#yes i want chase to suffer a little bit

[fullofsunsetwhispers]

wuya and dashi a good pair because dashi has no hair and wuya has all the hair and they both make it look very stylish

Ok, it seems as if this was written in a rush but I wholeheartedly agree Dashi and Wuya make a great STYLISH duo.

Since we're at it, I think it's very hilarious how anon put 'dashi has no hair and Wuya has all the hair'. Well, yeah! Wuya has such a thick hair volume for both of them! 😂

And because of that, I have a silly HC now. Dashi always loved to play with Wuya's hair. 'Wuya you could lend me some, alright?' (proceeds to put as many red strands on his head) Damn, I feel warm now <3

Wuya tries to shoo him away but Dashi decides to make her laugh so he makes a mustache out of her hair xD Lol it works

And taking into consideration, Dashi wouldn't stop at this, he would even bother Chase and Guan to 'lend him' their hair xDDD

Dashi, running after Chase with scissors: Brother, I have a date! Just a little trim, I swear!

Chase, who likes his hair the way it is: WHY CAN'T GUAN HELP YOU WITH THAT??

Dashi: Have you seen his stupid braid? Your hair is way more fabulous than his!

Chase: That's a nice compliment but LEAVE ME BE!

[aventurineswife]

sunday, aventurine, etc (separately) with an elysia {hi3} personality reader?

i love ur fics btw remember to take care of urself 🤍

Chasing Stars and Sweet Nothings

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Elysia like personality!Reader, Romantic Fluff, Playful Romance, Lighthearted Moments, Mystery, Attraction, Comfort and Warmth, Thoughtful Conversation, Soft Sunday, Flirtation, Teasing, Emotional Healing, Philosophical Undertones.

A/N: I'm not sure if I wrote this correctly but I had to read the wiki for the personality, so I hope I got it right 😪 also thank you, anon! I appreciate it and take care of yourself too!! 🤭🫶💖🤧

Aventurine had always prided himself on his ability to read people, but you? You were a mystery wrapped in rose-colored laughter and mischief, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

One evening, as the city lights painted your silhouettes with a glow, Aventurine watched you twirl in the warm night air, a contented smile on your face. “You know, every time I look at you, I can’t help but wonder what you’re hiding.” he murmured, amused but curious.

You laughed, your voice like chimes in the quiet. “Now, why would I hide anything from you, Mr. Big Shot Investor?” you teased, leaning into his shoulder with a playful grin. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to wager a bit more of your time to find out?”

He smirked, placing his hand on your waist, leading you into a gentle sway. “With you, everything’s a gamble,” he said, “but for once, I don’t mind risking it all.” You laughed softly, eyes sparkling with a hidden depth, drawing him in like the cards he played so expertly.

As you leaned closer, whispering sweet nothings and absurd promises, Aventurine found himself unable to focus on anything but you. You were a mystery he would never fully unravel, yet it was in your lighthearted laughter and gentle teasing that he found something he’d never bet on—a sense of peace.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asked, a rare softness crossing his face. You gazed up at him, smiling as if you already knew the answer long before he’d asked. "Only if you promise we’ll make it interesting.” you replied, leaving a trail of laughter as you pulled him into the unknown.

Sunday was used to people who followed his vision, who sought comfort in his promises of a painless dream, but you… you were a delightful anomaly, never quite fitting into any category he’d known.

“You look so serious, Sunday,” you cooed, nudging him playfully. “Why all the gloomy thoughts when you’re with me?” Your smile was radiant, as if the world’s sorrow never even grazed your spirit, and he found himself taken aback.

“Not everyone views the world with such… resilience,” he replied, his tone softer than usual. “Most seek peace, an escape from suffering.”

You chuckled, twirling a strand of his hair as if you’d known him forever. “Ah, but what is life without a little excitement? You don’t think your ‘Sweetdream Paradise’ would get boring after a while?” You raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing, yet sincere.

Sunday’s gaze softened, his golden eyes reflecting an unspoken conflict. “Perhaps. But there’s a kindness in sparing people from pain, is there not?”

You tilted your head, pressing a gentle hand to his cheek. “Kindness, yes, but people need a spark too. Just think, Sunday—if we never knew pain, how could we ever appreciate happiness?” You flashed a cheeky smile and continued, “Even you, my noble dreamer, wouldn’t want to miss out on a bit of thrill, right?”

He chuckled, an uncommon sound for him, but one that felt entirely natural in your presence. “Perhaps there’s merit in your way of thinking,” he admitted, his hand resting atop yours. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “But tonight, I’d like to learn from your world, where joy mingles with challenge. Show me how you see it.”

You beamed up at him, slipping your arm through his. “It’s a date, then! Let’s make this world unforgettable together.” With you, even Sunday’s unwavering dream began to flicker with shades of something new, something alive.

[leighsartworks216]

Obedient Pet

dom!bottom!Astarion x male!sub!top!Tav/Reader

I saw a while ago something that said being dominant is not the same as being a top, and GOD it did things to my brain chemistry. So this mixed with my belief Astarion would be quiet in bed once he's comfortable and neglect to focus on his own wants/needs

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: swearing, dacryphilia/crying, dom/sub, collars, gagging, not being able to breathe (for a moment), anal sex, face-fucking, references to punishment

Word Count: 1,276

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The chain trailing from the collar around your neck to Astarion's tight fist rattled with every little motion. The sound would have been annoying if it weren't harmonizing with the wet slap of skin.

You kept your hands safely constrained, arms folded behind your back, nails pressing into your skin. You'd tried touching him once already; your cock still weeped from the torture of waiting. Your tears and quiet whimpers were music to Astarion's pointed ears, but the sight of you so drunk on his orders was truly something special.

"Slower," he ordered. You whined, but obeyed. You gasped as you forced your hips to pull out maddeningly slowly, until the flushed tip of your sensitive cock nearly slipped out. With the slightest tug at your chain, you thrust just as slowly back inside. "Good boy."

Astarion smirked at the visible reaction his words had on you. The chill that chased goosebumps down your body, the swallow to fight back your moans, the beautiful way your chest and stomach rose and fell with each hot breath. To say nothing about the feeling of your cock twitching within him, or the pitter-patter of your heart.

You were not dominant, that much had been clear to the vampire practically from the moment he laid eyes on you. Two hundred years gave one a sense for these things. He relished in fucking you face down into the dirt or settling your legs over his shoulders as he ruined you. But this? This was pure ecstasy. Being fucked by a pet who answered to his every command - now that was something.

"Are you close, pet?" he purred sweetly. You nodded with an acute franticness. He tugged at your chain, dragging your face closer, forcing your wet eyes on him as you keened so deliciously. "Use your words."

Like the pitiful whine of an injured dog, you cried, "Yes."

Even through your tears you could see the gears turning in his head as he decided whether to end your suffering or see just how much more you could fall apart. With a hum, he eased up on your chain, allowing you to sit back up on your knees. "Go ahead then. Cum for me, my dear."

He groaned as you set a frenzied pace. Fast, deep thrusts that tuned him into his own body, making him realize how much your own punishments and obeying had affected him.

You panted as you chased your high. It was right there, within reach. You could feel it coming up on you like a runaway carriage. You fought through the building euphoria to look at your lover. His head was tilted back into the pillow, mouth open and eyes shut as he lost himself to your own desperation. His cock lay heavy on his stomach, bouncing with each thrust and glistening as precum dripped onto his pale skin.

But the most maddening thing of all, the sight that sent you careening over the edge, was watching your dick fuck into him. You cock disappearing into his asshole as it clenched around you, pushing so fucking deep inside. Your breath caught in your throat, your thrusts became short. With his name on your lips, you buried yourself as deep as you could and released. Your cock twitched and strained as you spilled hot strings of cum inside Astarion.

He bit his lip, back arching. When you pulled your soft cock out of him, still dribbling cum, he growled quietly with frustration. He had not found his release. No matter - he was no stranger to finish himself off later. He would just-

"Ah~!" His eyes shoot open and nearly roll back in his skull as he watches you suck at the head of his dick. Your eyes are closed. Your hand guides him to your mouth, squeezing and stroking him in small, slow motions.

He props himself up on one hand, the one holding the chain, and tangles the other in your hair. "Good boy," he mutters, far too focused on your tongue licking at his slit to try sounding in any way dignified.

You bob your head, hollowing your cheeks as you slowly work more and more of him into your mouth. Your teeth graze his skin, like a silent threat. He wonders for a brief second if that is how you feel when he bites you; the trust that he will not drain you dry with the thrill that he could nonetheless.

"Fuck," he breathes sharply as his tip prods the back of your throat. He grips tighter at your hair, holding you in place, your nose pressing against his abdomen. He can feel the shaky breaths you take, struggling around his cock.

He lifts your head back up, almost pulling you off. Even now, you are so obedient. All the power is in his hands. It's addicting.

As you suck languidly at the head of his cock, you open your eyes to look up at him. Your pupils are dilated, lids drooped ever so slightly. Drool slips from the corner of your mouth, down your chin. Your cheeks shimmer with nearly-dried tears.

"So beautiful." He sighs as he guides you back down on him, groaning as you swallow around him. "Fuck. Such a good pet."

Your eyes shut again as you allowed yourself to be fully controlled. It started out rather slow, never pushing too far. All too quickly, it devolved while he chased his release.

He could not guide your head fast enough. With a string of curses you couldn't understand, he fell back onto the bed and grabbed your head with both hands. He held you steady as he thrust up, cock rutting against the back of your throat. You gagged and fought to breathe through your nose, but you did not stop him. More tears pooled in your eyes as your lungs ached.

With a few final, harsh thrusts and the sweet whisper of your name, hot cum filled your mouth. You clutched at the bed as you struggled to swallow it all. You aren't sure if he noticed your struggle, or if he'd only done it for his sake, but he pulled you off of him before he was fully finished, spilling the last of his seed on his stomach.

You breathed greedily through your nose as you swallowed the last of his cum, opening up your mouth and showing off the flat of your tongue to prove it.

His cool hands gently released your hair and worked instead to brush the tears and spit off your face. You tiredly leaned into the touch, welcoming every soft caress.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, worriedly.

You nodded slightly. Your throat ached, your hair stung where he'd pulled on it, your body was exhausted, but you were no worse for wear. You cleared your throat with a wince and murmured, "Just gotta breathe."

He brushed his thumbs over your eyelashes. "I'll try not to get so carried away next time.” He tsked. “You mortals are so fragile."

You smiled and finally opened your eyes. He grinned. Your body complained as you sat yourself back up, shivering as the cold chain brushed your skin. Astarion followed you up and worked quickly and efficiently to remove the leather collar. He set it aside in favor of brushing his lips over the raw skin.

"You did so well," he hummed. Your head fell to the side automatically, allowing him more access. As tempting as it was, you were drained enough without him taking a sip. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your jaw and pulled away. "Come on, dear. Let's get you cleaned up."

---

Tag List:

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[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Name Day - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's love life is complicated...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"You still haven't told me," Ekko says, and there's a hoarse hitch in his throat, "what you want."

"Want for what?"

"Your Name Day."

Jinx smiles.

Lifting one pale hand, she strokes a pattern into the bare curve of his shoulder. Zephyr leaves, looping in invisible spirals. He doesn't flinch; but he's close enough that she can see the flecks of deep-amber in his eyes darken to burnt coffee. His skin holds the same aroma: something clean, yet enticingly sharp.

It's a scent that's always clung to him, for as far as she can stretch memory's fingers. And for as long as she remembers, it's always stirred a peculiar sensation in her belly.

Something that leaves her both hungry all over and yet deeply satisfied at once.

Jinx breathes in, and holds it.

"I mean," Ekko goes on, his palm callused and warm on her kneecap. "We missed a lot of years. What're you supposed to get somebody who shoots at you half the time?"

"I'm not shooting at you now."

Though she could, if she wanted. PuffPuff is nestled between their bodies, snug inside her thigh-holster. For the moment, though, the danger's dormant. The gun may as well be a trusting little piggy tucked safely under a blanket.

There's no gap for a bullet to break on. And though both she and Ekko are fully-clothed, the moment's too bare for concealment.

This is Neutral Territory; these are naked feelings.

Neither is completely safe.

"There's lots of things I want," Jinx says, as her fingers itsy-bitsy spider up the curve of his bicep. "Problem is, most of 'em don't belong to me."

"And that's ever stopped you?"

"Nope."

She tips her chin; not quite meeting his querying gaze. Eye contact's a kind of trap; she hates being cornered.

But cornered she is; by the gentle pressure of his hand against her leg; by the cramped intimacy of the motorcar; by the drain of mutual antagonism they've been circling for months now.

No more blitzkriegs of bullets; no high-octane smackdowns. This is no longer a game. They've played too hard for the rules to be fair anymore.

Here, under the glow of a moon just shy of ripe, it's a dance. And in the stillness, they're in-sync: step for step, breath for breath, beat for beat.

Close as only a pair of clockwork hearts can be.

 "Look," Ekko says, because Mister Clever-Clogs has got to talk his way through whatever is incognito, even if that means blowing his own cover. "I didn't invite you here expecting anything. I don't. Not really. I just wanted..."

Jinx quirks a brow. "To talk to me?"

"Ye-eah." His voice cracks a tiny bit; a smile breaks the taut line of his jaw. "Guess so."

"So: talk."

"I���"

She scoots closer, tucking herself easily against him. Her blue head nestles on his breastbone. His chest's a hard curve; his heartbeat a tripwire cadence. She feels the tightly-coiled strength hidden in the lean armature of muscle. He's packed on pounds and inches since they'd last squared off on the Bridge. In place of puppy fat, there are accented angles: a firmer cut to the arms, a squared-off jaw, a broader shoulderspan.

She's reminded, viscerally, that the boy she'd spent a childhood chasing through backalleys—first as friends, then as foes—is almost full-grown.

His maturity should disquiet her; send her fleeing back to Silco's embrace. She was taught to give grown men wide berth growing up—her Daddy, for all his foibles, believed the best target's kept between the crosshairs. And Zaun's streets teemed with big, dumb bullies whose cojones outweighed common sense.

It took a fistful of firepower and a gutful of bloodlust to send 'em packing.

Jinx always carried both in excess.

