#full throttle bowing

[happy-hokkyokugitsune]

I never thought I would be crying over a mens rythmic gymnastics anime, but here we are

#he just got down on his knees for his team 😭😭😭😭 #full throttle bowing #im #watari my boi #bakuten!! #watari kotaro #it's the middle of the night ffs

[sharkstonbarkston]

dont know why but aerosmith is a very malcolm corley band

#i am the demographic for this post #full throttle #i love ben and maureen and all but like what i really want to know is what the baggage is between malcolm corley and adrian ripburger #one day i’ll really hunker down and write the full throttle headcanons ive been cooking for like 9 years bow #*now #that game really stuck with me #my text

[maxarchive]

MAX-IMUM ATTACK 2017 Season Photos and words by Darren Heath

Monday lunchtime, Heathrow Terminal 5. Standing next to the slowly revolving baggage carousel, a fresh-faced, slightly awkward-looking - just out of his teens - young man is awaiting the arrival of his chattels.

Dressed in bland black trainers, similarly hued skinny jeans and an oversized hoody, this Young Turk ain’t winning any style awards. iPhone in hand, he’s busy swiping the screen in that head-bowed social media style billions of us now ‘enjoy’.

Max Verstappen doesn’t really do flash. He couldn’t look more ‘normal’. Yet put him in a racing car and he’s just about the most special talent to arrive on motor racing’s top step for decades.

Schumacher-esque – Michael of course! – is a term increasingly heard up and down the F1 paddock, such is the impact the Netherlands’ premier sportsman is now making.

I can see it too.

The fresh-faced 16-year-old boy who was, upon his arrival, so ignorantly dismissed by many within the sport is rapidly becoming a man. It’s amazing how quickly young sportsmen living life in the public gaze assume adulthood. Just take a look at Sebastian Vettel. The gawky kid of 2009 became the handsome dude of 2010!

What sets the potentially great apart from the mediocre? What makes Max Verstappen so, so much more special than, say, Carlos Sainz?

I guess it’s the whole package: the look; the mien; the steely character honed to be a racer almost from before he could walk; the utterly uncompromising way he dismisses any questioning of his racecraft; the toys-out-of-the-pram reaction to harsh penalties; the fast straight-out-of-the-box attacking style; and the rapier-like overtaking ability, the like of which we haven’t seen for many a year. Such was Max’s impact on the art of passing and defending, the rules had to be rewritten!

The way the car looks through the turns, the application of throttle, steering and immensely late braking. Metronomic in his blisteringly fast lap time delivery, this boy has the lot. He IS the future of Formula 1.

In so, so many ways – but let’s hope not all – Max is the new MSC.

Racing in an aggressive and forceful style often results in on-track contretemps with some of his more seasoned rivals. No matter, Max takes no prisoners, batting away questions about the legality of some of his racing moves with a dismissive arrogance that’s strangely appealing in its delivery.

Up to speed now and surely making Dan Ricciardo question his team-leading abilities, Verstappen is unquestionably Red Bull’s main man.

Off-track too, Max is sorted. Guided by his F1-experienced father, the young Verstappen has an able and well-qualified navigator at the helm. Learning from his own ill-advised 1990s F1 driving career decisions, Jos pays absolute attention so as to ensure his son maximises the opportunities on offer.

With top-drawer drivers in short supply, Red Bull had better make damned sure their 2019-and-beyond engine supply is top-notch. The bidding war for Max’s signature is already in full swing. Ferrari and Mercedes are enviously eyeing the Dutchman’s abilities with covetous desire.

It’s easy to forget that Max is only 20 years old. Way ahead in racing driver maturity - a relative term! – than so many millions of a similar age, Max has appeared mentally developed beyond his years since first he appeared in the F1 paddock at Spa 2014. It struck me then how entirely capable this 16-year-old boy was dealing with multiple language questions and untold camera lenses. Listening to his interrogator politely before answering calmly and intelligently, Max appeared born to the role…

Fast forward to now and Verstappen is a multiple grand prix winner and 2018 title-chasing challenger. Part of the new breed of F1 racers, Max leads the pack. Publicly respectful of his rivals, although privately dismissive of many, he well knows his place among the potentially great.

Michael Schumacher once opined – in an interview I photographed – that his father had advised him to heed well the arrival on the scene of the next great talent. The one who’d challenge and quickly replace the dominant male. Well, Lewis, Sebastian and Fernando, that man has arrived.

You’d best heed Herr Schumacher’s words well…

#max verstappen #f1 #2017

[lynnlovesthestars]

"Let me show you how this will benefit you".

For @ask-althaearoserun ❤

Pairing: Gortash x fem!OC (Althaea).

Genre: smut.

Warnings: dub-con (kinda since there's coercion), unprotected sex, fingering, oral fem! recieving, possessive Enver, improper use of throne and throne room, edging, orgasm denial, improper use of golden gauntlet, creampie, slight dumb-fucking, rough sex overrall.. if i missed anything let me know. author regrets nothing. Kind of semi-public sex. Slight power-play, implied ownership. spoiler for act 3.

Synopsis: He's got a proposal she can't refuse.

WC: 4.7k

AN: hello, it took me a while to get through this piece for Skull but a month later i finallydelivered it. With her consent I'm posting it- since her OC is out protag tonight-. Nevertheless let me know what you think, lots of love, lynn.

Wyrm's Rock was obnoxiously calm as they reached the bridge that allowed them into the fortress. 

"Lord Gortash is expecting you, please make your way to the audience chamber." The steel watch repeated and repeated until they had stepped past the doors of the audience hall. They were surprised that they’d let them in so easily, yet they obliged seen their insistence without questioning too much the new rules of the fortress. 

The audience hall was packed with royalty and steel watchers as Gortash was idly eyeing the door, awaiting for the last invited guests.  

Them. 

Enver had insisted on having them attend, not only to let them know who they were going against and the power he held, but also because he had heard so much about Althaea. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet the infamous slayer that took down Ketheric, though his first glance at her left him genuinely confused: he knew he could have her wrapped around his gauntlet before even getting to speak with her and her companions. 

She was small, clearly a nuisance, compared to him and his grandiose presence in the room; in a normal setting, she would have passed unnoticed, but in the middle of royalty, she stood out. 

Nevertheless, his focus was on the ceremony- though Karlach and her troupe didn't agree. The tiefling was furiously throttling towards him, seething and burning. He knew that the steel watch would not have been enough against her, and that it would have sent the wrong message to the masses present at the ceremony, 

“A moment please, my friends- an old acquaintance has come to pay her respects." He mused as he took a step forward, descending the stairs. "Please, Karlach, come say a proper hello.” He said with a smile painted full of faux friendliness. His voice was clearly sweetened for the audience they had as he stepped towards her himself. 

“My respects? You are lucky I’ve agreed to not shove my boot up your-” Karlach roared before he interrupted her with distaste. 

“Ah how I missed your colorful turn of phrase.” He twirled his hand dismissively. “We must catch up as soon as I’ve had words with your little friend.” He uncaringly ignored the tiefling and glanced towards Althaea with dark eyes, clearly hiding something behind them. 

“As for you, I shall congratulate.” He gave her a small bow of his head. “Thorn’s defeat has not passed unnoticed; shall I say thanks to that Netherstone you carry and for your astonishing fighting abilities”. He said with his honeyed voice. “Pleasure to meet you” He gave her a small bow with her head, politeness first, persuasion later. 

He had wondered how she’d rudely introduce herself, telling him to fuck off or hells knows what, yet the moment she opened her pretty mouth, she sounded anything like the gruesome descriptions of her persona he had heard. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Lord Gortash.” She put up her best smile, concealing her mild disgust at the closeness with him. She could feel the bile forming in the back of her mouth already. 

“I believe we have something rather important to discuss.” He pressed his hands together and cracked his fingers, readying for the extenuating and boring conversation they were going to have. “Indeed” She nodded, looking at his movements in case he’d rush a movement.  

The conversation went on between Gortash trying to gauge how much they had known and Althaea respectfully grunting and nodding as he went on and on. 

It felt for her as if he was trying to stroke her mind as he spoke, keeping her in the loop of the conversation yet leaving behind chunks of information he didn't want to reveal yet. 

It was only at the end that he finally seemed to take a step closer to his objective, finally poking at their only protection against the absolute. 

“That prism of yours won’t last indefinitely.” He said sternly while he crossed his arms apprehensively. “Next there's the grand design. Though I suppose that if we come to an agreement, this fate can be avoided.” He concluded in a smirk. 

“What do you suggest?” She quickly ignored the emperor in her head as she replied with a shake of her head yet standing tall and confident in front of him, not allowing him to believe he had the upper hand against them. Enver seemed entertained by her stance, so insignificant yet so annoying in the bigger picture of his plan. He had two choices: either squish the fly or get the fly on his side, and he was a mastermind at the end of the day. 

“Well, the brain won’t respond to new commands as soon as it is done with its current ones. Then it will be free to do as it wishes, and that would be rather unpleasant.” He pointed arch and clever. “And once it’s freed I doubt we’ll ever be able to bring it under control again.” He smacked his lips together as he threw a glance at Althaea- that was now at the center of everyone's attention. 

“I still don’t see where you are going” She lied, seeing behind his mask of politeness. He wanted something. He had that look in his eyes that reminded her of how her father would look at her before he'd try to make a move to overpower her, and she wanted to throw up right there and then. Yet she knew she had to do this: for the sake of her friends, for the sake of the city, and possibly for the sake of the whole coast. 

It was almost as if his words were calculated, trying to catch her in like a spiderweb set up for the next victim, and his sweet- almost sincere words, where the honey he bet would get her to agree. As if admitting having made a poor alliance would have somewhat fixed all that there was wrong with the situation.  

“They say a brittle alliance can never be mended; it is bound to break.” He intoned as if he had rehearsed those words countless times. “Orin is unreliable, and with Ketheric gone, she will want the stone for herself” He simply explained axiomatic. “She only cares for blood, and mine and yours are positively delectable right now.” There was the threat.  

Orin.  

He would betray her if he needed- and he hoped the merry troupe would agree. He was the better way anyway. Giving Orin all that power would have created devastation and unleashing the brain would waste all this gracious power he was about to grasp at. 

No one was fitter to sit ahead of Baldur's Gate like the adept of Bane. 

Nevertheless, Althaea didn't budge. If he wanted something he had to say it out loud, in front of everyone in the room. “I suppose you are right, but I still don’t see what you are trying to say” She huffed.  

“I can’t let that happen, I don’t want to destroy this city, I want to steer it to its glory." He trailed off with another of his sly smiles. “I have a proposition for you” He finally advanced, looking at Althaea first before addressing the rest of the party. 

“A divine oath, sworn and unbreakable. I shall do no harm to you, nor you to me." He propositioned. "You'll slay Oring and with all three of the Netherstones we’ll rule Faerun as kings.” He spelled each of his last words as if they were the best promise he had for them, a vision of success and glory that everyone would run for. “No more than kings- gods. We'll rule as the absolute.” He hyped himself with his own words, as the taste of power already floated in his reach for him to snatch. 

“The only absolute here is my no.” She said firmly trying to ignore the same feeling he had, the need for power. 

His eyes muted, as if he had a new challenge to accomplish, he had set his mind on. “Oh dear, I didn’t know I had to convince you.” He lowered his voice, while his eyes stared daring. “I shall do so once we are done with the ceremony then.” He dismissed them just as quickly as he had with Ketheric before he left him to his demise. 

The ceremony was painfully boring as all the honors had to be made, introducing the most relevant figures in the room and witnessing the tadpoled Duke proclaim Gortash archduke. Althaea could swear even her tadpole was squirming in boredom as the time went on, but there was something about Gortash as he politely entertained the crowd that made her cheeks grow warmer. He'd occasionally made sure to take glances her way, not even attempting to conceal them as the event formally came to an end and their debate resumed. 

It had been a long and extenuating conversation up to that moment, the more Althaea and Enver would bicker, the more the room would feel warm, and with Karlach's occasional comments, the tension was over the top. 

The two were figuratively at each other’s throat. It was a battle of wit, and whether Althaea would end up accepting it or not was up to Enver’s skills. 

She couldn’t deny the allure of the man, and she knew it was better to stay on his good side rather than his bad side. 

“This won’t end well, mark my words” Karlach remarked with a scoff while Enver had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

“I understand your concerns, my old friend, but allow me to demonstrate why you made the right choice.” He purred again, as if he had not tried to reason with them already. He couldn't help but notice Althaea's reaction, her frame shivering when he lowered his voice at last. “You should focus on finding the impostor in your camp” He dismissed Karlach with the useless information of the vanished druid as his eyes fell on Althaea again, already undressing her with his eyes. 

"Let me show you how you'll benefit from this deal" He stepped closer to Althaea, making sure his words were low enough to caress her skin only. 

She could even smell his thoughts as they floated in the room, between them, just like the polite dislike she felt towards him, inviting her brain to stir towards the thought of being bent over the throne, her legs spread for Gortash as he rolled his hips. 

If his point was to get her aroused, he was doing way too good for her wellbeing. 

“Let them out” Enver leaned forward and ordered with a whisper that was so rough she could have mistaken him for a rabid animal. A long shiver ran down her spine as she obliged.  

It took her a moment to convince them it was safe, that she was going to be okay, and he was not going to hurt her, his mind had said so, his body had said so, and she knew he had better intentions than murdering her right there, or so she hoped. 

“Where were we?” He asked, smiling as soon as everyone stepped out and the doors closed behind her. 

“The benefits from the deal.” She raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him, wondering where he was going with his words and his behavior. She could tell he had other plans that didn't involve much talking and she hated that she wanted to find out what those plans were. 

“Ah yes” He circled around her as if she was his prey and he was about to devour her, the tip of his gauntlet traced her jawline, gently tilting her head as if he wanted her to follow his gaze. “The benefits” He hummed as he was again in his original place. “Follow me, dear.” He offered his hand like a gentleman for her to take. “Let’s take a seat.”  

