reputation, were ready to put their names in the hat almost as soon as it reached them. That was when you, Harry and Ginny stepped in and added yours, lightly shoving back the first years' hands. They were too young and not involved with Dumbledore's army enough to be eligible for detention or, worse, expulsion.

"Absolutely not", you said grabbing the small paper with the name of another first-year before it disappeared inside the Weasleys' hat. You gave George a glare when he opened his mouth to complain.

After a few more rounds around the couches, the wizard's hat had grown a significant bump on its crown. Fred took out his wand and tapped on the hat's brim twice before pouring its contents into the crackling fire. The flames rose and spat out burning embers into the common room, which danced over the heads of your classmates and formed your name like a fiery constellation on the common room's ceiling.

"And here's the lucky lady!", George cried like a travelling performer

"Aren't we lucky pals, Georgy?"

"We are indeed, Freddy"

And after that short exchange, they sang together, "you are our trusty burglar"

You regretted right then and there ever giving Mr Weasley your copy of The Hobbit, as he had asked. You should had known one of the twins would get their hands on it sooner or later.

"Will you repeat her mission, Freddy?"

"I got ya, Georgy", Fred climbed on the low side table, "this lucky lady will break into the Dungeons and steal the lapdog squad's schedule"

"Giving us time to ready our prank AND information on where to pull it off", George continued his brother's words.

"I still can't see why you can't do this yourselves", you murmured.

Fred jumped off to land next to you, "because we need time"

"And, unlike Ronald", said George

"You don't screw everything up", they said together, followed by a "hey" from the other side of the room as Ron sunk deeper into his armchair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Come morning, a lovely winter Saturday, you snuck into the quidditch field while the Slytherin team was training for their next match. Your heart filled with a fiery hatred as Umbridge had given full freedom to Slytherin to play any time they wished while MacGonagall basically had to beg for Gryffindor to do the same.

You were careful to pick your clothes, subtle and non-uniform, to not draw attention from afar. You climbed under the benches to the spot where Pansy Parkinson sat, cheering for her classmates along with some other younger Slytherins. You took out your wand. Your hand stayed still, wand tip hovering just behind Pansy's hair, as your eyes glimpsed over her torso and caught Draco, his blonde hair and emerald green coat waving behind him as he flew through the air. All these years you had been focused on Harry, how he chased the snitch match after match, never sparing a look on his opponent. Malfoy turned and twirled and glided over the field like a proper acrobat. He was insanely quick and agile, barely giving you any time to examine him as he passed by the benches. No wonder your team had such a hard time when faced with Slytherin.

"Ouch", a voice snapped you back to reality.

Pansy had kicked the girl in front of her. She leaned forward and said, "Gryffindor has another match next week, i say we cheer for the Red-headed disaster a little more"

You knew she meant Ron. Immediately your mind went back to Fred and George's plan. It did not just have to involve Filtch. If you had the schedule you could all organize a wonderful gift for the rest of his helpers as well. You flicked your wand and cut off the edges of Pansy's hair. The hair fell lightly towards the ground like leaves. You sat lower and opened your palm below the bench until a few strands landed on it. All you had to do now was borrow a little of the polyjuice potion Fred and George had been keeping in the dorms. You did not know where Pansy would be posted, but you could still bet that she would be patrolling tonight, a Saturday night, known for the implicit behaviour of the students.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That very night you put on the Slytherin robes the Gryffindors kept hidden in their tower for such occasions and got ready to drink up the grey disgusting potion. You felt Pansy's hair travel down your throat as you gulped down the polyjuice potion in the broom closet of the north corridor. You stepped outside and examined your reflection on the closest window; you looked exactly like her. The dark straight hair, the bitchy smile, the arched eyebrows. You could not believe your eyes even though you have had experiences with this potion before.

Time was of the essence. You pulled up your hood and travelled down to the dungeons. You hang around, pretending to tie your laces, and waited for a few first-years to open the door for you. You climbed down the marble steps that led deeper into the dungeon as you entered the Slytherin common room. The walls were covered by emerald curtains that together with the black furniture gave the room a strange dark appeal. It is what you would imagine Malfoy manor to look like, Mr Malfoy being a deatheater and all. It was in every way, a serpent's home.