Then she'd met Viktor—her wise, wasting Vitya. So pretty, with his fragile, haunted features and his aura of deathly calm, honed by decades of suffering. Like called to like; magic tangled where bodies dared not tread. She'd spent a summer breathing in his arid affections: sideways smiles traded over late-night hypotheses; cultured intonations lulling her racing mind into stillness; long-fingered hands, unhurried and precise, adjusting her measurements to bridge the gap where blind inspiration faltered.

He was safe. Safer still with his daredevil dreams of an unblemished sky, and a city reborn from scratch. With such high-swooping hopes, what did the secret stirrings of an eighteen-year-old girl matter?

Then they'd traversed to the Void, and matter ceased to hold meaning.

That day—in that rippling elsewhere of silvered sands and starfall and supernovas—she'd threaded the seams of herself to Viktor's. She'd left girlish fantasies at the wayside; she'd yielded her spirit to his, an apotheosis without parallel, surrender made sublime.

She became the magic. He became the mirror.

It was a fusion beyond mortal ken.

Except...

Except something was missing.

In the mortal plane, Viktor's soul-threads remain stitched tight to hers. The austere adulation that slips—ghostly and gilded—into her senses holds no equal, not on earth. They'd made a heaven of nothingness in the liminal. Naturally, her true self belonged there; in another realm entirely, removed from mere flesh.

Yet here, in the flesh, Jinx is alive.

Alive, and burning to be touched.

What would Viktor think, watching her nuzzle the curve of Ekko's throat? Knowing she's pledged to him in the aether—yet her heart beats hardest here? With a kid-king who rules the roost over a bunch of nobodies, but nourishes her deep-set hurts as if they're his own. Who has loved her at her weakest and loathed her at her wildest, but can't resist her when she's balanced on the fragile equilibrium between both extremes?

Viktor, Jinx thinks, would forgive her.

Viktor forgives everything. He's transcended limitation, become untouchable.

Whereas Ekko is touchable. And when he touches her, she feels it in every fiber of herself: messily, ecstatically, irrevocably.

What's it mean, Jinx wonders, as Ekko's lips butterfly her temple, that one man has her soul at knifepoint, but another one's holding her heart hostage? What's it say that she and Viktor fit together just right, but she and Ekko were built from perfectly mismatched puzzle pieces? What does it matter if she needs them both, but in ways so opposite they might as well be a different language?

How does she make the ends meet?

Especially when her life—her death—still hangs on Silco's strings? And her past—her future—still hinges on Vi's?

Her whole being seems composed of pieces that don't align. Broken fragments orbiting the very inverse of centrifugal force.

(One day, she'll write a book about it. An epic adventure of slapstick comedy, gunpowder tragedy, and interdimensional travel. All revolving around a revolution, because revolution's just love by another name.)

(Like magic.)

Ekko's fingertips trace up her spine. Jinx's trance fades.

[supernova-17]

Green Eyed Cupid

Rin x AFAB! Reader

P in V sex, slight nipple play + chest worship, biting, friends to lovers, reader wears a dress but no gender is mentioned. lovey dovey and awkward ass sex, maybe he says one ooc line but thats bc I am a dialogue lover and his bitch ass can stand to say nice things every once in a while

Based on the aftermath of this post

Your heart flutters. A memory echoes from an outing at an ice cream shop. “Isn’t that romantic? When couples kiss each other's hands?” “...sure, whatever.”

You never would have expected to end up in this situation, but you’d say you’d be lying if a small part of you wasn’t pleased by it.

You’re still a bit tipsy, coming off of your drunken antics from a few hours earlier, sipping gingerly on a glass of water as you feel Rin’s piercing stare bore into you from the couch beside you. A part of you wants to die, the other finds it slightly amusing that the slight blush on his face still lingers slightly.

At least you’re not suffering alone, you snidely remark in your mind. The thought does little to help the rapid beating of your heart.

You drain the glass, mentally cursing your earlier more confident and drunken words from the club, and set it down on the side of the coffee table.

“More?” Rin asks and you shake your head, feeling if you consumed anything else you might vomit out of sheer nerves.

“I’m good.” You say, before another lapse of silence takes over the both of you. The tension is smothering, but you feel yourself at a loss at what to say for once. 

“...I-”

“...Hey-”

Both of you speak at the same time, and you hesitantly meet each other's gaze before you quickly drop your eyes back down to your lap, wordlessly gesturing for him to go first.

He hesitates for a moment, before forcing himself to speak, though his voice still comes out even and measured.

“Did you mean it?” He asks quietly.

For a moment you want to deny it again, to hide away back into that shell of bashfulness and fear that’s been shielding you from the truth of your longing, but when you think about denying the raw emotion you expressed you find yourself recoiling at the thought.

“...yes.” You answer, your voice soft and hesitant, but sincere. “I did.”

A beat passes. 

You wonder if you might have messed up everything, that he wasn’t as clearly attracted to you as you had suspected, that he might not even want to be friends with you anymore, that you’ve severed the bond that you both had spent so long threading.

And then his lips are on yours.

You’ve imagined this scenario before, many times, but actually feeling his lips on yours is something different entirely. It’s rough, his lips desperately pressing against yours in a brutal force, one that you welcome entirely as you part your lips for him, returning his fervor. His teeth catch your lips, nipping impatiently, as if pleading for you to return his affections in the only way he knows how. His tongue slips in, greedily exploring the cavern of your mouth as your hands slip up his chest, tracing the hard planes before dragging up to the back of his neck and fisting at his dark green locks. It’s messy and wet, and you find yourself lost in him, the only thing you process being the sensation of his lips and tongue devouring you whole and the popping smacks of your lips between the desperate pants huffed.

Eventually, you have to break away to catch your breath, but even then he chases you, hovering his forehead near yours as you both catch your breaths, your lips still connected by a thin string of saliva.

You’re not sure what you’re thinking, when you reach up to wipe the saliva from his lips and pop your thumb into your mouth, sucking up the liquid, but you can’t think that you regret it when you see the way his pupils dilate at the action.

Gingerly, he pulls your thumb from your mouth and pushes it forward so that it’s pointing towards him and presses his lips against the soft padding of skin of the print. 

Your heart flutters. A memory echoes from an outing at an ice cream shop.

“Isn’t that romantic? When couples kiss each other's hands?”

“...sure, whatever.”

You know what he’s saying; you close your eyes for a moment and let out a breath.

“I want you.” You say, the unspoken “too” at the end resonating in the small silence. 

His eyes narrow, and he laces his fingers between yours before pulling you closer to him, his other hand wrapping around your waist as he holds you against him.

“Dumbass.” He says, as if scolding you for even feeling the need to verbalize the way you feel, before pressing his lips against you again, this time a bit more tenderly. You would think that he was unaffected by your words if you didn’t feel the way his hand at the side of your waist was gripping the side of your dress from the effort of restraining himself.

And he thinks you’re the stupid one.

You huff slightly against his lips before abruptly nipping at his lower lip, dropping the hand intertwined around yours to grab the couch and hoist yourself onto his lap, before grinding your hips down onto him, already feeling the length of his hard on through his pants, though you’re sure he feels the dampness of your underwear too.

“Don’t be a baby.” You murmur, as he stiffens up from the sudden aggressive yet pleasurable nature of your actions. “I said I wanted you.”

He looks up at you, a weird sort of hesitation in his eyes that you rarely see, the look of someone who has given his all before only to be cruelly rejected, and you feel a pang in your heart in sympathy.

“Give me you, and I’ll give you me.” You say softly, the sound of your words a contrast to the way your hips roll against him in a rough, needy manner.

He narrows his eyes at you, both his hands shifting to grip your hips to hold you steady, a flicker of something green and possessive moving through his gaze.

“Not to anyone else?” Rin interrogates, his eyes probably darting through memories of you dancing with other people, a smile on your face as you rub against them.

You could laugh at his words, or tease him and say you might consider it if he keeps on stalling. But you know how desperate he really is, and you can’t stand the thought of him thinking even for a second that you aren’t wholly his.

“No one else but you.” You murmur as you cup his cheeks gently for a moment.

Immediately his lips find yours again, though this time you’re thrown a bit off balance when he hoists you up, shifting his arms to support your ass as he starts walking while attacking your lips in a frenzy. You’re so caught off guard by the assault of lips and teeth, the only thing you can think to do is secure yourself better by wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing back while he carries you almost effortlessly.

For a moment, you lose track of where you are, only to be brought back to reality as he drops you onto his bed, your back hitting the covers as his lips seek yours again and his hands move to fiddle with the zipper of your dress impatiently. You follow suit, your hands slipping from around his neck to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, fumbling to just pop a singular button out.

He scoffs into the kiss before pulling back to undo the buttons himself, his hand effortlessly undoing every button down, revealing the smooth skin of his pale abs which has you staring wide eyed at him for a moment.

“What?” Rin asks tersely, shrugging his shirt off and tossing it aside.

“You’re pretty.” You say breathlessly.

“...dumbass.” He repeats the insult from earlier, though you can see how his cheeks flush. “Just shut up and let me see you.”

You hesitate for a moment… you’ve never been nude in front of him obviously, but you know he’d never been the type to judge, so with an exhale you grab the half unzipped portion of your dress and pull the zipper down all the way before grabbing the hem of your dress that’s raised to your hips and tugging it over you in a fluid motion, revealing your undergarments, including your wet panties.

He doesn’t offer any words, but when you look up to see the intense look in his eyes, like he’s a starving man who’s been given his first meal in weeks, you realize you don’t need any. 

He wants you bad.

“...touch me.” You say, and he complies readily enough, his hands immediately coming to trace along your skin almost reverently, moving from your thighs to your hips, across your stomach to your chest, his hands tracing along the edges of your bra to the clasp at the back.

“Can I–” He starts.

“Please.” You return, and once again he does as you say, undoing the clasp and letting your bra slip off your shoulders before yanking off the offending article and pressing a kiss to the space between your breasts.

You let out a soft gasp as he begins to trail kisses from your sternum to the center of your left breast, taking care to lave his tongue around your areola. He sucks gently at the skin, making your back arch towards him as you let out a moan.

The noise must do something to spur him on, because soon he’s sucking all over your skin and leaving slightly darkened marks in his wake before moving to your other neglected tit and giving it the same treatment.

“Mmh—” You hum out, trying to do your best to muffle your noises as your fingers tangle in his hair.

He pauses for a moment then, looking up at you with a downright offended look in his eyes.

“What?”

“Stop doing that. Let me hear you.” He all but demands, looking somewhat petulant.

You blink and chew on your lower lip for a moment as you consider his words. Being vulnerable like this in a new way, in front of him, it makes you a bit nervous… even more than being nude.

But when he reaches up and pulls your lip from your teeth, and you find yourself willing to push past that hesitance.

“…okay.” You whisper. “Just don’t… just don’t think about it too much.”

Rin scoffs. “I’ll think about it every damn day until I hear you again.”

It takes both of you aback, his words, and though he clenches his jaw slightly, he doesn’t take them back, instead looking at you intently, as if daring you to poke fun at his surprisingly earnest declaration.

You don’t. Instead you trail your hands over his chest gently, exploring the skin with hesitance and curiosity, watching as his chest shudders under your probing hands, feeling a tingle run down your spine when you’re rewarded with a delicious shiver as you trace over his hardened nipples. Your hands slip down further then, running along his abs until they find the ridge of his belt, and you can see the way his cock lurches against the fabric, begging to be set free onto your touch.

“Off?” You ask.

He nods and you fiddle with his belt before pulling it out of the loops of his pants, the fabric sagging around the imprint of his hardened member. You swallow, feeling yourself clench around nothing for a moment before pulling both his boxers and his pants down, releasing his dick with a groan from him as the air of the room hits his erection.

You bite your lip again as you study him, your thighs clenching together subconsciously.

Rin’s big. Though a part of you already imagined he would be from those late nights that you considered this very “what-if” scenario, you still find yourself in awe, and without thinking your hand moves to trail the length of his manhood, taking in the vein that threads along the side of him and the fat mushroom tip.

He nearly hisses at that, and you jerk your hand away, wondering if you might have made a mistake, before looking into his eyes and seeing that they’re practically black. 

You can feel yourself dripping right now, and you find yourself spreading your legs slightly, as if goading him to take the opportunity to see the mess he’s made out of you just from some touching and kissing.

Rin pauses a moment, uncharacteristically nervous before he hooks a finger into the crotch of your panties, swearing under his breath from the feeling of dampness and slick before dragging the fabric down and revealing your drooling folds. You think you might be more embarrassed if he were the type to tease you, but looking at the want in his eyes, you find yourself a little more secure.

He stares at you for a moment and you sigh under your breath, before guiding his hand to the one place you want him most.

“‘Sokay to touch, I said I wanted you.” You murmur softly.

Rin swallows at that before running a finger lightly up the center of your core, nearly up to your clit before stopping and pulling his hand back, and while you shiver from the feeling of having hands bigger than yours near your center, he examines the slick on his fingers. 

You want to ask him what he’s doing, studying his hand so methodically, only to feel your heart skip a beat as he readily sticks his finger in his mouth and tastes you, closing his eyes for a moment only to open them with an increasingly feral look in his eye.

In a moment, you can tell where his thoughts are headed and you immediately shake your head, looking a little flustered.

“No, not now… just… I want you inside.” You say, and though you feel your face flush, you manage to keep your voice even.

He glowers at you, clearly already fixated on the taste of you. “I can do both.”

It’s almost funny, but you don’t think you could stand another moment of him not being in you, so you glare back. “No. Fuck me.”

You pause for a moment. “Please.”

You don’t think you would have had him unless you added that last begging word, combined with those puppy eyes you usually give him that has him melting into your demands despite his stiff demeanor when he gives in.

He squares his jaw, but pulls you forward so that your hips are near the edge of the bed and presses the tip of his dick against your core, making you push yourself forward in order to get just a little more friction. He scowls at that, gritting his teeth as he makes an effort to hold himself back, but you jolt yourself forward again, almost groaning at the delicious sensation of his hard girth against your core.

“Dammit– just, hold still.” He murmurs, before finally, finally, pushing himself in slowly. 

Your hands immediately cling around his neck as you feel the pressure of his dick intruding into your soft walls as you envelop him, letting out a moan as you feel the warmth of him sliding into you, aided by the help of your wet slick.

It’s almost painful, having to wait until he’s fully hilted inside of you, the arduous wait only somewhat lessened by the prospect of having him sheathed, making you feel so full as you press your mouth to his neck, nipping at the skin there as a way to alleviate the feeling of being so wholly enraptured in him.