She was dizzy by his words as she accepted his hand and followed him promptly, still trying to keep her composure as they had to come to some sort of compromise. She had to keep up the polite mask, ask for the right things and leave. 

When they came close to the red lined throne, she was quick to catch up eased when Enver roughly gripped her hips and sat her in his lap, as if she was his pretty toy for everyone to see as he sat there regal.  

She tried to keep her composure even though she could feel her wetness starting to seep through her now soaked panties, not too far from Enver’s thigh. “So, the benefits?” She smiled expectantly as she tried to ignore the redness of her cheeks. 

“Well, let's start with a special seat for you, dear.” He purred as he hooked his arm under her legs to properly seat her in his lap, her legs dangling off one side of the golden throne, where she knew she could admire the hall in its whole beauty. She hummed as she didn't dare to look around yet. 

“Don’t you like the view?” He teased as he guided her head towards the entrance to the room, from where she could see every corner of the hall. He made a particular effort in being delicate as she manhandled her, making sure she couldn't miss a chair even if she tried to look away again. 

Earlier she didn't notice the tapestries hung on the high walls, setting the scene for the countless events that were held there. 

“It’s pretty, but it’s not enough” She shrugged faking disinterest. 

“Isn’t it?” He asked curiously as rested his gauntleted hand on her thigh deliberately. The cold gold almost stung against her warm skin as it inched way too close to her pussy. She had to focus on the deal and get out of there, she thought, she had to sort this out and leave. 

“How about this?” He purred as his index finger made its way towards her soaked underwear, running a finger over her clothed heat. He let out a rough hum as his fingertips drenched just as quickly as she refused again.  

“Not enough, sorry” She pushed her legs closed and tight, as the blush on her cheeks made her even more appealing at Enver's eyes. 

He didn't retreat as he brushed the tips of the gauntlet on her tight, still reminding her where she was sitting and how sensitive she was to his touch. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He whispered as he made sure his lips brushed against her ear. 

It didn't take much for her to smell the pungent scent of cheap cologne and sweat, quickly taking over all her senses. 

One arm of his quickly wrapped around her middle, supporting her back as his slender fingers quickly spread her legs and moved her underwear to the side before diving ring-deep into her folds.  

He let out a low, dark groan as her pussy clenched around his index finger the second it slid in. She was so wet for him, and he was so eager to see her crumble in his arms. The shallow whine she indulged in sounded like poetry to the man. 

His thumb took its time to find her clit, gently teasing her sensitive nub. His skilled movements were leaving her breathless as she had to keep herself from moaning his name out loud whenever the pad of his finger would bring her so close. 

“I suppose this is a good reason then?” He vexed her teasingly as he stopped on his tracks, waiting for her reply eagerly. 

She was leaning against him just enough so she wouldn't lose balance as she gasped. Her body was still taught as if on the verge of a cliff awaiting to be pushed off, yet she was kept there, tense. 

She shook her head no, the smallest hint of sanity left in her had pushed, reminding her that she couldn't give it all up for an orgasm, right? 

“Ah, pity” He huffed as he quickly slid out his fingers, uncaring if it would stimulate her too much, leaving her gasping and empty, though still in his lap. She almost begged him to not retreat, the newfound need was already enough in her eyes for him to grasp at as he tsked. 

"Need further reasons?" He asked wickedly as he undressed her with his eyes. He could already imagine how her shirt would tie nicely around her wrists as he pinned her down and he made sure she could feel his thought deep down her bones. 

His eyes wouldn’t leave hers for a second, whenever she tried to look away, he’d gently grasp at her chin and bring her attention to him again. She could feel her body heating ever more under his skillful touch as he couldn't help himself but to feel her again, basking in the moment he allowed another finger to enter her, and he stole a soft mewl from her lips. 

This time he was quick, hurried, abrupt as his fingers plunged and grasped at her breath, and just as quick he took his fingers away from her cunt, leaving her just at the cusp of her orgasm again. 

“Please-” She let out as she begged to come, she could feel her orgasm so close, yet so far, just a few pumps away, although those ended up being denied to her. 

“I apologize, I suppose that’s part of the deal, if you’ll accept of course” He whispered before he languidly brought his fingers in his mouth. He was so undeniably sexy, looking at her from under his dark lashes as he sucked her juices off his pads, the wet sound of his lips swallowing her was sending Althaea over the edge. “Ah how I wished you had agreed.” He sighed as he made sure he'd lick each finger clean. “I would have been delighted to taste this lovely juice directly from the source.” 

She swore her eyes rolled at the back of her head just at the thought of his tongue taking a fat lick down her pussy, drenching his stubble with her wetness, and the way he had been swirling it along his fingers looked like a promise she might have been desperate enough to accept. 

“Unless you need more, of course.” He noted sultry as he made no effort hiding what he was alluding to. 

She hesitated. She wanted to reason, to ask what the accord would have stipulated, yet all she could focus on was the ache between her thighs and the need to be filled before she’d miss the chance.  

She nodded as she gripped the edge of her skirt with a blush she couldn’t hide. He hummed satisfied as he quickly secured his arms around her, holstering her frail body and setting her down on the flush throne. 

Quickly and uncaring he tore her panties away from her skin, and spread her pretty legs, revealing her sopping pussy to him. 

He fell to his knees brazenly, bringing his face close to her heat, humming at the sight of her wetness dripping onto the chair.  

His hot breath hitting her naked and dripping core right before his plump lips met with her cunt in a lazy lick, collecting her arousal on his tongue. A filthy growl escaped his lips as he dived between her legs, dedicating his attention to her needy clit, having her whole body shake under his tongue as pleasure overtook her senses completely. 

No one ever remotely made her squirm with their tongue the way Enver was doing just about now as he traced figures eight on her swollen bud, her legs shaking as he guided them around his neck, resting them on his back and being totally engulfed face first in her pussy. 

His finger soon joined, swiftly plunging into her core with ease. It was like she was losing control of her own body as he pumped his digit in her, hitting right where she needed it as his tongue eagerly swirled and licked her like a hungry and desperate man sitting in front of his last meal, devouring and dipping in her folds like a madman. 

Althaea could barely keep her mouth shut as she wailed his name like a forbidden grace as a second finger slid in, his low moans reverberated through her as she sucked him in, clenching around his digits hungry for more, hungry for him. 

He licked her, kissed her, savored her, every centimeter of her throbbing warm pussy getting him high off her, the most euphoric he’s ever been.  

He pumped his fingers in her cunt insatiably as she could feel it build up, the familiar knot as her muscles tensed up, feeling the heat rise and her legs shake. Then when she finally could taste her orgasm on the tip of her tongue, he stopped again. 

He looked at her almost feigning innocence as he cleaned his drenched stubble with his fingertips. He popped each one his mouth again, before sitting up and leaning forward in front of her. 

She looked and felt so small under him as he towered menacingly above her, and even more when she noticed his erection aggressively pressing against his trousers. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her wide eyes, stealing a scoff from her. She turned away, her cheeks already bright crimson from the heat coming from her own body, the embarrassment just doubled up on her.  

“ ‘suppose you like what you see?” He tantalized as he grasped at her chin, and harshly turned her head towards him. 

She nodded a bit dazed from the fast movement as she was still slouched on the throne, legs wide open for him; before they could both line more words, he was on her again. 

His lips trailed down her neck, peppering her skin with sloppy open-mouthed kisses as he mumbled praises against the hot flesh he was ready to devour. His body pressed heatedly against hers, his fingers hungrily digging in her skin as he earned a guttural moan from her. 

“Accept and all of this will be yours” He rasped as he pressed his clothed hard cock against her cunt, grinding just enough to tease her and ease a bit his erection. 

She knew what she was about to bargain with, yet her senses were taken over by her thirst, desperate for release. “Make me come and I’ll accept.” She purred as she bit her lip, almost drawing blood as eager as she was. 

He tilted his head, still holding tight to her chin as he considered her offer. “Don’t know” He shook his head, not breaking eye contact with her. Though she was completely disheveled- half naked and slouching, she still didn’t lose her confidence. He liked it, she was breathtaking. 

She was bold in her movements as he pushed away his hand from her chin and grabbed the collar of his button up. “Shut up and kiss me already.” She pulled him down as she sat up, making him space on the throne again and making sure she was straddling him comfortably. 

Her legs perfectly draped over his lap as she pressed her warmth against his cock. She relentlessly held to his collar as their lips collided in a rough kiss.  

His coarse lips felt scorching against her sweetness, taking over her senses with the aggressive and pungent taste of cheap wine and sweat. The second she tasted it, she knew she was not going to be able to give it up for anything. 

He didn't get undressed, nor did he undress her more than her panties that were already missing, he simply quickly untied his pants and freed his cock. He was strong and the way he was holding her and guiding her on top of his cock was proof of it- just making Althaea more eager to be filled. 

The cold of the golden gauntlet was just the tip of the iceberg as her body was so eager and close already. He had tortured enough, yet the way he pulled her up to have better access to her pussy, made her even hornier than before. 

He was quick in sinking into her cunt, loudly and rough as he manhandled her effortlessly. “So tight, doll” He grunted as he dug his fingers in her soft flesh, stealing a strangled moan from Althaea’s loose lips. 

She was lucky the chatter from outside was loud enough cause, if that was what he could coax out of her with one blunt thrust, she didn’t dare to imagine how she’d keep her lewd sounds unheard. 

She stretched so nicely around him as he filled her to the brim, he didn’t wait for her to adjust before he’d start moving.  

He did a good job hiding it until then, but he was dying to fuck her senseless. Looking at her tossing her head back and moaning his name sent a rush of adrenaline down his body to his cock as he mercilessly slammed into her. 

One hand quickly snuck under her shirt, sloppily grabbing her breast and teasing her nipple as he could feel her already inching closer to her first orgasm. 

The way she rode him drove him insane, unable to form sentences from time to time while the only thing he could do was use his hands to guide her, gripping her ass and helping her to keep some speed as she choked on her words.   

All that could be heard was the sound of ragged breath and skin slapping as she tried to meet his speed. He had her wrapped around his cock so consumed as his movements did nothing but make her mewl and sub for him.  

She didn’t have the power to question how he did it, but his hips met with her in such an electrifying way as he rolled deep in her.  

With one deep thrust he had her eyes rolled back as he rammed her and fucked her till exhaustion. 

“You’re mine” He rasped as the words mindlessly fell over his lips with a possessiveness neither expected. “You understand?” He demanded as he suddenly slowed down, his thrusts hitting deeper, till that sweet spot that made her toes curl and her stomach flutter. 

Y-Yes” She mewled as his nails once more found her hips, pulled her down and closer to him 

“Say it” He ordered as he deliberately let go of her hips, allowing gravity to harshly let her collide with him. “Who do you belong to?” He grabbed at her chin and guided her face towards his. 

Her eyes were dilated, her mouth slack as she fucked herself on his cock desperately. “Yours” She wailed as her hips twitched frantically.  

“Say my name, doll” He rasped as he could feel her cunt ready to milk him as he waited for her reply.  

“I-I” She moaned as she could feel her orgasm pull over her. “B-belong” His hands gripped at her hips again, helping her come as he met her movements. “E-enver” She croaked and sobbed as she could barely hold on to herself anymore, the pleasure rippled under her skin uncontrollably, like a tidal wave pulling her in and out as she gushed over his cock. 

His lips hungrily met with hers again as she sobbed a moan against them, his movements were sloppy just like his kiss as he let his own intense, reckless, arrogant orgasm was over him.  

He carelessly came into her cunt, enjoying the view of his cum filling her to the brim and spilling on her legs. His words were a faint buzzing as she could barely feel her spine and leaned against him, yet she didn’t care anymore. 

She had already fucked up when she accepted and there was no way back. 

No way back from being fucked silly on a throne. 

Just an handful of minutes later she was standing next to her companions, the closest she could get to presentable as his cum dribbled down her thighs as she sealed her deal with Enver, that smirked at her. 

“I, lord Enver Gortash, in the name of Bane, swear I shall do you no harm, and we will rise together over Toril as a roaring sun” He smiled boldly at her, as he offered her his hand, waiting just for her to take it. 

#bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 x you #bg3 x female reader #bg3 x female tav #bg3 x oc #bg3 gortash #baldurs gate gortash #dddne #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #baldurs gate 3 #dead dove: do not eat #gortash smut #enver gortash x reader #gortash x tav #gortash x oc #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #lynn: updates☆ #vault: lynn ☆

[cosmicanakin]

drowning.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

pairing. rockstar!sam monroe x female reader.

contains. angst, drug & alcohol use, strong language, sucidal ideation, dysfunctional coping mechanisms, rockstar!sam, addiction, depression.

outline. drawn back to the one who broke your heart, you find only a shell of the man he was. facing past demons together may offer the chance to heal what was broken if you can survive the nightmares within.

authors note. he makes smoking look so fucking hot fuck!

the smell of smoke and sweat hang heavy in the crowded venue as you work your way through the bustling crowd. you’ve been waiting all week for this show, hoping to catch sam at one of his gigs. being with him hasn’t been easy—the late nights on tour, his frenetic creative energy that leaves you drained. but his magnetism draws you back time and again to watch him in his element.

finally breaking through to the front, you scan the stage for any sign of sam. just then, the house lights drop and the roar of the crowd doubles in volume. familiar notes ring out over the PA system as sam and his band emerge, silhouetted by stage lights.

you drink in the vision before you—sam looking every bit the rock star with ratty jeans slung low on lean hips and, a black mesh tank clinging to his lithe torso. his lip and ear piercings glint under the spotlight, paired with familiar blue streaks raked messily through dark waves.

but what holds your attention the most are his eyes—ringed heavily in smudged eyeliner, their startling blue cut right through you even from a distance. raw emotions always danced just below their surface and you had a front-row seat to whatever tumult was crashing through sam tonight.

the band launches into their first song at full throttle and sam transforms—leaping, gyrating, pouring every ounce of vigor into each wailing note. you can't look away as he loses himself completely to the music, fingers flying effortlessly over guitar strings.

his voice cuts through each line like shattered glass, raw and captivating. sam has always worn his heart bleeding on his sleeve through his music, even if he keeps his true feelings closely guarded otherwise. but in those moments on stage, feeling every gasping member of the crowd hanging on his every word, he’s completely vulnerable and untouchable all at once.

as the intensity of the first song crests, sam finally locks eyes with you briefly across the sea of faces. in that split second, a storm of tangled emotion passes between you—longing, regret, understanding. just as quickly, his gaze is pulled away to another rapt fan as he launches headlong into the next track with even more fervor.

you let the pulsing rhythms and sam's searing voice wash over and through you for the duration. losing yourself to the collective catharsis, worries and tensions shed skin like an animal. right now, he and his music are the sole focus of every eye and mind here, in complete control.

all too soon, the final song ends and sam takes his bow to wild cheers and whistles. you finally allow yourself to breathe, lungs burning from holding your breath through the whole intense performance. you needed this—to drink your fill of sam unleashed and untamed, even if only for an hour.

backstage pass tucked safely in the back pocket of your black jean skirt, you make your way through the now dispersing crowd to find sam. dodging roadies dragging out equipment, you spot him taking a much-needed drag off a cigarette.

his chest still heaves, damp shirt clinging messily to defined muscles. sam blows smoke skyward before noticing you hovering, lips quirking into a small half smile around the cigarette. your stomach flutters as crystal eyes rake appreciatively over your form before beckoning you closer with a lazy finger crook.

“hey gorgeous. come here often?” sam drawls with a wry smirk, snuffing out his smoke against the wall without a care. you huff a laugh, happy to fall back into your comfortable banter with him even after so long apart. “only when you’re playing, rockstar.”

sam steps in, crowding your space as large palms skim your sides before coming to rest on your hips. you arch into his sweat-dampened body heat instinctively, breaths mingling as eyes trace every subtle change in tired but pleased features.

“missed me, baby?” he rumbles lowly, leaning down to bury his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. you sigh, threading fingers through inky hair matted with sweat to hold him close. “you know i did.” for a moment, you both give in to the simplicity of reuniting - tracing familiar contours, breathing each other's air like it's the first sweet gasp after drowning.

but reality has to set back in at some point as it always does with sam. he pulls away slightly, expression shuttering once more as distant eyes search yours. “i can’t do this anymore, y/n.” your heart drops to your feet at the admission. this was just the life raft you clung to whenever things between you drifted too far apart - his shows, finding your way back to his side even for just a night.

“what do you mean? are we...are you breaking up with me?” you hate how small and broken your voice sounds voicing the dreaded question. but you need to hear it, need confirmation this is really the end so you can start picking up the pieces.

sam sighs heavily, hands falling away as he steps back to put space between you. he drags both hands roughly down his jaw before meeting your eyes with weary finality. “i can’t give you what you need, y/n. i told you from the start this lifestyle wasn’t built for relationships. i’m barely holding it together as it is.”

hot tears gather unbidden to blur your vision as you nod shakily. “i know, i just...i thought if i gave you space when you’re on the road, it could work when you were home. but it’s never enough, is it?” sam reaches out gently to swipe a fallen tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“no, baby, it’s not you. you did your fucking best and i appreciate it more than you know. but the truth is i’m no good for anyone—i’m a mess. always have been.” his voice cracks slightly but he soldiers on with steely resolve. “you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. and i...i gotta figure my shit out on my own.”

a sob wracks your frame but you bite your lip hard to contain it. you knew this day would come eventually, knew sam’s wild soul would never be fully tamed no matter how much he cared for you. but that doesn't make the loss hurt any less in this moment.

“so this is really it, then. you’re just...letting me go.” your voice sounds dead even to your own ears. sam looks away, jaw clenched in anguish, before nodding once tersely. “yeah. it’s for the best, sweetheart, i promise.” he risks a glance at your grief-stricken face and his resolve crumbles.

large hands cradle your jaw tenderly, thumbs swiping your tears as sam rests his forehead against yours briefly. “i’m so sorry, y/n. hurting you is the last fucking thing i want. but i gotta do right by you now.” lingering a heartbeat longer savoring your nearness, sam pulls away with a shuddering sigh.

“take care of yourself. and don’t wait for me, alright?” he murmurs, voice thick. turning before you can respond, sam disappears further backstage, and you collapse back against the dingy brick wall beside you in a crumpled heap, bereft. it was your only lifeline to stability.

days pass in a numb haze as you try to put your life back together piece by piece without sam’s steadying arms to shelter in. his words on repeat torment you - don’t wait for me. but how can you not, when that boy snuck past every defense to burrow in your heart?

nights you lay awake composing bitter letters, screaming desperate pleas into your pillow for him to come back, come save you from this bleak purgatory of half living. days drag slower still, colors dull without sam’s radiance lighting your world. you thought the pain of separation would fade with time but each day just peels back scabbed layers, wounds bleeding fresher than before.

rumors reach you in darkened dive bars—sam’s off tour now, holing up writing new material in some nondescript rental upstate. alone, tormenting himself with restless creative binges until inspiration strikes or sanity shatters, whichever comes first.

you can imagine all too well his gaunt form haunting shadowy corners nursing cigarettes and stiff drinks, wild eyes staring into the void willing answers to surface from chaos. an ache to soothe those frazzled edges grows too strong to resist and before you know it, you’re miles down the highway, legs trembling at what you might find.

pulling up to the ramshackle property under the cover of a moonless night, you cut the engine and sit frozen, replaying every tender memory with sam on an endless loop. so many haunting what-ifs to lose yourself within, none easing the emptiness left carved into your marrow with his departure.

no lights shine within as you steel trembling limbs and approach the front door gingerly. your knock echoes ominously through halls undoubtedly stained with ghostly remnants of sam’s artistic anguish. long moments pass without response and chilled panic sets in he may not even be here until—

footsteps wander nearer before the door creaks open, spilling faint light across the weathered footpath. sam peers out blearily, grip white-knuckled on the frame like it's the only thing holding him up.

his eyes widen in disbelief at the sight of you shivering before him. “y/n? what are you doin’ here?” he rasps, hoarse from disuse. you swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. his tousled hair hangs limp around a dreary face, but it’s his eyes that steal your breath—dark hollows ringed in bruise-like shadows, devoid of their usual dancing light.

this isn’t the sam you remember. this is a stranger haunting his body, tormenting his soul.

“i had to see you,” you manage finally, willing the lump in your throat down. “i had to know you were okay.” sam shakes his head slowly, a tired smile quirking his lips that fails to meet lifeless eyes. “you shouldn’t have come, baby. i told you not to wait for me.”

his words wound all over again even as you expected them. but you’ve come too far to run now.

“you don’t get to decide what i do anymore, remember?” you counter softly. “please, sam. just let me in out of the cold. i won’t stay if you really want me gone.” you lay your heart bare and hope with everything in you he still cares enough not to shut you out completely.

seconds drag like hours before he sighs and steps back, gesturing you inside wordlessly. the inside matches his appearance—sheets and empty bottles clutter stained floors, dust gathering in untouched spaces. you follow him through the maze to a cluttered kitchen where sam pours two fingers of whiskey with shaking hands.

he passes you a glass and you drink, letting the liquid courage sear down your throat. “talk to me,” you plead gently once the burn fades. his gaze falls to hands clutching his drink.

“what’s left to say? i’m a fuckin’ mess, just like i said. can’t write, can barely get outta bed most days. no use to anyone like this.” you ache to reach for him but resist, letting him unravel at his own pace.

“i hadn’t realized how much you kept me together too, y/n. leaving you was the dumbest fuckin’ thing i ever did but i was so fucked in the head...i thought it was for the best.” a raspy laugh cuts off on a choked sob and your heart shatters all over again seeing him so destroyed.

“i miss you so goddamn much. every day it just hurts worse.” sam finally cracks, tortured eyes meeting yours damp with unshed tears. “i’m sorry, baby. i’m so sorry.”

you can’t bear another second apart, launching into his trembling embrace, glass shattering forgotten on the tile. sam clings to you like a lifeline, burying his face in your neck as heart-wrenching sobs wrack his powerful frame.

stroking his disheveled hair soothingly, you let your own tears fall silently, relief and grief crashing over you in waves held back too long. he’s here, broken but real, and that's all that matters in this moment.

sam cries himself out clinging to you before pulling back slightly, red-rimmed eyes searching your face desperately. “say somethin’, darlin’. please tell me there’s hope...”

your heart clenches at his raw plea. you know staying opens you both to deeper hurt but walking away now would be abandoning the one you love most when he needs you most.

cupping sam’s jaw tenderly, you lean up to brush your lips softly against his in a promise. “there’s always hope as long as we face this together,” you murmur against his lips. “let me help put you back together, sam. let me love you through this darkness.”

his arms tighten around you almost painfully, relief and gratitude washing over his worn features. sam rests his forehead against yours, breathing your air like it's keeping him tethered to shore.

his voice comes out small and hopeful. “together?” you nod, threading your fingers with his to squeeze reassurance. “together.” and with that vow, you begin the long road of healing—through pain, tears, and late-night confessions—strengthened through promises kept in the ashes of endings given new life.

#﹙ kari writes 𝜗𝜚 ﹚ #rockstar!sam #sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe smut #sam monroe! #sam monroe angst #sam monroe x female reader #sam monroe x y/n #hayden christensen

[lokisgoodgirl]

Welcome to the Hostile F*cks Library! A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE This collection list is COMPLETE.

These fics can be read as one-shots/two-parters or chronologically as a thinly plotted series.

Each "event" will have a duo of fics, following an infuriatingly smug Avenger!Loki and a Y/N trying desperately not to staple things to his sexy face.

All of them will contain smut. Hostile smut*. The first entry in each duo contains light, thirsty smut, and the second...filth, friends. Filth. 1. The Wetsuit (w/c 3.2k) 2. The Wetsuit: Tight Passageways (w/c 3.1k)

3. Full Throttle (w/c 3.1k) 4. Full Throttle: Motel ( w/c 3.2k)

5. The Red Dress (w/c 3.7k) 6. The Red Dress: Ruined (w/c 2.5k)

7. Highland Fling (w/c 3.6k) 8. Highland Fling: The Battlements (2.8k)

9. Crossed Swords (w/c 4.2k) 10.Crossed Swords: To the Hilt (3.3k) 11. Captain's Orders (w/c 4.3k) 12. Captain's Orders: New Depths (w/c 3.8k) 13. Hot & Bothered (w/c 4.6k) 14. Hot & Bothered: Snack Shack (w/c 4.2k) 15. Bow to Me (w/c 4.2k) 16. Bow to Me: Quivering (w/c 3.8k) 17. Holy Orders (w/c 3.6k) 18. Holy Orders: Mercy (w/c 3.2k) 19. Final Bids (w/c 4.8k) 20. Final Bids: Love Wins (w/c 3.8k) Epilogue. Public Relations (2.2k)

Beautiful collection moodboard by @mochie85 - thank you my queen! *Hostile, but consensual.

#loki laufeyson #hostile f*cks collection #loki x reader #loki smut #lokismut #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki fanfiction #loki oneshot

[roosterbruiser]

OMG IT TURNS OUT I CAN ACTUALLY BE AT THE SLEEPOVER AND I'M SO EXCITED

I'm sooooo sorry if you've received this request before I'm not sure if it went through because my tumblr was a bit fucked up but it seems to be working now!!!!

A blurb where Jake and the reader lose their virginities to each other would mean EVERYTHING to me I have had the worst week 😂😭😭😭 but so happy to actually be at the sleepover!!!

lying in the twin bed in Jake's room, panting as you blink up at the ceiling in amazement, you swallow hard. there's a Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle taped to the ceiling and Lucy Liu is watching you try and compose yourself.

god, if you didn't love Jake as much as you do, you'd hate to be staring up at this poster right now. it all feels so boyish--like finding a porn magazine tucked under his mattress or a peculiarly stiff sock. but you know that he keeps the poster on the ceiling because he genuinely loved the movie--dragged you to it four times--and likes to say, "good morning, angels." when he wakes up, much to his roommates annoyance.

if you went back in time and told your pre-teen self that you'd lose your virginity in a stuffy dorm room in the middle of Christmas break, tangled in Crate and Barrel sheets, beneath a Charlie's Angels poster, you think that the younger version of yourself would pepper spray you.

here you are, though.

you're both still coming down, skin slick with sweat, bodies still prickled with want. you're lying mostly on top of Jake's warm body and he's absently tickling his fingers up your arm, a grin eating his face.

"so..." you breathe, glancing up at him. his eyes gleam as he looks down at you. "that's sex, huh?"

"sure is," he says before pursing his lips. "was, I guess."

nodding, you return to staring up at the poster. he's watching you, though, your warm body weighing him down to the mattress perfectly.

"are the reviews in yet?" you ask, yawning.

"we literally saw it four times," Jake says, nose wrinkled and eyebrows furrowed. "I'd hope the reviews are in-!"

but then you're scoffing and looking back at him with a grin.

"I meant the sex, you dummy!"

"oh," Jake says, cheeks a touch pinker than before. "uh...you go first."

Jake's only saying this because he's afraid of giving his honest review--which is dropping to his knees and bowing down to you.

"it was good," you tell him, brows raised. you're not lying--it was good. a bit uncomfortable for a few minutes, but enjoyable. sweet. "okay, now you."

"I raise your good and give you impeccable," Jake says, even including jazz hands. "like, mind-blowing."

humming, you nod.

"it was pretty mind-blowing," you agree, chewing on your bottom lip. "the most mind-blowing three minutes of my life."