"Pansy", Blaise called, "Why are you back?"

You couldn't speak. The polyjuice potion did nothing to alter your voice. Blaise was close with Pansy and he'd definitely notice the change. You turned to face him. You angrily patted your throat and gestured on your cheeks, hoping he'd understand you meant "Weasley". To your fortune he did.

"Merlin's beard.", he said, "don't worry Pans, we are gonna get back at them"

You nodded trying to imitate Pansy's crooked smile. You fake tripped as you walked away, drawing back Blaise's attention.

"They really did a number didn't they", he said putting your hand over his shoulder, "come on, let's go upstairs, I'll help you out"

"You stay there you creep", said one of the girls you'd seen Pansy hang out with, "think you can just use Pansy to get in our dorms? No way"

"That is not what I-", Blaise began but the girl had already led the two of you halfway to the dorms.

It was easy to search around once she left you alone. You had limited time on your hands. The girl had done you a solid by leading you directly to Pamsy's bed. You opened the drawers and her trunk, you flipped through her books and papers but no schedule could be found. Someone in their squad must had received it. Pansy was a prefect, it seemed perfectly logical for her to have it. But from what you have seen, she did not, which only left one option; Malfoy.

You creaked open the door and gazed at the empty hallway. If the design was similar to the one at Gryffindor tower, the boys' dormitories would only be a few steps away. You folded a random piece of paper you found on Pansy's desk and stepped outside, tiptoeing your way to the fifth year boys dorms.

Inside reigned a strong aroma of sweat and cologne. You held the piece of paper in your hand as you looked around; no one was there. You put the paper into your robes' pocket as you needn't an excuse anymore. Your eyes scanned the green-lit room, searching for any clue that would give away Malfoy's possessions. You spotted two doors at the edge of the room. You opened slightly the left and peaked in. Your eyes were confronted with another small bedroom. It seemed to once had been part of the room but after its owner moved in someone had probably separated it from the rest. The air inside was refreshingly clean. If Malfoy had a room in this castle, this would be it.

You closed the door behind you and began your search. It did not take long this time. On top of the small table next to Malfoy's bedside was laid the schedule you had travelled there for. You found a quill and paper on Malfoy's desk and copied down the information. You did not know what kind of anticopying spell Umbridge might had placed on the carton and you did not care to find out (and possibly be found out after its effects).

Creeeeeek

The door opened. You had no time to hide yourself but was quick enough to hide the copied schedule inside your pocket.

"Pansy?", you heard a familiar voice behind you but dared not talk, "Blaise told me you were hexed but- the fuck are you doing in my room?"

You felt your nape tingling as your hair above it began to return to its true form. You turned around to face him so his crystal blue eyes would only see Pansy's guilty face and not y/n's disintegrating spell. You squeezed your lips shut; words could not escape you at this time. He might not match your voice to your name (which was still quite improbable since you had been spending more time talking in your secret spot by the lake lately) but he'd definitely recognize it as foreign.

"I told you, we're done", Malfoy spoke first to your relief but his words raised more questions in your head, "We'd agreed from the start that we'd take advantage of our friendship only until we met someone else. And I have"

He walked to the drawer table on your left.

"Did you lose your badge?", he said taking out from the first drawer a spare Slytherin prefect badge, identical to his. He extended it to you. "There"

You pinned it on your robes and nodded.

"That hex really did a number on you didn't it?", he laughed and turned back into the open drawer, "You should do it more often, I'm enjoying the silence."

The burning feeling of the spell wearing off spread from your nape to your face. Soon, every aspect of you would be revealed. With his back turned on you, you began making your way to the door.

"Pff", Malfoy exclaimed, "It's no fun teasing if you can't give me a comeback."

You heard a small chuckle coming from him. He was turning into the Malfoy that you had just begun getting to know. All these years you were faced with only a mean grin, especially when Harry was around. Your mind still struggled to process that those lips could form something else.

"Y/n always has a comeback", he murmured, to himself most likely but you had walked at just the right distance to hear him.

A gasp was heard just as you were getting near the exit. His hand grabbed your shoulder and turned you around. His fingers relaxed once he gazed upon your face.

"Y/n?", he said

You put on an innocent smile and said "Hi"

He pulled you into his embrace. You could smell his cologne and freshly cleaned robes as his fingers combed your head.

"What are you doing here?", he pulled you away to look back into your eyes.

Your hand in your pocket grasped tighter at the paper with the information you copied. You could not possibly tell him the truth. You walked out of his arms and to the door. You could not escape as you were now. Draco was perhaps the only person in this part of the school who could cover for you. Who could get you back to your dorm. He was even a prefect and he could lead you back unnoticed by professors at this late hour. But he wouldn't do any of it if he knew the truth of why you were there. Your hands reached for the handle again. Your fingers trailed down to the key. With one move, you turned it, locking the door shut.

"I just wanted to see if I can get to your room", you said, your turned back shielding your stupid grin from his eyes.

"Why would you wanna do that?"

His tone had changed. It was more playful, in a way. You heard his robes ruffle as he approached you. You turned back to him and he was inches away. You pulled his collar and stood on your toes to reach his sweet lips. After one breath he pulled himself deeper into a second kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist, you wrapping yours behind his head.

"You know", he broke away for a second, a less mean but equally mischievous smile like the one you were used to see on him making its appearance. "These colours look so fucking good on you", he said.

He kissed you again, and you kissed him back. His left hand rode upwards on your back, his right trailed over your body until it reached the cheek of your butt. You felt him push you and it was not long before your body fell on the door. Malfoy raised his left hand and placed it on the back of your neck, his fingers entangling between your hair as his next kiss reached deeper both down your throat and your pounding heart. A small gasp escaped you as his lips moved to your neck. He was halted only by your closed shirt.

His mouth hovered over your covered panting chest. He raised his gaze to look you in the eyes. You took advantage of thay fleeting moment of hesitation to pull his robe and switch your places, slamming his back a little harder than you would like on the wooden door. His smile, happy and playful, made him even more irresistible as your hands dove under his robe, pushing and throwing it over his shoulders and onto the floor. He did the same with yours but even faster, and moved on to pull up your dark sweater vest. He broke off the kiss and took out his own vest, messing up his usually well combed blonde locks.

With his tie exposed you were able to pull him close easier, fingers behind the knot. Your eyes were closed but you could sense his hands feeling your body as they travelled down your torso until they were hugging your waist. He lifted you up just a bit and walked closer to the bed. He let out an exhausted sigh as he left you next to it, but his smile was not to be hidden.

"Geez, y/n, that was harder then expected", he could barely contain his laughter as he joked.

You lightly hit him on the arm but he continued smiling. He wrapped his arms around you and fell on the mattress with you next to him.

"I'm joking", he said softly and gave you a small kiss on your nose, "i like you the way you are"

He brought his hand to your cheek but you grabbed it and held it down on the matress next to his head.

"That does not get you out of the woods", you leaned closer with a playful smile and kissed him on the neck.

You heard his breathing elevate before you felt his body push you back. He pulled you both further onto the bed and brought your hands to his shirt.

"I better atone then, I suppose", he said as you took out his tie and undid his top buttons. He leaned to your ear and whispered, "Wouldn't you say, my lady?"

His breath tickled your ear and neck almost as much his words tickled your heartstrings. Before you knew it, he had brought his hands to your shirt too, just as you were finishing unbuttoning his. Once your shirt was no longer on your body, he pulled you in closer so your legs wrapped around his torso. He buried his face in your chest, his hand feeling your thigh. Your head fell back as he removed your bra and his warm lips caressed your exposed breasts. His breath, a warm explotion on your skin, send shivers down your spine. You were already panting when you pushed him down on the matress. Your hair fell to your side as you dove over him, a small curtain drawing over his left. Your fingers travelled down, feeling his body. He was not as built as you had imagined, but fit nonetheless. It was better, because he was not in your fantasy anymore. He was there, with you, being with you. His hands touched and pressed and felt your entire torso as you lightly bit his neck while kissing him. He let out a small sound, almost like a light gasp that he was holding back. You still had layers of fabric seperating the lower parts of your bodies but you could feel the effect you had on him, even if he could not feel he had the same effect on you.