Rin lets out a low moan as he feels your walls clench around him welcomingly, before gently pushing you off of him and onto the bed, both of you letting out your own respective noises as the new angle allows him to fully push into you.

He tortures you, making you wait there for moments as he takes in the new sensation, before slowly sliding back out of you, the feeling of his dick dragging along your walls, making you moan out again before he stops halfway and slowly thrusts back into you in a rhythmic fashion.

You groan out before tugging him down, though it seems Rin has the same idea as he dips down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tangling with your own, swallowing your noises as he fucks into you, his thrusts still only moving halfway before plunging back in slowly.

“Fuck– more– please–” You whine against his lips, wanting to feel hims fully, and he swears again before pulling out completely and ramming into you.

The sound you make is unlike any sound you’ve made before, halfway between a yelp and a squeal, your eyes rolling back slightly as you feel him hit that spot that makes you dizzy with pleasure.

“Ah– Rin–!” You manage to get out, before something in him snaps (possibly the sound of his name on your lips) and all of a sudden you’re getting brutally pounded into, all of his earlier attempts of being gentle flying completely out the window as he has his sights set on making you call out his name again and again.

The sounds of the room are only filled with panting, gunts and loud moans, punctuated by the squelching of him thrusting into you over and over again, your eyes only vaguely focused on the beautiful sight of him over you, his teeth gritted as he ravages you.

“Don’t– don’t dance with anyone else.” He manages to grit out through his own grunts and you moan in agreement, your hands clawing at his back as his pistons into you.

“You– only you– Rin–!” You cry out, leaving him no choice but to sink his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from attacking you with another kiss.

He continues to thrust, and you feel a white hot heat building up in you, and you start to babble, your back arching with every drag against your velvety walls.

“Fuck– ‘m close, please–” You whine out.

“Shit– say my name, please–” Rin replies in turn, and if you weren’t so already out of it completely, you’d mention your surprise that he was saying “please”, but the needy tone in his voice as your toes curling.

“Rin–” You breath out, before chanting his name at every thrust. “Rin, Rin, Rin, Rin, RIN–!”

And with the scream of his name you clamp your legs around his waist and feel your mind white out as you convulse, your back arching as he continues to thrust into you, seeking his own high as you cum right on his cock.

You watch through hazy eyes as he furiously thrusts into you before he finally slams into you fully with a deep groan and cums, filling you up completely as you let out a rather pathetic sounding whimper as you feel his spent drip out of you despite him still being in you.

You both take a moment to catch your breath before you reach up tiredly and cup his cheek, a small blissful smile on your face.

It’s another effort not to laugh as he averts his eyes for a moment before looking down at you.

“...so no dancing with other people?” You ask lightly.

He scoffs, his face darkening in color. “No.”

“What if there’s no grinding?”

“No.”

“What if they’re friends?”

“No.”

“Family?”

“...fine.”

You smile, and he stares at you for a moment. You blink in surprise as you feel him harden again inside of you.

“Again?”

“Shut up.” He replies tersely, but when you clench around him in kind, he doesn’t argue.

[creampuffqueen]

Hey:)

I feel you’re one of the, if not the most qualified people to ask this question, how would you describe Yangchen? Like, personality, emotions, thoughts, everything that comes to mind. I encourage a nerd out.

I’m thinking of doing a thing at a later date when I’ve chased down all my thoughts, got my confidence and my notes in order and I want other interpretations of her than mine and what’s on the wiki 😅 you’re the next best after the wiki when it comes to details regarding her

(It’s just shedding season, I’m still panda beneath all the fur🎈🐼)

Nerd out about Yangchen???? Actually, forget veterinary medicine, this is the dream career for me. 

To me, Yangchen’s character is made up of a few basic things:

Her deep compassion for other people

A constant, underlying sadness

Major imposter syndrome

Feral Little Sister Energy

I feel like when I want to give someone a basic rundown on Yangchen’s character, these are the first things that come to mind and therefore the things I mention. Obviously, just mentioning these character aspects doesn’t exactly tie them together cohesively, so that’s what I plan to do here!

You guessed, it under the cut… it’s 2415 words long…

Without further ado, Avatar Yangchen!

Compassion

To start off, it’s important to understand that Yangchen is a deeply caring and compassionate person. For better or worse, she cares so, so much about other people. It’s one of the things that makes her such a fantastic Avatar, and it’s this deep compassion that keeps her from abandoning all hope when it seems like the world just keeps on taking. 

Her compassion is also what compels her to do the things she does in the novels – and arguably her appearance in the comics as well. There’s a quote she gives during Dawn that I think encapsulates her feelings on this quite well: “We fight for people we’ve never met and never will”. 

Yangchen cares for humanity, and truly believes in its goodness, or at the very least its worth. She strays from this belief occasionally during the books, but at the end she always comes back to it. She will continue to fight for humanity as the Avatar – the most thankless job in the entire universe – because she believes there is good in the world. Does she have bad experiences with some of the worst of humanity? Yes. Does she have some jaded views of people? Also yes. But at the end of the day she still believes in goodness, and strives to do what she can to promote and preserve it. 

This compassion shows up in many ways during the novels. She is a talented healer and largely enjoys the work. I touched on this a bit in my post discussing her relationship with waterbending, how she prefers healing as a skill because of the way it directly benefits others. When a maid in Bin-Er is injured on the job, Yangchen quietly pays for her treatment. When she first meets Kavik, believing him to be homeless, she immediately offers him money in a hopeful attempt to help him. She donates all the gifts she receives as the Avatar to the air temples to help fund the nearby towns. She heals Yingsu from an arrow wound – the woman who was trying to kill her five minutes before!

Really, this is the ultimate reason why she is the way she is during the novels! Namely, a cunning, manipulative spymaster. This all starts because she heard things were bad in the shang towns, and wanted to do whatever she could to ease the suffering. She is the way she is because of past experiences of being spied on, because when her plans are revealed before they’re ready she isn’t able to help people. She is a person who cares unfathomably deeply about others, and found the best way to help as many people as possible was to play the awful, twisted game her world was intent on continuing. 

Sadness & Imposter Syndrome

While Yangchen’s deep sadness as a person and her extreme imposter syndrome are highly connected, there are a few extras about both that need to be touched on. 

Namely, the fact that Yangchen doesn’t really feel like her own person, and all the ways that affects her. 

It isn’t always obvious during the novels, as her POV is only half of each book and she has a few coping mechanisms to help her out, but the voices of her past lives never stop talking. Never. Like I said, she has some ways to cope, to keep herself present, to tune out the voices at least enough to focus, but they are still constant. 

And that is just… yikes!!

I’ve said it before, but Yangchen and Korra have some eerily similar parallels to their stories. Both of them learned they were the Avatar at a very young age. Korra learned when she was 4 because she started bending other elements. Yangchen began experiencing voices and visions from her past lives when she was around 7, after which she quickly put together her identity as the Avatar. 

Avatars are typically not revealed until they turn 16. Clearly, there is a good reason for this. All of the Avatars we have stories for that found out younger than that have had… a lot of pressure on their shoulders. Pressure that affected them deeply. Yangchen is no exception. In her case, it is honestly even more extreme, because not only did she have the pressure of being the Avatar, she was also constantly reliving trauma from her past lives.

Unlike other Avatars who have to specifically call up their past lives in order to hear their stories (or explicitly trigger them, as Aang did during Avatar Day), Yangchen is constantly and unwillingly reliving her past experiences. She is hearing voices, she is having flashbacks, and at certain points even dissociating fully from her body as another Avatar takes over and speaks. 

This has created a warped sense of self for her. The idea of Yangchen The Person is pale compared to Yangchen The Avatar. She has her own personality, opinions, and beliefs, but to her, none of those are important without her also being the Avatar.

Which brings us to Jetsun. Her older sister. From what we learn in the novels, Yangchen had a happy enough childhood in the Western Air Temple, and that was largely because of Jetsun’s influence. 

Jetsun treated her like a person. She argued with her, she teased her, she played with her, she comforted her. While everyone else was thinking of Yangchen The Avatar, Jetsun was always thinking of Yangchen The Person. Yangchen, her little sister. Who was stubborn, annoying, and most of all loving. While the elders worried what to do about her visions, while the world leaders conspired to take control before she came of age, all concerned about the Avatar, all Jetsun cared about was Yangchen. 

This is why Yangchen is hit so very hard after her death. This is why Jetsun haunts the narrative throughout the novels. After Jetsun died, Yangchen was alone. 

Not only did Jetsun die, she died in a pretty horrific, traumatizing way. A way that was not only horrific and traumatizing, but that Yangchen fully blames herself for. It’s obvious to us as the readers that Yangchen was in no way at fault for Jetsun’s death, but Yangchen is unable to see that perspective. At the start of the novels, she has been blaming herself for her sister’s death for six years. 

The pain is not as sharp, but it is still there, just as constant as the voices in her head. 

Without Jetsun by her side, Yangchen truly feels as though she can’t reach her full potential. She imagines how different she would be if she had Jetsun there to guide her. She imagines she would be better if she had Jetsun there to guide her. 

Which brings us to how this tragedy and sadness ties into her imposter syndrome. 

Like I mentioned earlier, Yangchen has known she was the Avatar from a very young age, and as such has felt the pressure of that role for a long time. She doesn’t know who she is outside of the Avatar, because that’s been her defining life event for as long as she can remember. 

And because of the aforementioned compassion, she takes her job as the Avatar incredibly seriously. She is serious about trying to bring balance about and ease suffering wherever possible. She wants to be a good Avatar, and tries desperately to be one.

The issue is that because of how her past lives work, she doesn’t truly believe it’s possible for her to be a good Avatar, despite all evidence to the contrary. The visions she gets the most are visions of failure. When she speaks with her past lives one on one, the stories she hears are ones of failure. Avatars who couldn’t save their loved ones even with the most powerful bending in the world. Avatars who couldn’t prevent war no matter how hard they tried. 

Yangchen does not want that to be her ending, going into the afterlife with regrets.

(Of course, for those who have read the Kyoshi novels, we unfortunately know how that ends...)

Yangchen is a woman of action. This is rather in conflict with her upbringing from the Air Nomads, who generally prefer to evade, defend, avoid, and observe. Air Nomads don’t seek out conflict. But of course, as the Avatar, Yangchen can’t avoid it. If anything, seeking out conflict is sort of her job.

Her job is to bring balance to the world, and because of how many lives full of regret she’s witnessed, it’s no surprise at all that she prefers to take action. She doesn’t want to sit and wait, she wants to solve problems now. A part of the books I think about often is when Yangchen talks about a recurring theme of her past lives and their regrets – every single one regrets waiting, regrets not taking action when they could have.

So Yangchen takes action. Most of the time it works out. Because she takes action rather than waiting, she often ends up having to do things she considers morally questionable – or even morally reprehensible. I feel it’s important to remind everyone that she was disgusted at herself for using the vacuum technique on the combustionbenders. But Yangchen couldn’t wait around for some other solution to show itself. 

These are the kinds of things that breed her imposter syndrome. The things she has to do to keep balance in the world many times directly go against her views as an Air Nomad. As much as she hates it, she will sacrifice her own spiritual wellbeing for the sake of the world. That is, after all, the single thing she said in the original ATLA show, and therefore the literal start of her personality. 

Just because she is willing to do it doesn’t mean it isn’t painful. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t make her question herself. There are so many moments where she wonders if she truly hates things like spying, manipulating, lying, etc. She thinks if she keeps doing them, clearly she doesn’t hate them. Clearly she isn’t doing them out of desperation or a lack of options. 

When some servants are moved by her performance with the shangs, she feels physically sick. She has to look away. If only they knew. They wouldn’t revere her so much. She doesn’t deserve their love or their praise, she’s nothing but a fake. 

These are thoughts that plague her almost constantly. At one point she tells Kavik that he has to let go of his failures, and not let them haunt him. Later that exact same night she spends hours flinging herself around with airbending until she exhausts herself. Clearly someone who has let go of their failures, right?

This severe imposter syndrome she experiences makes it so difficult for her to recognize her good work. She feels her failures make any good she’s done completely null and void. How can she let herself feel proud of her successes when her failures weigh so much heavier? When there’s still imbalance in the world that she needs to solve? When her own spirit is on its way to be just as spoiled as the peoples’ she’s had to defeat?

Which is why her meeting with Jetsun at the end of Legacy was so, so necessary for her. She needed to meet her sister’s spirit, see that she was alright despite everything, that Yangchen wasn’t at fault for her death. She needed to hear from Jetsun herself that she was good, that she was doing well in the world, that she wasn’t a total failure. And most of all, that even without Jetsun at her side, she was still a good Avatar. 

Feral Little Sister Energy

Ending this on a happier note! Yes, Yangchen’s character is very sad and even tragic at times, but she also has so many moments of fun and light. It’s part of what really draws me to her, I think. She may be the all-powerful Avatar, but she’s also Very Seventeen. 

She can just be an absolute menace at times, and it’s so great. She’s a little sister, it’s in her blood.

Probably the biggest parts of this particular personality trait are her sarcasm and her teasing. She’s also rather blunt at times, not at all afraid to tell it like it is. As well, she has no problems demanding respect from world leaders, which is honestly a good thing because she has to put up with so much shit from them all the time. 

She’s basically a Disney Princess. She has (had) a sky bison that likes to preen and show off. She throws things when she gets mad. She can scream loud enough to burst eardrums, and regularly does. She likes to make little kids laugh. She tells jokes. She teases Kavik because she thinks it’s cute when he gets flustered. She gets worked up over the sound of handwriting. She loves to do crazy tricks on her glider. She’s captain of an airball team and regularly partakes in trash talk. She has a whole wardrobe of creative disguises. She hates the cold. She likes to toss people around with airbending just for fun. She’s almost frighteningly intelligent. 

There are just so many fun little quirks to her character. I’m probably forgetting some, honestly. 

Conclusion

These are the aspects that I feel make up the most important parts of Yangchen’s character. Certainly there are more, but I feel like these are a good starting point, as well as things that all the other parts can be tied into.

Overall, she’s such a well-written, interesting character, and I absolutely loved getting to break her down! Others can feel totally free to add other parts they think are important as well; a more comprehensive view is always better.

Thanks so much for the ask, and I hope this helps!!

[accio-sriracha]

Chasing Stars

A slightly long snippet of an unpublished Jegulus wip.

