#you can never stick the landing
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shallowseeker · 2 years ago
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mortals reach a pinnacle when they find something to live for, as they are already (constantly) dying
immortals reach a pinnacle when they find something to die for, as they are already chained to the torturous of cycle of meaningless repetition
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budugaapologist · 1 month ago
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still dont see how so many people say that dawntrail is poorly written in comparison to other expansions like. what, did you realize you had to learn about a new culture and immediately not care anymore lmao? you've done it before, was this one not white enough for you?
genuinely i think more people should do side quests during msq so idk you can form a heart about the characters you're interacting with if you struggle with that and understand the land better so when impactful shit happens your illiterate ass can actually read and have empathy. theres no excuse for this.
if you can't handle storybuilding and character introductions from the expansion that feels like stormblood and shadowbringers had passionate gay sex that got one of them pregnant and birthed a beautiful daughter they both love and care about then idk what to tell you, maybe youre just lame and can't read. best of luck with that.
#'they dont take as many risks as shadowbringers and endwalker!!' okay one WHAT risk did ENDWALKER take lmao#and two DID YOU PLAY PAST ZORMOR LMAO?????????? HELLO?????????? DID YOU LEAVE TULIYOLLAL??? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT#like i genuinely think you guys just complain about shit without actually playing the game#god forbid you have to learn about another world#some people heard this was stormblood 2 and immediately gave up caring#oh im sorry you were able to care about literal racist elves in cold france but a refugee? a non white civilization? oh i see#shadowbringers literally set up its societies too they were already in war dawntrail wasnt already#i think people should replay stormblood. it was never a bad expansion and i dont know what people are talking about???#half of the complaints i see for stormblood are racist and the other half werent reading any of the dialogue#'the horrors of war expansion has horrors of war in it i just wanna play on the playground with gay elves'#bitches will literally say they dont understand stormblood or dawntrail and then say yotsuyu was justified zenos is hot and wuk lamat is bad#why play a fantasy game if youre not interested in exploring new worlds#dawntrail takes so many more risks than shadowbringers and endwalker combined and sticks the landing with just about all of them#i think my only problem was how many times theg brought up they arent related by blood. no i can tell lol#some of yall are just haters that cant form their own opinion and are just mindlessly nodding along to somebody#you follow on twitter that was gonna hate DT regardless because zenos didnt come back to life this time#consume new media. go do side quests. touch grass. walk a trail at dawn and perhaps you have appreciation for story building#you guys are pathetic and i wish you the worst <3#dawntrail's twists are on par with shb and stb thats why i call it the love child of stormblood and shadowbringers#ffxiv
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shalomniscient · 3 months ago
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natlan 5.1 was batshit insane but i won't deny cookery when i see it. last 1/3 of the archon quest is just brilliantly done in my opinion, from writing to level design to soundtrack. just genuine excellence
#sev.screams#natlan#the character centric parts were rather weak to me#ororon has an intriguing arc but i don't care enough about him to care about the arc#similarly i only felt a surface level investment with a lot of the other main cast; though funnily enough excluding citlali#she's a breath of fresh air amongst the cast and i really enjoyed her screentime#there are a lot of story decisions in this quest that i'm impressed and glad hoyo decided to take; it adds a layer of realism to natlan tha#was missing in inazuma and ultimately i believe was the reason inazuma flopped as a nation#there is real tangible weight in the things that happen in natlan; i felt moved by the story and i think that's the hallmark of a good stor#i hope in the next archon quest they don't undo or undermine these decisions in any way. they truly contributed so much to the overall tone#of the story that to remove them would be like taking the legs out from underneath it#writing aside the environmental storytelling and level design also contributed so much to crafting the atmosphere of this quest#it felt gut wrenching in a way inazuma never did. for even the briefest moment these npcs were people and you were watching them struggle#a poignant beautiful desperate struggle that i think is so incredibly human and both moving and heartbreaking to witness#also helped by the exquisite ost. hoyomix has certainly not lost their touch even with yu peng chen gone#despair hope triumph relief; all captured so wonderfully in a score i know i will be listening to for the next few weeks once it drops#i'm rambling so much but. i liked this a lot and i can only hope hoyo sticks the landing on this one#i hate having high expectations but i can't help it for this one i fear
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deadqueernoldor · 8 months ago
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Thinking thoughts about those from Cuivienen and how they later treated the Valar, especially after Cuivienen was destroyed.
I imagine a foundation of sorrow and a layer of betrayal and pettiness. They had promised safety. And how did it turn out? Kin of Tata and Tatie their first leaders, slain in Valinor by the Dark Hunter from which the Valar promised protection in Valinor.
And then, the War of Wrath comes and with it the destruction of Cuivienen.
If any of those were re-embodied in Aman, I wonder if they make it a point to always turn their back to Valar and Maiar. I wonder if they only speak in the tongue they had first devised all those millennia ago and spoke in Cuivienen before time and different kindreds changed the tongue, not Sindarin or Quenya from the Great Journey's time or later. I wonder if they sing songs in their ancient tongue, songs about the beauty and unsullied health of Cuivienen every time any of the Ainur are near.
I wonder if the Valar feel any shame when those who they once looked upon in wonder and love gaze back at them with indifference or disgust.
#i am so normal about the elves of cuivienen feeling the betrayal worse than anyone in aman including feanor and co#they PROMISED safety from Morgoth and orcs. they PROMISED beautiful lands without sorrow. they PROMISED all that and down the line#decided Mogoth had played pretend well enough to warrant him probation during which he immediately killed again#returns to the east and sullies what beauty had been left. and then even from afar he manages to hurt those from cuivienen with the WoW#dont get me wrong i think the cuivienen elves knew there had to be war against Morgoth for him to be defeated. but the fact that the valar#decided not to only abandon those of beleriand for over 5 centuries before that AND once the war is won also abandon#those of cuivienen to watch their beloved lands drown without as much a warning must sting.#i want there to be a concious decision of 'you abandoned your promise to us twice why should we ever trust you again even in your own lands'#a 'you promised our people who folowed you safety. you didnt deliver. you promised us freedom from morgoth. you didnt deliver. in fact your#inadequacy and decision to let him loose made everything worse for us in the east. why should we ever listen to anything you say'#and thus a concious effort to shed association with Aman as the Valar govern it. they cant leave. the way is shut. but they can establish#a sticking to their own tongue and traditions without the interference of the Ainur. they've done enough. not enough and yet quite enough.#the avari are welcome should some be reborn.#i never know if i want those of cuivienen to be reborn in aman or fade into unexistence entirely both have merit and sexy hcs#but if any were reborn i think they would get along fairly alright with the exiles. kinslaying exiles? 50/50 depending on repentance#but anyone who does not believe the valar's words and respects their decision to not ever be associated with them is welcomed neutral-warmly#they teach them songs about cuivienen. the sweet waters. beautiful meadows. the birdsong that sounds extra cheerful. fish in abundance#and in turn they get taught songs about beleriand. bewitched forests. victorious battles. wild rivers. frothy shores.#it is seen as an honour to be taught a song about Cuivienen by the people who sat by its shores once. in their language/dialect/whatever#instead of in sindarin or quenya. some millenia into the 4th age tou have a surge of ppl speaking cuivienen dialect#it becomes a clear distinction of who still has fondness left for the valar and who would feel indifferent if they vanished suddenly.#this tag essay has gotten way too long again. sorry besties it will happen again.#tag essay longer than the fucking post???? help#tolkien headcanons
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doyelikehaggis · 9 months ago
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return of the gay uncles? if u take seconds 🥰
Seconds are warmly welcomed and encouraged, thank you bestie (Quick context, let's pretend Bobby did not in fact kill Lucy, her death was a genuine accident and he had nothing to do with it)
<3
'It's just that I promised Lil I'd look after Charli for her while she went out with her mates,' Freddie called through.
'Well, it's' -Bobby winced at a unsettling noise from the back room but tried his best not to think about what might have just fallen as he checked his watch- 'almost one, so our lunch break isn't technically for another hour. But I don't mind if you take it early, I can look after this place on my own.'
He waited for his response, silently hoping he would say he could wait out the hour. While he was telling the truth and was perfectly capable of looking after the chippy on his own due it being completely dead, that was exactly why he hoped he'd stay. With Charli, and work, and Bobby's dad being back in town, they hadn't had a lot of time to hang out. This was the best he was going to get.
'Oh, Bob, I love ya, you know that?' He peeked his head back around the door to flash him a grin. 'You're the best boss ever. I mean, you're the only boss I've ever had but that don't change the facts. Promise I'll make it back up to ya.'
Bobby smiled, ignoring his sinking heart. 'That's okay. Really. It's fine.' He rolled his eyes. 'Go on, go look after Charli.'
Freddie disappeared momentarily then reappeared a second later, his face contorted with concern. 'Wait, if I go now, is your dad gonna dock my wages? It's just, I can't really afford...'
'No, course not,' Bobby assured him. 'I won't tell him.'
'Uh oh. I don't think your dad would be too happy if he heard that.'
Bobby startled. His head snapped up to stare at Christian, leaning in the doorway like a day hadn't passed since he last saw him. The only difference was a few more grey hairs and deeper lines around his lopsided smile. Other than that? It might as well have been yesterday when he last saw him rather than... six years? Seven? He couldn't even remember at this point, it had been so long already.
'Letting staff off early? That's one thing, but lying to your old man?' Christian tutted and shook his head. Then he stopped, and a grin split his face. 'I won't tell if you don't.'
Send me the title/number of a wip and make me write it!
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itissadbutitsmy-artblog · 1 year ago
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gross little kids
blaine: spader! spader! spader: what
blaine: look! i found a full-on rat outside! spader: oh glob
blaine: aww, does it scare you?
spader: it’s gross. do i come to your house bearing gross gifts with no warning?
blaine: no but  if you did that would be cool :D spader: ok
spader, the next day or whatever: blaine! blaine! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!
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dullweapons · 10 months ago
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mother of all tag dumps inbound ..... i am not booping people cause theres like 30 tags lol
here is the page on my google site that lists them all ... i think ? may have missed someone but ill double check later
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⸻  SHIP  : ayrin / sahar  ❤︎  you know you hypnotize me always !   ˎˊ˗
⸻  SHIP  : ray / grace ( hyliangrace )  ❤︎  you can be the match & i will be the fuse : boom   ˎˊ˗
⸻  SHIP  : ray / lyric ( lunarscaled )  ❤︎  bleed into my mouth so i may taste you forever ; leviathan  ˎˊ˗
⸻  SHIP  : ray / robin ( wolfvirago )  ❤︎  hold me in your arms & i die a little death so beautifully  ˎˊ˗
⸻  SHIP  : ray / octavo ( bransles )  ❤︎  but he fell in love with the fever & i'm on my knees in a theater .  ˎˊ˗
⸻  SHIP  : ray & ayrin  / link ( uneasedregrets )  ❤︎  city of stars ; never shined so brightly  ˎˊ˗
⸻  SHIP  : ray / volga ( volcania )  ❤︎  your blood like wine get me drunk & make me feel .   ˎˊ˗
⸻  SHIP  : ray / ghirahim ( flamboycnt )  ❤︎  let our love be a flame not an ember ! say it's me that you want to dismember !  ˎˊ˗
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⸻  RELATION  : ray & link ( legacyshero )  ✦ no voice to speak of your suffering but i hear you now  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & nabooru ( gerudospiriit )  ✦ so if you need to be mean be mean to me . i can take it & put it inside me . ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & bussaba ( topaz-adorned )  ✦ you with the dark curls you with the watercolor eyes ! ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & gallilea ( vairuler )  ✦ im made of sugar spice kanekalon & cinnamon : me & my bestie are the sam like a synonym ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & toba ( askganondorftobadragmire )  ✦ you take away this pain from me : the memories that haunted me  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & nabooru ( gerudosage )  ✦ oh she could have been a poet or she could have been a fool . ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & miri ( somnium-led )  ✦ dear prudence won't you open your eyes ? look around … look around …  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & eilian ( somnium-led )  ✦ im sick of apologies from people with priorities that their life matters so much more than ours . ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & ganondorf ( oocca )  ✦ want to save your men from the fire ? show me that you’re willing to burn .  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & link ( twilitae )  ✦ what? land of the free? whoever told you that is your enemy .  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & link ( obraveyouth )  ✦ who’s a heretic child ? can you make it stick now ?  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & zelda ( spiritmaiden )  ✦ why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & zelda ( telepathyia )  ✦ the moon will sing a song for me : i loved you like the sun ! bore the shadow that you made  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & zelda ( regnantlight )  ✦  can you tell me what's the point in building empty empires now? ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ray & calamity ( hylianremnants )  ✦  i know you i walked with you once upon a nightmare  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ayrin & sky ( hylianremnants )  ✦  stories of old great adventure : i want to be just like you .  ˎˊ˗
⸻  RELATION  : ayrin & sun ( hylianremnants )  ✦  bright & beautiful : sing me another lullaby  ˎˊ˗
#⸻ SHIP : ayrin / sahar ❤︎ you know you hypnotize me always ! ˎˊ˗#⸻ SHIP : ray / grace ( hyliangrace ) ❤︎ you can be the match & i will be the fuse : boom ˎˊ˗#⸻ SHIP : ray / lyric ( lunarscaled ) ❤︎ bleed into my mouth so i may taste you forever ; leviathan ˎˊ˗#⸻ SHIP : ray / robin ( wolfvirago ) ❤︎ hold me in your arms & i die a little death so beautifully ˎˊ˗#⸻ SHIP : ray / octavo ( bransles ) ❤︎ but he fell in love with the fever & i'm on my knees in a theater . ˎˊ˗#⸻ SHIP : ray & ayrin / link ( uneasedregrets ) ❤︎ city of stars ; never shined so brightly ˎˊ˗#⸻ SHIP : ray / volga ( volcania ) ❤︎ your blood like wine get me drunk & make me feel . ˎˊ˗#⸻ SHIP : ray / ghirahim ( flamboycnt ) ❤︎ let our love be a flame not an ember ! say it's me that you want to dismember ! ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & link ( legacyshero ) ✦ no voice to speak of your suffering but i hear you now ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & nabooru ( gerudospiriit ) ✦ so if you need to be mean be mean to me . i can take it & put it inside me . ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & bussaba ( topaz-adorned ) ✦ you with the dark curls you with the watercolor eyes ! ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & gallilea ( vairuler ) ✦ im made of sugar spice kanekalon & cinnamon : me & my bestie are the sam like a synonym ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & toba ( askganondorftobadragmire ) ✦ you take away this pain from me : the memories that haunted me ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & nabooru ( gerudosage ) ✦ oh she could have been a poet or she could have been a fool . ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & miri ( somnium-led ) ✦ dear prudence won't you open your eyes ? look around … look around … ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & eilian ( somnium-led ) ✦ im sick of apologies from people with priorities that their life matters so much more than o#⸻ RELATION : ray & ganondorf ( oocca ) ✦ want to save your men from the fire ? show me that you’re willing to burn . ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & link ( twilitae ) ✦ what? land of the free? whoever told you that is your enemy . ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & link ( obraveyouth ) ✦ who’s a heretic child ? can you make it stick now ? ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & zelda ( spiritmaiden ) ✦ why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & zelda ( telepathyia ) ✦ the moon will sing a song for me : i loved you like the sun ! bore the shadow that you made#⸻ RELATION : ray & zelda ( regnantlight ) ✦ can you tell me what's the point in building empty empires now? ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ray & calamity ( hylianremnants ) ✦ i know you i walked with you once upon a nightmare ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ayrin & sky ( hylianremnants ) ✦ stories of old great adventure : i want to be just like you . ˎˊ˗#⸻ RELATION : ayrin & sun ( hylianremnants ) ✦ bright & beautiful : sing me another lullaby ˎˊ˗
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unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years ago
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as ever like: no two things Need to be juxtaposed, much less like material vs material deathmatch Only One Can Be Good, much less am i thinking i have thee objective word on fuckall b/c who does and it's like perfectly boring & unserious whenever someone just throws out Takes that are just "i think...[xyz] is [adjective]" like okay.
but anyways thinking of how, though differing in execution in a lot of ways ofc, deh & bmc start out in a v similar place & explore a journey to self-acceptance from a despairing starting point....it feels like a lot of the hindrance in deh's exploration of its own Theme there is in like, hey. :) hand on your shoulder. it's okay b/c you'll be able to be more normal. whereas w/bmc it's that it's okay b/c you'll be able to be more abnormal
#like hell yeah. and Normality is fake the way that things like Gender is fake so. what's more universally relevant here#versus like. the idea that a winning takeaway re: deh is Talking With Your Parents / Kid like#yeah that could be an improvement? in other situations; that Talking is dangerous &/or just not going to happen / be irrelevant#meanwhile nobody is ''normal'' & the idea of Normality & its Moral Goodness / Requirement does affect everyone#meanwhile that bmc is clear on jeremy's gaining supportive relationships means support for his relationship w/himself#whilest he's also able to feel better insulated from feeling Defined by whatever instance of feedback/input#whereas with deh it's like. All These People....but log off & all you need is at least one parent who doesn't hate you No Matter What#including your unfortunate abnormality....Just(tm) make the phone calls am i right? well now he at least has a part time job#meanwhile difficult to compare w/e's going on w/zoe/evan vs mpdg4mpdg jeremy/christine. latter are cute & a coherent relationship#former are [nothing] to [i'm taking psychic damage] & fuck if i know what's going on besides The Ultimate Romance(tm) (negative)#he was a boy she was a girl they could politely tolerate each other's presence. maybe forever :')#i really don't know what's supposed to be going on there so like. for real share Any reasons you like each other in Either love song abt it#anyways like No Need To Compare but for me the juxtaposition is natural b/c it Does feel like they can be looked at re: a v similar Essence#but one is fumbling around w/it & really Not sticking the landing especially while the other just does exactly what it's trying to do#and ofc it could only help that deh had to go so far from the original [???] ideas & more Farcical approach#vs i don't think bmc's envisioning ever changed so fundamentally along its development at any point#like deh's story does feel like it still has the remnants of the earlier farcier versions even in its bway form#story of A Bunch Of Wild Shit Happens To Our Protag Whaaat & sure ppl are humanized but you still never made room for like a quarter of the#alana & jared? they're alright but they died#anyways & in all these things it's like It's Not A Big Deal lol i am not here to strive to have thee true & final word#right tf on if you as well know them both & like deh more / think It was the more successful execution of its story#though i have natural enemies like say [trt loyalists who are Like That] or forever [deh haters who are Like That]....we're different#erased a tangent also mentioning how i like the Parent Approach of mr. heere's arc better than any parents in deh lol. like of course#it's Not about his Feelings or being Imperfect or Human. like ofc he has the feelings & is human & imperfect#but he just gets energized & focused like welp bummer but ofc i gotta give my kid more support w/whatever he's going through rn#like hell yeah. one fun song we're good to go#bmc#deh
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griseldabanks · 2 months ago
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Comfyvember 21
Story: The Four (original) Prompts: Enthusiastic greeting — Late night laughter — Waking up together
Timor couldn't suppress his grin as Norun banged his stick against the marble floor and announced loudly, “Lady Taria of the Tritons!”
Taria's expression was much more composed than his, but the ridges of translucent spikes on her head kept bristling up like a cat's fur and then smoothing down as she clearly tried to rein in her excitement. Her long tail also swished back and forth more vigorously than her stately gait down the plush blue carpet to the foot of the throne warranted. One of the castle guards escorting her stumbled slightly as her tail knocked into him.
At the halfway point, the guards flanking her came to a halt with a clank of armor, then they both saluted Timor and stood at attention. As Norun had no doubt instructed her, Taria took three more steps forward—though her strides were much longer than a human's, so she was much closer than most visitors and petitioners Timor saw in the throne room. She was close enough that he could see the flames from the candelabra flickering in her big black eyes and the red scales that covered her head to foot.
Taria bent in an elaborate bow, arms extended to either side, tail curled up behind her, and sank to one knee. Timor had to bite his lip momentarily to keep from bursting into laughter. Most onlookers probably thought this was a traditional Triton gesture or something, but Timor knew that even the Triton king only received a respectful nod of the head with a hand on the heart.
“You are most welcome, Lady Taria,” Timor said. Somehow, he managed to do it without laughing, even though she lifted her head and winked at him.
“Leave us, please,” he said, gesturing to the guards and meeting Norun's disapproving gaze. “I would speak with the Triton ambassador alone.”
Norun looked like he wanted to argue, but finally bowed deeply and backed out of the throne room, along with all the other attendants and hangers-on. When the door shut behind the last one, Timor finally did what he'd been wanting to do ever since she'd been announced. He hopped down from the throne and rushed forward, just as Taria got to her feet and caught him in a bear hug.
“Look at you, shooting up like a beansprout!” Taria laughed, swinging him around in a circle. “I leave you for a year, and you've gone and grown up without me!”
Now that he was on his feet right in front of her, Timor realized that his head actually came up to her shoulder now. Yet she looked the same as ever, except that instead of the black tunic he was used to seeing her in, she now wore a silky blue shirt and swishy pants of the same color that almost looked like a skirt when she stood still.
“And you're pretty good at ordering people around now,” Taria chuckled, ruffling his hair as if to make him look a bit more like the scrawny waif she'd first met. “Who'd have thought you'd make such a good king?”
“Not me,” Timor said earnestly. “It's mostly Norun's doing, anyway. He knows all the customs and regulations, so mostly I just do it like he says. I've still got a lot to learn.”
She cocked her head and looked at him with a smile that almost looked sad. “You really are growing up. You're not that scared little kid who used to huddle up next to me after a nightmare while I tried to make him laugh. Which was every night, I might add.”
Timor's cheeks felt hot as he crossed his arms, trying to frown. “Is that any way to speak to the High King?”
Taria snorted loudly, probably the most undignified sound that had ever echoed around these marble walls. “Oh, I've got a lot more blackmail where that came from, Your Majesty. You just better thank your lucky gemstones in that crown of yours that I'm here on a goodwill mission. On your request, I might add.”
“Oh, right.” Timor had almost forgotten why she was here, in the rush of excitement at seeing her again for the first time in a year. “So you accept, then? You'll be my advisor for Triton relations, and stick around for a while to teach me everything I need to know about your people?”
“Sure!” Taria said with a casual shrug, belied by all the ridges on her head standing straight up like an excited porcupine. “Just tell me one thing: Is Farawin doing this too?”
Timor blinked in surprise. “He got here yesterday. How did you guess?”
Taria tipped her head back and laughed. “I didn't guess, I knew! It's obvious you just want to get the four back together again.” She crushed him against her side in another hug, grinning down at him with a toothy smile.
“Yes,” Timor admitted, savoring the warm touch of her hand on his shoulder, a liberty no one ever took with him these days. “Of course I do. I can't be myself unless I've got you.”
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fairy-angel222 · 10 months ago
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𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩
He’s so cocky at first, smirking when you bottom down on his length. “Think you can handle it baby? Take your time if you need to kay? I know it might be too much f’ you.” He chuckles.
You raise a brow in amusement. “Oh i can handle it baby, can you?” Was what you’d first said. And that question hadn’t changed since.
His lips parted in breathy groans and heavy breathing as his hands find your waist. Lips red and swollen from biting them as his eyes looked up at you almost pleadingly. “F-fuck baby.. you’re— shit, going so f-fast. Wanna slow d-down hmm?”
You smile widely, back arching as you lean down to kiss his jaw softly. Giving a false hum in thought. “Mmm.. you can take it.” He lets out the most cry like moan, head falling back into his pillow as his hips jerk upwards. Body trembling lightly when his eyes met yours.
“Shit— please baby. You d-don’t know how fucking- haah.. how fucking tight she’s grippin’ me right now.” He was referring to the way your snug walls stroked up and down his length with every harsh bounce of your hips. “I’m gonna— o-oh fuck, gonna cum again.”
You couldn’t help but giggle at the crack in his voice. Your head tilted to the side as you coo teasingly. “Yeah? Gonna be a good boy n cum f’ me baby?”
He chuckles shakily, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as his cock twitches inside you. “God i fucking love you— ahh, even when you’re milking my cock like you hate m-me.” His senses were heightened, ears picking up the every squelch on your sopping pussy and his cock feeling every ridge of your gummy walls.
He lost it when you began rolling your hips sensually. Your thighs sticking to his at the mere amount of slick that joined you two. Your wetness and his cum seeping between your folds and down his girth, turning your skilled movements sloppy as you rut your hips.
You brought a hand to his face, using your nail to brush his hair off of his sweaty forehead. “C’ mon.. let it all out.” You smiled sweetly, eyes holding a dark glint when his eyes turn teary. Small beads of water pooling at his lids before he’s crying out your name.
Overly sensitive cock aching as he spills yet another load into you. Pumping the thick white substance till you’re pumped full. The rest of the substance spurting back onto him at the lack of space.
You let out a moan, “Wow baby- there’s so much. Might.. might just be your biggest load yet.” You were getting tired, but you’d never let him know that. You swear you hear him whimper when you capture his lips with yours slowly beginning to rock your hips again.
“Shit— don’t think- d-don’t think i can give you any more baby. Feels like my cock’s gonna f-fall off.” He panted, trying to keep himself together when he felt you jerking him off with your smug walls again. A small tremble raking through his body each time your ass landed back down.
His hand left your waist to cover his reddening face. Unable to hide the cherry shade of his ears and neck as he whimpered yet again. Choking out a string of moans with tears staining his cheeks when you shush him gently, “‘S only one more baby, give me one more.”
You were the only one with the ability to truly break Satoru if you tried.
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gibbearish · 6 months ago
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the fun thing abt no mow stuff is that like. even if you dont like the way more natural lawns look, its not as if the neighborhood lawns around here look um. better? they just look shorter. like it's still the same assortment of local plants, theyre just. all trimmed. and Most Plants That Arent Grass look like absolute Shit when constantly mowed. so ppl around here will get weird at us for not mowing as if their lawn doesnt look like scrublands that just got picked clean by a herd of starving goats
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dollfacefantasy · 4 months ago
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MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡
pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader
summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)
a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.
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Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.
It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.
Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.
You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.
"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.
At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.
"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"
The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.
"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 
Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.
"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.
He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.
"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.
Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.
It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.
His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.
"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.
"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.
But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.
"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.
"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."
"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.
"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.
His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"
"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.
Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.
But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.
"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.
"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.
"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.
"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."
And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.
"You wanna bet?"
You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."
And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.
You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.
As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.
You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 
Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.
He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.
"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.
"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.
"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.
Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.
Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.
The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.
Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.
He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.
With each passing hour, his frustration grew.
Today, it reaches its zenith.
The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.
The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.
Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.
In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.
He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.
Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.
All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.
But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.
You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.
Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.
Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.
"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.
He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.
"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.
"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.
"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.
"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.
He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.
"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.
That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."
He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.
"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."
"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.
He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.
At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.
It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.
The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.
You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.
Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.
He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.
Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.
He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.
Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.
"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"
His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.
"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.
He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.
You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.
He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.
It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.
A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.
"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.
He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."
That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 
"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."
"Say what?"
"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."
He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.
"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.
Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."
He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.
The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?
To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.
"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."
He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.
You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.
The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.
"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.
"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.
"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.
"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.
With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."
You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.
"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.
This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.
He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.
Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.
"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.
A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.
"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.
"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.
"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.
Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.
"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.
His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.
You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 
It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.
"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."
"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.
"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.
His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.
Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.
"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."
You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.
"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.
"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.
A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.
He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.
"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.
"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."
Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.
"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."
"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"
Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."
"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."
"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.
Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.
With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.
"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."
Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.
He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.
A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.
When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.
His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.
You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.
He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.
His head turns to meet your loving gaze.
"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.
You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.
The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.
Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.
All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.
Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 
"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.
Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.
"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.
Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 
"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."
"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.
"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.
"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."
"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.
"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."
Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.
"See you tomorrow, Scott."
"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.
6K notes · View notes
teaboot · 1 month ago
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Kinda gotta admire the tiktok instagram cottagecore tradwife hoes a little bit.
Like. THEY know that the perfect pretty obedient natural-makeup gently-coiffed rural June Cleaver, barefoot-and-pregnant in a sweet little peasant dress, baking fresh bread24-7 housewife doesn't exist.
They KNOW she doesn't exist. They know she CAN'T exist- that nobody can maintain that façade without burning out eventually-
but they also know that the political divide between men and women is deeper than ever in North America, that men as a demographic are getting increasingly angry and conservative and lonely (fuck off terfs and radfems i can sense your bioessentialism coming), and that women aren't legally beholden to them anymore.
This is one of the first generations in North America where women aren't entirely reliant on finding a husband and keeping him happy to survive, to hold a bank account or live apart from their parents, and so what men are dealing with is several hundred years of being told that REAL men have hot fuckable agreeable wives and...a present reality where nobody is lining up to apply for that position.
So what these shills have done- and they ARE shills- is that they've seen that divide, that niche that isn't being filled, that role that's so unpleasant but so desired- and they've constructed a caricature for profit.
Women aren't naturally more gentle, or parental, or submissive. Women aren't naturally, effortlessly smooth and soft and hairless and desiring of simple tasks to fill their time and a big, strong provider to protect them.
But generations of marketing and media have told us it's POSSIBLE, if not for those pesky man-hating feminist libs and their oversensitive woke culture lashing out at Normal Folks for no good reason.
Like- they're selling themselves, the characters they're playing, as an IMAGE, as a FANTASY, and they rely on people BELIEVING in that fantasy to keep the money rolling in.
The people who buy into it sincerely, the women who give up their degrees and careers and financial freedom for this "simple, peaceful life" we ALL desire in some form, away from stress and technology and horrible things on the news... only to get trapped with six children and a partner with all the power who could up and strand them at any moment... they're just collateral.
Like, "Shame it didn't work out for you, have you tried losing weight and trying harder? Maybe some extra Adult Time? He wouldn't have to chase someone younger and prettier if you'd just take care of yourself and put out more."
I on't hate this faux-humble faux-simple wannabe-amish bullshit just because I grew up rural and know it's fucking stupid, hard work and blood and shit and cow piss and placement in the rain kinda crap.
I ALSO hate it because these women are straight-up class traitors, selling off not just their own image as people, but everyone else's, just to make some paper on a grift.
You know Marie Antoinette used to wear sweet little milkmaid-style dresses and play with lambs in the field, just like the poors?
Never mind that she OWNED the land, and the field, and the people, the cute little frocks, and didn't help the sheep birth, or bury the dead premies, or slaughter for meat, or fight off wolves and dogs, ferrets and foxes and rats with a stick in the winter.
It was just fashionable to pretend.
Sweet and coquettish and Quaint.
THAT is why I hate that shit, and THAT is why I give a fuck.
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plutotheplum · 5 months ago
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The First Fall of Snow
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emperor!zayne x concubine!reader - read part 2!
summary: the emperor isn't interested in his concubines, but an encounter with you is enough to change his mind.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, breast play, masturbation, thigh riding, mentions of exhibitionism, virginity loss
wc: 7.7k
a/n: i did imagine long-haired zayne for this (like his master of fate card!) and he just gives off emperor vibes soooo
also on ao3!
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The Emperor was a peculiar man. 
He was not a man who fancied company. When the years for marriage had passed, his royal advisors had grown increasingly anxious. All potential candidates were refused, princesses from far lands given profuse apologies and lavish gifts in hopes of quelling their anger after they had traveled such vast distances, only for the Emperor to turn them away. 
In an effort to try and draw out the Emperor’s romantic and sexual nature, several concubines were gathered. The Emperor had never overseen this, the affair carried out in veiled whispers as his advisors had sought to dispel their desperation by pooling their efforts into securing an heir for the dynasty. 
That was what you were told when you arrived in the palace anyways. It had been a year since you were hand-picked as a concubine, along with a few other girls who had been eager to accept when the opportunity had been provided to them.
You had only met the Emperor a handful of times, when you first been brought to the palace and during private meetings that had been scheduled. He had never touched you or any of the other girls, had never sought after pleasure or secured an heir, much to the chagrin of Imperial staff. Like any other person, you thought it was odd. 
Part of you felt as though you were wasting away in this palace, days spent outside by the pretty gardens and overlooking the fish in the ponds, entertaining stray cats or inside, like you were now.
You stare down at the steaming water in the teapot, watching as the tea leaves stain the water. The blurry reflection of your face looks back up at you and there’s a soft sigh escaping you, wondering what might’ve been if you hadn’t been chosen.
Such thoughts are lost when a short, stout man comes hobbling in. He grabs at your arm, teacup filled with hot tea tipping to the side. You wince when the hot liquid lands against your skin, burning you.
“The Emperor needs tea,” the eunuch hisses, pulling another set of teaware from the shelves as he tugs you closer.
“Why does that involve me?,” you ask, trying to free yourself so you can soothe your irritated skin under cool water.
“You will deliver it to him,” he says, fiddling with your robes and straightening out the fabric to make you look more presentable.
“Have another one of the girls-” you begin to complain, shrinking away when he sends you a glare.
You huff out a breath, making sure the pin in your hair is in place. There’s no time to tend to the burn on your forearm, the reddened skin hidden by the sleeves of your robes as the eunuch passes you the tray. 
Sending him a glare of your own, you don’t stay behind to be chastised. Feet padding against the floor, you pass through the courtyard and hallway. Imperial guards stand outside the Emperor’s quarters and you bow your head, stating your business. 
One of the guards opens the doors and you suck in a sharp breath, gathering your confidence as you step inside the Emperor’s quarters. 
It’s a familiar place. The room is large, scrolls stacked upon shelves tucked against the walls, decorative screens partitioning the entrance to where his bed was placed. You swallow nervously, eyes blinking about. You can’t seem to find the Emperor. Deciding to step forward, you’re pushing your luck, sticking your head outside the open doors at the other end of his quarters. It opens into a private courtyard, greenery pruned to perfection.
There’s a frown pulling at your lips when you can’t see him. Perhaps he had left? Just as you’re about to give up, a man clears his throat. You jolt in place, tea sloshing as you struggle to keep a hold on the tray. Whirling around, you find the Emperor standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. There’s a curse entering your mind, placing the tea tray down on a table nearby before your knees are bending, meeting the floor as you bow in a seated position.
“Please forgive me, your majesty” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut. 
You would rather not feel the wrath of the Emperor.
“I did not ask for tea,” he says bluntly.
“The- the eunuch insisted,” you supply lamely.
The Emperor only sighs and your eyes are peeking open, head tilting slightly as you try to get a glimpse of his expression. 
“You may stand,” he murmurs, waving his hand. You do as he says, stumbling to your feet, teeth gritting together when the cloth of your robes rubs against the still fresh burn on your forearm.
He takes a seat on a cushioned mat and you’re standing awkwardly, trying to taper down your fidgeting as the pain flares up again.
“Is something the matter?” the Emperor asks when he sees your inability to stand still. 
You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. The Emperor only stares at you, unimpressed. His gaze drags over you and your cheeks are flushing in embarrassment. 
“Sit,” he says suddenly, pointing to the space across from him.
“I-” you begin to refuse, restless to get out of this stifling place and tend to the burn that was currently beginning to sting.
“Sit, or will you refuse an Imperial command?”
To refuse an Imperial command is to forfeit one’s life. It’s why you’re sitting down in a flurry and looking everywhere at everything except him. 
“Arm,” he murmurs, holding his hand out.
You extend your arm towards his hand without question. He hums when he brushes the sleeves away, moving your arm closer to his eyes so he can examine the burn. The Emperor’s lithe fingers prod at the edges of your reddened skin, and a whimper slips out of you, the tender skin sensitive.
He pulls away from you and your eyes are darting towards the doors, wondering whether it would be worth it to make a break for it. The Emperor returns soon after, a small pot in his hand, containing some sort of salve.
“Your majesty, it is beneath you to tend to such a matter,” you remind him, feeling his cool fingers wrap around your arm again.
“Perhaps so, but I happen to take interest in the ailments of the body,” he replies, spreading the salve against your skin.
So the rumors were true then. Many spoke of the Emperor’s affinity for the study of medicine. You had assumed he would’ve taken more interest in other pursuits such as hunting, but it appeared the Emperor valued intellect above all else. 
As the salve soothes your skin, you find your gaze slipping over him. Pale skin, intelligent eyes framed by dark eyelashes, a strong nose and long hair tied back neatly, there was no doubt that the Emperor was a handsome man. 
His eyes flick up to meet yours, his own gaze dipping over you once again. You feel as though you’re being scrutinized, so you’re sitting up straighter, trying to not present yourself as a mess.
“He sent you here to entice me,” the Emperor explains, beginning to wrap your wound using a thin, silken cloth.
“Oh. Is- is it working?” you ask tentatively.
“If you consider making a fool of yourself enticing, then maybe so,” he says, the side of his mouth curling up as amusement flashes through his eyes.
There’s a sharp scoff leaving you, arm tugging free from his grasp. The bandages are tight around your arm and you send him a frown, placing your hands in your lap.
“You take liberties that others do not,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I apologize, your majesty,” you whisper, head hanging low. He was right, you were taking liberties. 
“Zayne,” he says, opening a scroll.
“Your- your majesty?” you reply, confusion flitting across your face.
“Zayne,” he repeats, not bothering to even spare you a glance “you may address me by my name.”
You hold your tongue in return, eyes narrowing as you stare at the Emperor. It must be a trick of some sort, you think, a ploy to make you slip up, and just like the traitors of the Empire, your head would be severed from your neck. 
“You would distrust my own command?” he asks, sensing your hesitation. “I never said such a thing!” you protest, exasperation spreading across your face.
Sitting in place, you pout to yourself, tracing random shapes onto the cushioned mat. Zayne ignores your presence and it has you fidgeting even more, a huff of air leaving you. 
The Emperor only continues to read the scroll in his hands. Pouring out some tea, you decide to indulge yourself. Your face contorts when you taste the now lukewarm liquid. It’s hardly enjoyable. Letting out another deep sigh, your body sags. There’s nothing for you to do here, the Emperor won’t carry a conversation and you only find that you’re making a fool of yourself even more.
“Shall I leave?” you ask him, feeling hopeful that you might be able to escape.
Zayne shakes his head. 
“Stay a little while. It would do good for my advisors to think they have succeeded.”
“Succeeded?” you echo, brows furrowing.
“They expect an heir,” he sighs, setting down the scroll to give you his full attention, “surely you are aware of my… aversion to the entire matter.”
“I cannot say I understand,” you murmur, “you need an heir, and an illegitimate heir is an heir nonetheless.”
“The duty will be fulfilled when I am ready,” he says firmly.
Your head tilts at that, eyes narrowing. When he was ready? There would be no reason for the Emperor to not be ready.
“Other noblemen take pleasure in using women’s bodies,” you mutter, peering over at him, “it is strange that you have not yet touched any one of us.”
“You wish for me to use you?” Zayne asks, raising his brows. 
“N- no! I just meant, it is odd that an Emperor whose rule has granted him anything he may possibly desire chooses not to engage in anything,” the words come out of you in a rush, your cheeks flushing. 
“And have you engaged in anything?” he shoots back, his eyes sharp.
Admitting your own virginity wasn’t on your plan of things to do today. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, eyes averted to the side. Your silence is answer enough, and Zayne sighs, his fingers rubbing at his temples.
“I did not ask for concubines,” he says quietly, “and so, I do not expect you to serve me in such a fashion.”
“You may leave,” he says after a few moments, standing up with you.
Your head tilts, teeth worrying into your lower lip as he stares down at you.
“It appears you care for me,” he murmurs, his hand lifting to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
Your heart flutters at the unexpected action, eyes widening when he touches you.
“Only for the dynasty,” you breathe out.
Zayne lets out a low laugh at that. He gives you a faint smile and your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man look so ethereal, but such is the favor of the gods.
It’s probably why you’re leaning forward, hands reaching to fix the crumpled collar of his silk robes. He stiffens under your touch and you pretend as though you don’t notice. Your fingers graze his skin and his hand curls around your wrist, stopping your movements.
“I shall expect you here in a week’s time,” he says.
“A week’s time,” you nod, feeling his fingers touch the cloth wrapped around your burn.
The Emperor lowers his head, his fingers gripping your chin gently so he can stare into your eyes more intently. He seems lost in thought as he swipes his thumb over your chin, his head nearing until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. 
It’s almost too much for your racing heart. Your already half-lidded eyes are slipping shut, lips parting as you lean in closer, waiting for him to kiss you. But it never comes and your eyes flutter open to see Zayne staring down at you with a hint of mirth in his eyes. He was making a fool of you yet again. 
To preserve whatever dignity you have left, you’re pulling away, freeing yourself from his suffocating grasp. Bowing in deference, you don’t look back to see his expression, pushing past the doors as you leave his quarters.
Almost immediately, you’re met with the eunuch from earlier.
“Well?” he asks, his cheeks puffed with exertion as he tries to keep up with the pace you’ve set in an attempt to escape questioning.
“Nothing happened,” you reply curtly, looking back to see the short man totter after you.
“Nothing?” he repeats, voice laced with irritation, “not even-“ his voice lowers, mindful of the other staff working in the palace, “he did not even touch you?” 
You shake your head. He doesn’t need to know that the Emperor had indeed touched you; tended to your burn even, that you were hoping the Emperor would hold you close and kiss you, and he most certainly didn’t need to know about your little displays of insolence. 
The eunuch soon loses interest in you, grumbling curses under his breath as you retire to your own chambers shared with the other girls. It’s no secret that many of them have become bored with the Emperor’s apathetic outlook, some turning their charms to try and garner the affections of noblemen at court.
-
It’s raining the day you’re meant to meet the Emperor. 
You step inside his chambers when the guards permit you, your hands clasped in front of you.
“Your majesty” you bend at the waist, bowing.
Zayne hums in response, striding closer to you. His fingers lift your arm, undoing the gauze to uncover your injury. The salve he had applied to your skin had soothed the burn, and it had begun to heal nicely. 
“I told you to address me by my name,” he reminds you, his brows furrowed in concentration as he examines your skin, “must I remind you again, or will phrasing it as an Imperial command suffice?”
Your mouth opens automatically to retort sharply. He looks at you, brows raised. Spending more time in his presence has only vexed you, irritation making you almost forget who you were with. Mouth clamping shut, you send him a tight-lipped smile. 
“Forgive me,” you say begrudgingly, “Zayne.”
“Better,” he murmurs.
You don’t know whether he’s referring to your obedience or the state of your wound. 
“It will scar,” Zayne continues, turning your arm so that he can see your skin in better light.
“Badly?” you ask, a frown tugging at your lips.
“More salve will lessen the effect,” he says, finally letting go of your arm.
You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The Emperor stares at you, his gaze unwavering. It has you wishing that you hadn’t listened to his request at all. The palace physician would have more than likely provided you with the necessary treatment, and yet here you were, being tended to by the Emperor of all people.
“Do you wish for me to repay you?” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.
“Did we not already have this conversation?” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I had assumed-”
“Do not assume anything.”
Zayne’s voice has hardened, the slight softness in his eyes no longer present. You’ve overstepped. He pulls away from you, turning his back to you as he walks towards the open doors of his quarters. Rain wets the inside, the mats on the floor darkening but the Emperor doesn’t seem to care.
Feeling like a scolded child, you trail after him.
“Forgive me,” you whisper, keeping your gaze trained on the floor.
It seems to be all that you’re doing now. Apology after apology after apology. It’s a miracle you haven’t yet been executed for your impertinence. 
He turns to face you, his hand lifting. For a moment you think he’s about to slap you, a grimace settling on your face as you await the stinging punishment. Instead, all you feel is his hand on your head, petting you like you were some sort of unruly cat.
Zayne’s fingers begin to slip and you can feel the soft tips of his fingers graze the side of your face, traveling lower as he traces your jawline. You hold still, eyes wide with anticipation. He doesn’t stop, his fingers dragging down the length of your neck, parting your robes until you feel his fingers swipe across your collarbone. 
“You are stubborn,” he says softly, “steadfast and oddly endearing. Perhaps I should keep you by my side.”
You stare up at him, jaw slackening, baffled. 
“I thought you would appreciate it,” he murmurs, the sharpness in his eyes returning, “just moments ago you were offering yourself to me.”
It’s a struggle to bite back the whimper that so eagerly wants to escape when his fingers drag lower, skimming across the soft skin of the tops of your breasts. His other hand plays with the knot tied at the side, nimble fingers untying the only thing keeping your robes together. The soft fabric slips from your shoulders and you find yourself in front of the Emperor, breasts bared.
He lets out a low hum, both of his hands coming to cup your breasts. Your teeth have been biting into your lip so hard that you can taste the tang of blood on your tongue. Zayne swipes his thumbs over your nipples and you find yourself unable to rip free from his wandering touch. 
“Should you not tell me to stop?” the Emperor asks, his face nearing yours.
There’s no will left in you to answer, a sharp gasp escaping you when he pinches your nipples to punctuate his question. The sensation only adds to the wetness pooling between your thighs.
“Please,” you whimper, the desperation clear in your eyes, “please, Zayne.”
“I may have the favor of the gods, but I cannot foresee your desires,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “tell me. What is it you want?”
“Kiss,” you manage out, “kiss me, please.”
The Emperor’s hands haven’t stopped their exploration, squeezing and groping at your breasts. Zayne lowers his head, forehead pressing against yours as you mewl and whimper under the onslaught of his caressing touches. The ache between your thighs has become unbearable with the way he plays with your nipples. He tugs and pinches, thumbs swiping over your areolas to grant you reprieve before rolling your nipples between his fingers again. 
“Wantonness has made you far more polite,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours.
It’s not a kiss, and you’re squirming in frustration with the way the Emperor is stringing you along, driving you to the edge of pleasure and yet refusing to grant you what you desire the most. 
“I- I can be even more polite,” you mumble pathetically, hands curling into his robes.
You chase after his lips, brows furrowing when he draws up to his full height, smiling down at you. Lips jutting out into a pout, you stand on the tips of your toes, trying to tug him back down so you can kiss him. It’s a futile endeavor, the Emperor only manages to evade all of your attempts to draw him into a kiss. 
“I shall look forward to it,” Zayne murmurs, his lips pressing against your forehead gently.
There’s no way to discern what exactly is going through the Emperor’s mind. He no longer continues with his lustful touches, pulling away with a final caress of your breasts as he pulls your loosened robes over your shoulders again. You can only watch with dazed eyes, frozen in place as he helps redo the knot holding your robes together, covering you up properly so that unnecessary slivers of skin aren’t showing anymore. 
“Do you do this with the others?” you ask, eyes finding his.
“Does the thought make you jealous?”
You frown at his retort, sending him a glare, “the Emperor may do as he wishes,” you grumble.
It’s hard to hide the jealousy that underlies your words. You want to be the only person he touches, to be the object of his affections. It’s a selfish desire to want the Emperor to need you only, but you can’t help yourself, envy flaring up inside of you at the thought of him touching another woman the way he touches you. 
“You are the first to elicit such a reaction from me,” Zayne says, his fingers tilting your head so he can stare into your eyes more directly.
Letting out an irritated huff, you feel irked by his subtle way of trying to please you. He doesn’t reply to your display of irritation, nudging his forehead against yours as though trying to convey his affection. 
“Go now,” he whispers, petting your hair again before he’s moving away, turning his back to you as he returns to peer out at the rain that falls outside.
You have half the mind to call him out on his behavior, but the reminder of your position is the stifling reality in which you live in. Despite his gaze elsewhere, you bow to him, turning on your heel to leave.
Thankfully, there are no lurking eunuchs to question your brief stay in the Emperor’s quarters. The palace staff don’t pay you any mind as you return to your chambers, and you explain to the other girls that you feel sick. 
The whimpers that spill from your mouth are muffled by the pillow that you’ve pressed your face into, the fingers of one hand rubbing at your clit and the other hand pinching at your nipples as you try to mimic the way the Emperor had touched you. With the image of Zayne’s face ingrained into your mind, it doesn’t take long, a soft moan escaping into the quiet of your chambers as you come apart on your fingers. 
-
You’re spying on the Emperor. 
The past year had been plenty of time to explore the palace and figure out the little passageways that weren’t well known. Perhaps you were just as bad as his advisors that were intent on prying into Zayne’s private life, but you just couldn’t help yourself. 
It’s why you’re here now, hovering outside his quarters, pretending to take great interest in the portraits that line the halls. Every now and then, your eyes flick over to where the guards stand, trying to discern whether anyone was entering or leaving his chambers. 
You almost feel pathetic for acting in such a way, but he was the only thing you could think about. Visiting the gardens had grown dull, despite the leaves turning into pretty shades of orange and red in the autumn air, thoughts of the Emperor taking root in the crevices of your mind instead. 
“My grandfather,” a deep voice breaks through your thoughts. You don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Handsome,” you mutter, taking a step closer to examine the portrait genuinely this time.
“My guards have complained about a woman hiding in the hallways,” Zayne says, his hand falling onto your shoulder. “I did not realize it was an offense to admire fine art,” you shoot back.
“There are far finer things in this palace,” he murmurs, stepping forward until you’ve been backed up against the wall.
It’s becoming more and more apparent to you that the Emperor must be suffering some sort of illness to the mind. You struggle to come up with a reason as to why his arm curls around your waist, whilst he presses himself closer. 
You try and push at his firm chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“People will see,” you whisper heatedly, eyes darting to the sides despite Zayne being so close that you can hardly see anything but him.
“So let them.”
Zayne reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek. You stiffen under the sudden touch, eyes widening when his thumb brushes over your skin.
“Why are you doing this?” you whisper, frowning.
“Is my mind not allowed to change?” he asks in return, head lowering until his forehead is pressed against yours.
“I am far more concerned that you have lost your mind.”
The Emperor lets out a deep chuckle and you think the air around you both has somehow grown thicker with how lightheaded you’re feeling.
“I assure you, I am still of sound mind.”
His nose brushes against yours, and you rise to meet the challenge, nose nudging against his gently. The heat of his body is intoxicating, his arm tightening around your waist as he exhales. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipating the feeling of his lips against yours.
It’s not to be, not when an Imperial guard insists on interrupting your moment with the Emperor.
“Is this woman bothering you?” the guard asks, his gaze dragging over you with obvious disregard. 
The utter nerve. Eye twitching, you ready yourself to snap back but Zayne’s squeeze to your waist has you staying silent.
“She was feeling ill,” Zayne lies steadily. 
The Emperor’s mask of cool indifference slips over him easily, his lips pulled thin as he speaks to the guard. 
“I shall escort her to the physician,” the guard offers, his hand reaching for you.
Zayne pulls you out of reach before the guard can touch you, tucking you against his side.
“No need,” Zayne says, “I shall take her myself.”
You can almost hear the nervous gulp that the guard takes, his face paling at the Emperor’s stony disposition. Unfortunately, you don’t get long to revel in the satisfaction that spreads through your body when Zayne reprimands the guard. Zayne tugs you along, his hand wrapped around your wrist. It appears the Emperor knows of the passages as well, and a few twists and turns later you find yourself back in the Emperor’s quarters, having bypassed the Imperial guards.
“Did you see his face?” you snicker, looking over at Zayne.
Your smile fades when he doesn’t reply, the grip on your wrist almost painful without how firmly his hand is still holding onto you.
“Zayne? Are you-”
You nearly trip over your own feet when he suddenly pulls you closer. Zayne’s lips are slotting over yours, his large hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you. There’s a small noise of surprise coming from you, eyes widening before they flutter shut, your body lulled into submission with the feverish kisses Zayne gives you.
He groans into your mouth and you cling to his robes, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kisses better. The Emperor might’ve been starved with the way he’s kissing you, his lips firm and insistent against yours whilst he holds you in place. 
Zayne pulls away after a while, and you’re completely and utterly dazed, chest heaving as soft pants fill the space between you both.
“Will you have me?” he whispers, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek.
No man has ever spoken such words to you. Your breath catches in your throat, heart clenching uncomfortably in your chest. As the Emperor, he shouldn’t say such a thing. 
“It is beneath you to ask,” you murmur, averting your gaze.
“And yet, I am asking,” Zayne replies, his hands maneuvering your head until you have no choice but to look into his eyes.
Letting out an irritated huff, as though he had somehow inconvenienced you, you lean forward and press a chaste kiss against his lips. You can’t bring yourself to say the words out loud, feeling uncharacteristically shy as you shift on the spot.
“I see.”
Zayne’s surging towards you again, lips crashing onto yours. You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as you press yourself closer. His arms are wrapping around your waist, keeping you flush against him as he ravages your mouth. His tongue is teasing your lower lip, coaxing it open. You have no choice but to obey, letting out a muffled moan when his tongue slides deeper into your mouth, his hand pulling at the pin holding your hair together. 
You squeak when he picks you up, his lips trailing burning kisses down your neck as he nudges the partition blocking his way to his bed. Zayne undoes the knot holding your robes together before long, your thighs straddling his hips as you sit perched on his lap once he sits down on his bed.
“Have you really never given yourself to anyone?” Zayne asks quietly, his fingers tracing across the soft skin of your shoulders.
You nod, body leaning forward to chase after his touch as his fingers find their way back down to your nipples, rolling the pebbled buds between the pads of his fingers.
“H- have you?” you ask, biting your lip as he presses heated kisses against your collarbone.
He shakes his head, lips drifting lower and lower, until your body twitches as his lips enclose around your nipple. A whimper leaves you, and Zayne grows bolder with his movements, sucking harshly as his tongue swirls around your nipple, flicking the little bud in his mouth.
Your hands have drifted into his hair, pulling free the band that holds his long locks together. His dark hair runs past his shoulders, the strands soft under your touch as you pull at his hair, moaning as he continues his exploration across your chest.
Zayne looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, spit-slick lips dragging across your chest to pepper kisses against your other breast, his mouth enveloping your nipple yet again. He lets out a low groan and you whine, pulling at his robes desperately to pull them off.
“Oh,” you breathe out when he lets you, biting your lip at the sight of his bare chest and abdomen. Your fingers spread across his chest eagerly, mapping out the expanse of his skin. There’s a sly smile spreading across your face when you see his cheeks flush pink as your fingers drag lower, past his navel.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks hoarsely, his head tipping back.
“Should I not?” you whisper, fingers delving lower until you can feel his hardness through his robes.
You rub your hand against the bulge experimentally, eyes lighting up when he lets out a grunt. Face tucking into the crook of his neck, your breasts squished against his chest, you place hungry kisses against his neck, palming at his bulge.
The Emperor tugs at your hair, pulling your head back. You stare up at him, meeting him in the middle when he leans forward, sharing a sloppy kiss. His hands squeeze at your waist and you shift in his lap, letting him undress you completely.
Nervousness flits across your face as he stares at your bare body, hands leaving him to cover yourself up. He grabs your hands before you can, placing a soft kiss to your jaw.
“You are beautiful,” he whispers, lips drifting to kiss the shell of your ear.
A shy smile pulls at your lips and he squeezes your waist again. Your brows furrow when he jostles you, making you straddle his thigh instead.
“I want to watch,” Zayne says, his fingers dimpling into the fat of your thighs.
“Watch?” you echo, head tilting in question.
“I want to watch you come undone,” he clarifies, gripping your hips as he guides you into grinding against his thigh.
A strangled noise leaves you and he pats your hip, satisfied. You’re so aroused that your slick has begun to wet his silken robes, the fabric darkening as you roll your hips, dragging your pussy against his thigh.
“I- I want to watch you too,” you gasp out.
Zayne obliges and you watch as he pulls his cock free. The sight is almost enough to have you coming on his covered thigh. His fingers wrap around his cock and you whine, hips rolling faster. “Is it to your satisfaction?” he murmurs.
You nod rapidly. It is. You’ve never seen one before, but you just know Zayne’s is pretty compared to the others. His cock is thick, flushed prettily at the tip to match the blush on his cheeks and you lick your lips, wondering what it might feel like in your mouth. 
“Another time,” Zayne says, smiling when he sees the expression on your face.
It’s entrancing to watch the way his hand drags up and down his cock, his long fingers wrapped around himself. Globs of pre-cum bead at the tip, wetting his hands and his cock, creating a sinful sound. Unable to help yourself, you tilt your head, tongue lolling out as you let your own spit drip down onto his cock. You hum in delight when his thighs twitch, your eyes peering into his as you drag your cunt against his thigh, clit catching on the fabric of his robes just right. 
“I did not know my concubine was so depraved,” he murmurs, his hand kneading the flesh at your hip roughly.
You give him a dopey smile, eyes slipping back down to watch his hand move around his cock whilst you rock your hips. Head falling against his shoulder, your lips drag across his chest, landing soft kisses against his skin before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, nipping his skin lightly.
Airy sounds fill the air, his quiet moans and your soft whimpers emanating in his quarters. 
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press yourself closer, guiding his head into another kiss. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth with no hesitation. Zayne’s pulling apart suddenly, his previous desire of watching you come undone on your thigh forgotten as he manhandles your body, making you lay down against his bed.
The Emperor kisses you over and over, and your head is swirling, trying to keep up whilst his fingers have found their way down to your pussy, rubbing your wetness across the sensitive flesh before he finds your clit. All it takes is one firm press of his thumb, your thighs twitching violently as you grasp at the sheets, moaning loudly as you come. He smiles against your lips, granting you one last kiss before he directs his attention elsewhere, his face disappearing between your thighs.
“Z-Zayne!” you squeal, pushing at his head, trying to get him to stop as the overstimulation becomes too much.
The Emperor ignores you in favor of thumbing apart your folds, his eyes trained on your clit.
“Pretty” he whispers, the pads of his fingers stroking over your clit gently, “and so, so swollen.”
It has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and he kisses the inside of your thighs, edging closer to your pussy, letting out a low breath, the air hitting your exposed pussy.
He groans when you tug at his hair, and you writhe, trying to somehow free yourself from the onslaught of his tongue as he laves over your pussy, pressing sloppy kisses against your skin, his lips latching onto your swollen clit. Zayne’s tongue flicks against the sensitive bud, teasing you.
Something between a moan and a scream climbs its way out your throat, the sound ringing in through his chambers as you come again, thighs firmly squeezing his head. Your eyes widen when you realize the guards are still outside the doors, panic flaring through your body as you scramble to sit up.
Zayne’s hand slides over your mouth before you can get anything out, the stern look in his eyes making you go still. The rapping of the guard’s knuckles against the door has you rigid, eyes widening in alarm as he begins to move his tongue yet again. 
You glare at Zayne, tugging at his hair roughly to make it hurt as you attempt to get his mouth off of you. Zayne only gives you a hazy look, looking utterly gone as he presses his face deeper into your cunt. It’s a struggle to keep the noises in, your body shaking as his nose rubs into your clit and his tongue fucks in and out of your aching hole. 
“Your majesty?” An urgent voice calls out from behind the door, and you can hear the faint scuffling noises of the guards’ boots. 
“Someone get this door open!” another voice hisses, the sliding doors rattling soon after.
The Emperor grunts into your cunt, raising up finally. The sight of him is nearly enough to make you come for a third time. Zayne is utterly disheveled, his cheeks pink and the lower half of his face glistening with your slick. 
You watch as he runs his hand through his hair, biting your lip as you let your gaze wander, catching on his cock once again. He looks painfully hard, cum smeared across his skin and drool is pooling in your mouth. Getting onto your knees, you crawl forward eager to envelop it in your mouth.
The tip makes its way into your mouth for a brief moment and you can barely suck when Zayne is yanking you off of his cock, his hand curled into your hair. 
“Everything is fine,” the Emperor snaps, narrowing his eyes when you pout.
“We heard-”
“I said,” Zayne’s voice grows louder, “everything is fine.”
You think he might take out his wrath on you with the way he grips your cheeks roughly, planting another kiss to your lips. He’s manhandling you yet again, pushing at your shoulders to make you lie down as he settles his hips between your thighs.
Zayne’s cum smears against your skin and you whimper when the fat tip of his cock nudges against your clit. He lands a gentler kiss to your cheek, his hand cupping your cheek as you squirm under him, whimpering as he grinds his cock against your cunt.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he lets his cock slide up and down against your folds, “my good girl.”
“Yours,” you agree, cheek squishing against the pillow, “all yours.”
“I want to see you like this all the time,” Zayne confesses, his hand grasping his cock to press it firmly against your cunt, coating it with your arousal, “all flustered and needy… perhaps I am losing my sanity.”
You need him inside of you. The emptiness in your pussy has made you all too aware, hips bucking with every drag of his heavy cock.
“More,” you whisper, voice slurring, “Zayne, I want more.”
Zayne draws back slightly and you watch as he squeezes his cock, pre-cum dripping steadily onto your thigh. He reaches for your hand, fingers lacing with yours.
“Ready?” he murmurs.
You nod, swallowing down your nervousness. He presses his cock into your hole and the stretch is uncomfortable, a pained whimper leaving you as Zayne guides his cock into you. 
“A little more,” he coaxes, kissing your forehead to try and distract you from the initial stretch.
He finally pushes his entire cock in, and you feel as though the air has been punched out of your lungs. Zayne fills you up so perfectly, his cock snug inside your cunt, the emptiness from earlier disappearing almost immediately.
It appears you have affected him just as much, his eyes squeezed shut as he pants into the crook of your neck, trying to get used to the wet heat of your cunt. 
“Perfect,” he mutters mindlessly, and you can feel the twitch of his cock from inside of you, “so- so perfect and warm and tight.”
A hazy smile drifts across your face, legs locking tighter around his hips as your pussy clenches around him.
Zayne lets out a ragged gasp, and you know he can feel it. His eyes bore into yours, brows pulled together in annoyance at your little tease.
“Little minx,” he hisses.
It’s you that gasping this time when he draws his hips back, nails clawing at his back as he thrusts into you. His cock is stretching you out, over and over, as he tries to press it in deeper, trying to carve a path from your pussy to your heart.
“Too- too much!” you wail, arms wrapping around his neck to cling onto him.
“Do you want the guards to hear?” Zayne murmurs against your ear, his hips slowing slightly.
Through the haze of it all, your head turns, eyes finding his. The truth is, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed to the idea. Zayne can see the flash of interest in your eyes and he lets out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head.
“I should have taken you sooner,” he mutters, his fingers squeezing at your hips, “kept you close to me from the beginning.”
You preen at the thought, pressing sloppy kisses against his jaw, feeling his cock drag in and out of you.
“Next time, I shall take you on my throne.”
Your movements pause, eyes widening as he whispers those words, his lips brushing across yours.
“Not like that-” you begin to say, cheeks flushing deeper as you imagine him taking you on his throne, his hips rutting into yours like they were now.
“Why not?” he asks, “Shall I command it? Have-” Zayne lets out a shuddering breath “have my entire court watch as my pretty, little concubine loses her mind, drunk on my cock as I claim her atop my throne?”
You moan unabashedly, cunt clenching around him tightly. Zayne grunts, his hips stuttering when at the feeling of your walls tightening before he’s gripping your thigh, his chest flush against yours as he picks up the pace. It’s no secret that the guards must have heard what was happening inside, your loud moans most likely drifting through the wood of the doors. Both you and the Emperor don’t seem to care, lost in the blur of lust that swirls between you both.
“Deeper,” you mumble, pouting up at him, “need- need you closer, Zayne.”
“You are going to be the death of me,” Zayne mutters, dropping his weight on top of you.
You mewl in delight, the feeling of his body against yours deliciously warm. He hikes your thighs up a little higher, hips pressing deeper until you gasp. You can feel his balls pressed snugly against your ass, his cock as deep inside of you as it could go.
“Take it,” he whispers, his hand beginning to stroke your hair as he moves his hips. Short, sharp thrusts that serve to bury his cock into your cunt the way you want, “take it, my love.”
My love. Skin against skin. His hand stroking your hair gently. Girthy cock filling you up perfectly.
The sensations mixed with his affection are too much, pulling at your heart uncomfortably until you let out a sniffle, staring up at him with glassy eyes.
Concern passes through his eyes when he hears you sniffle, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb swipes away a stray tear that beads at the corner of your eye.
“Am I hurting you?” Zayne asks softly.
You shake your head, lips trembling even more at his display of concern. 
“I just like you a lot is all,” you whisper, sniffling quietly.
“I like you too,” Zayne replies in kind, his lips pressing soft kisses against your cheek, “and I take care of what’s mine.”
He leans down, lips pressing against yours in a tender kiss. Your tears wet his cheeks as he keeps you there, kissing you gently whilst his hips roll into you.
“Let go for me, my love” he murmurs, and you’re clenching around him again, feeling his hand sneak its way between your bodies as his thumb rubs against your clit.
You whimper, head pressing back as you arch your back, the sensation of his cock and his fingers driving you further and further to the edge until he latches his mouth onto your breast, catching your nipple between his teeth. He bites down and a broken moan fills the air, body shuddering as you come on his cock.
“Oh fuck,” Zayne grits out when he feels the harsh clench of your cunt around his cock.
You can feel him bury his face into your chest and you reach up weakly, running your fingers through his hair. It’s enough to have him letting out a guttural noise against your chest, his fat cock twitching as his thick cum floods your pussy.
The Emperor lays on top of you, both of your bodies loosened completely. You whimper when he pulls out of you, his cum beginning to leak out from your cunt. Zayne stares at the sight for a moment, entranced, before pulling you closer, letting you press your face into his chest as he kisses your forehead. 
“Everyone will know by now,” you whisper.
“They will,” he agrees, his fingers prying your face away from where it hides.
Zayne peers down into your eyes, a faint smile playing across his lips as he swipes his thumbs against your skin.
“Stay here with me,” he says quietly, “by my side.”
You laugh softly at his proposition.
“I am your concubine,” you murmur, reaching up to curl your hand around his wrist, “nothing more.”
“You will be more,” Zayne insists, his voice hardening,  “I will have you.”
“Your advisors would not allow it!” you protest, eyes turning glassy again.
“Desperation will make them vulnerable to acceptance,” he retorts, his body pressing closer as though to keep you tethered to him, hands tightening around your cheeks.
“I am the Emperor,” he continues, forehead pressing against yours as his eyes bore into yours, “you said it yourself. I may do as I wish, and what I wish for is for you to be by my side.”
You swallow harshly, blinking up at him when you hear the sternness of his voice. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, kissing you desperately.
“Stay with me, my love” he whispers again, stealing kiss after kiss from you.
“Okay,” you relent, sinking into his embrace and returning his kisses just as desperately, “okay.”
The Emperor holds you close to his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly. The heat of his body has your eyes drooping shut, his lips brushing over your forehead as he whispers sweet promises of his love.
Outside, far away from the warmth of love’s embrace, the first fall of snow has begun to drift from the sky.
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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months ago
Note
There was this tiktok trend where kids and their mums would pull a prank on their dads by telling their mums to shut up...141 with a teenage son who tries it?
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Anon, I am very aware of this prank. If mom is in on it, I consider it all in good fun, but omg, these guys would be absolutely stressed if they heard their teenage son tell mom to "shut up." Heads would absolutely roll over that!
Price is certainly old enough to have a teenage son on the older side. I would even say the same for Ghost. Gaz is old enough for a younger teenage son. With Soap's age...that's stretching it. BUT SUSPEND DISBELIEF Y'ALL. I'm aging Gaz and Soap up a bit for this one.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Presented in two double drabbles and two triple drabbles.
Task Force 141 x Female Reader (w/ children)
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, pranks, domestic, dad!141, brief suggestive themes, marriage
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
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Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“Ugh. Shut up, Mum.”
There is a brief pause between mum and when the television remote hurtles across the room. Your son doesn’t duck in time, the hard plastic hitting his shoulder before bouncing onto the kitchen island with a loud clack.
Before your son turns, Kyle’s baseball cap with the Union Jack, soars through the air like a frisbee. This one your son manages to avoid, but it’s quickly followed by a slipper. It flies past his head, and you catch it out of the air before it makes contact with the front of the microwave.
You and your eldest son turn in Kyle’s direction as he manifests in the kitchen entryway, the other slipper in hand, poised to launch it at the first sign of any movement.
“Wanna repeat yourself, mate?” Kyle appears calm and poised, but you notice the subtle tension in his jaw.
“It was a joke, Dad! Promise!”
Kyle’s arm holding the slipper starts to rise.
“Kyle,” you say. His gaze flicks to you. “Just a joke. No harm. I was in on it.”
His shoulders immediately sag. Kyle shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. Heading for the fridge, he opens it up, grabbing a can of his favorite beer.
Kyle sets the beer down on the island, pointing the slipper at you and then his son. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out, just an exasperated huff.
Kyle snatches up the television remote and sticks it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Keeping hold of the shoe in one hand, and his beer in the other, he gives the two of you his back, heading into the living room.
“No one bother me until the game is over,” he says over his shoulder. “And someone bring me my bloody slipper!”
John Price
"Fucking hell, Mum. Shut it."
John is up and out of his seat so fast you hardly see him move. He strides over to his son, yanking him off the stool by the scruff of his shirt.
"John! It's a prank!" you say quickly, reaching for his arm.
The boy is dangling in the air, toes just shy of touching the ground. "A prank?" asks John skeptically.
"Mum is in on it. Promise."
John sighs heavily and slowly lowers his son to the ground. The moment his feet touch ground, he tries to step away, but John holds firm, keeping his eldest child immobile. He leans forward a bit. Lowers his voice.
"Prank or no, you never talk to your mother, your sisters, or any woman in that manner again. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy." John releases his son. "The lawn needs trimmed."
"Yes, sir."
Your son scurries away. It isn't until the door to the garage opens and shuts that John moves toward you. His arm drapes over your waist, hand landing firmly on your ass, squeezing hard.
"You're coming with me."
"To do what?"
He presses his lips to your ear. "For a different sort of punishment."
John "Soap" MacTavish
"You’re off your head, lad.”
With Johnny’s cold tone comes a tension to your son’s shoulders. He becomes rigid, sliding down into his chair like he can escape from his father by cowering underneath the table. Johnny comes around the corner, a bit of sweat on his brow. He's been building furniture all day for the nursery.
"Want to repeat that for me?" asks Johnny.
Your son’s voice cracks. "It was just a prank, Dad."
"It was what?" Johnny strides forward.
"It's a prank. I'm in on it. Promise," you say, attempting to soothe Johnny’s anger.
Johnny crosses his arms over your chest. "Is it?" He glances between the two of you and sighs, muttering, “Am pure done in.”
He disappears down the hall, returning with a stack of instructional manuals, dropping them into his son’s lap. "You're building furniture."
"But I—"
“You right scunner. C’mon.” Johnny yanks his son out of the chair, the stack of instructional manuals goes flying. Your son reaches for them all, desperately clasping them against his chest.
“Johnny," you call out, walking around the counter to intervene.
He glances over his shoulder, frown gown, sly smirk on his face. “Deal with you later."
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“Oi, Mum. Shut it.”
Your son is a wonderful actor. You’ll give him that. Even you almost believe him. Not that he would—he’d never—but his delivery reminds you of a completely pissed football fan ready to throw a punch at a member of the rival team.
He should consider theater.
Simon, your husband, is watching a rugby match in the living room. The television is on but at a low volume.
Within seconds of the words leaving your son’s mouth, Simon appears like a phantom guardian in the entryway. In one he holds the remote like a weapon. The other arm cradles his infant daughter. She looks like a small bean. Slightly curved as she snuggles closer against Simon’s chest as she sleeps.
He's not looking at you. He's staring at his son, gaze intense and full of fire.
You’ve seen that look before.
Mission abort.
"He's joking, Simon. It's just a prank,” you soothe, knowing you need to get ahead of this.
Not that Simon would hurt you or his son, but he rarely takes any shit. This prank was a gamble, and you’re completely regretting it.
"Don't mean it, Dad."
Simon just stares for a long minute. His daughter squirms and that is when he glances down, severing the connection. Observing her must change something in him, because his gaze returns to the two of you, and there is a calmness now.
Sighing heavily, Simon shakes his head, completely exasperated. The eye roll is so apparent it’s like a shout.
In the moment he was pissed—livid. But now he’s over it, more annoyed and unamused than actually mad.
Turning on his heel, daughter still cradled in one arm, Simon returns to his recliner, settling back into the soft cushions to finish watching his rugby match.
taglist:
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corkinavoid · 22 days ago
Text
DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue
[Inspired by this art]
"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.
The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.
"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.
The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.
The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.
"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."
"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.
"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."
Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.
"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."
"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.
"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.
The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.
Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.
The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.
"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."
The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."
Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.
He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."
"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.
"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.
The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.
"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."
"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.
The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.
"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."
That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"
"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."
Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.
"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.
"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"
"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."
Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.
Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.
"Fine."
The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.
Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.
Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"
Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.
"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."
"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:
"Wait, I thought you'd just-"
[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]
But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.
"Maybe I should join a cult
At least they'll tell me it's not my fault
That the world's a fucking circus
That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.
Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.
"Maybe I should join a cult
At least they'll tell me it's not my fault
When it all comes crashing down
We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.
"NOW!"
The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-
The following silence feels almost deafening.
Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.
Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.
Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.
"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.
"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."
"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"
The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.
"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"
The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."
John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.
But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.
[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]
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