He switched your places so you were laying down under him. You gasped surprised but laughed with him as his head bumped into yours. His nose touched yours, kissing you like a puppy in love. His arms supported his body like pillars as he leaned to kiss your naked torso, from your colarbone to your belly, his fingers tracing your curves, stopping only at the waist of your skirt.

He must had felt you tighten up since he stopped immediately. He raised his head and climbed back up to you, cupping your right cheek with his palm. "It's okay", he smiled, reading your mind, "we can go slow"

He kissed you higher on your body, his hands pulled away from your skirt.

"Aren't you a knight", you chuckled between kisses and leaned to his ear to whisper, "my knight"

Knock, knock, knock

The door cut your giggling short. You instinctively held your breath. Draco brought his index to his lips before turning to the door.

"What?", he said sourly, the old Malfoy returning for a moment.

"The fuck are you doing Draco?", a voice that probably belonged to Goyle said from the other side, "We have patrol."

"Then go patrol", Draco responded sharply, "I'll meet you when I fucking can"

You threw a light hit on Draco's shoulder as you heard Goyle's footsteps fade away.

"This is why people find you annoying", you told him.

He laughed and gave you a quick kiss on the lips followed by one on your forehead.

"But you still love me anyway", he smiled, so close to your face you could feel his breath.

You brought a hand to his cheek and teased, "love is a very strong word"

He took that hand of yours in his and kissed its knuckles. "Well, something for me to fix in time", he said standing up and pulling you with him.

You covered your exposed chest as you felt for the first time how cold the room truly was, but Draco quickly brought you your shirt. You both swiftly got dressed. Draco changed the colour of your robes to blue since you did not have the polyjuice potion to cover for you anymore. A Ravenclaw would draw far less attention in that particular common room. You pulled over your hood.

"We're gonna have to find somewhere else to meet though", Draco sighed, "this is gonna be especially hard to repeat". He placed his hand on your waist and pulled you closer to his side. "Unless you stay in Slytherin", he smiled.

"Or you switch to Gryffindor", you snarked, "both equally impossible"

He pulled off your hood just enough to kiss you over the hair, before pulling it back in place. He guided the two of you out of the common room and up the stairs to the main castle, never bumping into his classmates on the squad by sheer luck or, as he put it, because 《at least they listened to him》.

You spotted Ronald from two floors bellow as you and Draco climbed the moving staircases to your tower. The staircase moved out of Weasley's sight and you pulled Draco and yourself to the nearest corridor.

"Oh great, Weezlebee's here", Malfoy said but his sentence was cut short as your elbow met his side.

"Stop harassing my classmates", you whispered angrily at him.

He opened his mouth, possibly to complain or offer some ridiculous argument but instead in the end he sighed and said "Fine, I'll try"

Ronald's face reminded you of the small but valuable piece of paper that you had still inside your pocket. You spotted the slytherin prefect pin on your colar; it was lucky no one had noticed among the newly painted blue colours of your robes. You took the pin out and gave it back to Draco as you told him to return to his friends, knowing that Ronald was in on your previous scheme and would not bring you to Mcgonagall for being out this late.

"Take it", Draco closed your fingers back around the pin, "breaking in our common room is quite an accomplishment".

He gave you one last kiss, this time a small and puckery one on your left cheek, and dissapeared in the dark hallway. You took out the paper with the Inquisitorial Squad's schedule. Your hand dove in the inside pocket of your robes and found your wand. You took it out, tapped three times on the paper, murmured the spell you learned a few years ago, and Draco's name dissapeared from the bottom of the list. Then, you made your way up to the painted lady's portrait and told Ron that the break-in was a success.

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