CW: Very brief mentions of sexual abuse and a singular homophobic slur

Context: Regulus is forced to make dark magic deals on behalf of the Black family. Things get messy as James unknowingly follows him into the dangerous exchange.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Does your friend here have a name, Black?" Dominic demanded as he moved closer.

He walked in lengthy strides, like a wild animal waiting to pounce.

"James O'Malley." Regulus lied immediately.

"Slytherin?" He asked, looking Potter up and down and making a slow, predatory circle around them.

Regulus swallowed hard, attempting to keep his poise as he responded,

"Yes. Half-blood."

"Ooh, a halfblood." Dominic snickered.

Regulus heard a few of Dominic's followers laugh as well.

"Why don't we hear your friend speak?" Dominic drawled, his voice as daunting as ever.

He took another step forward, coming right into Potter's space,

"You wanna talk for us, O'Malley? Or are you just gonna keep following little Black around like his bitch?"

Regulus glanced back at him, watching the challenge sparking behind Potter's eyes, the slight tip of his chin.

Potter's pride was something Regulus knew would be a wild card.

Please don't fall for it, Potter. He silently begged.

Regulus kept his face even, Potter's eyes met his own again, deep brown crashing into metallic silver.

By some miracle Regulus couldn't thank enough, Potter remained silent.

"Bitch, it is." Dominic taunted, "Got yourself a bodyguard then, Black?"

He leaned in and took Potter's jaw in his hand, tilting his face to look up at him.

Regulus could tell the force of his grip had to be painful, but Potter didn't so much as flinch, meeting his cold stare with an expression that could have been cut from stone.

Dominic laughed, "Yes, he's a keeper. Big and strong but... not too bright, eh?"

He patted Potter's cheek twice and let him go, moving back to stand with the others again.

He heard Potter let out a slow, angry breath when there was a good distance between them.

"I want your end of the deal done by next week, Black. If you don't follow through, you know what's gonna happen to you." Dominic spoke only to Regulus now, ignoring the boy behind him.

Regulus nodded once, "I'm aware. It will be done."

Dominic smiled that horrible, sadistic smile,

"Good. Make sure to tell your brother I said hello. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear from me."

Regulus held back the instinct to flinch at his words. He remembered the look in Sirius' eyes when he came back from his last meeting with Dominic.

That was the first time Regulus had ever seen Sirius cry, even after all the years of abuse they'd suffered, nobody had ever broken Sirius the way Dominic did that night.

"We're no longer speaking." Regulus answered automatically, pretending to be unaffected, "He was disowned from the family over a year ago."

Dominic knew that, Regulus was sure of it. Everyone had heard of Sirius' estrangement to the family. He was only testing Regulus, seeing how far he could push until he broke Regulus too.

It took nearly five years for Sirius to give in to Dominic's pressure.

Regulus had never met anyone as strong as his brother, he doubted he ever would.

Dominic laughed, bringing Regulus' thoughts back to the exchange at hand,

"That's right. Bit of a faggot, wasn't he? Hmm... it's such a shame good blood was waisted on someone so pathetic. I'm telling you, I'm pretty sure he enjoyed having my friends inside him when he was being punished for a late delivery."

Potter reacted then, his wand in his hand before Regulus could manage to stop him.

A spell was shot in their direction the very same moment.

Those were always the rules: if they saw a wand drawn they would curse first and ask questions later.

Regulus immediately shoved Potter to the ground, knowing these guys wouldn't stop at stunning the way Potter would.

Regulus' shoulders heaved, standing protectively in front of Potter with his own wand drawn,

"Fuck, Potter." He hissed under his breath.

He'd never wanted to be at the other end of their torturous spells.

"Potter?" Dominic's eyes went wide, "Have you lied to me about your guest, Black?"

"We aren't looking for any trouble." Regulus replied instead, though he couldn't bring himself to put his wand down, not with their hungry eyes locked onto the boy behind him, itching for a target.

"You say that, and yet here you stand, pointing your wand at your oldest friend."

Dominic pretended to be offended, but Regulus knew he didn't care. There would always be someone to deliver, it didn't matter how much he tortured them, someone would always take their place.

"Dominic, please, just let him go. I will answer for it. He doesn't know anything." Regulus found himself resorting to pleading.

Regulus never begged, not even when he was beat an inch from his life as a child, he was always the type to stand there and take it silently.

But this was Potter.

Regulus was responsible for whatever happened to him now, he couldn't be the reason Potter was hurt, not when he knew he could do something about it.

He wondered when his feelings had changed to this, merely an hour ago he wouldn't have noticed if Potter dropped off the face of the earth aside from the Gryffindor team lacking their quidditch captain.

Regulus couldn't remember exchanging a single word in the past six years they'd passed each other in the halls.

Yet here he was, putting his life on the line for the boy he barely knew.

Because if he did know anything, it was that Potter was far too good to deserve this.

Dominic's voice snapped Regulus' attention back to his face,

"Ahh, but he brought himself into this, didn't he, Black? I feel a man who makes his own choices should face his own consequences."

Before Regulus could react there was a surge of light and a scream from behind him.

Regulus dropped to the ground, hovering over Potter, making sure he was still breathing.

"Enough!" Regulus shouted, his voice sounded desperate to his own ears, "We'll go! I'll have it to you by next week. You have my word."

Regulus would do anything, anything to get Potter away from here.

Potter wasn't going to die today.

Regulus would save him if it was the last thing he ever did.

"Look who's the brave Black brother now." Dominic cooed, reaching out and tilting Regulus' chin up, the same way he'd done with Potter, the same way he'd probably done with Sirius, "That's a curse I made myself. It should end in a few hours. Let this be a reminder to never betray me again."

A blinding flash of pain against his jaw made him fall to the ground, collapsing next to Potter.

It occurred to him a moment later Dominic had actually punched him.

It was rare to see a pureblood wizard strike without a wand.

But Dominic was no ordinary wizard.

"Pitiful. What a waste of good blood." Dominic repeated, motioning for his friends to leave.

Regulus sat up when they were alone again, leaning over Potter,

"Potter, fuck, fuck I'm so sorry. Can you hear me?"

Potter was shaking violently, his eyes glazed over and his lips forming around silent words.

Tears fell from his eyes and sweat matted his hair to his forehead, the sight was one of the scariest things Regulus had ever seen.

"Okay. Come on, I'll get you safe." Regulus managed to get Potter onto his back, carrying him down the worn path to the castle. Potter clung to him the entire way.

Regulus caught the words 'Please' and 'No' a few times in between the heart-wrenching sobs.

He made it to the Gryffindor tower, facing the portrait he knew to be the door to the common room,

"I need to get inside." He told her.

The lady in the portrait yawned and stretched,

"Password?" She asked sleepily.

Regulus groaned, "I don't know the password, he's in trouble, we need to get through. It's an emergency!"

She shrugged, "No password, no entry."

Regulus cursed, setting Potter down on the ground and resting him against the wall.

He knelt down in front of him, pulling their faces close,

"Potter. Potter, look at me." He whispered, "I need the password to the Gryffindor common room."

Potter's eyes were still unfocused, the shaking had gotten worse. The silent words turned to quiet whimpering, he looked so terrified.

"Potter, please, try to focus okay? Try to focus for me. I need the password."

He didn't reply, his head thrashing from side to side as his reactions to whatever he was seeing got more violent.

"Fuck." Regulus pulled out his wand, cursing the world for making him need to use this spell again.

It was a spell he and Sirius had created when they were kids, in case something happened to one of them.

"Sirius." Regulus tried to keep his voice from shaking, his eyes never leaving Potter's, "Sirius, I need you, please."

He heard Remus Lupin's tired voice emitting from his wand and realised they were sleeping together.

He didn't have time to process it, holding Potter to his chest when his tears starting again,

"It's okay, I got you." Regulus murmured against his hair, stroking Potter's back in a way he hoped was soothing.

He wasn't even sure Potter knew where he was.

Lupin mumbled something again, something that ended in him using the word 'Darling'.

"Moons? What is it?" Sirius came through next.

Regulus felt his heart lurch at the sound of his voice. He missed his brother so much it hurt most days.

This was not how he was hoping to reunite with him.

"There's something happening with your wand, love, I don't know."

"What?" Sirius' groggy voice grew irritated, "What about my wand?"

"Sirius, it's me." Regulus spoke again, this time his voice really did shake.

Potter's arms were wrapped around him now, his head buried into his shoulder while he sobbed, shaking harder than ever.

"I- I need help." Regulus sounded like a child again, begging for his big brother to come and rescue him.

"Reggie?" Sirius immediatley sounded awake. There was shuffling, then his voice grew clearer, "Are you- Are you okay? What happened? Where are you?"

Regulus wanted to sigh in relief. He knew Sirius would come if he used the spell, no matter how much time had passed between them.

Regulus didn't have time to explain,

"I need you to open the door to the Gryffindor common room. It's Potter, he's-" He broke off, shaking his head even though he knew they couldn't see him.

"James?"

Regulus heard quick movements, curtains being thrown open.

"Shit, Remus. It's Prongs-"

Regulus didn't have time for them to hash it out over the call,

"Outside the common room. Please just hurry."

Regulus disconnected the link between them as Potter's shaking got worse again. He began to thrash in Regulus' arms,

"Don't leave, Regulus. Please, don't leave me."

Regulus nodded and held him tighter, "I won't Potter, I won't. I'm right here, I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

Something had snapped inside of Regulus, like a wire strung too tight.

And he knew it in that moment, he wouldn't- couldn't- leave him. Not ever.

The portrait swung open suddenly, Sirius rushing out of it with his wand raised, his eyes searching for danger.

He found Regulus holding Potter on the ground beside the door.

Lupin stepped out too, taking in the sight with shock.

"Prongs?" Sirius' voice was a mixture of terror and confusion.

Regulus looked up at them,

"Fuck, Sirius I'm so sorry. I tried to protect him, I-"

His sentence trailed off as Potter's thrashing started again, Regulus tried to hold him steady.

"Regulus!" Potter shouted, "No, please!"

"I got you. I'm here, I'm here." He whispered, trying to keep him from hitting his head on the wall, "It's okay. It's okay. I'm right here."

"What the fuck happened to him?" Sirius asked, watching in horror.

Regulus was crying now too, his voice coming out in a sob as he clutched onto Potter,

"He was hit with something. I- I don't know, some kind of curse. Dominic-"

"Dominic?" Sirius was furious instantly, his eyes never left James, like he was afraid to look directly at Regulus, "What the fuck was James doing near Dominic?"

"I don't know." Regulus repeated, trying to keep his voice low to not startle Potter, who was clinging to him like his world depended on it. Maybe in his eyes it did.

Regulus sniffed, "He followed me out while I was doing a run for father. I didn't know what to do. Dominic showed up before I could convince Potter to leave."

"Regulus-" James' broken sob was muffled into his chest.

Regulus turned his attention back to Potter, the protectivness he felt from the moment Regulus realised he was standing on that trail coursing through him.

Regulus was wrong to think he would never notice Potter's disappearance from the world.

He always noticed Potter. He knew it had been Potter following him on the trail by the sound of his footsteps alone.

He could recognise Potter's laugh out of a hundred others. He could tell exactly what Potter was thinking from just one look at his eyes.

Regulus had always noticed Potter, always gravitating towards him in one way or another.

It had just never meant anything until now.

Now? Now he meant everything.

Regulus held onto him, trying to get the shaking to stop,

"You'll be okay." He whispered.

He didn't know if it was for Potter's benefit or his own.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

( @bradleysass I'm so sorry, I swear the fic has a happy ending)

[hotchstead]

Hiii!! Can I request chasexreader where reader is super sick and he takes care of her and is very attentive (maybe a tad bit annoying) but also very fluffy? Thank you!!💗

Overbearing - R. C.

Robert Chase x fem!reader warnings: sick reader, overbearing boyfriend chase, that's it really? word count: NDA (half wrote here) a/n: sorry it's short but I'm just starting to get back into writing these things <3

Being sick wasn’t ideal. It never will be. The second a doctor hands you that note and you’re out for the week it seems like a  blessing. A chance to relax. But no. not when your boyfriend was also a doctor and made it his god given goal in life to make sure you didn’t stress yourself out. At all.

Chase was that boyfriend. The second he realized the small cough wasn’t going away, he did the tests that concluded bronchitis. He set up the medicine to be put aside for you. The steroids and cough medicine that would work together to heal you.

He made you breakfast, lunch and dinner because “As much as you feel like crap, you have to keep eating.” The words he said every single time you tried to brush off eating. And so you suffered through at least half of a meal before he was satisfied with your portion.

Yes, it was partially endearing. He cared, he loved you. That much was true. You’d been together going on three years now, of course he was going to care. But still, it was becoming a bit much.

The man wouldn’t even let you out of bed if he thought it was going to end badly for you. “Baby, I promise you, I will survive sitting out of bed.” You pleaded, sucking on a cherry flavored cough drop that didn’t do much for your mouth other than make your teeth feel funny and maybe slightly keep your cough away.

Barely.

Chase shook his head, sitting on the edge of said bed, reaching over and stroking your hair. “I believe that, but laying down and relaxing, resting is the best thing for you. It doesn’t bother your throat and the lozenges can only do so much to help.”

You groaned, nodding, “I’m aware, but i just want to sit on the couch. Drink tea even. I’m just tired of sitting here." You pouted and how was he supposed to keep denying you anything when you looked at him the way you did?

"Okay, alright, just stop killing me with your stupid puppy dog eyes." He huffed in defeat as he stood. "I'll find some tea for you if you want to fresh up a little, I know you've been wanting to do that."

He was right. Your face was starting to get the level of greasy that it was killing you to even feel it and your hair hadn't been touched since day one. How he even wanted to be near you right now was insane to you.

But the second he disappeared, you pulled yourself up and out of bed, to the bathroom to wash your face, brush through your hair and make note to wash it before the two of you went to bed tonight.

You crunched the last little bit of the cough drop in your mouth, the feeling of your tongue making you pull your toothbrush out. It was time for a new one anyway so who cares if this one got contaminated?

Once all set, cough and all, you headed back out to the living room, happy to be able to sit and watch something on the big screen rather than the smaller one that you had in your room. (Chase refused to upgrade.)

"Gorgeous." Chase commented as you sat, water boiling just to the right in the kitchen.

Even at your worst he managed to want to compliment you and it made you shake your head. "I look like crap," A cough cut off your statement, "You don't have to lie.