Jake scoffs, offended. he sits up, points an accusatory finger at you, and dodges your pinchers when you go for his flushed cheek.

"hey!" he complains. "it was three and a half and you know it!"

#m answers #drabbles #jake hangman x y/n #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin smut #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin x you #hangman?? more like hang that man's penis...in my mouth #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #hangman seresin x reader #hangman angst #hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fluff #hangman smut #jake seresin fluff #jake hangman fic #jake hangman imagine #hangman imagine #marry hangman :) #hangman fanfiction

[honey-birdette]

Charlotta Ivory

Wife material. For a weekend in the sheets or the honeymoon suite, white lingerie is all you need. Featuring decadent embroidery of Swiss design, Charlotta is a mix of lavish lace and illusion tulle, along with detailed trims and dainty bows. Framing the body in soft frills, Charlotta is a sheer delight on every figure.

2024, Full throttle collection

#madison #fullthrottle #ivory #daisy

[sumerianlanguage]

Silim! I would like to know/i need the translation of some words and phrases with their sumerian cuneiform writing too! Firstly i would like to ask the sumerian translations and cuneiform ( sumerian writing) of these:

-By Death I create

-Death's dark presence

- I bow before (name of entity/divinity)- i mean for example like in sanskrit: Om Namah Shivaya - means i bow before /veneration to Shiva,like this just in sumerian form

- constellation of corpses

- spheres like Death

- Death worship

- "I opened the night, urged on by the scent of blood, i strangle your futile light"

- "Let spirit be beast and flesh be prey "

Thank you for your answer in advance!

Silim, and thanks for these interesting phrases! I've put the translations under the cut since this gets a little lengthy.

"Death" is ush 𒌀, and "to create" is dim 𒁶, so "by/from death I create" is ushta dimen 𒌀𒋫 𒁶𒂗.

"Presence" is tricky to translate as a separable noun. There's a set phrase igi-X-sh(e) "in the presence of X", so with kukku 𒈪𒈪 "dark" we can make a phrase igiushkukkush 𒅆𒌀𒈪𒈪𒍑 "in the presence of dark death". Otherwise, you could use something like namngal 𒉆𒅅 "existence" to make namngalkukkuusha 𒉆𒅅𒈪𒈪𒌀𒀀 "the dark existence of death".

To bow down is a set phrase ki za 𒆠𒍝, so we can use the same "presence of" phrase to make Ngae igi[so-and-so]sh(e) ki zan "I bow before [so-and-so]".

"Constellation" is mulan 𒀯𒀭, and "corpse" is adda 𒇿, so mulanadda 𒀯𒀭𒇿 would be "constellation of (one or more) corpses". There is a word written with the signs SAHAR+DU+TAK that means "piles of corpses", but its pronunciation is unknown so I wouldn't use it in this translation.

The word biluda 𒉺𒀭 means "rituals" as well as "worship", so biludausha 𒉺𒀭𒌀𒀀 would be "worship of death".

Key vocabulary for these sentences includes ngi 𒈪 "night", bad 𒁁 "to open", ir 𒅕 "scent, smell", urin 𒌶 "blood", e "to say, speak, command", zalag 𒌓 "light", hunu 𒄷𒉡 "weak, helpless" (the closest I could get to "futile"), and gu lal 𒄘𒇲 "to throttle, constrict". So the full set of sentences would be Ngae ngi ibbad. Irurina ene. Ngae zalaghunuzu gu lalen 𒂷𒂊𒈪𒌈𒁁 𒅕𒌶𒀀𒂗𒂊 𒂷𒂊𒌓𒄷𒉡𒍪𒄘𒇲𒂗 "I opened the night. The scent of blood commands me. I throttle your helpless light."

Heam 𒃶𒀀𒀭 means "may it be (so)". "Spirit" is bar 𒁇 and "beast" is umaam 𒌑𒈠𒄠, while uzu 𒍜 is "flesh". There isn't a great word for "prey", so I'd use kul 𒆰 "meal" to craft the sentence Bar umaam heam, uzu kul heam "May spirit be beast, may flesh be meal", written 𒁇𒌑𒈠𒄠𒃶𒀀𒀭 𒍜𒆰𒃶𒀀𒀭 in cuneiform.

I hope those work for you!

#replies #sumerian vocabulary #sumerian death

[1-800-adoreyou]

RISK

Pairing - Harry x fem!reader

Words - 1.8K

Type - Smut

Warnings - smut, 18+, swearing, cheating, exhibition, praise, oral (f recieving), fingering and of course sexual content.

A/n - I figured I would try my hand at writing smut for the first time! Hope you enjoy.

It was so dangerous. So fucking dangerous. The Met Gala was overflowing with gossip-frenzied paparazzi just waiting for a story, fans and other celebrities. Don’t even get started on the fact Olivia and Florence were most likely looking for you and Harry. If someone were to stand too close to the bathroom, they would surely hear your whimpers and breathless pleas. Of course, you both hoped the music and people talking were enough background noise to cover up any clamor.

You had gone to the Met for your friend Florence’s new movie “Don’t Worry Darling”, packed with enthusiasm. You knew she would rock it out there, even with all the drama surrounding the film. You couldn’t lie, it had been rough. It was rough watching your friend grow to detest someone she once was a big fan of. And, it was rough seeing Harry with the woman he dumped you for, all those months before.

You had sworn to Florence that you would both show up, go bat-shit crazy with chaos then leave to get some mimosas back at the hotel. It was easy to agree to stick with Chris Pine, knowing he would lend you both some of whatever the hell he was taking. Plus the factor that he was just genuinely a cool person to be around.

But, Harry couldn’t help himself- not one bit. He couldn’t help his eyes wandering down your chest to where that satin red dress’ neckline ended. He couldn’t help but let his eyes gloss over how it hugged every beautiful curve, his mouth almost watering at the slit that went up to your mid thigh. He couldn’t believe how worked up he was getting over that bit of skin.

The same skin he used to be able to touch, kiss and bite. All just in the right way to make you a withering wreck under him.

Even with your ‘new’ best friend connected to your hip, he still thought you looked as ravishing as ever. Your lips were plumper than they were before, showcasing your perfect cupid’s bow. The dark merlot red that painted them drew him in, he had to break himself from his trance before a camera could catch it. He just knew he wouldn’t be able to survive without your angelic touch.

So, he settled with glares and pleading with his mind. After about thirty minutes of that, he excused himself from the woman who looked like a lemon for a ‘bathroom’ break. He was never really a good liar, but somehow she believed it. And that quickly turned into you squeezing Flo’s leg and telling her you’d be a few minutes. Then following a few feet behind Harry like a lost puppy looking for its owner.

You heard people passing by with each soundless step you took, heart beat escalating in your throat. The flashing of hundreds of cameras bought a new level of anxiety to rise into your abdomen- the last thing you needed was to be spotted with your ex. Especially after how things ended. Still, your feet carried you to the bathrooms where you just knew Harry would be waiting for you at. Just waiting.

Like a rabid lion stalking its unsuspecting prey, laying low just awaiting the right moment to attack.

The pink doors came into view, and you could see his laid back posture, clad in black designer. Was that Gucci? He was staring off into the opposite direction, and you paused. Was this a good idea? There was no way someone wouldn’t see one of the most famous men in the world slip into a bathroom with his ex-girlfriend.

Sadly, he turned before you could make the decision to run full throttle away. His lips turned upright, a cocky smile displaying upon his features. You never really liked that smirk, only because he would use it in arguments when he was right.

Fighting back an eye-roll, you looked over your surroundings to make sure there weren’t cameras on you. Once you decided the coast was clear you dashed over to Harry.

“Is someone in a rush?” His velvety voice asked, honey dipped british accent flooding your senses. That stupid smirk, you really wanted to slap it off him. He opened the door to the women's room and let you in first. He took into note the way your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

“You started this, don’t turn it on me.” Your stared daggers into his soul, hoping he would get the memo. You bumped into his shoulder just to prove your annoyance, which resulted in him slamming the bathroom door. Someone definitely heard that. “How’s the old hag treating you?” You asked, staring up at him inquisitively.

He walked forward enough for your back to hit the cool tile, making a shiver run up your spine. “Just fine. But she doesn't let out those pretty noises you do.” His eyes surveyed you up and down, waiting for a reaction.

“I bet you're dreading the fact me and Florence are dating and she’s the only one who can hear my pretty noises.” His face twisted up in an expression you couldn’t quite place, maybe it was a mix of disgust and anger with a sprinkle of wonderment. Had you lied about dating Florence? Yeah, but you were feeling rather petty at that moment.

“Oh, yeah?” He rasped out, breaking the tensioned eye contact you two had held for the last five minutes. “If that was true you wouldn’t be here with me. You would’ve snuck off with her as soon as I started looking at you. Right?” He muttered his words harshly, dropping down to his knees in a quick, fluid motion. Your eyes trailed down to hold his gaze once more, his signature stare masked with a cocky and concentrated look.

With quick work, he hiked up the dress that hid your now wet black lace panties. He let out a low moan when he saw them, hoisting your leg over his right shoulder.

“Right.” You admitted breathlessly. “Just hurry this up, Harold. I need to get back to Florence.”

His jaw seemed to tense as his hand rose to steady your hips, moving his free hand to hook around the liner of your panties and tear them down your thighs. His finger started slowly, tracing a feather light line up your slit. He stopped at your clit, moving his finger in a counter-clockwise movement. His touch seemed to hardly be there.

Against yourself, you grabbed onto his hand that was steading you. He wasn’t letting you move at all to get more of what he was offering, even if that was a very little bit. “That’s my girl.” He spoke from between your legs, adding more pressure to the swollen button. He smiled at the string of whimpers that rolled off your lips and the way your hips pushed up for more. “Stay quiet, Darling.” he cooed from his placement on the floor, detaching his fingers from your clit.

He loved how he knew you would be moaning his name by the end of this night, not anyone else’s. He didn’t give a flying fuck who could hear, to be honest. He just adored how you would be reminded of his touch. The way he makes you feel. Before a whine could escape your lips, he attached his around your sensitive button. He knew what he was doing- he knew how to please you like the back of his hand.

He licked down your cunt, stopping at your entrance. He brought up two of his fingers. Dipping in and out, in and out. He brought his mouth's attention back to your clit, sucking and licking at it. He was like a starving man who hadn’t eaten for days, ravishing himself in the taste of you. “Does that feel good, Darling?” He asked, lifting his eyes to stare into yours, curling his fingers every few pumps. He got his answer from the string of pleas that crumbled from your throat, littering the bathroom walls with profanities.

Within a few moments, he felt your walls tighten around his fingers. He smiled, needing to feel you release all over his fingers. He dove straight back at your clit, sucking harshly and leaving little to no mercy. He moaned when he felt your fingers slide in his hair, pulling at the roots. Harry missed that feeling.

“Harry, so so so close.” You moaned out, thighs beginning to shake like leaves. Your fingers knitted further into his mess of chocolaty brown curls. The all too familiar heat spring in your stomach was just about to release, just needing a simple spur of words to rupture.

“Go on, cum on my hand and face Darling. Lemme wear you like a cologne.” And you did, with a shriek of his name and a hand whipping over your mouth to silence yourself. As much as you hated sneaking around and him, you would give anything for Harry to touch you like that again.

**** **** **** **** **** ****

“What the hell took you so long?” Florence asked, pouting her lip up at you. “I had to pretend to like Lemon Lady all by myself. How dare you put me through that?”

"Sorry, Flo. My tummy didn't agree with brunch." You chuckled, hoping to God she wouldn't medal further.

She hummed, looking over to Harry whose hair was still a mess. "Whatever you say babe." She looked at you then back at him. "Unless, those are your panties hanging from his pocket?"

#harry styles #harry 1d #harry edward styles #harries #one direction #harry #musicians #oned #harry fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry smut #harry styles smut #my writting #harry styles writings #fic writing #harry styles writing

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

the scene in dwd where he comes home from work and they’re walking backwards towards the table while she tells him what he made, but it’s demonrry and angel.

It’s him tossing his gym bag on the ground with a long sigh, immediately going in for their usual greeting kiss, giving the condo a swift glance as he does so. He takes in the empty living room and the unexpected silence hanging in the air— the absence of Hemmy’s favorite squeaky toy echoing down the stairs, and the lack of the lazy pattering that follows his dogs’ paws. There doesn’t seem to be a single sound coming from anywhere in the house— not the typical number of heartbeats, or the rumble of a snoring animal. Nothing.

A suggestive grin gradually spreads its way across the demon’s lips, tickling the skin of Y/N’s own. He’s been waiting for this moment for weeks.

“Where are the dogs?” Harry murmurs casually against his girlfriend’s mouth, taking a slow stride forward towards the dining table across the room, causing her to take a step backwards to accommodate his whim.

“Away.” Y/N answers simply, her breathing throttling slightly when she feels the warm palms of his large hands ease their way along the dip of her spine, massaging her love handles temptingly.

“Away?” Harry arches an eyebrow with playful curiosity, urging her backwards yet again. “Away where?”

Y/N releases a baited exhale through her nose, the air caressing his Cupid’s bow in the process. “They went to Dylan’s.”

“Oh, did they?” He chirps brightly, his grin broadening at the subtle innuendo her confession implies. His dimples whittle deep into his cheeks, his nose smearing against hers as he tilts his head to the side inquisitively. “Hemmy, too, I suppose?”

The angel swallows thickly, her throat parched and pulse escalating as she gives a jerky nod in response. “Mmhm.”

Harry takes another step forward, pressing the front of his toned body to her own to guide her wherever he deems fit. Even with all the layers of clothes her boyfriend is wearing, she can still somehow feel every shift and stretch of the muscles that lie beneath the fabric, and it’s taking every ounce of her willpower not to rip the material off him right then and there.

Harry proceeds to nip another kiss from Y/N’s twitching mouth, sighing a smug laugh over her tongue when her eyes roll drunkenly as a result. “And why’s that?”

Y/N shrugs with faux innocence, her fingers coasting onto his arms to grip his biceps for support. She glimpses down at where their faces are an inch apart, admiring the rosy shade and silkiness of his lips before gluing her gaze back to his emerald eyes, lashes heavy with a sultry undercurrent.

Her voice pipes up as a knowing whisper, despite the contradiction carried by its contents. “Don’t know.”

Another pace forward. “They just decided to leave all on their own, then?”

“Guess so. Maybe Onyx and Nimbus wanted to visit a friend and decided to bring Hemmy along.”

Another. “How oddly convenient of them.”

“Is it?”

Another. “Very.”

“How come?”

Another step, and Y/N suddenly feels the unmistakeable edge of the dining table collide against her lower back. Harry appraises her over the sharp peaks of his chiseled cheekbones, his expression full of fond amusement and filthy intentions as his hands travel onto the backs of her thighs, preparing to lift her onto the sturdy surface she’d just encountered.

He leans down to her level, brushing a few strands of her hair back from her ear so his next words ring loud and clear, despite his hushed tone. “Wouldn’t want them to hear what I’m about to do to you.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow challengingly. “Which is?”

“I’m going to fuck you until you’re sobbing my name.”

#demon!harry

[lumosinlove]

4 and 5 for the cubs please pleaseee🥰

 What do physical trait do they love the most about each other?

Leo loves Finn's nose, it's just a really strong profile and it's covered in freckles, and he scrunches a little when he laughs really hard or comes and his glasses slide down it while he's reading.

Leo loves Logan's eyes. He used to admire them on TV whenever Logan did press interviews, and now he gets to see that green all day long. Also: eyelashes. He likes how the wall that's in them, guarded and tall, drops for him at a moment's glance.

Finn loves Leo's smile and dimples, especially when just one appears when he's truly happy, a little exasperated with him and Lo, and trying not to show it. Very kissable. Sunshine when Leo's laughing.

Finn loves Logan's hands, capable and always warm, scarred up knuckles from fights and calloused strong fingers. Likes them wrapped around heavy weights, or him, taping a stick, or rubbing Leo's back when he can't sleep.

Logan loves Leo's shoulders/upper back. He spends a lot of time watching the muscles move while Leo's cooking something. Likes to grip them tight when Leo's rocking his world off kilter. Likes to rub them when they're sore from practice.

Logan loves Finn's mouth. He used to just watch his lips move as he went on about whatever book he was loving when they were back at school. It's his voice. It turns down at the corners when he's sad and trying not to show it. He's got a perfect Cupid's bow. Likes the gentle way Finn blows steam off of his morning coffee. He and Leo agree that that mouth is the best at kissing in the world.

What personality trait do they love the most about each other?

Leo loves Finn's heart-on-his-sleeve ways. He loves full-throttle, he wants with all his might. It might hurt him sometimes--Leo knows it has--but he loves how brave Finn is in that. He'll never close himself off.

Leo loves Logan's softness that he only lets a few people see. It's almost addicting to him, to watch Logan wind down at night--mint tea, letting Leo pull his feet into his lap to rub at his ankles. Holding the steaming mug close and those green eyes and studying Leo openly, asking him how his day was and dishing out the things he says only in these moments. I loved that shirt on you today. Good save. I'm excited for our date to the bakery on Friday.

Finn loves Leo's almost secretly sharp as hell wit. You wouldn't know it right away, but the things Leo says sometimes have people in stitches after they blink away their surprise. He's funny, and smart, and it all rolls together in a way that just gives Finn heart eyes.

Finn loves Logan's fire, always as. He simmers at all times, and any little thing can ignite it to a full flame--a mind-melting night together, a snide comment from an opponent on the ice, a warm smile to himself when Leo drops a kiss to his forehead.

Logan loves Leo's ability to warm any room he walks into. He seems to know just what to say to each type of person, whether that be quiet and gentle or louder and affectionate. Logan always feels like Leo understands what sort of mood he's in, and what he might need right then.

Logan loves Finn's tendency to talk and talk and talk. On the shyer side himself, he's always loved having Finn at his side no matter where they were. It takes some pressure off of him, and he simply just loves listening to Finn's stories and jokes and outright commitment to listening to whoever he's speaking with.

[luimagines]

You Leave Before he can Confess Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three with include Wild, Legend and Hyrule.

Content under the cut.

Wild

Wild was pretty sure his foot was broken.

But the battle wasn’t won yet. He needed to get closer. If he could just land this shot then he could finish this.

“Don’t even think about it.” You appear by his side.

“You’re hurt.” You drop down and move the debris from around him.

Wild can’t stop the pained cries as the pressure leaves him. He hiss and tries to sit up. 

“You’re out of this.” You say and stand. “I’ll send reinforcements your way. Hold on.”

You dash away and leave him on the battle side lines. Wild manages to sit up properly and he can see you dodging hits like your life depends on it and you reach Legend. He sees you talk and he can see Legend make eye contact with him.

Legend starts running toward him.

You turn and yell with all your might toward the fight as you return to it full throttle.

Legend reaches and hiss at the sight. “They weren’t kidding.”

“It’s not the worse thing to happen to me.” Wild tries to joke. “I’ll survive.”

“As long as you can still cook, we’ll all be ok.” Legend offers him a life line. Out comes the potions and Wild can feel the swelling and pain lessen already. Wild knows he needs to get back onto the field.

“No. When you’re done, you’re done.” Legend places his hands on his shoulders and pushes him back down. “Don’t risk it.”

“I need to still fight.” Wild snaps.

“Use your bow.” Legend retaliates. “But do not move from this spot.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“They’re not from me.” Legend smirks and points to the ground. “Fire away, Cook. But don’t move.”

Wild grumbles some curses and takes out his bow. Fine, he thinks. If only to make sure you don’t worry more about him than he knows you already do. It might keep him from being yelled at by Time and Twilight even if he just.. really wants you to be proud of him more than the other two.

He sees some monsters start to create more portals. He fires at those with similar markings before that can even try. 

They fall like flies.

You notice as well and he can see you go to tackle one that had managed to open the portal in time.

Wild screams your name but it’s too late and he’s too far to do anything about it.

You go right through and the monster follows suit.

The portal closes.

Wild jumps down and rolls to soften the blow to his body. It doesn’t work he goes to personally decimate the enemy. Either with his blade, his bombs or his hand. Wild needs this to end now so they can get you back.

And it does end. Eventually.

Wild pauses for a breather and looks around. You’re still not back. 

Wild won’t accept it.

He’ll wait for you. Wild will go with the flow and you’ll meet up again like you were supposed to and since you scared him back half to death, he’ll tell you he loves you.

He doesn’t want to live in a reality where you don’t know.

He’ll tell you. It’ll be the first thing he says. Wild goes to sleep thinking this and it helps him feel a bit better.

Until he wakes up in his house, alone, and to a very concerned Zelda.

“You’re back.” She says quietly, scared by the startled look on his face. “Can I assume that...did you do it then? You won right?”

Wild jumps off of the bed and run out of the house.

No sign of any of the chain.

“Link?” Zelda calls after him hesitantly. “Is everything alright?”

Wild shakes his head and grips his with enough force to pull it out. He folds in on himself and begins to cry silent tears. He says it to the ground because you’re too far away to hear it. 

He was too far away to save the champions. He was too far away to stop Ganon from destroying the old world. He was too far away to jump out of the way safely. He was too far away to stop you, to save you, to tell you- 

“I love you.”

Legend

Legend wiped the blood off of his face and spat onto the ground. He might have bitten himself harder than he was willing to recognize. He sees Wind and Sky get blown away from the beast in front of them.

This battle is harder than any of them would have anticipated. Legend understand now why they were all called together in order to take them down.

Legend forces himself to his feet again and steadies himself. This is common place for him, he knows. He can do this. He’s fought the incarnation of death and hatred itself time and time again. And he’s not alone this time. 

He can do this. He charges at the same time you do. 

The beast rears up and Legend switches for his magic rods, tossing as much as he can onto the beast before he would have to dodge out of the way of the inevitable attack. But you tackle him instead and Legend’s snaps his head up just in time to see you fly through the air and right through a portal.

Legend’s can’t hear himself scream. All he sees is red and he gets as close as he can to the monster. Suddenly nothing hurts anymore and he feels as if he’s been empowered to do something larger than himself.

The fight is over a second too soon for Legend’s rage.

He calms and runs to the others, he helps them to his feet and looks around. The portal lowers itself slowly. Teasingly.

And then it changes colors.

And you don’t come back.

Legend is panting and he nearly chokes on his own spit in an effort to speak. “Are we going after them? We have to get them back. They could be hurt or worse-”

“Legend.” Time says gently. “I don’t think this portal will help us with that.”

“Don’t say that.” He spits and wipes his mouth again. “I’m going after them.”

“Legend wait-” Sky grabs him. “This one is different. You don’t know if you would even end up in the same spot!”

“Let me go!” Legend yells. “I’m not letting anything happen to them! We need to-!”

“Link.”

“No!” Legend can feel the tears build up. He rips himself away from Sky and points in his face. “When your Zelda fell from the sky and started this whole mess, why did you go after her?”

Sky pauses. “Because I love her.”

“Then don’t try to stop me.” Legend glares at the chosen hero. “You would do the same. In fact, you did.”

“Good bye.” Hyrule says quietly. “It was an honor to meet you, Hero of Legend.”

That makes him freeze. He turns to his successor. The one who had to clean up after he failed to deal with the pig permanently. Legend can feel a pull and he doesn’t have the will power anymore to make a decision. 

“Don’t say that.” He says this softer than the first. “We’ll meet again.”

Hyrule smiles. “We will.

A nod and Legend turns to the group. “I’m going first.”

They all wave. They all give cheers and hollers and how they wish him luck on his travels and with where ever life may take him

He steps through the portal.

And he ends up behind his house.

“Oh!” Ravio comes around the corner. He laughs nervously and hides something behind his back. “Hello Mr. Hero. I wasn’t expecting you back just yet.”

Legend feels likes there’s a bucket of ice water dumped on him and he falls to his knees.

He’s home.

You’re not here. You were never here.

This is familiar. And even more painful.

“Mr. Hero?” Ravio asks nervously. “Link?”

Legend lets out a sob and throws his face to the ground. Ravio drops whatever he had and crouches next to him.

He couldn’t tell you. What a coward he was. He could help you. He couldn’t save you. He never told you he loved you.

Like a dream, he’d remember it clearly but it would be forever out fo his reach.

Pathetic. 

Hyrule

You didn’t even say goodbye.

Is this how it is? Heartbreak? Betrayal? Despair? Unrequited love?

A sick feeling in your stomach? A slight urge to turn over and vomit? Lightheadedness churning within the dread. It feels like floating. Only you can’t breath and it’s painful. You breath in but it hurts more and you double over. Part of you wants to cry but there’s too much dread. Your stomach drops through the crust of the earth. Your blood turns to ice and your face and hands feel too hot.

Hyrule stared in shock with the rest of the group. The portal opened and you ran for it, not once looking back. He wonders if you realized what it even was. Was it pure impulse? The want to move on and get to the next stage?

There is no next stage. It’s over. It’s time to go home.

“Well... there’s that.” Legend sighs. “I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“...You don’t?” Hyrule feels like he was punched in the gut. His voice has no strength behind it. It’s soft and quiet and so much like the boy he used to be before he traveled the world and fought a demon pig and saved the world.

“This is it, my brothers in arms.” Warrior does a military salute. “It has been a honor fighting along side you.”

Hyrule’s face twists against his will and tears fall down his face.

Somewhere in front of him he hears Wind call out to him. “Hyrule, it’ll be ok. You’ll see.”

Hyrule shakes his head, his voice failing him entirely. 

It won’t be ok. He never told you anything. He had hoped that had had some time. More tie than this. It all happened so fast.

You didn’t even say goodbye.

He fell for you. If there was a person to give him hope that he could be...normal, it would have been you. He wanted to spend more time with you. He wanted to hold your hand. He want to kiss your cheek. He wanted to do so much. Show you so much.

He had thought that he could tell you. If he could have gotten over himself and told you his feelings, his hopes, his confessions- he could have at least gotten an answer.

But this is an answer, isn’t it?

You didn’t even look back. You didn’t wait for anyone. You went right on ahead and now you’re gone.

The others are talking around him and Hyrule can feel himself heaving in breaths. It’s hard to think, it’s hard to breath. It just hurt. It hurts. It hurts.

A hand touches his shoulder.

Shocked, Hyrule throws them off and throws himself to the ground. Concerned voices surround him now and it’s to much. Too bright, too little space, too loud.

Would you have even considered him? Did he do nothing to catch your attention? 

He knows he doesn’t have much to offer. But he had hoped- If you had just-

He’s opening sobbing on the ground. Hyrule can’t pull himself together. He’s clutching himself like his life depends on it no matter what the boys around him say. He can’t hear them. Nothing makes sense anymore.

He has to go home. He has to be hunted again. He has to take on roles and duties that he never wanted. He has to die alone. He has to do everything for other people.

Hyrule wants to scream but no sound leaves his mouth.

He’s never asked for anything that wasn’t his. Hyrule would have never assumed himself to be more important than he is. He would have done anything anyone had asked of him. But the one thing- the one thing he would have asked for, didn’t think twice about abandoning him. Didn’t even look his way.

You didn’t even say goodbye.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

next up in fragments from the goggle docs: a fic with the working title "the best kind of v-day gift is a dildo in the ass", feat: wonka/oc couple being middle-aged and willy having a crisis about it.

It was a point of pride for Willy Wonka that nothing created within his factory was artificial.

Now, that might sound like a hefty claim for a man who crafted ice cream that never melted no matter how long you left it out in the sun, or chewing gum that could turn a little girl into a gigantic blueberry, or any other of the endless wonders that had come out of that factory over the years. But to Willy Wonka, the word ‘artificial’ was practically a curse; it called to mind noxious chemicals, toxic E-numbers, and that whole parlava a few years back over blue skittles.

No, nothing in his factory was artificial… he just had a different way of looking at what the Earth gave him naturally, and did some very interesting things with that bounty -- and if nobody else was smart enough to give Mother Nature a nudge here and there to synthesise a snozzberry, or breed sheep that grew cotton candy straight out of their backs, well, there was a reason he was the undisputed King of Candy and not those idiots over at Hershey’s or Nestle.

The trouble with that line of thinking was that a genius could be extraordinarily smart in one respect, and incredibly foolish in others; deeply susceptible to a colossal hubris that took to wondering -- if he could bend the laws of nature to his will where candy was concerned, then why not try… other… applications?

----

Light came slowly in the mornings; a gentle glow emanating from the lamps dotted around the factory to mimic the sunlight that rarely if ever penetrated the thick concrete walls. Colours spilling from the darkest twilight shades steadily brightening through scarlet, mauve, amber, and finally pale yellow, all gleaming through gossamer-fine hangings spangled with gold and silver embroidery, onto an enormous bed. Piles of cushions and coverlets were heaped upon it; velvet, satin, silk, Egyptian cotton, all in wanton, boudoir shades of scarlet and burgundy and royal purple, accented with flashes of black and ivory.

Finally, within this wonderland, the light illuminated two bodies entwined in sleep.

Conventional folk wisdom held that married couples grew, over time, to look alike, but the resemblances here were scant. One was fair-haired, with a cavalcade of blonde curls spilling over the pillows, the covers thrown back to reveal a skimpy black negligee, and a mouth still half-bloody with last night’s lipstick. Another flush of red bloomed on her chest. Madeleine found the climate of the factory hard to bear in recent years, although it was difficult to say who was the greater martyr: Madeleine herself for suffering the hot flushes of middle age, or her husband for the way he often found himself sharing a bed with a burning hot engine in human form.

Said long-suffering husband sported a bob of dark hair that flowed like melted chocolate over his cheek. Unlike his partner, he nestled comfortably into the covers (at least for now), but a flash of scarlet pyjamas was still visible. His eyes were ringed with a mixture of shadow and mascara, smudged where he had pawed at his face in sleep.

Actually, there was one similarity: both of them had hair streaked with grey, faces lined with joys and sorrows; signs of lives lived fully and well.

Last night was lived particularly full and well, at that. Charlie’s 21st birthday necessitated a full throttle bacchanalia in two parts: dinner for the family (crowned with a magnificent triple chocolate birthday cake crafted jointly by Willy and Madeleine), followed by a party hosted at Rapture. Given the occasion, and the fact that the elder Buckets had bowed out after the dinner, the night had gotten… rather wild. 

Which was why, as the brightening room stirred them from sleep, they groaned in unison at their throbbing headaches.

Madeleine was the first to stir properly, cursing under her breath and rubbing her temples with a grimace. Once she regained her sense of place, she groped towards the bedside table for the glass of water she’d retained just enough foresight the night before to place there. Levering herself up was a heroic exercise, rewarded by slightly stale, room-temperature water: in that moment, perhaps one of the most delicious things she had ever tasted.

“Are we dead?” Willy moaned only half-coherently, face buried into a lacy pillow, in his usual dramatic fashion.

“I think if we were dead our heads wouldn’t hurt so much,” Madeleine replied. Even with the water, her voice rasped; her tongue was inclined to stick to the roof of her mouth. “Drink your water.”

“I don’t have any water.”

“Yes, you do, I put a glass next to the bed for you last night.”

“You -- oh!” Willy raised his head far enough to spot his prize. “I love you, Maddy.”

Madeleine chuckled, reaching out with her free hand to ruffle Willy’s hair affectionately; her laughter only grew when he whined and ducked away like he always did. Even with bedhead, Willy was always conscious of his appearance.

“I love you, too. Did you have a good enough time last night to justify the hangover?”

“Ugh… ask me again after I’ve had a mocha and something to eat, I’ll give you a fairer answer.”

As if on cue, a polite knock at the bedroom door announced Sidonie arriving with the breakfast trolley. Normally, Madeleine made breakfast for them herself, but after late nights she gratefully handed over the task of feeding them to the expert. Sidonie was by now an old hand at hangover breakfasts and had a rotation of menus that perfectly balanced the necessary starch to soak up the lingering alcohol with the nutrition needed to kick start two middle-aged bodies back into gear.

Sidonie also had a knack -- much appreciated by her employers -- for managing to disappear within moments after delivering breakfast, sparing everyone the embarrassment of Willy and Madeleine appearing deshabille post-debauchery. Madeleine clawed her way out of bed, cracked the door open to confirm Sidonie had vanished, and then opened it further to pull the breakfast trolley inside.

A pot of hot chocolate: brewed strong, dark, and with a kick of chilli. A platter of french toast, another of scrambled egg and bacon, and a third with an artistic display of cut fruit. Madeleine and Willy inhaled gratefully, pouring cups of chocolate, fixing their plates, and then returning gratefully to bed with their bounty.

Breakfast came along with the morning post: a package for Madeleine and a stack of letters and newspapers for Willy. The former were business; the latter, despite Willy’s protestations to the contrary, were pure pleasure. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say they were pure vanity. The world’s greatest chocolatier liked nothing better than to bask in evidence of his own superiority, and hoarded all mentions of himself in print like a smug, self-satisfied dragon. He perused the papers every morning over breakfast, preening over the compliments and swearing violent, bloody vengeance on any journalist who dared to criticise him.

(Nor were these threats in any way idle: the still-unsolved mystery of Arthur Slugworth’s disappearance was testament to that. Ahh, good times… Making Slugworth pay for all he had done was one of Madeleine’s most cherished memories, and she was so glad she’d convinced Willy to let her salt him like the slug he was.)

Of course, Willy had extremely good cause to be smug and self-satisfied. Plus, Charlie collected the clippings off him to continue the scrapbooks Dr Wonka had left behind when a heart attack finally carried him off five years earlier. Madeleine was quite sure that Willy valued the scrapbooks more than the scant handful of pleasant memories he had with his father as a grown man, and she didn’t blame him.

Willy flicked through the papers, letting out a contented hum as he scanned the usual headlines praising Wonka Candies: they had released a new range of patisserie-themed chocolates earlier that week and they were receiving every bit of adulation they were due. Until, suddenly, he paused on a particular tabloid, blinked several times, and then emitted an ungodly shriek of indignation.

“RETIREMENT?!”

Madeleine, jumping in shock, cursed as her hot chocolate slopped onto the bedcovers. She grabbed a napkin and mopped the mess up as best she could, but distractedly: her focus was on her husband.

“What? What about retirement?”

“This!” Willy hissed, shoving the tabloid in her face, one finger stabbing at the headline. “They--they--they’re saying -- they think I -- and I don’t look like that, do I, Maddy?” he finished with a wail.

“Willy--” Admitting defeat with the coverlet, Madeleine dropped the sodden tissue onto her breakfast tray, set down her half-empty mug, and took the newspaper from him. “What is this?”

“They’re saying I’m old and ugly and I should go away!”

The article in question was not quite so blunt… but it wasn’t far off, either.

CANDY KING GOING STALE

IS WONKA READY FOR RETIREMENT?

For more than thirty years, Willy Wonka (52) has ruled the confectionery world, an enduring fashion as well as culinary icon, seemingly as impervious to the years as his infamous never-melting chocolate ice cream. After seeing photographs taken outside Rapture, the bar owned by longtime partner Madeleine Berry (52),  however, it looks like the King of Chocolate is finally reaching his limit.

Was this just a rough night, or is there a reason why Willy Wonka spent most of his youth out of the public eye -- the better to sustain his apparently fragile image? Rumours have abounded for years that Wonka has chemical support in maintaining his electric personality and unyielding domination of Candyland, although he has always denied the allegations even after Berry entered rehab in 1990 and again in 2009.

Perhaps all candy lovers should be grateful that Wonka’s protege is ready to step into his increasingly unsteady shoes…

Story continues on page 5.

The photograph in question was indeed singularly unflattering: snapped at an angle, slightly blurred, it showed Willy stumbling on his way out of Rapture and leaning on Charlie’s shoulder for support. Bright fluorescent lighting from the streetlamp overhead mixed poorly with the coloured neon glare from Rapture’s sign, making Willy look more gaunt and washed-out than usual.

It had been such a brief, silly moment that Madeleine had forgotten about it: they were all drunk (they were celebrating Charlie’s 21st, for God’s sake, they were hardly likely to make it through the night sober), but not to the point of incapacity. Willy stumbled due to a loose paving stone on the street outside after they finally called it a night. Hell, Madeleine had already asked Robbie to hassle the council and get it sorted a few days earlier, but even the power and wealth of the greatest confectionery business on Earth was not enough to kick local authority bureaucracy into high gear.

Looking at the photograph out of context, however, it did look as if Willy was either frail, off his head, or both… and God forbid a sleazy tabloid pass up the opportunity to fling mud at a celebrity.

At least Slugworth was eight years in the ground, Madeleine reflected with grim satisfaction, or else the so-called journalist responsible for this would no doubt have gotten a gloating statement out of him. She was almost surprised they hadn’t dug up his corpse to interview it.

“Bloody paparazzi.” Madeleine sighed and folded the newspaper in half, hiding the offending article. “Don’t pay any attention to it, darling, you know what those bottom-feeders are like.”

But Willy was not so easily comforted. He hunched in on himself, turning a brooding stare into the depths of his hot chocolate, and ignoring the remaining papers.

“I mean it, Willy,” Madeleine continued, her tone softening from its previous briskness. She reached out, laying a hand on her husband’s thin shoulder. “They took a bad shot, which says far more about the photographer than you, and they’re trying to pass it off as if it means something, but it doesn’t. And anyone of any sense will see that, too.”

Willy just let out a low hum, which might have been agreement, or simply indicating a desire to move on. He was silent through the rest of breakfast, picking at his food or ignoring it entirely even when Madeleine tried to cajole him into eating. Madeleine was still finishing her french toast when he slipped out of bed and disappeared into his bathroom leaving only an indistinguishable mutter in his wake.

The satisfaction Madeleine got from tearing out the offending tabloid pages and ripping them systematically to shreds was paltry, but that didn’t stop her from doing it.

----

When they drew up the plans for the factory all those years ago, Madeleine knew the builders and architects thought the choice of his-and-hers bathrooms was at her insistence… Which it was, but not for the reasons they assumed. Having lived with Willy in that cramped apartment above the Cherry Street shop for five years at that point, Madeleine knew that the love of her life was a bathroom hog on par with the greatest Old Hollywood divas. If Madeleine ever wanted to start the day on time and looking her best, they needed separate spaces. Dear God, even she didn’t spend as long in front of her makeup mirror as Willy did!

“Willy?” Madeleine called as she knocked on the locked door of Willy’s bathroom. “Are you alive in there, or did you drown in the shower?”

Unease simmered beneath the jibe. Madeleine was normally the one who reverted to self-isolation when unhappy, while Willy was more likely to act out, pouting and whining and throwing a tantrum. For him to lock himself away meant this was more than mere unhappiness or passing embarrassment at an unflattering picture. Of course Madeleine knew how sensitive Willy was about the image he projected to the world, but for one photograph to have this impact was… troubling. It made her wonder exactly what nerve the photograph had touched, and how deeply the pain went.

Like toothache, she reflected -- ruefully, because she knew how much Willy would despise the comparison, but here it was apt. Pain flared up, but was it just a passing twinge, or a sign of a building rot that had so far gone unnoticed?

“Come on out, love. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

No reply from within the bathroom. Madeleine was just about to knock again when the door opened and out stepped a figure that made her breath catch in her throat; she actually took a half-step back in shock.

“...Willy?”

Willy had transformed himself. His hair was a sleek, uniform chocolate brown with not a single grey hair to be seen. His skin was smooth and even and utterly flawless; no crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, no smile lines around his mouth, no dark circles from their late night. He was dressed only in his silky robe, but Madeleine was sure it was cinched tighter around his waist than it had been earlier, and the flash of chest above the burgundy silk looked… firmer.

As Madeleine dragged her gaze back up to her husband’s face, she was met by a grin. Not just any grin: wide, wild, and a little  manic. It was the absolute perfect example of Willy’s cat-got-the-cream smile, the smile that meant he was up to mischief, which meant this was more than her initial assumption of hair dye, foundation, and a couple of vitamin shots.

“Hi!” he cooed, striking a pose. In that second he looked nineteen again, happy as a lark after Madeleine lent him a dress and made him up for the first time. As if he was finally comfortable in his own skin. “What do you think?”

“You… You look…” Madeleine struggled to find the right word. Amazing leapt to mind, as did fabulous and gorgeous and all the other superlatives that aptly described a beautiful young man, but… Willy wasn’t a young man. He was fifty-two years old, and God she adored him, but he didn’t look like this. “...Different.”

“Oh, do I?” Willy patted his bob and batted his eyes. “In a good way?”

“What have you done?”

The smile on Willy’s face grew visibly forced. Madeleine could feel the pressure to bow to the narrative he was trying to craft in the air around her, squeezing her from all sides; not least from her own impulse, never quite erased, to make sure Willy was happy above all else.

“Can’t a girl just want to look her best?”

----

“You’ve got to try it, Maddy!” he finished, holding out the tiny pill with a flourish.

He looked so earnest, and so utterly certain, like a benevolent god holding out a miracle… and Madeleine recoiled from it; from him.

“I’ve got to?” she echoed. Her voice cracked halfway through the question as every single one of her fifty-two years suddenly bore down on her like lead weights; physically dragging down her flesh, hissing in her ear, every single one of the old insecurities rushing back to scream triumphantly that see, see, he never thought you were beautiful, you stupid bitch, you should have known he was just putting up with you, taking pity on you -- look at yourself, you haggard, ugly hag! Grey hair, wrinkles, sagging tits, sweating all the time with the hot flushes, you don’t even get as fucking wet as you used to, no wonder he wants you better, no wonder he wants you changed--

“W--well, I mean, don’t you want…?” But here Willy faltered. He looked her in the eye, and something desperate flashed across his own face, gone before she could categorise it, followed up with another wide smile. “You’ll feel so much better, Maddy, I promise! We both will! And then everything will be good again!”

“I thought we were pretty good already.” Madeleine crossed her arms defensively -- protectively -- across her chest, now excruciatingly aware of how the cut of her blouse highlighted the creping skin on her neck and how her breasts didn’t sit quite as high as they used to. “I didn’t realise me being an old hag was so offensive to you.” 

----

Charlie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. Okay. I think I see what happened here. Willy, do you remember that time we talked about how there can be a… um, a gap, between what you say, and what someone else hears?”

“Uh-huh! That’s definitely what happened here,” Willy confirmed. “I said I’d found the most amazing way for Maddy and I -- and you, of course -- to look and feel perfect forever, and she heard some kooky nonsense about me not loving her any more! I just don’t know how to make her hear me properly.”

Charlie looked pained. Willy sympathised; it was never easy, running up against Madeleine’s spiky edges, where she wouldn’t hear a gosh-darned thing you said to her, and Charlie idolised her… Poor boy, he was probably realising now he was all grown up that sometimes idols weren’t infallible.

“Right… So maybe you -- we -- need to start by trying to understand Maddy’s point of view. I think she might be upset because it sounded like you aren’t happy with how she looks now.”

----

Chestnut hair streaked with strands of grey. A porcelain face carved with lines of both worry and laughter. Hands as delicate as scientific instruments, still pristine from age spots due to his habit of wearing gloves, but gloves could not preserve his skin perfectly from growing thinner, or stop veins standing out more visibly. A body softening from its previous youthful firmness.

And every single inch as perfect and beautiful and alluring as the day she first set eyes on him.

"Oh, stuff and nonsense!" he protested when she first voiced as much. Body twisting, looking away, cheeks aflame with colour. "Maddy, I… I know I'm not -- well -- what I used to be."

"That's enough of that," replied Madeleine, implacable as iron. "Nobody gets to say you aren't beautiful, least of all you yourself. Look at you, sweetheart… The most gorgeous girl I've ever seen, even now. Especially now."

"Especially how?" Willy demanded; not wooed, not yet, but betraying a willingness to be.

Madeleine capitalised by pulling him close and pressing a firm kiss to his pouting lips.

“So getting older makes you ugly?” she asked in a low voice. “Does that mean I ought to get rid of all that lingerie? If it’s going to waste on an old bird like me.”

How far they had come, that she could voice such an idea with nothing more than irony in her tone; that the idea she was hitting on a secret truth did not even cross her mind. Willy widened his eyes and instantly squawked a denial.

“No! No, no, you -- Maddy, you’re gorgeous!”

“Really?” Madeleine lowered her eyes, affecting uncertainty. “Even though I’m not as firm and tight as I used to be? And all this grey in my hair… it doesn’t exactly set off the leather--”

“No!” Willy interrupted her firmly -- no, desperately. He cupped her jaw in his hands and tilted her head up to kiss her. “No, no, no. That’s ridiculous, you’re beautiful -- just ‘cause you’re a little older doesn’t mean--” Abruptly, he stopped, leaned back, and narrowed his eyes at her; Madeleine smirked in response, and Willy huffed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Oh, gingersnaps, I hate it when you do that! Stop making me out to be a hypocrite if I don’t agree with you!”

Madeleine couldn’t help it: she laughed. “Well, stop spouting rubbish then, you silly boy!”

Willy huffed again, folding his arms across his chest. “You -- but -- that’s not--” Madeleine raised her eyebrows, wordlessly cutting off that line of protest, and Willy sighed. “Fine. So long as you promise not to get rid of the leather! Or the lingerie. Or anything else, ‘kay?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Madeleine assured him, looping her arms around his waist to pull him close; he melted against her, belying his pretended irritation. “I happen to have some very important plans for all of those goodies.”

“Plans?” Pink suffused Willy’s cheeks as he looked up at her hopefully from where he was nestling his head against her shoulder. “Wh--what kinda plans? You know brainstorming is better with two, right?”

“Normally… But this happens to be a surprise.” Madeleine winked. “You know how good I am at those.”

“Huh.” Willy paused. Madeleine, sensing he wasn’t quite done, contented herself with nuzzling his hair as he percolated. “...You’re not just saying that because--”

“I’m saying it,” Madeleine interrupted him, knowing precisely where that was going, “Because you're gorgeous and I’m as mad for you now as I was at eighteen. Because every year you get more wicked and wild and wonderful than I ever thought you could." Madeleine chased kisses down his neck, smirking against his skin as he shuddered. "Lovely girl. You can't really think anyone could ever eclipse you? You're the most delicious creature I ever laid eyes on."

“Mmm… not that girly anymore,” Willy murmured, half under his breath.

Madeleine eyed him, surprised, but kept her voice carefully neutral as she asked, “You don’t want to be a girl anymore?”

“I’m not -- I’m--” Willy sat up, gesturing to himself, cheeks darkening. He laughed, though it was a hollow sound. “‘M just an old man now, Maddy.”

“You’ll be my girl until you’re ninety-five if that’s what you want.”

Madeleine spoke only the truth when she told Willy she loved him even more now than she had when they were young. Looking at him now, splayed out on the bed, pale and perfect in her eyes… The sight of him sent a sharp spike of desire through her core, leaving her breathless, in some ways even more so than when she was twenty. Now, his allure was as strong as ever, while the years had enhanced trust, dulled insecurity, and forged between them the certainty of commitment. Now, desire was the sugar of his skin on her tongue, without the bitterness of wondering if she was good enough for him. Now, she knew damn well there was nobody for either of them but each other.

----

As for that package she’d received the morning this all started…

Her intention had been to wait until Valentine’s Day, because she had a wildly romantic streak that she loved to indulge when the opportunity arose. Willy kept nagging at her, however, trying to weasel out her plans, which far from annoying Madeleine only made her more eager to get on with them, and in the end she only lasted until the end of the week before breaking out her costume and preparing their playroom.

Leather gloves. Cherry red satin lingerie. The high heels hadn’t been quite so high since her back started twinging in the morning, but she was taller than Willy anyway so it wasn’t the biggest loss. Otherwise, the routine was as familiar as breathing by now, and in this case familiarity bred the complete opposite of contempt.

“Kneel,” she ordered, and Willy obeyed promptly.

Nowadays they used a pillow for his knees -- memory foam was a glorious invention -- and Madeleine did not tie the bondage quite as tightly as she used to, out of respect for his joints. The blindfold still went on, though, and Willy’s mouth had only grown more devious over the years.

Speaking of which… Madeleine gasped, grabbing a handful of Willy’s hair as he made fabulous use of the opportunity afforded by her peekaboo knickers.

#fragments from the google docs #this one is the most fragmented so far i think #but it's been languishing for months and my brain can't connect the dots so fuck it #catcf 2005 #willy wonka #wonka/oc #charlie bucket #on a scale of zero to ten on embracing your ageing body willy chose violence and wonka-vite

[halikyon]

I wrote more things:

O'tchakha and D'zentsa stood opposed, five yalms apart in the courtyard of the Temple of the Fist. They wore new, diatinctive Monk garb in white and black repectively, products of a recent visit to Tataru by Ryune. Gathered to one side were twenty-three initiates, kneeling, sitting, or standing as they so wished, whisper quiet. On the other side was Ryune, dressed in her full Monk garb, also provided by Tataru, with her hands behind her back. The sun was still low in the clear sky and the air had yet to heat fully from the morning cool. A light breeze carried the sounds of birds in the nearby trees.

Ryune regarded her students, a pleant look on her face, "Today begins the next step in your training." Her voice, clear and true, carried well through the courtyard, bouncing back to her off the nearby peaks. "You have all learned to control you aether to build the flow of Chakra within you, and then to release it in a powerful and devastating strike."

Her gaze passed over them, meeting the eyes of many, though she noticed some seemed to be gazing past her or elsewhere entirely. She gathered aether to herself as an example, opening her chakra and sending a powerful blast of air between the two standing opposed before her in one gluid move. They didn't so much as blink, their hair moving slightly from the breeze, trusting their mentor and friend wouldn't hurt them, at least not deliberately.

The students, though, were all brought to rapt attention. Ryune knew it took time for them to build up and release their energy, but she could do it, when focused, in seconds. Seeing done what they might one day be able to do themselves always seemed the best way to re-engage them. Ryune put her hand behind her again.

"Today we will be showing you the next step in this technique: the passive unlocking of Chakra in combat. This ability is key to your effectiveness in battle, as it gives you the means to deliver a powerful strike or perhaps finishing blow to you opponent without needing to concentrate beforehand to prepare it, allowing you to make effective use of your Chakra multiple times in the same engagement." She nodded to her two star pupils. "This technique will be demonstrated by D'zentsa and O'tchakha today for you all." Ryune raised her left arm up, her hand a knife in the air.

"May Rhalgr guide your hand." Ryune had added that phrase recently, feeling the need to add a bit of pomp and circumstance to structured sparring, especially since she wanted her students to take it more seriously. It also served as the cue for them to bow and take their combat stances. She let the silence linger a few more seconds before swiftly chopping with her raised hand, proclaiming, "Begin!"

They both darted foward, meeting in the middle, with a clap of displaced air and a momentum thud, trading blow after blow. As newly minted Fists, Ryune knew they could throttle their power as they liked, and she could see that even when contact was made the blow was always held back. Much like herself, their light frames and powerful legs led to a kick-heavy style that emphasized mobility, using the upper body mostly for defense and to create openings. Ryune took a moment to enjoy the exposition of skill, proud of how far her first students had come. To the untrained eye, though, it looked like an all-out brawl.

The students watched, completely absorbed in the display before them. "Sense their aether." Ryune advised them, "Feel how it flows around and within them." The thuds of contact between them reverberated off the cliffsides much as she and Lyse had once done while sparring back during the liberation of Ala Mhigo, but faster than they ever had done and faster now still.

Eyune could tell they were both quite close to being able to release their Chakra. Little did the students know she had sweetened the pot for whomever could do it first, offering the winner four of her home-cooked meals of their choosing and a trip of their choosing at Ryune's expense. They certainly seemed to be fighting with all they had from what Ryune could see, though from ghe second she made the offer she already knew the outcome.

The outcome was soon upon them all, as D'zentsa broke away and dashed in at the same time O'tchakha began to rear back. With a tremendous clash even more powerful than the first they came back together, blowing one another back a yalm. They skidded backward, keeping their feet under them, and then stood, breathing heavily, with smiles on their faces.

It was exactly as Ryune had predicted. Having told them just before they had come out here, they hadn't exchanged a word about it, but Ryune had seen a single glance exchanged between them and knew in that moment they had made this plan. Truly she was very impressed at their coordination, and felt they did both deserve something nice after so much training, the tests, and the responsibility of having first been senior students and now teachers themselves. Frankly she had initially been expecting the winner to insist on the other joining them, and Ryune had intended to let it happen. This, however, was even more a testament to their skill than she had had in mind.

After a moment they stood up straight and gave each other a formal bow, signifying the end of the exchange. Ryune brought her hands together with a clap in front of her, the sound adding a touch of finality. The entire exchange had lasted less than thirty seconds.

"Well done, both of you. An excellent performance." She nodded to the pair before regarding the gathered students, "As you could see, they were able to quicken their aether and unlock their Chakha in the midst of combat. I certainly don't expect you to do the same immediately. Instead I have an additional task for your training that I'll be adding to as needed. First, rather than meditating in a stagnant position, you shall instead be moving. Walking, jogging, jumping, or whatever else seems most comfortable to you will do just fine."

Her students seemed amicable enough to the change, nodding and murmering positively to themselves. D'zentsa and O'tchakha made their way to the aide, standing beside each other. Ryune continued, "Once you've got that down we'll move on to doing it during drills, then eventually sparring."

Ryune remembered her own experience trying to figure that technique out. "This will be a lot easier than trying to figure it out on the fly through a crystal, I assure you." They each had one of their own, the stones quite prevalent on the old ruins here, in The Fringes, and in The Peaks, but having an idea of how to perform a technique before it got thrust into your brain by a fancy rock was a lot less jarring. Plus, it meant that they could master and use these techniques much more effectively without having to put their lives on the line.

Stepping foward, Ryune directed the students' training for the day, "Use the courtyard and keep moving. Feel how the aether moves within you while you do and use it unlock your Chakras. I want you all to work together on this and figure out the path foward." She looked to the sky for a moment, "We shall reconvene just before noon to discuss your developments. You may proceed."

With a wave of her hand they proceeded to disperse around the courtyard, many in pairs and larger groups, and began to experiment. Ryune was pleased with the excitement the showed, and felt it would be a very productive day for them. As they finished dispersing, Ryune made her way to her former pupils.

They both had a bit of a sheepish grin on their faces, Ryune noticed, as if they had done something sneaky and had gotten away with it. She also happened to notice that they were holding hands. It wasn't her business to pry into personal relationships, and she didn't know if it was something they did from how close they had grown or if it had become more remontic in nature, but they were happy, and that was enough for her.

"So, I had planned to entertain the both of you, but that was even more proof that I was right to elevate the both of you." They looked a little confused, so Ryune continued, "controlling your Chakra to the point of simultaneous release was very impressive, and even more so since it built up at different rates between you two."

Understanding dawned upon them. D'zentsa spoke first, "Ah. Yes, you see that wasn't exactly part of the plan. It just kinda happened that way."

"I could feel her movements and aether much as I could my own, and it seemed so easy to coordinate in that state." O'tchakha added.

D'zentsa nodded in agreement, "It felt so natural. Even sparring so many times before I don't think something like that has happened in such a way between us." She looked at O'tchakha,  "At least..ah..." It sounded as if she caught herself before saying something she didn't think she should share.

"Yes, I know what you mean." O'tchakha's face had turned a slight red. "It's certainly not something I was expecting either."

It was so obvious to Ryune, but she kept it to herself. Anything they wanted to tell her could be done when they were ready. She stepped foward and reached out, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Well, I think its wonderful and that the two of you make a perfect team." She gave them both a reassuring smile, "You let me know when you want your meals and I'll get to cooking, alright?"

"Tonight?" O'tchakha asked, hopefull for something new and different. D'zentsa nodded in agreement.

"I don't see why not. The two of you can come over as soon as you're ready once today's lessons are over." Ryune was already mentally checking what she had in her stores at home, "It shouldn't be a problem."

Ryune reiterated her thanks and bid them farewell to observe the progress of her students now meandering around the courtyard with furrowed brows. It would take time, she knew, but this group was well on their way to becoming Fists all their own. She envisioned them, paragons of peace, problem solvers and protectors of the people. It was an idealized notion, she knew, but she couldn't help but hope for that brighter tomorrow.

----------

It was funny, Ryune thought as she stood crafting cuisine in her small kitchen, just how much this life had ended up suiting her. She had never though of herself as a teacher or mediator, and yet had taken to both rolls without a second thought. Unlike cooking, which she had taken up as a way to not hate meals when out adventuring in the wilds, she hadn't even had to try.

She looked over her shoulder to the pair she had invited, chatting with M'naago at their small table surrounded by mismatched chairs. She had also never thought of herself as a mentor, and yet...

The popping of oil snapped her back to the task at hand. The Gyr Abanian Chub she had caught was signaling its readiness to be flipped. She did so, directing her attention to the greens she had picked next as they simmered in a pot. The arid landscape may seem barren, but she knew it was as plentiful a place as any other.

It also helped that so many folks had come back. She had personally taken care of dozens of roadblocks, mostly metaphorical but a few literal, that had inhibited the rebuilding effort, and the result and been a boon in trade. She grabbed a shaker of Thavnarian spice she didn't know the name of and carefully applied a light coat on the done side of the Chub. Sometimes she couldn't remember the names of things, but she never forgot the smell or taste.

She overheard her name and a few more words, seemingly recounting the time when Ryune had met M'naago when first helping the resistance and how they had actually first met when they were little at the Peering Stones when taking shelter from the Garleans. Those had both been tough times, and she had gone from the  second youngest in a family of six to a lone orphan in those intervening years, losing all but her Father before fleeing to what would become Little Ala Mhigo.

Now wasn't the time for solemn remembrance, though, and Ryune put the thought out of her mind. The meal was almost done and she had guests after all. Ryine buckled down and soon was putting on the finishing touches, sliding her freshly cooked and well spiced fish onto a bed of soft greens. She placed a few slices of lemon along the edges before laddeling a white sauce into a pile on one side. She observed her work for a moment before deciding it was ready to eat, grabbing the serving plate and bringing it to the table, setting it down in the middle.

"I present to you a fresh Gyr Abanian Chub lightly fried with Thavnarian spices on a bed of local greens with an optional addition of creamy tartar sauce." She said in the moat regal voice she could manage, inspired from her time at The Bismark, "I call it: Oceans Apart and Together." It was a silly name she had made up on the spot, but they all acted impressed, making 'ooh's and 'ah's as she talked.

Ryune pulled up her chair and sat with them. "Also lemon." She added, causing a few giggles.

"It smells wonderful!" O'tchakha said, already cutting a piece for herself.

"What kind of spice is it, anyway?" D'zentsa asked, waiting her turn.

"I wish I could tell you something other than 'red' and 'fragrant' but I truly do not remember the name." Ryune answered, a bit embarrassed by her memory troubles. That particular problem had begun after her battle with Zenos, and no one she had spoken to anout it was certain if it would go away or not.

M'naago gave her portion a good sniff. "It reminds me a bit of paprika." She recalled the trip she had taken with Ryune there, "They make in Thavnair, right?"

"Yes, that's probably it." Ryine admitted, taking a bite. She didn't like fish all that much by itself, but had discovered a myriad of ways to use or cover the flavor to make it more tolerable to herself. This dish was no exception, as the combination of spice, the slight bitterness of the greens and lemon, and the sweetness of the sauce seemed to balance perfectly.

The others seemed to agree, as no one had time to talk between bites. Ryune knew it wouldn't have taken much to impress them, but always liked making the best she could for M'naago or any other guest to give them something worth remembering. By herself she would have charred it over a fire, covered it in the paprika, and not really thought about it.

As the meal concluded they began speaking once again as M'naago cleared the table of dirty dishes.

"There's something we feel we need to speak to you about, actually." D'zentsa said, leaning foward onto the table. O'tchakha seemed to become smaller on her seat, her face taking on a red hue.

"Anything and everything, I'm all ears." Ryune assured them, leaning foward herself.

"Tchakha and I have spent a long time together, as you know." D'zentsa began, "From that we got to know each other fairly well."

Ryune nodded, giving her her full attention.

"It's just that...well, we were never allowed to do anything before of our own choice. It was always for some purpose or another." D'zentsa explained, "Now we have freedom to do as we wish, and have chosen to stay with you and the Fists, but..."

"Go on, it's alright." Ryune reassured her, feeling a slight bit of anger spike once again at their old master before letting it melt away.

"We ah, we've had a lot of time to ourselves and now we aren't sure what to do." D'zentsa seemed at a loss for words.

"How so?" Ryune asked, already having some idea after their encounter earlier in the day, but not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

"We've gotten close, really close." O'tchakha spoke up, "To the point we wish not to seperate."

"Yes, but we also are unsure of what exactly that means for us." D'zentsa added.

Ryune pondered their words for a moment while M'naago cleaned up the kitchen behind her. "To me, it sounds like you love one another." Ryune put it plainly, "I won't tell you what kind, as that is for you to work out together, but its love all the same."

"What do you mean 'what kind'?" D'zentsa looked unsure.

"Yes, I am unfamiliar with such matter ls myself. What does that mean?" O'tchakha asked as well.

Ryune took another moment to collect her thoughts before explaining, "There's more than one way to love someone else. In the most basic way of saying it, sometimes it can be platonic, where you are the best of friends. Other times it's a bit deeper, where if feels like you found a missing piece of yourself you would be lost without. It could be also romantic, like M'naago and I, where you feel you make a whole greater than the sum of your parts, where the shared feelings in your heart draw you together time and again no matter the distance. Usually the former forms of love are part of the latter."

The pair seemed to contemplate this for a few minutes before exchanging a glance. O'tchakha spoke first, "We have been spending all our time together, even when sleeping."

"I'm sure you also noticed that we were holding hands earlier. We saw you do so with M'naago and wished to try ourselves." D'zentsa said.

"How does that make you feel?" Ryune felt like a full-on counselor talking like that.

"Happy," O'tchakha said, "Safe, perhaps?"

"Comforted." D'zentsa added. "Many times moreso at night. We sleep much easier next to one another."

"I agree. It's the opposite of when we were alone in those stuffy rooms." O'tchakha seemed a lot less reserved now that the ice had been broken. Ryune was quite pleased that they were both so forthcoming.

"So tell me, what exactly is it you wish to do, then? What love is it you feel has grown between you?" Ryune asked, looking to help them find their way forward.

The pair looked at each other, as if searching for the answer within one another's eyes. Seconds stretched into minutes as M'naago finished cleaning up an returned, standing behind Ryune with a hand on her shoulder. It was a moment that seemed much more intense than Ryune would have thought.

"I...don't know what I'm supposed to do." D'zentsa said, hesitantly. "All I want is to have you next to me. I want you to be close and for you to be happy." She took O'tchakha hands in her own. "I'm worried, though, that I may cross a line, act upon an urge you may not wish to partake in and end up pushing you away." That last part came out in a rush, as if a thought long held back had finally been let out.

O'tchakha smiled gently back at her, "Zen, I want you to know that I feel the same way. You don't need to worry about crossing some line, though. Sometimes I would like to do more than just hold your hand." Her face was still a bit red, but her voice was stead, reassuring.

"I think you may have found your answer, then." Ryune spoke gently, "Trust in one another and in yourselves. You are the masters of your own fates, now. Find your happiness, and love without fear."

M'naago gave her shoulder a squeeze, pleased with how the conversation had gone, adding, "When Ryune and I formed our relationship, we didn't really know what we were doing either. Though, as I learned, what you do is often a lot less important than who you do it with."

"Words oft repeated, yet no less true for it." O'tchakha replied, "You've certainly given us much to consider."

"Yes, though perhaps on our own time, rather than in the midst of a social gathering." D'zentsa commented, seeming to suddenly remember where they were.

"I hope that doesn't mean you'll be leaving so soon. I did make a dessert before you all got here." Ryune said, pointing a thumb back towards the kitchen.

Their eyes lit up in excitement. Ryune hoped that these would be the moments and the flavors that signified a new era of understanding and happiness for them both as she retrieved her sweet chocolate-filled pastries for them to enjoy.

#ffxiv #ryune avereth #m'naago #D'zentsa #O'tchakha #ash to dawn

[lesser-mook]

GARO: The Animation (anime recommendation) - Action, Dark Fantasy (Shonen Elements done right)

(light spoilers)

I saw this once a few years ago, didn't leave much impression at the time.

After a re-watch (Autumn 2023); Surprisingly character driven, character development was well paced (so well paced for some, It left room for a lot of remaining exploration for others)

The show technically has more than one mc, and it works because instead of NPC's hijacking the story from the mains, the mc's are given focus, thus time isn't wasted or robbed from the characters that should have priority. And the extras serve to world-build, & some filler I found myself enjoying.

Well executed action. (Not a fan of some of the CGI)

Music production is from Monaca, Keiichi Okabe's studio (NIER Game series).

Story isn't deep, it's simple.

The setting fits the tone well. (Dark fantasy, Medieval)

Sub is better, Dub is satisfactory. Both good.

Likable core cast, Ema is the Goat. Alfonso the Legend, Leon the beast. Germán the OG Playa.

Again, the side characters fit appropriately to give some world building, everyone isn't contrived to have the same level of importance despite being NPC's.

No, when it's the extras time to shine, they shine, then they bow down as they should. And the main characters are the main characters.

The fanservice didn't overstay it's welcome, didn't annoy me:

(Translation: Not a lot of stock jailbait/schoolgirls getting bent over, ya know, for the "kids"*), majorly it's played casual, it's just women that look sexy for the most part.

Not like a *Camera ZOOMS in on cleavage with bounce animation, sparkle filter, with Anime "WOW" sfx** (holds shot for 5 seconds+)

[Look look! Breasts! You like those right?! Give us a 10/10 please!] Shonen schtick.

As for GARO:

It has gags, comedy, but overall it's executed where it works, and when it's go time, it's go time. I was waiting for Ema's turn for the obligatory lingering, 5-8sec crotch shot while she's talking mid-sentence, followed by goofy sfx.

Just a 2 frame closeup you could miss if you blinked, Fanservice that flows with what's going on organically... Imagine my disappointment.

The situation doesn’t STOP________ To make sure you fully absorb the artistic significance of her crotch in the camera.

There was an occasion where the crew would've been stuck in an illusionary world if it weren't for Ema and her skills, so how she played into the events was unexpectedly not typical.

I didn't expect her to pop off the way she did at times. Heavy Femme Fatale energy. A professional. The only one in the show that can do what she does.

(I prefer her over Gina *Garo: Vanishing Line*)

Her (Spider-Woman) wire swinging scenes is some of the best content in the series.

So this anime is one of those weird series that for the most part treats their characters seriously while having sexy, but not oversexualized characters. (Again: Imagine my disappointment)

The characters read like characters with a stake & purpose, a story; Not caricatures with lines and a weekly scheduled cliche.

The movie, is decent, the plot wasn't the best but it was also well paced, doesn't drag or waste time, served as nice sendoff.

Recommended, I didn't get to see it the first time around, so watching it after the series served the anime to be more of a full package story.

Similar to (Kamen Rider x Kamen Rider Drive & Gaim: Movie Wars Full Throttle) technically being the sequel, true ending to Gaim.

My gripes would be the CGI look of the Knights themselves, that aesthetic is almost exclusive to them, almost. Clunky at first but they actually look surreal with how flexible and masterful they fight.

A lot of the monsters are 2D, but the Knights themselves are almost if not always CGI, this is my headcanon but I see it as an artistic choice to maintain the illusion of them being an interdimensional force. So they stand out the most in a sense.

It grows on you, eventually.

The villain, for me, was not interesting at all. I did like his stake in everything, the man was a menace, he just wasn't interesting (to me).

German's decision to not save Anna, when he had to power to do so? (In one scene it's shown she's alive when he retrieves the baby, so unless she was technically dead & her looking at him was just an aesthetic decision, I don't see why he doesn't try to take her too). Never understood that. Not a lore breaking gripe, obviously she was as good as dead but still, smells off to me.

Grandpa and those goddamn seeds (If you know, you know), the needless outcome of that situation drove me nuts the most.

---------------------------------

Overall, well produced, decent writing, no masterpiece, naturally; Better than I remember. Underrated.

Medieval Kamen Rider-esque but with Wolf Armor, my favorite of the GARO series trilogy.

The other 2 were OK (Vanishing Line could've been so much more if they focused on the better characters instead of Sophie) but the first, "The Animation" had a better execution about it.

#garo the animation #garo #anime #anime recommendation #recommendation #lessemrook #2024 #medieval #dark fantasy #action #tokusatsu