He scoffed as he shook his head, "I'm not. You're always so completely beautiful."

"Bronchitis and all?" You asked skeptically.

"Bronchitis and all." He echoed with a nod, "Now get comfortable, I picked Lady and the Tramp cause I know it's one of your favorites." The words coming out so smoothly, so easily.

No matter how much time you spent together it still surprised you how well he just, knew you. And you adored it. So you settled down, him taking the spot next to you not too long after and putting an arm over your shoulder.

You went to brush it off, worried that he'd get sick in return but he shook his head. "You're not contagious. I'll be alright. Just let me hold you." He said softly, sweetly even.

And that alone let you know that no matter how much his doctoring annoyed you, you loved him and the day you married him would be the best day of your life.

JOIN CHASE'S TAGLIST HERE!

TAGS: @morketheduck @nerdypyrowolf @simonejacpbsen @thewayilovedjay @julianna050 @Idontknowwhatnamelol @alexxavicry

[nathaniel-underwood-is-an-intj]

Looong rant about chapter 16 Ptolemy's Gate and how being passive can add to the cycle of ab*se.

oof so I just read when Nat goes to see Ms Lutyens and I can't help but be absolutely furious at her??

I know that's maybe a little bit unfair given she's frightened of him as a magician and is obviously angry when she finds out the department he's responsible for, but honestly it kinda brings up the problem with inadvertent bystanders to child ab*se in my mind.

And I'm definitely not blaming her solely for who Nat becomes but it makes me think of all those people in huge child ab*se cases who give interviews to press about all the things they noticed that were wrong but they just...never do anything?

She stood up for him against Lovelace, and when Nat thanked her- "I wanted to say that I know you were trying to save me, and-"

''Yes, and I'm sorry I didn't" Like girl be for real did you really think that alone would undo the years of indoctrination and abuse he's already suffered and prevent years worth of the same in the years to come? And she won't take responsibility - "My job is with children, not the adults they become" and again while it seems harsh to blame her for who Nat becomes, it's so much easier to pass the blame to people who are more directly responsible rather than acknowledging you also play a part.

I think it hurts so much more because it's her specifically- Nat goes to her in sheer desperation, it almost seems like a goodbye- he wants to thank her, tries to set her up in a job that will pay well and struggles to communicate he's trying to help. At this point he thinks Bartimaeus has been summoned by another magician and his birth name will be revealed. He's sure he's about to die and if not he'll be stood on trial and lose everything.

He goes to her because she represents the peaceful moments from his childhood when he got away from his master. He's scared and feeling lost and really it's call for help; but he doesn't ask for anything he just wants to make her feel proud of him- he's looking for that validation that he's been chasing since childhood.

And that shows he still does have that little bit of childhood innocence in him; he thinks she will be proud, thinks she'll see him as the same little boy in the garden gazing up at his teacher in adoration. He can't quite grasp why she's separated the man stood before her from that little boy. Because in that moment the child inside Nathaniel is seeking comfort AND THAT'S WHY it makes me so angry. She's completely given up on him when he's at his lowest ebb, because she doesn't want to be associated with the magician he's become. As if it isn't a massive step in the right direction that he saught her out in the first place- what other magican would bother? I wonder if that's why she reacted so strongly to seeing him again? Before that moment she could go about her life wondering if /pretending her attempt to protect him was enough, and now she realises it wasn't, of course it wasn't, and the image she had of Nathaniel's childhood innocence is completely ruined in her mind.

Or was her contempt for him even grater than Nat realised? She was naturally disgusted by the rhetoric he'd started to repeat from a young age, and gently tried to correct him although she was clearly angry- was she just resigned to the fact that there is little else she could do to change his future? I always thought- couldn't she have looked for him? The Underwood house fire was in the papers and they mentioned the apprentice was being searched for. Did she ever worry about him? Surely something must have been in the papers since- an announcement of new ministers, ANYTHING! Look at how much research Kitty did to find out about Bartimaeus and Ptolemy. I just don't think Rosanna Lutyens cared enough, realistically Nathaniel wasn't hard to find- but he was no longer her responsibility so she could turn a blind eye.

And sadly it's not just her- I know everyone loves Martha Underwood including Nat; but I think her submissiveness to her husband has a negative effect on Nathaniel as well. In AOS when Nat is locked in his room for ages after setting the mites loose, and is forbidden to have any contact with anyone and she won't talk with him. I know she's been told by Mr. Underwood she can't, but it still boils my blood. She's an adult and going along with ignoring Nathaniel because her husband told her to...I can't even begin to imagine the psychological damage that would do to a 10 year old child. (It could be argued she's frightened of the consequences if her husband finds out she's disobeyed him which is fair, he could always be watching through magic- but this is Arthur Underwood we're talking about. He's lazy, oblivious and weak I doubt he'd expend all that energy each day to check up on her.)

And It's even more painful that Nathaniel is often described as fiercely loyal to her and I think to Ms Lutyens as well- he doesn't expect to be treated well by Arthur Underwood but he loved Mrs Underwood and Ms Lutyens so much he started to view them through a rose-coloured lense. He never feels betrayed by either of them, even though they absolutely let him down, because the pedestal he's put them on is too high AND THAT ABSOLUTELY DESTROYS ME.

Would things with Nathaniel have been any different if Mrs Underwood hadn't died? I don't really think so. Do you think she'd see Nathaniel's temper at 14 years old and be reminded of Arthur Underwood? He was awful, absolutely awful to Nat and to her; but he was under so much stress in an underfunded departement, where pressure was being put on him by superiors to accomplish far more than they knew him to be capable of, and he took it out on the easiest target. Nathaniel ends up in exactly the same place and he starts to take it out on the only person around him- Bartimaeus. Would he snap at Mrs Underwood all the time if she were still there? Because he's learnt that behaviour from his father figure, and subconsciously learnt from his mother figure that she'll put up with it. He learnt from the woman he loved so deeply, that if you don't resist, people will walk all over you. So you have to maintain control even if it ends up hurting people you care about because no one will step in to stop the suffering no matter how much you love them, no matter how much you want them too.

It's easy to blame Arthur Underwood and Simon Lovelace and the magicians that actively hurt Nathaniel but I just feel like it's a bit disingenuous not to acknowledge the role of those doing passive harm. It's really mean to say it but even Bartimaeus plays a role- he knows Nat is clinging on to him because he can't 'bring himself to break this last connection' (to his childhood) but instead of bringing it up properly he 'taunts' Nathaniel- a boy who has been taunted for his weakness by his master for years. And even in AOS when Nathaniel tells Bartimaeus he was beaten for the mites incident Bart just kinda shrugs it off. Like I get it, why should Bartimaeus do anything, he's suffered way worse due to the system so he doesn't owe Nat anything right? But from Nat's point of view this is the first and only time he's mentioned to anyone what has happened to him and nothing changes. It's like another lesson learnt: telling someone about it doesn't help. Another nail in the coffin.

And I like all these characters, I feel bad for them. They're all victims of the system, I think the chapter with Ms Lutyens is just the straw that broke the camel's back for me. All of those little opportunities that are insignificant to the narrative over all; the commoners have it worse, Nathaniel is in a privileged position in society, exerting control over others. He's very morally grey, crossing over into objectively bad person territory but I love him with my whole heart and all of those insignificant moments would have been massive to him whether he was conscious of it or not.

And it goes all the way back to the beginning with Nat's parents giving him up to the magicians at 5 years old. I can't get the image of that little boy sat crying all alone in the government building. And he's not going somewhere safer, or somewhere he'll be happier and more loved. Giving your child over to a total stranger, oh he'll be totally fine won't he? He'll grow up to be a magician and far richer than you'll ever be, he'll be happy and comfortable and be grateful he got to grow up in luxury. There's no way a stranger you've never met, who the majority of society is terrified of would ever hurt a vulnerable little kid right? And if they do? Well you aren't responsible anymore, how could you know? What could you possibly do against the magician taking care of him?

Every little thing is another grain of sand tipping the scale. Did anyone else have to analyse An Inspector Calls in school? It feels like that to me- those BIG moments and all the little moments in between that add onto the pile.

And it goes on to cause problems in wider society too- ab*se is so normalised to the magicians, they casually ask Underwood if he hits Nathaniel like it's nothing. Because to them it is nothing, they've all grown up in the same circumstances and are repeating what they've learnt as children. I can't help but feel a little sorry for them all, especially when they aren't looked at through the black and white lense of 'argh these people are the evil arseholes look at how they treat everyone around them, screw these guys.' When we see those little glimpses of humanity like Simon's anxiety with the amulet; looking to his master and father figure Schyler for reassurance, and what's sad is that Nat is "reminded...of his own master's cold impatience" It's clear Simon looks up to his master, wants to make him proud and loves him. But it seems like Schyler has just trained Simon up so he can get power through him later on. I love the little hints of similarities between Simon and Nathaniel; the anxious mannerisms like fiddling with his hair that Nathaniel starts to develop, the way their master's talk to them. Even though they're actively working against each other in AOS and Simon is placed firmly in the baddies category and Nat in the goodies category at this point in the series; these things always hinted to me they had similar childhoods, how was Simon treated? When he had the imp beat Nat into unconsciousness, was it because he'd had the same punishment used against him? Did he know the magicians in the room would do nothing to stop him because no one stopped it from happening to him? Did he ever have a teacher stand up for him only for it to change nothing in the end because all the negative influences were so much stronger? Is the reason he loves Schyler like a dad because he's almost developed Stockholm syndrome? It looks like love because he's never known anything else.

And Arthur Underwood- who doesn't think his upbringing, and being taken away from his family ever did him any harm- doesn't realise the harm done is that he doesn't even know another way of raising Nathaniel, because he was never shown another way. His childhood may also have been filled with people who hurt him and the people that didn't do enough to intervene.

There are so many psychology studies that show children copy everything they see the adults in their life doing. Nathaniel copies the magicians behaviour towards spirits and on a subconscious level I think he copies all the submissive people in his life. How many times does he end up upset and frustrated with the fact he seems to be going nowhere and how many times does he just hope things will be different rather than taking postive action.

I dislike the actions the magicians end up taking but I also find them fascinating to analyse. I tend to prefer villains in media because they're usually slightly more complex individuals and I love to think about how they ended up that way. They can all be seen as victims of their circumstances in a way, despite all the power and privilege they have had terrible and traumatic childhoods, and if the commoners had no valuable worldy possessions at least they had a sense of togetherness; of love and understanding and selflessness. I wonder if the magicians hated them at least partly because of that. Because out in the sea of faces of the commoners talking about nothing important, doing nothing great and noble- could be the parents that abandoned them. And when your life is on the line daily because of working with spirits, and your colleagues want to stab you in the back, sometimes not being responsible for anything important looks good. But you can't leave your life as a magician, it would be too difficult; you have nowhere to go, no real friends, no one who really loves you. So it's better to stay and be a submissive bystander in your own life because it's so much easier.

Doing nothing is doing something- being passive can be just as harmful.

[veilishvixen]

I’ve always hated how abruptly the balcony scene ends. Like how are you going to kiss me with the passion of a thousand burning suns and then just…turn and…skulk off?? Something was missing, so here’s the cut off I would have preferred:

“If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours…” he shakes his head and asks sincerely, “Have I misjudged them?”

She nearly rolls her eyes. Solas had never been shy in expressing his distaste for the Dalish, but she was still surprised to learn just how little he understood. The wayward and wandering clans rarely met for a reason; the only thing they had in common was their pigheadedness. The clans he’d met might very well have earned his ire, but there were many still he had yet to meet. Once again, he was failing to see the conundrum in his questioning; the nomadic elves were far too singular to be criticized as one.

“The Dalish didn’t make me like this. The decisions were mine.”

His brow twitches and he jerks forward ever so slightly, “Yes! You are wise to give yourself that due...”

I know, that’s why I said it. She’s wise enough to keep that bit to herself.

“Although the Dalish, in their fashion, may still have guided you.”

She wishes she could give him actual names to cling to; memories and stories like the ones he so freely shared with her…but something sharper than wisdom has her clamping her mouth shut.

He nods assuredly, “Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world…but not you.”

She can’t help but give a miffed shake of her head, “So what does this mean, Solas?”

He gives her a smug smile, “It means I have not forgotten the kiss.”

Oh.

Oh?

Mischief chases wisdom from her mind with a canon fuse in its teeth and she delights in the sudden burst of energy that follows. “Good.” Her smile grows only for his to falter. Coward. Folding both hands behind her back, she steps precariously into his space, only deigning to stop at his toes so he could be allowed the first move. His desire is a heavy thing; more than just lust gazed down at her now, more than just love…but still, she wanted it.

He shakes his head, then shakes it again. Her chin lifts to follow his lips and she chases his arm before he can turn to leave her one last time.

“Don’t go.” She’d let him of course, if that was what he wanted…but it would have to be the end. She couldn’t allow this to go on any longer.

His head tilts miserably, “It would be kinder in the long run…but losing you would-“

He’s pulling at her waist and stealing the breath from her mouth before she can finish registering the words. Her hands rise instinctively to hold him back, but he’s already moving again, ushering her mouth to open wider for him while hugging her close enough to lift her heels off the ground. She moans involuntarily when he jostles her weight to grasp her tighter. How could she feel so full while being devoured at once? It was torment. It was bliss. Then it was a gasp of sun baked mountain air and a breathless avowal, “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” She gazes jadedly up at him…could he even know what those words meant to her? She wasn’t surprised to feel sorrow…it followed her love everywhere; just as light suffered shadow. She loved him too. She found she could not yet say it aloud, but she did. Even when they disagreed and she wasn’t even sure if she liked him…she loved him. Her soul gushes at the epiphany and Genya wonders if it shows when tears begin to shimmer in his eyes. She catches the first one, but he’s withdrawing before she can wipe the rest away. At first she doesn’t understand, but then she hears the door close and a pair of heeled boots clicking up the stairs. “Inquisitor? I- Oh…my apologies.” Solas has put a casual distance between them and is leaning on the balustrade by the time Josephine crests the final step. She lowers her eyes before they can indulge in anymore curiosity, “Forgive me for the intrusion your worship, but it seems your counsel will be needed in the war room after all.”

Genya gives an amused sigh and dismisses Solas with an idle nod, “Let me guess…” his eyes pass over Josephine to steal one final glance…then he’s gone. “Leliana says we should kill her, you say we should negotiate, and Cullen says it is a waste of time.”

Her sigh is the only confirmation Genya needs. “Very well then,” she offers the ambassador her arm, “Shall we go introduce our friends to the lost art of conversation?” She hardly notices Josephine’s flutterings of gratitude, or the arm she accepts in earnest…all she can think of is Solas; the dreamer who wandered the fade just as she wandered awake…and all those precious tears she’d left him to wipe away on his own.

[lokidjarin-7567]

Day 11: Public

The Mandalorian x you

Contents: drabble, fem!reader x The Mandalorian, not as smutty as I wanted this chapter to be but still fun, public (duh), the mask stays on

W/C: 750

Not my fav, but I like writing possessive Mando so here :)

Kinktober Masterlist | General Masterlist | AO3

The hand on your thigh was slowly climbing higher. You glanced at the Mandalorian next you for any clue as to what he wanted to happen next, but he was unreadable. As per fucking usual.

You’d never truly been able to work out what your companion was feeling. Sometimes, when he was especially stressed or angry, his body language gave it away. And you had learnt to read his tone of voice more or less, knowing what intonation meant that he was pleased, or frustrated, or horny. Stars, the way he spoke when he wanted you… it put you in the mood instantly.

You’d been travelling with him for over a year and you still hadn’t completely gotten used the mask. That you couldn’t see what he looked like, couldn’t gauge his reactions or see his smile, couldn’t kiss him… It was frustrating sometimes, especially in the heat of the moment when all you wanted was his lips on yours, but you respected his beliefs. If this was what he had to do, then this is how it was.

Better to have some of him than all of anyone else.

He was a perfect fit - in more ways than just physical. His calm soothed your chaos, his careful nature lulled your reckless one, his strength complemented your kindness.

And now… his patience was showing. The way his gloved fingers inched up your leg so slowly, caressing your thigh with minuscule strokes that had you squirming in the booth at the back of the cantina where you had settled.

“How was your food?” He drawled in that low, sensual tone of his that sent a purr of heat straight to your core.

“It was really good.” You managed to mutter, hand still travelling upwards as you gently pushed your plate away from you on the table. It wasn’t until the waiter turned and started to move towards you that he sped up a little, the leather of his glove ghosted against your clothed core, and you stifled a moan as the sudden stimulation.

“Mando…” you hissed through grit teeth as the waiter got closer, but he ignored you, pressing a fraction harder and you bit your lip, blushing red as he finally reached the table.

“How was everything today?” He asked, smiling widely and grabbing your plate.

“It was lovely, thank you.” You managed to choke out relatively normally, as he continued to apply pressure on your sensitive bud.

“Wonderful, can I get you folks anything else?” You started to mutter that you were fine, wanting nothing more than to do back to the ship, and let him do what he does best, but Mando interrupted.

“One more glass of Spotchka, please.”

“Coming right up.”

As he left, you nudged him, frustrated, and he just pressed his thumb across your cunt in response, earning a soft moan that you couldn’t quite bite back in time.

“Stars, Mando, I thought you wanted to…”

“I do.” He muttered calmly, fingers actively circling your clit now, and you ground into them, trying to chase that feeling you knew damn well he was capable of giving you. “I just want to make you suffer here a little longer.” You huffed.

“That’s fucking cruel.” He chuckled, continuing his infuriating pace.

“I just want them to know who you belong to. The waiter that keeps flirting with you. The couple that keeps glancing over at that table nearby. They need to know you’re mine.” He practically growled the last part, and you nodded in agreement just as the waiter brought over your drink.

“Thank… you.” You stuttered, in a way you hoped wouldn’t give you away, coughing straight afterwards to try and disguise your stumble as a sore throat. You think it might it have worked, as he didn’t show any signs of awkwardness, but Mando seemed to disagree, a smile leaking into his tone.

“Good job sweetheart. Let them know you’re not available…”

“Yes, I’m all yours, baby…”

“Say it again.” He growled. You were pressed against the wall, Mando buried deep inside you, so desperate you didn’t even close the door to the ship.

“All… mhm fuck… yours.” His hand found your chin, gripping tight and holding your face level with his mask. You grinned, angling your hips up a little to give him even more purchase.

“Atta girl, that’s it… Let me remind you why you’re mine…”

[orgverse]

space pirate!seonghwa for @sanjoongie please suffer with her, everyone! sorry if this sucks, i'm trying to get back in the writing grove.

you had joined the crew when they had found you running away from some galactic guards and saved you. you remember bumping into seonghwa, his eye boring into you deadly, but not as deadly as when he looked at the guards. you begged them to help you, not wanting to be arrested – you had no idea why they were chasing after you and you really didn't want to find out.

however, despite running into seonghwa, it was hongjoong who took pity on you and killed the guards before they harm you.

since they saved you, hongjoong decided that you were now in their debt. they made you a part of their crew and had you doing meaningless task on both the ship and when you docked at a new planet.

that's how your journey with the notorious space pirates, ateez, started; however, what you originally dreaded has now turned into something completely different.

which is how you regularly end up underneath one or more of said space pirates. some of them more than others, but all of them seeking your comfort in one way or another.

which is how you are currently spread out on the quartermaster's bed as the pink haired pirate pounds into you. you can feel the slight burn in your thighs as your legs were thrown over his shoulders, properly bending you in half. his cock filling you up so well that you couldn't help but let your eyes roll into the back of your head.

seonghwa's grunts fill the room up even when he shoves his face into your neck. he starts to press open mouth kisses over a certain area of your neck and you brace yourself for when he bites down into your flesh.

you still couldn't full understand why seonghwa did this. you remember yunho explaining one time that seonghwa's race likes to mark their territory and biting your lovers was just apart of that. but you won't lie, it was hot knowing that he was marking you as his. just like how he did it to the others.

"s-seonghwa," you moan out, hand running though his bright pink hair as he laps at the bite mark. you notice how his hips begin to stutter just a little bit and you can't help but clench around his cock.

seonghwa lets out another grunt at how you clench around him and he does a particularly hard and deep thrust that makes your toes curl.

"f-fuck!" you moan out as seonghwa moves his head to look at you. his usual sharp eyes, now full of lust as he thrust into you. he adjust the two of you a little bit, but his pace is still ruthless and deep. you can't help but arch your back at how fast you felt your climax approaching.

your eyes drifted away from seonghwa and over to the window in his cabin. the vast darkness of space engulfing everything in sight. the twinkling of the stars, planets, galaxies around you remind you that despite getting fucked good right now, you are still just drifting through nothingness.

seonghwa grabs your face and turns you to look at him. his eyes staring down at you harshly as if silently telling you not to look away from him.

"don't look anywhere else," he says, "nothing else is making you feel this good, but me," he adds and you have to bite back a smile and laugh at his words. you sometimes forget how jealous and possessive seonghwa can get, but its moments like this that remind you.

"s-seonghwa! please~" you moan out when he does another deep thrust, hitting your sweet spot nicely and making you begin to see stars.

"who's making you feel this good?"

"you are!" you tell him, feeling your climax beginning to approach quicker and quicker. "please, hwa, i-i'm close!"

"yeah?" he says with a smirk as he continues to thrust into you. you moan and nod in agreement, not wanting him to stop. "gonna cum around my cock?"

"yes– yes, i am, please," you ramble, your hands coming and running down his back before running back up and through his hair. its now that you finally notice the thin layer of sweat covering him and giving his body a glow that makes him look godly.

"i'm still amazed b-by how good this pussy is," he says leaning his forehead against yours. "who knew a sneaky brat like you could entrance me this much?"

you couldn't help but laugh this time, "captain knew," you teased making the quartermaster groan as you also clenched around him.

"fucking brat," he says before he's thrusting one more time and that's when your orgasm washes over you in a sudden wave. you can't help but gasp at the feeling, clinging onto seonghwa like he was your lifeline as you felt him painting your walls with his cum.

the two of you remain close to each other, you clinging onto him for several more minutes before he's finally peeling away from you. the quartermaster rolls onto next to you before he's pulling you on top of him to rest. you flinch when you feel his fingers playing with your used pussy, slowly pushing his cum back into you so that it doesn't escape.

when the overstimulation finally hits, you can't help but push his hand away. seonghwa lets out a small huff, but obeys your silent request to stop. however, you know he'll try again once your climaxed bliss has worn off.

"so... another round?"

"shut up, you're starting to sound like wooyoung."

[foursaints]

would you be willing to spare some thoughts abt Evan and Barty’s animagi forms?? I love them they’re so precious your art made me literally giggle kick my feet at my real adult job 🫠

oh YES I CAN! my animagus headcanons have a lot of thought behind them put towards their symbolism & themes

this is just barty to me. he is a spotted hyena

raccoon!barty is pretty popular bc i think people want to see him as a scrappy & raggedy looking thing which i agree with. and on an aesthetic level a hyena has those visuals EXCEPT its maw is covered in old blood and it has that deranged laugh <3

the raccoon hc is like.... I fundamentally don't see barty as a scavenger. he is a Predator & a Carnivore. the spotted hyena is often mislabeled as a scavenger but it's not. its a Hunter that grows Desperate enough to tear at corpses. thats barty to me.

spotted hyenas are persistence predators. they are THE persistence predators. their hunting style is a long, grueling, sun-beaten pursuit chasing down their prey slooowly over the miles until their body gives out and the hyena snaps their neck. that is exactly how barty's revenge in goblet of fire plays out.

he is a dirty, ragged predator that suffers because he knows he is built to withstand it endlessly & his prey will eventually give out first. and he's dedicated. and vicious. and violent when unprovoked.

"When they are raised with a firm hand, [hyenas] may eventually become affectionate and as amenable as well-trained dogs"

evan is a two-headed viper. i don't have a species ive decided on yet but i want it to be venomous & egyptian like him

the two-headed bit is representative of his relationship with pandora (who is a two-headed mongoose. to me). they are far more entwined than regular twins & it shows in their souls

evan as a snake is important because i see him as The Ultimate Slytherin. in canon all we know of him is a competent death eater who took a bit back of the man who killed him. that vindictive "if you take me down, i'll take some of you" is THE slytherin thesis to me beyond just being cunning, ambitious, etc.

my evan isn't violent for no reason. he's measured and patient and poisonous and is the character least ruled by emotion. he's quiet. he flicks his little tongue out, tasting the air.

however, coming out two-headed represents an aberration of what should be a Perfect Snake & his attachment to his sister. evan rosier isnt actually the perfect snake because there is that sensitive core of him that loves her

snake venom is used in medicine and not just to kill; this ties into my larger headcanon of evan as a (dark, fucked up) healer

[ruinationz]

i'm on life support after wgriting htis good god that was horrendous. 5,500+ words. finding frankie fic. we're not normal. inspired by the mountain goats song of the same name, thank you @yoursminehourss for being an inspo i love you my friend. read all of his shit NOW. ok fic under the cut. vomits

"But stars don't just leave after a season, do they...?"

They stood dead center in the middle of a darkened room, the only source of light coming from the television across. The air was thick with a sour, nauseating scent; Most likely due to the amount of dead contestants littering the floor.

Their eyes followed the tips of the red and green lines, snaking up the right edge of the television as profits and viewership skyrocketed like never before.

Green light flooded their vision as bolded letters materialize on the screen, confetti raining down from the top: "Renewed for another season".

They looked over their shoulder, rotten flesh covered in fabric crushed underfoot.

A pair of beady eyes, glistening in the shadows, met theirs.

It's only up from here.

turn the volume up real high,

all of that money, look at it fly,

and you smoking like a chimney

Henry could tell he truly was brought to life again from the dull, throbbing sensation of a headache creeping back into his head once he came to.

Oh, wasn't he just the luckiest guy in the world?

Maybe he owed some sick, twisted form of gratitude to that "lucky contestant"; They had brought the Palace back into the light, after all, getting the game show approved for a brand-new season to boot.

Alongside that, what they had in store for him in particular was downright merciful. If it were up to the higher-ups, Henry would probably have been punished beyond belief for the kind of things he'd mouthed off to a participant about. Maybe he'd be replaced entirely as a mascot! (And if they really wanted to make him suffer, they'd switch him out with those wretched red things that only scream and explode, not too different from what they did to-)

But that contestant? Well, they did the exact opposite of that.

...

...To be fair, the contestant didn't really do anything to Henry, positively or negatively. He only saw them once he regained consciousness in the storage room (presumably they were working to assist in his repairation), and otherwise they spent most of their time doing god-knows-what somewhere far, far away from all the other mascots.

What was it that made them avoid everyone, exactly? Was it fear? (He had chased them down at least twice, after all; Though he thought they might have liked him a bit better when he returned Deputy, albeit mangled, to them...) Or...

Was it a sense of superiority?

The thought made Henry's (fake) blood boil a bit. Were they truly self-centered enough to be that easy to persuade? He'd taken the less-fortunate contestants to be nothing but idiotic before, but the winner? Anyone with half a brain would've taken the money and ran far from the Parkour Palace, not be gullible enough to agree to being the big "star of the show", thinking they're hot shit and letting themselves get used by-

BRRRRRRRINGGGGG!

Henry hissed at the shrill sound stabbing through his nonexistent ears, gripping the sides of his head immediately as the rattling of the incoming call reverberated through his neck.

If that blind fool was going to bring him back for another season, they could've at least made this idiotic fully-functionable telephone a little less physically unbearable to have for a cranium. He wrapped his fingers around the headset, seizing it from the switch-hook and pressing it closer to his face.

"...Hello?" He rasped out, making an attempt to mask the strain in his voice as much as possible.

"Yes, hello? Is this a Mr. 'Henry Hotline' speaking?"

His heart sank at the all-too familiar voice coming from the receiver. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear," I suppose, he thought to himself, muttering a curse under his breath.

The Other laughed on his end. "It's been a hot minute, my call-up companion! I do hope I'm not interrupting anything you're doing, hmm?"

What Henry wanted to say was "Yes, I'm busy trying to have a moment of peace for once in my life after the higher-ups decided to blow my brains up, so why don't you go and buzz off you buck-toothed bastard," but he was forced to hold back; If he hadn't received a punishment now, that would certainly be the final straw to grant him one.

"I'll assume that's a 'no' on your part," Perhaps the phone paused to find a more appropriate response a bit too long, prompting the Other's voice to buzz through the speaker once more.

"...I...Is there anything you need, sir?" He twisted the cord around his fingers, a nervous subconscious motion, as he spoke.

"Oh, anything I 'need', you say?" A pause.

"Well, I may or may not need you in my offices at the moment. If, of course, it's not much trouble!"

Henry would have expressed his disdain at those words if he wasn't aware of the constant surveillance cameras lurking in every corner. He knew the Other's little empty gestures far too well: He'd give you an option to do something, when in reality you never had a choice to begin with.

It was better to go along with the game he wanted to play.

The phone balled up his free hand, pulling on the cord and adding a further strain to the cable attaching his dangling head to his body. "Y-Yes, sir, I'll... I'll be right there."

"FANTASTIC!" Henry flinched as the Other's voice reached a completely-innappropriate-for-inside level. "Let me fetch you an elevator to the utilidors, and you'll be there in a jiffy. See you soon!"

"But- But wait, what exactly do you-"

The line went dead with a quiet beep beep beep before Henry could finish speaking. Sluggishly, he hung up the receiver as he made his way into the elevator that had opened up somewhere in his peripheral vision.

Whatever that rabbit wanted with him now, it better have been worthwhile.

So much for being there in a "jiffy".

Thank goodness that he hadn't ended up across the railings, but Henry wished that the elevators at least landed on the same level as the Intercom; A few sets of stairs would have been easy for anyone else to ascend without a head that felt like it weighed 2 tons on their shoulders.

Knees still crying out in pain from all of the effort, he trudged down the corridor and turned the corner, swinging his head into the doorway of the room where the Other resided.

The rabbit was sitting in one of the many plastic chairs they had lying around somewhere in the storages, knees raised high and body hunched over in an attempt to sit at the level of the piece of furniture; A laughable sight, but granted, these chairs were meant to be used by a small child and not a massive mechanical lagomorph.

His attention was focused on a CRT television before him, removed from its initial location on the wall of security footage and placed in the center of the desk instead. Shifting colors illuminated the rabbit's face in the dimmed room, the pearly-white sheen of plastic teeth reflected in the light.

The Other must have eventually noticed Henry in the doorway, neck of metal coils swiveling with a creak to meet his gaze. An equally springy arm raised, the remote in its grip pausing the TV with a click.

A minute of deafening silence, perhaps two or three, passed between them.

It was an odd quirk the Other had, staring someone down like that; Was it because of how small his eyes were, or was it simply for the dramatics? Henry assumed the latter, though the former didn't seem so unlikely.

...

"HENRY HOTLINE!" The rabbit finally exclaimed, voice booming through the small room as he clapped his gloved hands together in what Henry took to be joy. "What an absolute delight it is to see you! I've been-"

"Could you get to the point, please?"

A pause. The Other's everlasting grin seemed to falter a bit, and Henry mentally berated himself for even speaking out at all. But the former didn't seem to pay much mind, perking up as he broke through the silence once more.

"Ah, yes!" He chirped, turning his attention to the television in front of him.

"Well, I thought it'd be pleasant for the both of us if we had a bit of...'downtime', if you could call it that! After all, I'm sure you and Frankie are just tuckered out from all the preparation for our brand-new season!"

The Other reached a coiled arm back, taking a hold of a plastic chair similar to that of the one he was sitting upon and slowly dragged it to his side, placing it upright and clasping his hands around the remote on his lap.

...Seriously?

What was he even doing? If that freak wanted to watch television together, he could've just said so, instead of building it up like it was some kind of suspenseful, mysterious thing.

...

The Other patted the seat next to him with an oversized hand, a hint of insistence in the motion.

...Well, it's not like Henry had anything else to do.

Or that he could say "no", for that matter.

The robotic rabbit's ears raised a bit as Henry made his way toward the chair, the childish piece of furniture creaking under his weight as he slowly sat himself down. A cover to something in the corner of his eye caught the phone's attention-

...Ah, it was one of those.

The company behind them all, of course, did other things besides running a gore-y abomination of a game show; Toys, movies, cartoons and god knows what else were promoted nearly everywhere around the Parkour Palace. They gloated often, signage everywhere always claiming how successful they were as the "World's Largest" in practically everything.

If that truly was the case, why were they struggling with bankruptcy to the point of livestreamed murder?

Another click of the remote brought Henry back to the present. He rested his hands on his head and peered closer at the TV, making an attempt in adjusting his vision—long-used to the dark of his areas—to the program before him.

Eye-straining technicolor hues lit up the room around the two: Frankie's cartoon show, one season out of the many that they'd produced when a Mr. "Stan Ellie" still had a hold of the brand—Or so he heard, from hushed conversations behind closed doors.

From what the phone could gather within the episode displayed before them, the cartoon counterparts of him and Frankie had an argument over who was the superior entertainer out of the two, and the rest of the episode's plot mainly consisted of the duo attempting to out-do each other in every way possible; A shallow and silly conflict, created to be entertaining yet simple enough for a child's mind to comprehend.

A minute dribbled away, maybe more, as the cartoonish antics played out before him...

"This is one of my favorite parts that's coming up."

Henry realized he'd been nodding off for most of the episode's duration when the Other leaned in close to his head to whisper to him, forcing his attention back to the television.

"Oh Frankie, what a fool I've been!"

Now both of the animated mascots were together on a stage, in complete shambles thanks to what Henry assumed to be one comical competition too many.

"I'm terribly sorry, Frankie. I spent all my time trying to upstage you, and now BOTH of our shows are ruined! Could you ever forgive me for this?"

The cartoon phone looked downright ashamed, but Frankie didn't appear to pay much mind.

"Aw, Henry, of COURSE I'd forgive you! In fact, I should probably be the one asking you the same."

"...Really?"

"Well, of course! I shouldn't have been hot-headed enough to bet on eachother in the first place. Our friendship is way more important than some silly competition!"

No one as stubborn as these characters had been prior would ever admit they were at fault in real-life, but the conflict needed to be forgotten by the next episode to keep the show interesting.

But somehow, in some way, Henry found himself more drawn to the television than ever as the animated rabbit continued.

"So, what d'ya say, Henry? Let bygones be bygones and still be friends?"

The animated rabbit looked at the phone expectantly with open arms. Silence, until the latter broke into a grin.

"...Well, I don't see why I'd say otherwise."

The two characters hugged each-other, a simple resolution made to warm the heart and make way for another episode, where it would be completely forgotten in favor for another set of antics.

Henry leaned closer to the television. His eyes locked in, onto the rabbit nuzzling himself into his cartoon counterpart's chest with a smile. Onto that sickeningly sweet display, before it blinked to darkness and back to the credits sequence.

The thump-thump-thumping cadence against his chest synched with that of the throbbing in his head.

He shot up out of his seat, despite the protesting of his legs, already sore from earlier.

"I-I—" Henry's words caught in his throat as he attempted to suppress his shaking, only worsened by how the Other slowly turned to look him in the eye.

"—I need to excuse myself for a moment, please."

Perhaps the Other was saying something to the phone when he stumbled through the doorway, but it was drowned out by his footsteps echoing through the hallway as he took himself far, far, far away from the Utilidors.

"Ah! Henry, you'll miss..."

The Other found himself trailing off, hearing Henry's stomping grow fainter and fainter down the halls.

Silence.

He sighed, pausing the television and drawing his attention to the security footage before him, then to the microphone of the intercom.

Seemed like it was time to trade out shifts for the night.

Eventually, his body couldn't take the strain of travel any longer. Henry found himself falling to a carpeted floor, chest heaving with uneven breath.

As he dragged himself toward a wall, scrubbed clean of the mural he'd scrawled on in oxidized blood before, he looked up at the cartoon visage of himself printed across every inch of the room.

He was surrounded by a reflection of something- No, someone he was meant to be before all of this. The ideal of someone who was happier than him. Someone who still had everything he wanted and deserved in life.

Someone who still had his best friend.

Tucking his knees to his chest, Henry put his head in his hands.

And for the first time, in what seemed like ages, he cried.

Alone.

shadows crawled across the living room's length,

i held on to you with a desperate strength,

with everything, with everything in me

It wasn't supposed to go this way.

When the licks of the incinerator's flames dissolved into an eerie ice-cold numbness, when the power began to surge through every circuit in his body again, when his senses returned, vision locking itself onto the visage of the fleshy face of a contestant, that was the first thing that Frankie had concluded to himself.

And he hated it.

Ever since the show started broadcasting, a simple set of rules was enforced, always playing out at Frankie's advantage: If the contestants ever got cocky and decided to try and cheat, he would come in and make sure they were put in their place. It was just routine.

And Frankie? He loved routine.

That was the only thing he could genuinely like in the Parkour Palace.

Doing what he did, of course, would always result in a death or two—But who really cared? He'd show up, make a scene, cause some scares and shed some blood. Maybe get a snack out of it, too. That's what he was made for. That's how it was supposed to go.

Frankie was the villain. The poster-boy. The big bad.

The star of the show.

...

And then, after 57 long (short was a better word for them) seasons, someone won for once.

And his little routine was torn to shreds right in front of his eyes.

Suddenly, he wasn't allowed to catch and kill that "Lucky Contestant", when it was perfectly fine to hunt them down before they won. Suddenly, they were with the big-bosses at the forefront of hush-hush conversations about "funding" and "budget" and how they would be working in the next season.

Suddenly, that cheater was the star now.

It wasn't fair.

Not at all.

It was called Frankie's Parkour Palace. It was Frankie's cereal, Frankie's this, Frankie's that, Frankie's EVERYTHING! Everything in that place was all his! He was in charge, not them!

But here he was, slouching on the seat of some stupid couch while the Lucky Contestant sat across from him.

Frankie forgot why he was even here, or what room this was supposed to be in the first place. It was probably some crappy fancy-schmancy lounge, for the higher-ups to hang out in and supervise everything. The only thing he did know was that it reeked of cigar smoke, emanating from that of one in the Contestant's hand.

Little Lucky Contestant, their shining star, their golden goose, all dressed up in the same suit as before. Though of course they had to be as decorated as possible, wearing some kind of magician's outfit instead of the regular garb. Probably the big-bosses' idea.

He watched them tuck the cigar under their mask, taking it away as a smoke ring crept from underneath with a light exhale before it dissipated mid-air.

"...So, did you catch all that?"

Oh right, they were actually saying something before.

"Alright, I guess not? Wouldn't hurt to repeat it, I suppose."

Smartass.

Frankie grumbled and sank further into his seat, the Contestant pulling up some kind of display on a newly-repaired Deputy Duck. Red and green lines, a bunch of numbers he didn't know or care about. They went on about some kind of 'game plan' for this year's season, stupid limitations he already knew about, technical terms he didn't want to bother with.

"—Now, I've been watching you guys for a while, and I know this is a lot different than what the show usually does. But, hear me out on this. Me and Frankie—"

Frankie's head shot up at his name. He savored the Contestant's discomfort—Apparent, despite their face still being concealed by a mask, just lifted out enough at the bottom for them to speak and smoke.

"...Oh, right. I meant the, um...the other Frankie."

A pause. Their head shifted from side to side. "...The real Frankie."

The sneer on the rabbit's face faded immediately. All joy that he felt from the situation had dissolved, leaving a new sensation in its wake.

Anger.

The real Frankie? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Of COURSE he was real! Was that little cheater trying to imply he was some fake?

Bullshit. If anyone around here was fake, it was that freak wearing his own face.

The Other.

The Other was supposed to be just that: Lesser than, an "other", a byproduct. The creep wasn't even supposed to do or mean anything; All he existed for was to just be some announcer for the show, a narrator for the contestants' ultimate demises. Last-minute they slapped a nasty old suit on him, shoved him in the Utilidors and said he was 'another' of him just to get more attention and drag their show out of bankruptcy.

But out of the blue, that smiling bastard—someone who was supposed to be cut out entirely after the last season, at least from what he'd heard—had the audacity to think he was superior? The audacity to talk like he was one of the higher-ups? To talk to the player, drag them into this show and ruin everything Frankie had?

The audacity, to make himself out like he was the "real" one?

That wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. This wasn't how the rules were supposed to go, not at all, he hated them all and how they came in and changed everything and ruined everything he had and they messed up his game show messed everything up and he was just so FUCKING ANGRY-

And everything boiled over.

In one swift motion, Frankie struck the Contestant in mid-smoke with his hand, the cigar and Deputy clattering onto the floor. He flipped the table over, the contents of the ashtray scattering everywhere like acrid-smelling snow. Then he kicked the objects to the wall. Stomped them a bit for good measure, but the stupid duck barely got scratched. Great, they poured money into upgrades for that thing too.

Now the rabbit's head swiveled around and he was cursing at them, screaming over the sound of their coughs. He didn't care if his words were coherent or not, voice broken and not used to speaking, as long as it got the point across to that cheater. He wanted to spite them, get them mad, spill his guts and show them how badly they screwed his life over.

Did that fraud really think they were all high and mighty just because they won? Yeah, right. When the higher-ups had another star in their clutches they'd throw them right back to the side, just like they did to him. They were just as fucked as everyone else was.

Frankie hated the Contestant, and he sure as hell hoped they hated him back as he turned his back to them, slamming the door open and stomping away.

The higher-ups are probably going to get after me for breaking their rules.

So, what? Who cared what the higher-ups thought? If they were gonna get so mad at Frankie for playing by the "brute" role, maybe they shouldn't have given it to him in the first place.

They always had something to complain about with him. It was always something, like "Oooooh, Frankie, don't dooooo that, that's not in the scriiiiiiptttt," or some other excuse to limit what he did. That, or they thought he was too dumb to listen to anything.

Well, if the bosses thought Frankie was dumb, he was gonna think they were dumb right back. He didn't need them anyway. All a bunch of morons, never taking him seriously and never letting him—

The rabbit's thoughts were cut short as he slammed face-first into the grate of a vent, unceremoniously tumbling out and falling onto a carpeted floor.

...

As Frankie sat himself up and slowly began to untangle the metal coils making up his limbs, the fire coursing through his core started to fizzle out, a chilling sensation arriving in its wake.

He knew what that meant all too well, and he despised it. The rage in his gut was going to be replaced with a cold hard lump, all the strength would fade from his body and leave him feeling crushed, and he'd start having second thoughts and second glances, and—

—No, he wasn't about to let that happen. He needed to hold onto what he had now. He needed to think something, do something to keep the fire going. Light it up. Pour some gas on. Let the flames spread farther and farther, so by the time it's all over he won't feel anything at all. Not like he wasn't used to it after-

And ears perking up, a sound caught his attention.

Looks like he wasn't alone.

The rabbit tugged himself up from the ground. Maybe it was one of those "Noob Noobs". He sure could use one of those as a chew-toy, he needed something to sink his teeth into. They were pretty much an infestation at this point, so what would one less in the Parkour Palace hurt?

And the farther and farther that he stomped away from the vents to the source of all the noise...

...

...The more and more it began to sound like static in his head, a familiar tone of voice.

Huh, so that's what it was.

Frankie rarely saw anyone crying in the Parkour Palace. Maybe he did, at least a few times during the season's run; Typically it was one of the contestants, hopeless and afraid, hunched over in some corner somewhere completely vulnerable and ripe for the picking. But aside from that, he'd never really seen anyone doing it after-hours.

Let alone when it was one of the other mascots.

Frankie didn't exactly know what Henry's role was supposed to be in the game show. He did know he was popular—definitely not as popular as the rabbit was, but enough for him to be an audience favorite and keep himself on for another season.

Maybe it was his mascot counterpart that made him so well-liked; All the artwork around the Palace showed him as a charming, charismatic character, constantly smirking or smiling for the chat to lose its mind.

But Henry wasn't smiling now.

The humanoid phone was leaned on the wall across from Frankie, legs tucked to his chest and head in his hands as his shoulders shook with each sob.

The rabbit felt his body step forward on its own accord. Despite their ability to add blood to the mascots, the higher-ups hadn't installed any fake tears for them; That explained how dry Henry's face was, when he looked up at the sound of Frankie's foot coming in contact with the carpet.

"F-FRANKIE!" He exclaimed, stumbling up from the ground and backing further into the wall.

"I-I'm...I really am sorry! I was just... um..."

...

Frankie blinked, observing the phone as he shrank beneath his presence, his stammering devolving into nonsense before trailing off.

The silence was deafening.

Henry must have concluded that Frankie wasn't doing anything to him—not like he could in the first place, it felt like he was standing in quicksand—as he slumped forward, re-assuming his position on the wall as he curled into himself again.

Slowly, one foot in front of the other, Frankie crept towards Henry's side, sitting down on the carpet to meet his level. He silently observed him, ears twitching as he heard the phone's whimpers resume.

The one thing that Frankie genuinely liked was routine.

But there was something else that he liked, too—and it was a confusing thing, rattled his body down to its very core with an unfamiliar warmth. It was something that twisted in his chest, flashing an idea in the back of his mind.

...No, he couldn't do that.

Why did he feel so conflicted about this? Why was he so drawn towards the situation? That wasn't in-character for him. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. But then again: he was the one who was mad at the higher-ups, so why did he have to stop himself to comply with their rules?

Frankie flexed his claws, mind racing with his mental debate with himself, until he finally let out a low, heavy sigh.

He'd made up his mind.

It took Henry a moment to register it all.

Somehow, Frankie had made the decision to rest his head on top of his, coiled arms wrapping themselves around his center. The metal was ice-cold to the touch, but in an... almost grounding sense.

...But why?

Why would Frankie do this at all? He could have chosen to do anything else with Henry, maybe drag him back to the Other for what he'd done. He could have left him.

So why would he decide to stay with him instead?

Henry just didn't know how to react. All he could do was cry harder, gripping onto the springs draped around his body with all he could as the rabbit pressed further into him.

Whatever reason that Frankie had to stay, he just hoped it would let him do it for just a moment longer.

and i handed you a drink of the lovely little thing

on which our survival depends

people say friends don't destroy one another;

what do they know about friends?

Lounging around on a couch was certainly different when it wasn't in the Contestant's old dingy apartment.

Everything was a lot more different, really, at least to them; Like smoking, but now they were doing it with some fancy cigars hailing from Cuba instead of cheap, crappy packs of cigarettes from the gas station that they'd burn through.

Said cigar was currently on the floor along with the table, as well as Deputy, who was currently kicking his legs and squawking as he struggled to get himself right-side up.

The Contestant sighed, grabbing Deputy from the floor and brushing the residue from the ashtray off of his screen. He gave a small qua-quack in what they took as gratitude. They didn't speak duck, after all.

Maybe I struck some kind of chord with that other Frankie, they thought, putting a hand to their throat that still stung with the bitter aftertaste of tobacco.

Before the Contestant could contemplate further the intercoms above buzzed to life, sending a jolt of shock through their body as a voice cut through the fizzling static.

"LUCKY CONTESTANT!"

Oh. It was just Frankie. They relaxed their shoulders, tilting their focus to the speakers above as the voice continued on.

It was a routine they were well-adjusted to by this point. To try and even up the workload of preparing for the new season, them and Frankie would split up their workload through shifts. He'd do surveillance around the Parkour Palace, the Contestant would do some of the financial stuff around it, and vice-versa when the time came to trade things out.

In this case, it was the latter's turn to watch over the cameras for the night. Deputy Duck tilted his head to look up at them as they made their way to the elevators that had already opened up nearby, the door closing behind the two.

"There you are, my Lucky Contestant!"

Frankie had reached a gloved hand out to pat the Contestant on the head in greeting. They readjusted their mask once he'd finally let go, straightening their posture as they stood before him.

"Good to see you too, Frank."

The rest continued like it always did. Frankie slipped through the doorway with a "Good luck, and good night!", leaving the Contestant to their own devices in the Intercom Room. They scooted a plastic chair (was there always two of them in there?) towards the CCTV footage, placing Deputy on the desk beside them as they watched through the cameras.

"Back to the old night shift. Right, Deputy?" They mumbled, petting the duck on his plastic head.

Quack.

"Yeah, me too."

The only thing they had to worry about was eyestrain, given they did this whole gig for hours on end. Then again, it wasn't too hard to pass the time; they were pretty used to keeping themselves awake for a long while. Sucked that things were uneventful for the most part, though, but at least it was an easy job.

...

...And then, they saw something out of the corner of their eye. They leaned closer into one of the screens, trying to track whatever movement they picked up on...

Huh, you don't see that every day.

One of the only interactions that the Contestant had seen between Henry and 'Frankie' had given the idea that the two weren't on the best of terms. So naturally, the last thing they expected to be seeing on the security cameras were the two holding onto one another, leaned on one of the walls in Connections.

They broke away from each other, Henry's head bobbing slightly as he supposedly spoke to the robotic rabbit. Was he laughing a bit? Given the lack of audio from the televisions, it was impossible to tell anything that was going on.

The Contestant watched Henry get up and walk away from the wall, Frankie dragging himself behind him and out of the camera's view.

They leaned back in their seat, tilting their head up to look at the ceiling above them.

The sound of white noise emanating from the televisions felt a bit louder in their head than it did before.

thunder clouds forming, cream white moon

everything's gonna be okay soon

maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day

And the Other made his way through the Utilidors, the memory of every prior event replaced by a plan for the next day's preparation for the season somewhere in his mind,

carried you up the stairs that night

all this could be yours if the price is right

i heard cars headed down to oblivion up on the expressway

And Frankie and Henry both went their separate ways for the night, silently wondering if the other would remember what had happened by the time morning came,

your drunken kiss is as light as the air

maybe everything that falls down eventually rises

And Deputy tilted his head to the side as he watched the Contestant with confusion, wishing he had the voice to ask what exactly they had seen,

our house sinking into disrepair

And, deep down, it began to dawn on the Contestant that maybe they hadn't earned anything at all—

ah, but look at this showroom, filled with fabulous prizes

[satureja13]

Jack dragged Sai over to his and Kiyoshi's quarters to distract him from his misery - with some games. Skully: "Yes! Slay them into bloody pieces!" And he began to sing growl 'Swing of the Axe' by Power Trip... 'Go on and look at you - today's your lucky day The executioner's here And he's ready to make you pay

Swing of the axe, Swing of the axe Cry all you want, but the blade soars today Swing of the axe, Swing of the axe' "

Sai: "That's a bowling game, Skully..." Skully: "Then put some more effort in it!" Saiwa sighed. But everything is better than mulling over Jeb and their doomed sex life. Even hanging out with Skully. Where does he get those songs from anyway? ö.ö

And then Noxee called! Jack's eyes lit up. He loves Noxee since he first laid eyes on her. And he might have told her how much he's worried about Sai. Sai was so happy to see her. She surely would have some good tips for him. Noxee tamed Greg. She's the Queen of giving relationship advice.

Noxee looked at broken Sai: "Oh honey. That's not how I know you. I didn't raise you like that." Sai just wanted to start rambling about Jeb's revelation and how he's never going to lose his virginity, when Noxee interrupted. Noxee: "Babies. I'd love to chat with you but I have to take Greg to the hospital wing." Sai: "Gods! Did he get into a fight again? Is he severely hurt?" Noxee: "No, no he isn't. Just a physical inspection. A little strip search. A thorough body check. If you know what I mean? *She winked twice - and Greg, in the background, was just standing there, grinning stupidly in anticipation* And then some physiotherapy for this hardened muscle. A proper roleplay never hurt anyone ^^' Love you - bye!"

Well that was disappointing. As always... Sai grumbled: "Noxee didn't raise us at all." Jack: "Oh, I think she has. You don't have to be around someone for years to get an impact from them. And I think she did also gave us some valueable advice." Sai: "How so? She didn't say anything about me and Jeb." Jack: "Just you wait and see. She already showed us that a relationship can work, even under worst conditions, hm?" And Jack tugged Sai along - over to the Security Office, where the latest subscription box from 'Ye Olde Magick Shoppe' waited to be unboxed by curious creatures. Sai: "I don't think Noxee said anything about this?"

Jack: "You are just too deep in your despair to interpret it right. Noxee mentioned role play. And with what do you play with? With toys!" Sai: "I don't think Jeb will let me use them. He'll think they'd hurt me too..." Jack: "That's when her second advice falls in. The pysiotherapy. We've been practising yoga, meditation and tantra for so many months now, it's about time to yield the large crop! And get some profits from it." Sai: "Omg Jack! You and your wild brain. I don't think this was was Noxee had in mind." Jack, who hates Greg: "The only thing she has in mind is that mangily werewolf! We have to work with what we've got." Sai: "But how is that even supposed to help me getting woohooed by Jeb?" Jack: "That's easy. You are starting to play with those toys, some of them look exactly Jeb's size. And you also still have the wand from Kiyoshi. Just go slow and use lots of polish. Simultaneously, you start your one-on-one tantra practise with Jeb. Both of you should leave your ego - and everything else - behind and just focus on the moment - and your bliss. And after a few days - in the right moment - take the toy out and Jeb in - and it won't hurt a bit. And yes, you can thank me later, when you've seen the stars - all of them." And poor Sai is desperate enough to not chase Jack around the ship but to listen to his mad theories. Yes, things already have come this far.

And while Jack stuffs Sai's poor, suffering brain with his nonsense, Vlad and Ji Ho admire the new cargo bay. Jeb and Jack had turned it into a little green paradise for the Little Ones and for themselves. It will be nice and calming to hang out here. Since they aren't able to just walk around in the open air as long as they travel through space.

Ji Ho: "Let's pick our food and eat on the blanket?" Vlad, who'd promised Jack to be more approachable: "Eh - sure."

Jack told them just a few minutes ago he'd already set the table for them with their meals in the Crew Mess. But when they entered, their plates were empty. Someone ate their food. And it even looks like the plates had been licked clean. What the hell?

A little later, when Jeb and Kiyoshi finished their shift at the bridge, they built a - hopefully - secure container for the meteorites. The glow effects even intesified with time... They weren't able to measure any harmful radiants, so they just hope it's safe enough until they have time to research further. After they'd finished, it was upon Kiyoshi to distract poor Jeb from his misery. Well, Kiyoshi has decades of experience in not woohooing Jack...

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

Outtakes

Meteorites going crazy

[ladykissingfish]

Madara: Hashi, why doesn’t your granddaughter like me?

Hashirama: What do you mean? Is Tsuna being rude to you when I’m not around?

Madara: No, it’s just … she never talks to me unless I talk first. She never looks me in the eye. Do you think maybe we got together too fast, after Mito died? That maybe she resents me or thinks I’m trying to take her grandmother’s place?

Hashirama: *puts his arms around Madara* Stop talking nonsense, old man. Tsuna knows about our past, and how I’ve always felt about you. 

Hashirama: But you’ve got to remember, she really knows nothing about you. And she’s a teenage girl; her interests aren’t realy going to lie in being best friends with her old grandpa’s husband, you know?

Madara, sighing: I suppose you’re right …

Hashirama: I am right. Just give it some time; she’ll come around eventually.

*several weeks later*

Tsunade, going into the Hokage office: Gramps? Are you ready to — oh. 

Madara: He got called away to settle a dispute between two shop owners. But he should be back in just a little bit, if you want to wait?

Tsunade: *nods and sits in a chair, looking out the window*

Tsunade, muttering to herself: Damn … there goes that girl again chasing after Dan. I ought to go after her and punch her lights out.

Madara, quietly: That wouldn’t do you a bit of good, child.

Tsunade: *turns her head sharply to look at him* What?

Madara: Punching somebody is a very poor effort to extract revenge for a wrong. The bruise will heal and as soon as it does, they go right back to the same behavior. Have you warned her about staying away from this “Dan”?

Tsunade: Yes, but she just laughs at me and says that if I’m not enough to hold his attention, then she should be free to take him if she wants. 

Madara: Ah. Still, punching her or any sort of physical violence won’t be effective.

Tsunade: Then what am I supposed to do?!

Madara: Halloween is around the corner. Do you happen to know if she has any fears?

Tsunade: Well, once at academy a little blackbird flew into the window. She panicked and was screaming and crying until some kids caught it and let it back out. So, I suppose birds.

Madara: If she reacts so dramatically over a little blackbird, how do you think she’d react to several hundred hawks and falcons?

Tsunade: She’d probably be traumatized for life. But who in the world would have that many large birds??

Madara: *grins*

*several days later, Halloween afternoon*

Tsunade, running in to Hashirama’s office: It worked! I told the hawks and falcons to circle her and surround her, and they did! I threatened that if she didn’t leave Dan alone, she would suffer the same punishment every day! And she agreed to back off!

Tsunade: Thanks, Uncle Madara! *hugs him and leaves*

Hashirama: Ah? Did — did you show Tsuna how to command your birds — ?

Madara: Mm. Turns out we share two big interests; animals, and revenge.

Hashirama: