#its all so wonderfully colored and drawn

[schweizercomics]

THE GREATCOATS by Sebastien de Castell

I drew these up as one of the (mostly literary) paper figures I do each month for Patreon.

Despite always being drawn to the trappings of fantasy, there are precious few fantasy books (or movies, etc) that have resonated with me. One very notable exception is the Greatcoats series, four novels that follow a trio of comrades from an effectively-dissolved band of dueling magistrates, who, in their heyday, had been charged with enforcing unpopular verdicts against politically powerful folks who had, until that point, been untouchable by the rule of law.

It’s kind of a thrust-the-Musketeers-into-a-medieval-setting thing, and there are swordfights and sucked-into-political-intrigues-even-though-you’re-ill-suited-towards-them a’plenty, for folks who like that sort of thing, and I very much do.

From the first read (I’ve now read them all thrice, along with a collection of short stories), these have become some of my very favorite books, and I could not recommend them more highly. They can, at times, be a hard read; the world in which the Greatcoats live is an unjust one, and whatever terrible things you can imagine people doing (torture, sexual assault, murder, animal cruelty, etc) can and probably are enacted in it, but what has, to me, set this series apart from some other “grim” fantasies is the balance between the knowledge that the world is an unfair, cruel, and terrible place, with the wholehearted belief that it shouldn’t, and doesn’t have to be. Idealism colors every action of the leads, and there’s something incredibly moving and powerful about characters who persevere against impossible odds towards fairness and justice despite encountering the very worst examples of their absence, never in ignorance or denial but out of pure stubbornness.

De Castell crafts a narrative with masterful control over how it’ll affect the reader; it’s melodrama in the best way, with huge operatic emotional beats. They never feel calculated – they’re all earnest, and they’re all earned. There are sections that make you weep, that make you laugh, and (I suspect this is the rarest, and most difficult to achieve) that make you want to cheer, stomp, salute. Moving speeches, incredible narrative payoffs, characters for whom you desperately root. Plus, of course, the suspense of peril and the best action sequences I’ve ever encountered in prose. De Castell’s first-person narration of fight scenes from the point of view of a strategist follows a pretty wonderful pattern of beginning the fight, edging the audience, and then turning to an aside that informs the context of the fight - a lesson learned long ago, an observation about the human condition, a technique frequently incorporated by duelists, an anecdote – and then return to the fight, the new context both heightening the peril and also providing a means by which the reader can fully appreciate the very clever way that the hero(s) win despite being outmatched. It’s a great internal “meanwhile, back at the ranch” and it gives each action encounter (and they are joyously plentiful) narrative weight.

Again, I can’t recommend the series more highly. It has some truly great characters – the leads, the supporting cast, the villains are wonderful and terrible, and the setting is rich and immersive. De Castell describes it as “swashbuckling fantasy,” and it swashbuckles its heart out.

You can get it in print, or in unabridged audiobook (Audible has it, and probably your library does, too), wonderfully narrated by Joe Jameson.

There are a number of other great characters, too – co-leads in their own right – but to draw them is to provide spoilers, so rather than do a whole cast, as I sometimes do, I’ve stuck to the three that you get from the first page.

Design (for process buffs)

There’s not too much visual description about the characters; Kest is described as of average height and build, with short hair, Brasti has hair long enough to tie back and a beard and is tall… and I think that’s it (at least so far as I’ve noticed, or remember).

There’s a tendency to make archers lean and wiry – it compliments the arrow imagery, and a tight, sinewy form seems a carryover of the bowstring to its user, but I wanted Falcio to be lean and triangular, and stoic Kest to be square, so it got me thinking that Brasti ought to have rounder features to offset and compliment the others. He’s a country boy, too, and where I’m from the troublemakers are often a little meatier, so it felt fitting, though it does suggest that he's physically imposing in a way the stories don’t push. But I kind of like that beefy, country swagger he’s got. He’s carrying two bows, as it’s a plot point that he has bows for different purposes: a fast one, and a powerful one.

The eponymous coats were tricky; they’re practically magic; serving as armor (via little bone plates sewn under the leather) and utility belt, with little pockets for whatever the story may require the characters need. I wanted a way to make them modular, so I figured on making a pretty sturdy chest piece that folds back to allow the coat to be open and unbuttoned, and a rolled epaulet that unrolls and can be used as a gorget to protect the neck during a duel (or from the cold).

I wanted each of the characters to be able to wear the coat differently, to reflect their personalities: Kest, always at the ready and doing things the “right” way, has his greatcoat fully rigged. Byronic Falcio needs to be able to dash about with tragic romanticism, so his coat needs to be a little more open – I probably should’ve had the chestpiece partially unflapped ala the Rocketeer, but I also wanted it to read clearly. And Brasti wears his because he has to, so he has all the trappings tied or buttoned back.

Last Thoughts

For artist and writer pals, I’d highly recommend listening to any of De Castell’s interviews on podcasts or on youtube; he’s generous with his process and has a lot of great thoughts about the act of writing.

#Fantasy Fiction #Swashbuckling #Sebastien de Castell #The Greatcoats #Greatcoats #Greatcoats Series #Fantasy Series #Book review #book recommendations #fanart #fantasy art #character design

[sincerelyamee]

[How I imagine Gojo teaching 5-year-old Megumi about his Ten Shadows technique aka recipe for disaster]

Most sorcerers with flashy innate techniques typically awake their powers around five or six years old - right around the same magnificent age they discover crayons are wonderfully effective for decorating more than just coloring books (RIP white walls everywhere).

Innate techniques in particular have a mind of their own, essentially “calling” to their user like an overly eager pet begging for treats and attention. One day, baby sorcerers just wake up, and bam - suddenly shadows are tugging at their skin or flames are sparking from their fingers, no warning or parental consent form required.

Little Megumi has been feeling the very first stirrings of his Ten Shadows for weeks now. Random surges of cursed energy that are definitely not just from sneaking extra pudding cups. Mysterious but insistent tugging sensations from the shadows, like ghostly hands trying to initiate a game of tag.

So, it’s time he gets some pointers on it, right? At least, that’s what Gojo decided.

On one peaceful morning, Gojo whisks out a whiteboard and markers from… somewhere. With such theatrical showmanship, one would think he was auditioning for Broadway itself. Yet the children serve as the ultimate tough crowd, responding only with raised eyebrows and curious glances.

Still, Gojo strikes a scholarly pose.

“Alright, my star pupil - Today’s lesson is on your badass upcoming technique!” Gojo announces, gesturing for Megumi to sit front and center.

As Megumi hesitantly takes his place, Nanako leans over to Mimiko. “How come he just happens to have a random whiteboard ready? Where does that even come from?” She whispers. Mimiko just shakes her head, too busy stuffing her mouth with chips.

“To start, your very first summons will be these adorable Divine Dogs!” Gojo proclaims enthusiastically. “Though at first, they’re more like Divine Pups…”

His marker zig-zags wildly as he tries sketching two majestic wolves. Emphasis on tries. The end results look something akin to a pair of mutant chickens wearing tutus. That elicits poorly contained giggles from the girls. Megumi simply stares, somehow experiencing all seven stages of grief simultaneously.

“Those are some weird chickens, nii-chan.” Tsumiki blurts out with all the sophistication of a future art critic.

“They look like they survived a nuclear blast,” Nanako adds.

Why does she even know what a nuclear blast is? Kids these days. Gojo makes a mental note to berate Geto later for letting the devil’s spawns watch too much TV. But since he’s Gojo, he forgets about it immediately. For now, he blinks down at his drawings, then back at the giggling, unimpressed kids.

“Clearly you heathens lack the artistic vision to appreciate my creative genius.” Gojo huffs before erasing his previous attempts in stunned outrage.

But Gojo Satoru isn’t one to give up easily, or ever.

Like a runaway freight train, Gojo charges full steam ahead. His Louvre-worthy artistic visions expand stranger the longer the ridiculous lesson continues. With each stroke of the marker, Gojo’s illustrations venture further into worlds unknown by man or beast. Eldritch creatures populate the poor whiteboard as head scratching and sideways glances spread among the children.

Megumi watches in dismay as the hours tick painfully on, the squeaking hamster powering his brain throwing itself from the rusty wheel. The last of his sanity packs its bags and flees into the abyss rather than witnessing more of Gojo’s artistic assaults against nature. At the rate this is going, he half expects his first summon to be a potato with Gojo’s face haphazardly drawn on it.

A glaring oversight dawns on the boy - for all Gojo’s useless prattling and monstrous drawings, explaining the actual summoning process appears a mere afterthought, if the man is even capable of actual thoughts at all. When asked, he simply waves off the question with a dodgy uh-huh. Just as effective as inquiring an orange tabby on quantum physics.

“It’s not that hard.” Gojo shrugs dismissively. “You’ll figure it out.”

Megumi rubs his temples, contemplating if it’s too late to grab Tsumiki and flee this madhouse, perhaps taking the twins as well. No one deserves such ruthless torture. Gojo may be well on his way to becoming another villain overlord with questionable artistic skills, but this? This right here marks Fushiguro Megumi’s very own villain origin story.

Staring blankly ahead in post-traumatic shock, Megumi knows one truth with the certainty of death itself - never, ever again will he make the fatal error of taking a lesson from Gojo. No, he must figure out this Ten Shadows technique solo going forward. Though now Megumi ponders whether deliberately summoning all those nightmarish abominations is something best avoided altogether.

read the whole thing here on Ao3: A Family of Villains - A wacky villain origin story/Kinda a slice-of-life fic exploring the logistics of 18-year-old sashisu being the greatest villains in the jujutsu world while on the run and raising 4 kids. Mostly fluff and humor of course.

#gojo x megumi #platonic relationships #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #gojo fluff #megumi fluff #megumi fanfic #megumi fushiguro #jjk fushiguro

[synkverv]

the color violet never seemed to glow (until i saw it in your eyes)

Chapter One: fly with me Art by: @ewanmitchellcrumbs Pairing: Alicent/Rhaenyra (Rhaenicent), Laenor/Joffrey Lonmouth (mentioned) Rating: mature Tags & Warnings: alternate universe - 1980s, fluff and smut, angst and humor, period-typical homophobia, body dysmorphia, declarations of love, drinking Word Count: 6,460 AO3: link

Summary: (King's Landing, Westeros, August 1986). Alicent was devastated when Rhaenyra first told her she was moving to the Vale to attend university. So to try and cheer her friend up, Rhaenyra promised to make this the best summer ever. She doted on Alicent, treating her to any and every activity that crossed her mind. But as the date of Rhaenyra’s departure approached, Alicent couldn't help but sink into a depression. She struggled to admit the thoughts that plagued her whole existence: she was in love with Rhaenyra. Perhaps on their final outing together, during all the shopping, eating, sunbathing, drinking, and dancing, she will be brave and say what's always been on her mind. But unbeknownst to her, Rhaenyra has the same idea.

Notes: this is my submission for @hotd-bigbang. and a special thank you to ewanmitchellcrumbs for the header, moodboard, dividers, and for organizing this event so wonderfully!! this was my first big bang and it won’t be my last. it’s been such a fantastic experience. thank you again ewanmitchellcrumbs and it’s been so great working with you!

anyway, thanks for reading! this was initially a one-shot but it grew too long for my liking so i’ve decided to split it up into two chapters (or perhaps more but don’t hold me to that!) chapter two will be posted at a later date, hopefully sooner rather than later.

    The Vale.  

   Once a place that rarely crossed her mind now burrows into her every waking thought.  She hates the Vale.  Rather, she hates what it will take from her.  Stealing away the most prized person in her life and keeping her behind its walls was a worthy enough reason to hate anything.  She thinks about the people there, and she hates them, too.  She hates all the new individuals who threaten to invade her friend's life.  She can’t help but think of those who will replace everyone she had here in King's Landing.  A new friend group, a new boy toy, and worst of all, a new best friend.  Everything Alicent knows and lives will be nothing but a distant memory to Rhaenyra.  Fragments of an old life.  Despite her moping, Alicent accepts nothing stays the same forever.  It’s life’s impossibility.  Change is inevitable.  But truthfully, what nineteen-year-old understands that?  It’s silly to blame a location for her distress, she knows, but Alicent needs something to take the brunt of her frustration.  It helps to focus her attention on the wrong thing, or so she believes it does.  She convinces herself it’s easier to despise a place that means little to her than to despise her friend's choices.  Or worse, to despise her friend herself. 

   She’s lying on her back atop her bed’s grey-green duvet.  Her ankles are crossed and her fingers are laced together resting limply on her stomach.  Her steady breathing conceals the torrent of thoughts racing behind her eyes.  The shades are drawn, keeping the otherwise cheerful room as dark as her mood.  

   Alicent grimaces.

   What kind of person would she be if she hated Rhaenyra for pursuing her dreams and goals in life?  As her best friend, she should support her in all her endeavors.  Even if it hurts.  Rhaenyra wants to attend the same university as her mother.  So, what?   Alicent understands the need to feel close again to one’s late mother if nothing else.  

   Alicent hadn’t seen her mother in four years before her sudden illness last year.  Her father had split up the family when he took up his current job working alongside Rhaenyra’s father in the capital.  At his insistence, Alicent and her brothers came to live in King’s Landing to study and make important connections to aid their careers.  Grayce, however, refused to move and remained in Oldtown with her brother-in-law, Hobert, and his sweet wife with whom she was close.  Otto and Viserys had been friends for longer than either were married but it still shocked the whole family when he chose Viserys over Grayce.  

   Alicent wishes she asked her mother why she stayed behind.  Four years is a long time to spend away from your husband and your children.  Why not come?  Father avoids the question when I ask , she thinks, I doubt I’ll ever know why now .  

   Yet though it seemed their marriage was strained for reasons unaddressed, Alicent watched her father become ever-dutiful and caring for his wife when she fell ill.  Alicent, her brothers, and her father flew back to Oldtown the second they found out Grayce was sick.  They lived at the hospital and Hobert’s home for nearly a full year.  Grayce’s funeral was attended by hundreds of mourners from both the Hightower and Redwyne families.  Alicent and her siblings stayed under their uncle’s roof for another week after Grayce’s passing before flying home to King’s Landing.  It still surprises Alicent that they lasted that long.  Otto had grown noticeably aimless and restless following the funeral, annoying his brother, his sister-in-law, his nieces and nephews, everyone.  Gwayne later told her he suspected that their father disliked being around the family without being the center of attention, but Alicent, at the time, just believed he struggled to express his grief properly.  Losing a mother was hard enough, she couldn’t imagine losing a life partner, the second half of one’s being.

   " Allie, door! " her brother calls from downstairs.  

   She glances at the alarm clock to her right on her bedside table.  Half nine , it reads.  She’s late, as usual .  But Alicent doesn’t care.  She never does.  Not on the first day of summer or today, the last.  Rhaenyra promised to make this the best summer ever, and so far, it had been just that.  Yet the thought of it ending lingered in the back of Alicent's mind the whole time, spoiling even the best moments.  She’ll never let Nyra know though.  She knows her friend feels guilty enough about moving away and she doesn’t want to make it worse on either of them.  They avoid the subject. 

   "Be down in a second!" she shouts.  She hears her brother respond but can’t make out what he said.  Not that it matters.  Gwayne makes snide comments all the time, and they’re so often meaningless.  She checks herself out in the mirror on the back of her door, never one to leave the house unmade or underdressed.  She brushes the wrinkles out of her light jean shorts and straightens her loose, sleeveless white top.  Her crimped auburn hair is full and teased out.  It’s almost hard to the touch from the layers and layers of hairspray, just the way she likes it.  She grabs a couple of makeup products from her organized desktop and returns to the mirror, leaning almost close enough to brush her nose against it.  She quickly slathers her favorite shade of pink lipstick over her lips.  Next, she applies a modest amount of black mascara to her lashes, gently accentuating their natural length.  Father hates if I wear too much makeup… or any , she thinks as she stares at her reflection.  At least he’s not here to see it .  She looks down at her hands and frowns.  The skin around her fingers is red and angry, sporting more than a few scabs.  She used to wear nail polish to distract the eye but she couldn’t keep from picking at the pastel colors.  She grew tired of reapplying the polish day after day, so she stopped.  Her picking has never been worse, never been so obvious.  She hopes Rhaenyra doesn’t mention it.  

   Alicent snatches her crossbody purse from the hook by her door and all but runs downstairs.  She expects to find her friend inside by the backdoor, like usual, but when she gets there, nobody is there.  Garage .  Rhaenyra never knocks at the front door, not since it got Alicent in trouble for ‘bothering’ her father.  Father hates it when Rhaenyra stops by unannounced, or even when it’s planned.  Despite Rhaenyra’s father being his best, if not only friend, Otto disliked her.  It seems she was ever the thorn in his side, much to the confusion of both girls.  He refused to elaborate on his distaste for Rhaenyra no matter how often Alicent would ask.  So, the two girls agreed to keep their rendezvous and plans hidden from Otto.  Alicent only ever tells her Gwayne, the only brother who still lives with her, where she is going and who she is going with (it’s always Rhaenyra).  

   Alicent turns from the back door and crosses the house to the kitchen.  She finds Gwayne sitting at the kitchen island, a math textbook and notebook splayed open before him.  Across the room is the door leading to the garage, cracked open just a hair.

   Without looking up, he says, "Father won't be home until late again.  Make sure you're back before then ‘cause I can’t cover for you."  She nods, knowing Gwayne has plans to see his girlfriend that night.  Alicent turns to leave but Gwayne speaks up again.  "Hey."  She looks back at him, her hand on the garage door handle.

   "Yeah?"

   "Have fun."

   "Thanks," Alicent says, flashing a soft grin.  “You, too.”  She pushes the door aside and sees Rhaenyra leaning casually against her bike, parked inside the open garage.  With her back to Alicent, she doesn’t immediately acknowledge her presence.  Her friend’s eyes are locked on the empty driveway and road.  Alicent smiles as she regards Rhaenyra.  Ever the rebel, she wears a bulky leather jacket over an all too familiar, clearly favored purple tube top romper.  Her long silver-gold hair runs down her jacket like a calm waterfall.  She cradles a black helmet under her left arm and rests her dominant hand on top of a secondary helmet sitting on the motorcycle’s seat. 

   “Does it work now?” Alicent asks as she closes the door behind her, breaking the silence and announcing herself.  Rhaenyra whips around, grinning. 

   "Of course.  I made it here didn’t I?” 

   “You made it all the way to Harwin’s last time, too.”  Rhaenyra flushed, playfully rolling her eyes.

   “Daemon helped me fix it up after it broke down.  It's not gonna fall apart again."  She glanced at the yellow motorcycle and made a face.  "Probably.  Anyway, let's go."  She jumps away from her bike, dropping the helmet beside the other, and takes Alicent’s hands in her own.  "Fly with me," she says, a fox-like smirk pulling at the left corner of her mouth.  Mischief flickers in her violet eyes.  

   "Why is it such a secret this time, Rhaenyra?  What have you planned?"  

   "And spoil everything?  You trust me, right?"

   "Yes, of course I do..."

   "So, hop on."  Rhaenyra pulls Alicent to the motorcycle and drops her hands.  She swings a leg over the seat and plops down onto the fabric seat.  She yanks one of the helmets down over her head and holds out the second for Alicent.  Alicent takes the helmet, puts it on, and sits behind Rhaenyra.  The seat isn’t the largest, but neither of the girls is particularly big.  They fit, but just barely.  Alicent clasps her hands together around her friend’s waist as Rhaenyra fires up the engine.  She held onto Rhaenyra a little tighter than was necessary, but Rhaenyra didn’t complain.  Alicent hates motorcycles, especially this beat-up old thing, but Rhaenyra was proud of her tinkering skills.  So, she ignores her fears.  If it makes Nyra happy, it makes her happy ( it gives her an excuse to hold on to Rhaenyra ).

   Rhaenyra speeds out of the garage and barrels down Alicent's neighborhood street.  Anxious, Alicent leans her body against Nyra for support.  She can’t help but close her eyes as they drive through the claustrophobic streets of King's Landing.  She feels the wind tugging at her hair, the red mess flying behind her like a flag.  Her hairspray fights back as best it can, but she knows the style is ruined.  Oh, well .  It isn’t something she didn’t anticipate.  Rhaenyra’s antics have ruined more than a few hairdos and outfits.  What’s one more?   

   Alicent feels Rhaenyra steering them further and further south, and then the realization comes to her.  She knows exactly where they are going even without looking.  She had lived here long enough.  If she wasn't so terrified, she would smile.  

    A day at the beach, so it is , she thinks when they finally stop.  Rhaenyra had parked along a residential street behind the Conqueror's Boardwalk, sandwiching them in between a gold sedan and a black SUV.  The girls dismount and Alicent looks around at the buildings lining the boardwalk.  She spies countless other people walking about in their swimsuits, coverups, and regular day clothes.  It’s a superbly pleasant day to Alicent.  There isn’t a cloud in the sky but a cool ocean breeze offers some relief from the summer heat.    

   “The beach then?” Alicent asks, giggling softly.  “Why was this a secret?”

   “It’s not just the beach.”

   “What else?” 

   “You’ll see,” Rhaenyra says, flashing a white grin.  “Let’s go!”  And without another word, she dashes off towards the boardwalk.  

   “Wait, Nyra!” Alicent calls after her, jogging after her as quickly as she can.

   “Come on!  Hurry up!”  

   “I’m trying!”  She struggles to keep up since running isn’t her strong suit.  Westerosi people don’t exercise as much as they should.  When she catches up, she finds Rhaenyra waiting outside a cute shop on the boardwalk.  Just Seahorsing Around , reads the sign above the building.  Seahorse decals cover the windows, accompanying numerous more seahorse puns.  She can’t help but smile at the ridiculous place.  From the exterior, she isn’t sure what they sell inside.  Aside from jokes, anyway.  Her friend, however, seems familiar with the shop.  Just as Alicent opens her mouth to ask, Rhaenyra takes Alicent by the wrist and guides her inside the store.

   Though a modest building size, she can’t say the owners don’t utilize the space efficiently.  She eyes the circular racks at the front stuffed with hanging bathing suits of all shapes, sizes, and colors.  Flip-flops, beach bags, coolers, towels, sunscreen lotion, umbrellas, volleyballs, and sandcastle toys for little ones occupy the numerous free-standing shelves and display tables that dot the floor.  By the register, there are various snacks like bagged chips, soda, fruity hard candy, and individually wrapped Twinkies for customers.  She notes that they don’t sell anything that can significantly melt in the summer heat like chocolates and cold treats.  It was anything and everything a beachgoer could possibly want, and Alicent was almost awestruck.   

   “We’ll obviously need to change,” Rhaenyra says, still pulling Alicent along as if worrying she might get lost in the store.  “Unless you prefer your underwear.”  She winks with an open smile.  

   “No!” Alicent says.  “How absurd!”  She giggles as she pictures herself wading in the ocean water in her bra and panties.  “You know, I have a perfectly good bathing suit at home I could have brought?”  

   “That old blue and cream thing?  Nah, you desperately need something new.  Something from this decade.”  Rhaenyra drops Alicent’s arm and stops at a large rack packed with countless hanging suits, one and two-piece alike.

   “It’s only two years old,” Alicent says.

   “Whatever.  It screams Yucksville ‘75, dude.  Now,” Rhaenyra says as she begins fingering through the available options, “treat yourself to 1986.  See, now these are bitchin’.”  She pulls out two hangers and grins.  “Here, hold these a sec’,” she says, shoving the swimsuits at Alicent.  She returns her attention to the rack and grabs a few more choices.  Rhaenyra looks around the store and says, “Ah!” when she spots a changing area at the back.  “I’m gonna try these on real quick.”  Alicent hands back the suits and watches her practically skip into one of the changing room stalls.  

   She laughs to herself and begins to skim through the rack herself.  She wants something that isn’t too revealing nor too prudish like her old blue one-piece.  Yet, she has trouble finding the one .  She isn’t as confident in her body as Rhaenyra is with her perfect figure and curves in all the right places.  Alicent is stick-thin by comparison.  She worries that her bones are too visible, that her veins show through her skin too much, that she’s too tall, and other such silly things.  Still, she wants to be confident in front of her friend.  Even if she has to pretend.  She shakes her head.  She’s supposed to enjoy this day, the last day she’ll have with Rhaenyra, and she can’t let body image issues take any enjoyment away from her.  

   Alicent picks out three different swimsuits, three she would never normally wear.  She thinks they would look stunning on Rhaenyra, so why not on her, too?  

   “So, what do you think?”  Alicent didn’t hear Rhaenyra behind her until she spoke.  She turns around to see Rhaenyra posing in one of the suits, barefoot.  She is holding one hand on her hip while the other frames one side of her round face.  Her grin is infectious as she shows off a deep red bikini with high-cut bottoms and a twisted bandeau top.  Of course, that’s what she picked .  

   “I think it’s very you.”  Rhaenyra’s brows shoot up and her grin widens.

   “Good, ‘cause this is what I liked best.”  Rhaenyra’s eyes drift to the swimsuits Alicent had draped over one arm.  “Those look cute,” she says, that mischievous sparkle returning to her eyes.  Before she says anything, Rhaenyra once more attaches herself to Alicent.  Still grinning, she pulls them over to the changing rooms.  Rhaenyra opens a stall and squeezes the both of them inside, latching the thin wooden door behind her.  Alicent doesn’t protest, at least, not much.  

   “Won’t we get in trouble?” Alicent whispers.

   “For what?  We’re not doing anything.  Mothers take their little kiddos in with them all the time, what’s the harm?”  She thinks about mentioning that they are two fully grown girls, not a mother-and-daughter duo, but she gives up.  Although Alicent trembles at the mere thought of getting in trouble with authority, Rhaenyra has an oddly calming effect on her.  If she knows about that power, Alicent thinks she could encourage her to do anything she wants.  Hmph, perhaps she already does , she thinks, looking at her friend in the stall with her.  She’s a terrible influence but I wouldn’t change a thing .

   “Fine, I hope you’re right.”  She’ll keep her voice down all the same.  Alicent slings the swimsuits over the top of the door as there are no hooks or anywhere to sit in the tiny stall.  

   Despite her personal issues with her body, she never is shy to change in front of Rhaenyra.  Perhaps she’s a little coy, but Nyra doesn’t have anything different… down there .  She’s seen her friend naked more times than she can count, and vice versa.  Flesh is flesh.  Alicent shrugs off her white blouse, kicks off her black flats, and steps out of her jeans.  She throws the clothes over the door before unclasping her bra and pulling down her panties.  Rhaenyra offers to hold them instead of adding them to the crowd of clothing.  Alicent thanks her, handing them over, and takes one of the suits down to try on.  

   She looks at herself in the mirror hanging on the back wall and huffs.  It’s not to her liking.  Rhaenyra agrees, so Alicent tries the second one on.  She likes it better, but the bottom sags and makes her butt look strange.  Not an ideal look.  She grabs the third which, out of the three, is far superior.  The flounced top and skirted bottom suit her more girlish style while highlighting her bosom and ass.  She loves the rich green shade against her pale skin.  She shakes her head, raking her fingers through her hair to bring it all forward over her shoulders.  Rhaenyra peers into the mirror from behind Alicent, smirking.  

   “I have an idea,” she says.  “Switch tops with me.”

   “Why?”

   “We’ll match.  Or we’ll mismatch together.  C’mon, please?”  Rhaenyra pouts, batting her long white lashes at Alicent.  As always, she can’t seem to say no.  Alicent signs and pulls off her top, Rhaenyra doing the same.  They swap and admire themselves in the mirror, Rhaenyra wearing green up top and red on the bottom and Alicent the reverse.  Rhaenyra shakes her breasts back and forth, making the flounced top flutter.  Alicent feels her cheeks warming and averts her eyes to her own chest.  The red top flatters her figure as well as the other, but the cut wasn’t something she would choose herself.  The top threatens to slip down to her waist any minute.  At least, that’s how it feels.  It isn’t as tight and secure as the tops she typically wears.  Father would despise me in this , she thinks.  And suddenly a thought comes to her.  She wonders if it’s always been her father’s voice in her head that says unflattering and negative things about her body.  Bravely, she pushes the negativity aside.  Father would never allow me to wear this .  But he isn’t here .  She looks at her pink lips and black eyelashes, and a soft smile comes to her mouth.  What harm is one more little secret?   She sighs, pulling the top up as far as she can without showing the underside of her breasts.  But she’ll make do if it makes her friend happy.  And she does seem so happy.  

   They gather up the rejected suits and their clothes then exit the changing room in their new swimsuits.  Alicent tries her best to look inconspicuous while Rhaenyra does not care either way.  Both are barefoot as they carry their shoes in one hand with their outfits resting over an arm. 

   “We just need a few more things,” Rhaenyra says, “then we can properly enjoy ourselves.”  I’m already enjoying myself plenty , Alicent thinks, just being with you .  She nods and follows as Rhaenyra approaches a long shelving unit that almost runs the whole length of the store.  They each pick out a cheap towel and a pair of flip-flops before heading to the front where they browse a rack of sunglasses.  Rhaenyra chooses a pair of traditional black aviators but Alicent picks a gold-framed pair with thin, pink rectangle lenses.  They aren’t ideal for fighting off the sunlight, however, they are simply too cute to resist.   

   “Any snacks?” Rhaenyra says as they near the cashier’s counter.  Alicent glances at the options again and shakes her head.  

   “I should limit my bad habits,” she answers, eyeing the chips and soda.  They each place their towels, flip-flops, and glasses on the counter.  The cashier welcomes them and begins calculating their items on the cash register.  They take turns showing the tags on their swimwear for him to total as well.  He’s a tall boy around their age, in his mid-teens Alicent guesses.  He has silver dreadlocks that dust the shoulders of his teal t-shirt and an otherwise dark complexion.  He smells both spicy and sweet, like gardenias or freshly cut grass.  He’s nothing like the average beach bum, looking out of place and uncomfortable behind the store’s counter.  She senses a longing from him.  He’s familiar to her but she can’t place where they might have met before.  School, probably.  Her eyes lock on the lanyard around his neck clasping a white name card that reads Laenor .  Hm .

   “Y’know, if you’re hungry, there’s an ice cream shop a little way down the boardwalk,” Laenor suggests. His voice is calm and quiet; Alicent has to stain her ears just to hear him.  “Just head towards the pier and you’ll see it on the way.  Wylde Flavors.  They specialize in all sorts of unique tastes… if you’re interested in that kinda thing.”  The girls shoot each other a look before Rhaenyra tells him that sounds like a fine idea.  She thanks him and flashes a tight smile.  “Need a bag?”  Rhaenyra nods her head, avoiding eye contact as she takes a tote bag from Laenor.  He smiles awkwardly in return as she packs their towels, her romper, jacket, and shoes inside.  Alicent shoves her own clothes in the bag and puts on her pair of flip-flops.  Fiddling with her sunglasses, she looks back and forth between the other two, her brows furrowing.  What’s their damage?   

   “So,” Rhaenyra says after clearing her throat, “how’s Laena doing?”

   “Oh, she’s fine, yeah.  Fine, she’s good.  She’s been, uh, overseas all summer but she calls me every night.”

   “Yeah?  What’s she doing over…?”

   “Um, in Pentos, yeah.  It’s some horse racing thing.  She competes now.  Her mare is this beast of a thing.  Scares Papa but you know how he dotes on her.”  Rhaenyra nods.

   “I remember her saying something about wanting to own a horse a few times,” Rhaenyra says with a genuine smile.  “Glad she’s doing that for herself.”

   “Yeah, yeah, we’re all very proud of her.”

   “I expect she’ll be bringing the gold home.”

   “Without a doubt, yeah.  She’d spend all day every day on that horse if she could.”

   “When does she come back home?”

   “Oh, uh, two weeks from Thursday?”

   “Nice.  Well, give my love to her and hope you’re doing good, too.”

   “I am, yeah, thanks.”

   “Good!  Good.  See you ‘round then.”  Rhaenyra throws the tote back over a shoulder, slides on her flip-flops and glasses, and takes Alicent by the arm.  Laenor waves goodbye to Alicent as Rhaenyra all but drags her outside.  All she can do is offer a confused expression in return before.  

   Sunlight splashes off Rhaenyra’s pale skin as they stand on the busy boardwalk, half-blinding Alicent.  She breaks away from her friend’s grasp with a jerk of her arm.  Rhaenyra turns back and Alicent says with a short laugh,    

   “What the hell was all that?”  She poses the question in a friendly way but doesn’t hide her bewilderment from the odd interaction.  She had never seen such an awkward, stiff conversation from Rhaenyra before.  

   “We… dated for a couple of months,” Rhaenyra admits.  “But it wasn’t a serious thing.”  

   “What, when was this?”  Rhaenyra tells me everything .  Why would she keep him a secret?  

   “While you were back in Oldtown.”  Oh .  Alicent’s expression sours.  Mama .  She feels a knot forming in her stomach, weighing her down as her thoughts put words in Rhaenyra’s mouth.  She wants to puke.    

   “Why didn’t you mention it when I came back?  Boyfriends are usually worth mentioning,” she says.  The friendliness is notably gone from her tone now.  

   “I don’t know… Slipped my mind?”  Alicent gives her a disbelieving expression, tilting her head.  Rhaenyra sighs.  “He’s a nice boy and we were hanging out a lot anyway; his dad is friends with mine, yeah?  I thought there was a spark, but… we weren’t the fit I thought we were.”  

   “That’s it?”  It can’t be.  A flurry of images crosses her mind and she shivers with disgust.  She pictures Laenor’s soft hands all over Rhaenyra, and hers on him.  Their lips touching, her head resting on his chest.  I can’t stand to think of you in the arms of anyone else.  To think their fingers brushed against your flawless skin and got tangled in your white hair, it’s torture.  Boys always lick their lips like hungry beasts when they look at you.  But you’re more than a lamb to the slaughter to me.  I wish you’d take me, feed me, eat me .  Rhaenyra looks ashamed, embarrassed, and a different thought grows in Alicent’s mind.  Did he hurt her?   But before she could ponder it anymore, Rhaenyra speaks up.

   “He’s… a queer, all right?  I realized maybe two months in that he was in love with his ‘best friend’ and not me.  I wasn’t going to be his beard.  It wasn’t fair to me and it’s not fair to him.”

   “I see,” Alicent says, relief washing over her in an instant.  “That was probably the best thing.”  

   “Yeah,” Rhaenyra says.  “Don’t, like, tell people.  He really is a nice boy and I’m not sure he’s… comfortable with himself yet.  It’s not exactly cool to be like that, y’know?”  Yeah, I know .  

   “My lips are sealed.”  Alicent pinches two fingers together and drags them across her lips.  Changing the topic, she says, “So how about that ice cream place?”  Rhaenyra brightens in an instant.

   “It’s a brilliant idea for such a hot day!  Come.”  And with that, Rhaenyra has her hand around Alicent’s wrist again and pulls her along.  There’s something desperate in the way Rhaenyra clings to Alicent. 

   Laenor had been right, the ice cream shop wasn’t terribly far away.  But although Alicent expected to stop in a similar-sized building to Just Seahorsing Around, they instead find themselves at a small stand on the boardwalk.  An older woman greets them, telling them to take their time deciding what they want.  The girls thank her.  Alicent squints at the stand’s menu, frowning as she reads through the ‘unique’ options.  Peanut butter and chocolate chip?  Mint pistachio?  Cookies and cream and strawberry?  Lazy creativity, she thinks.  She glances at Rhaenyra who seems more delighted with the choices.  She rolls her eyes, smiling.  At least there are still normal flavors for me.  

   After a few minutes, Alicent orders a medium cup of regular mint chocolate chip.  She thanks the woman again when she is handed the food and a plastic spoon.  Rhaenyra hums, still eyeing the menu as Alicent takes a small bite.  It’s frigid!   She nearly spits her bite out, worrying it will aggravate her sensitive molar.  She holds the bite on her tongue, letting it melt and run down her throat.  I’ll let it warm a little before I have another bite, she thinks.

   “I’ll have, uh, a peanut butter— wait, no.  How about a… Actually, just a double scoop of the cookie dough.  In a waffle cone, please,” Rhaenyra says.

   “Sure thing, kiddo,” the woman replies.  She passes the cone to Rhaenyra and plops two generous scoops of ice cream on top.  They pay separately and walk further down the boardwalk.  Their chatter is nothing special.  

Did you hear the Triarchy’s new song?  

Yeah!  It was on the radio last night.  Even Gwayne said he liked it.  

It was bitchin’.  I wish Whyte Wyrm would come around, I’d kill to see ‘em live.

Maybe I’ll visit and take you to the concert when they come to the Vale.

I’d love that.  

   As they talk, Rhaenyra begins to scout out an area on the beach for them to set up.  Their arms are interlocked, the two girls now walking side-by-side without care in the world.  All the morose thoughts, all the negativity, had vanished.  She’s in a true state of bliss… until she hears it.  Alicent’s chest tightens as a wolf whistle pierces through the air behind them.  She wishes she could drop her food and cover herself up.  She wants to run away and hide from predatory eyes.  She never shows so much of her body, she knows it was a mistake.  

   As if sensing Alicent’s distress, or acting out of her own fury, Rhaenyra whips around to face the whistler.

   “Hey!” Nyra shouts.  Alicent musters up the courage to look back, too.  She’s shocked to see two boys significantly younger than herself perched on the wooden rail of the boardwalk.  Their backs are to the beach, feet swinging below them.  They are an odd couple, to be sure.  She first eyes the one with dark, greased-back hair and a yellow button-down shirt.  He is a large person, comically so compared to his friend.  His friend, the closer of the two and the whistler if his smirk was any giveaway, is easily a third of his weight.  He had sandy hair that was in desperate need of trimming as the bangs were more like curtains for his eyes.  Neither looks old enough to be in high school, but people seem to retain their youth longer nowadays.  Gwayne is almost seventeen, she thinks, and he still has baby fat in his cheeks.  Regardless of their age, they’re too young to be acting like creepy old men.  

   Rhaenyra smirks at Alicent, mischief sparkling in her eyes yet again, and chucks her ice cream cone at the closest boy.  It hits him square in the face, covering his face, hair, and the collar of his tee.  Ice cream drips from his bangs onto his pants and shoes.  He blinks through the food before wiping the rest out of his eyes.  Alicent’s mouth drops open as the second boy guffaws, slapping his friend’s back.  The first boy, his clothes now saturated in Rhaenyra’s frozen treat, growls at the other.  He lunges for the dark-haired boy, tackling him to the ground.  Alicent watches as he drives his fists into his gut over and over again.  Left, right .  Left, right .  Left, right .  The boy on the ground tries his best to block the hits with his arms, grunting as he fights off his small attacker.  She can’t help but compare them to a pissed-off Chihuahua on top of an adult Pittie.

   “Willie, knock it off!  Willie!  Stop!” the bigger boy says between punches.

   “Don’t call me Willie, Jerry !”

   “Fuck you!  You know that’s my dog’s name!”  

   “Aw, named after the dog, boo hoo hoo.”

    Rhaenyra cackles, invariably proud of the chaos she causes.  She takes Alicent’s wrist and draws her away from the ridiculous scene.  They jump off the boardwalk, landing on the sand of the crowded beach.  Rhaenyra doesn’t let go until they find a spot far enough away that neither girl can still see the boys.

   Giggling, Alicent says, “I can’t believe you did that!”

   “Can’t you?”  Her smile falters a bit, seeing a strange glint in Rhaenyra’s violet eyes.  She pushes the subconscious question aside and laughs again.

   “Of course.  It would be unlike you not to cause a mess.”  The strangeness vanishes from her friend’s features as she laughs.  “But now you’ve wasted your ice cream.”

   “It’s all right,” Rhaenyra says, but Alicent knows Rhaenyra wanted the food more than she did.

   “Here.”  Alicent holds out her cup.  “I’ve got more than I can eat.”  Rhaenyra grabs the spoon and takes a modest bite. “Have more than that,” Alicent says with a small laugh.  They take turns with the spoon, Alicent eating much less than her friend.  Before long the girls empty the paper cup, both satisfied.  Alicent tosses the trash in a nearby garbage can like she had seen the guys at high school practice do a thousand times before.  Rhaenyra holds up ten fingers. 

   “A perfect score!” she says.

   “You’re not playing favorites, are you?” Alicent asks with a smug grin.

   “Absolutely not.  I can’t help that the cutest player is also the best.”  Another smile.  Rhaenyra suggests they find a spot on the beach to sunbathe for a while.  As they start scouting, Alicent stops.  

   “Shit.”

   “What?”

   “We forgot to buy sunscreen.  I’ll run back —”

   “Nah, we don’t need it.”   

   “You sure?”

   “Fire cannot kill a dragon.”  Rhaenyra winks.  But I’m not a dragon, Alicent thinks.  Rhaenyra touches her arm, turns, and takes off further down the beach.  Sand kicks up behind her feet like fireworks.  “C’mon!” she calls back.  Alicent watches the sunlight bounce off Rhaenyra’s blonde hair as it dances after her in the wind.  Such impossible beauty.   Her hair must be spun from a spool of silver-gold thread.  Alicent shakes herself out of her daze and follows after Rhaenyra.  When she finally stops running, Alicent realizes how isolated they are.  She can’t see anybody else around, just the sand and the splashing waves.  It’s their private piece of land, for all intents and purposes.  She smiles.  

   “Here?” Rhaenyra asks.

   “Sure, why not?”  It’ll be nice to have the privacy , she thinks.  Rhaenyra drops the tote bag down on the ground and pulls out their towels.  Alicent takes her black and gold striped towel and lays it down over the hot sand.  Rhaenyra does the same, setting hers hardly an inch from Alicent’s.  Sitting down on the towel, she pops off her flip-flops and sets them next to her in the sand.  Both girls lie down on their backs, adjusting to achieve maximum comfort.  Alicent stretches her arms over her head, resting one arm on her forehead and the other on the towel.  She crosses one ankle over the other and steals a quick glance at Rhaenyra.  Her arms are lying still by her sides and her legs are positioned like thin, white mountains, knees to the sky.  Alicent closes her eyes, focusing on her breathing.  If she’s lucky, she’ll get a little nap.   

   She isn’t sure how much time has passed when Rhaenyra’s voice startles her awake.  

   “This is really pleasant,” Rhaenyra says with a sigh.  “We needed this.  It’s not too long now before I leave.”  Alicent’s eyes crack open and she moves her arms down beside her.

   “Do we have to think about you leaving?” she asks, her voice low.  My whole world will change when I can’t see you every day.

   “You’re right, it’s not a happy subject.”  Rhaenyra turns her head to look at Alicent.  “Hey, I’m sorry I brought it up.”  She goes quiet but only for a second.  “Want me to make it up to you?”

   “Is that not what today is?”  Rhaenyra smiles.

   “Partly,” she says as she rolls onto her side, propping her head up with an arm.  

   “Oh?  How else will you make it up to me?” Alicent asks, smirking.  

   “Like… this …”  Alicent feels Rhaenyra’s hand sneak across her bare stomach and slip under the hem of her swim bottoms.  She freezes and so does Nyra’s hand.  The two girls make eye contact, and a silent agreement is made.  Is this real? Alicent thinks as Rhaenyra’s middle finger glides over her soft, dry clit.  It rubs back and forth, massaging gently.  Alicent’s breathing starts to deepen and she speads her legs.  She watches her breasts rise and fall as Rhaenyra’s movements grow in intensity.  

   “I love a shaved pussy,” Rhaenyra says under her breath.  Her thumb rubs against the hairless mons venus as her index and middle finger continue to work Alicent’s swollen clit.  Moisture spreads over her lips and spills down her cheeks, collecting at the bottom of her swimsuit.  Never had she been so thankful for dark clothes before.  She can feel the burning pressure building inside of her, the heat promising an explosive orgasm.  Her right leg quivers and she rolls her hips as Rhaenyra plays her like an instrument.  She hears the panting and the moans coming from her own mouth.  Rhaenyra kisses her flat stomach and she cums.  

   If she could think coherently, she might have been embarrassed she came so quickly.  She might have worried someone might see them.  But she can’t think straight, not when it started and certainly not now.  Her head is empty as her body buzzes with pleasure.  Rhaenyra leaves another kiss on her stomach and pulls her hand out of Alicent’s swimsuit.  Nyra smiles, staring up at Alicent, and sucks on her fingers.  

   “Delicious,” she says.  Both giggle softly.  Alicent turns on her side to face Rhaenyra.  They stay like that for a time, Alicent isn’t sure how long, just looking at each other.  Rhaenyra’s violet eyes seem to glow, saying everything her mouth isn’t.  But what was the ultimate experience, the very thing Alicent secretly dreamed about every night, makes their situation that much harder.  Rhaenyra will leave for the Vale and leave Alicent behind.  She’ll cry and pray to see her at every possible opportunity.  Yet, it can’t soften the sting of separation.  

   Rhaenyra’s eyebrows press together.  “Hey,” she says.  “I hate to see you in this mood.  Why not liven up and party?  Just the two of us, right here.”

   “Okay,” Alicent agrees, smiling.  As long as she’s here, she knows Rhaenyra will care for her.  She has to treasure and make the most of the limited time they have left.  

   “I’m gonna get us some booze.”  Alicent nods and Rhaenyra takes off towards the boardwalk.  She lies back down on her towel, closes her eyes, and waits.

#synwrites #hotd big bang #house of the dragon big bang #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenicent #alicent x rhaenyra #rhaenyra x alicent #laenor velaryon #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #i really can't thank ewanmitchellcrumbs enough 🙌🙏💜 #everybody needs to shower her with love for organizing this event bc she did an incredible job #and yes i turned syrax into a jankey motorcycle lmfao

[imperiuswrecked]

hello :) i have very recently gotten into namor comics and i wanted to know, what are your favorite arcs/solos hes had? i hope its not too much of a bother. thank you and i hope youre doing well. ^_^

Hello and welcome. It's always a pleasure to speak with Namor fans ❤️ Thanks for asking, I'm well and I hope you are too.

Series:

King in Black: Namor - It's wonderfully written and gives us great lore and character moments. It's written by Kurt Busiek who really knows the character. The artwork is amazing, drawn by two different artists but I have to point out how much I really enjoy the colorists' work. The way they chose to make present day Namor scenes all muted colors, like the ocean is sick and dying, meanwhile his past scenes has such vibrant color.

Sub-Mariner: The Depths - I'm a big horror fan so this was a perfect combination of horror and Namor. I wish this would someday be adapted into a short animation or live action film. Ribic's art carries the whole comic, you could understand it just by the art alone, tho the writing is great too.

Sub-Mariner (2007) - Honesty I feel this series is criminally under rated, it's one of my favorite modern takes on Namor. I do have a couple of criticisms of the plot/ending but overall this series is favorite, love the artwork, love the premise and Namor's characterization.

The Sub-Mariner (1968) - I'm a big fan of Silver Age Namor and this series has lots of great comics but some do drag on at point. Personal favorites, Namor vs The Thing and Namor meeting Betty again in #8, Dorma being possessed by the Serpent Crown in #9. Gonna stop there before I go digging to find every issue I loved, bc there's just a lot there, like I love Tigershark's introduction/stories and Namor and Diane's friendship, and the quest for Namor's father etc.

Arc's:

Tales to Astonish: The Quest for Neptune's Trident #70-76. (To be fair I do love a lot Tales to Astonish but I'm just trying to pick out arcs that I reread alot.)

Namor goes insane in space: Uncanny X-Men (1963) Annual 3 (2001), Steve Rogers: Super Soldier Annual 1, Namor: The First Mutant Annual 1

Suma-Ket & Artys-Gran Arc - Namor, the Sub-Mariner (1990) #30-40. Dark Undersea High Fantasy arc, love it.

Solo Comics:

Marvel Fanfare (1982) #16 & 43, both these are solo adventures

Marvel Snapshot: Sub-Mariner (2020) - I can never get enough of this comic, told from Betty's pov, its wonderful.

Avengers: Emperor Doom - I love every time Namor and Doom team up or interact but if I had to pick one time it's this.

What if? Sub-Mariner (2011) - Love love this story by Greg Pak of Namor growing up on land.

The Judgement of Namor - Dark Reign: The Cabal - Namor takes court and deals with his subjects. An excellent look into Namor's role as the monarch of Atlantis.

Marvel (2020) #3 - I loved the sketch arts of the comic that was unfinished, it had been around for decades but when Marvel finally printed it in full I was so happy. I still prefer the sketchy art but I thought this was a fun adventure and Namor is in a suit, lol.

Marvel Comics Presents: (1988) #33 - All time favorite Namor comic, #1 spot in my heart. (2007) #7 - Namor mourns Nita's death (2019) #1 - A heavy story by Greg Pak about WWll

Tales of the Marvels: Inner Demons - a look at Namor while he was an amnesiac

I haven't even started on character team up comics or team books and if I start on those I won't stop. lol. I'll put a link here to my 2019 comic reading guide that can help you find most major arcs. I hope you enjoy reading!

#namor #namor the sub mariner #namor mckenzie #comic reading guide #comic recs #imp answers

[themsource]

Hi! This is Ruse from Cherished!

I was wanting to request Sans helping a young reader that he's SUPER attracted to with homework! With hair being a thing with him maybe? I love my hair and want to think he would too!

Please and thank you!!!

Aw! So sweet of you to actually send me something! Sure I can do that for you ^^ And given the way you found me I think I might know how you want this to go. My first request of 2024! WOOT! 🎉I'll place it below a cut so those that wish to avoid it can if they want!

(This is written by an Adult for Adults. Please don't read if below 18 and sensitive to taboo topics or anything of the sort.)

Rating: M

TW: Awfulness (?)

Your eyes were very pretty. 

He could see little flecks of gold within the irises if he looked hard enough, little highlights of shimmer to bring out the very beguiling color they rested in. One of the things he loved most about seeing you was the chance of having those mesmerizing sights set on him, being the center of their attention.

The scratching of you crossing off your answer drew his gaze down.

…your hands were so tiny.

He very appropriately looked away.

And then he remembered you were both alone in the house.

His eyelights very slowly drifted back over.

Briefly Sans wondered what the size comparison would be if—

“I don’t get it!” You shouted hopelessly, throwing down your pen with a pout. “I hate homework! Can we just throw it in the shredder?!”

He chuckled.

cute.

cute and a firecracker.

“aw kid, don’t be that way, it’s easy. look.” Sans reached for the pen and started to scribble on the paper, his thoughts temporarily going towards safer ground as his love of math took over. “let’s draw a line with zero in the middle. going right from zero, what comes next?”

You frowned. “One?”

“yep.” He nodded amused. “and then two and three…”

Sans made a mark and drew the number below it as he spoke, all the way up to ten. 

“now we’re going to go left from zero. this is where you get your opposites. the opposite of nothing is something, right? so back to the question: what’s opposite of one?” The way you stared at the paper as if you could will the understanding into your mind made his soul thrum.

“I don’t know…” You sighed, voice wobbly. 

…So hopeless. 

…So lost.

so adorable.

Sans forced himself to look away so he could concentrate on trying to come up with a good example. “think of it like a mirror. when you hold up your left hand, what do you see?”

The deadpanned look you gave him as he looked back nearly made him snicker.

“My left hand.”

“yes, good.” he nodded. “now pretend you’re the one in the mirror copying the one standing outside. what hand would you be holding up?”

Sans felt a heavy hot lick of arousal up his spine as you furrowed your brows and so innocently held up your hands, darting those golden flecked eyes between them in such a wonderfully naive confusion. 

First you raised your left and then lowered it to raise your right.

He could feel his magic coalescing from watching understanding light up your eyes as you found an answer. It became more solid when you aimed that confident understanding at him only to lose it in an uncertain waver, your tone so weak and sweet to his non-existent ears.

“My…right?”

“bingo~” He praised.

The way your cheeks turned pink felt like a victory, turned him smug as he watched your shy grin appear. “but it’s still your hand, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, just the other one.” 

Sans tapped the pen’s nub to the left of the zero he’d crudely drawn.

You glanced down at it and across the row on the other side before answering.

“The opposite of one…is minus one?” He chuckled and nodded. 

“heh, yeah, but it’s called ‘negative’ when it’s a number on its own kid.”

Another tap of the pen, this time at the first question. “opposite of one?”

“Negative one!” 

The way you said that, so quick and so enthusiastic, had him dry swallowing.

“right again kiddo.” Carefully he handed the pen back, making sure not to accidentally touch you, because he wasn’t sure what he would do if he got just a taste of what your velvet soft skin felt like against his bones.

Sans didn’t trust himself.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to look.

And that’s what he did. 

He stared at you as you went about answering every question, cutely double checking with him and only continuing on once he hummed his agreement or nodded. All while he took in how the light of the window danced around your head like a halo and shone through the stray strands of your locks like stained glass, savored the lasting bloom of color on the apples of your cheeks that had yet to vanish.

Avidly watched the way your tiny hand moved and how your even tinier wrist flicked.

The second you finished you held up the paper like a trophy as you declared it loud and proud.

…his pelvis ached.

“good job buddy, proud of you.” He gestured at the living room. “how about we binge some of that show you like as a reward?”

Your shoulders slumped, and he swore his soul dimmed with just how sad you looked.

“Mom said I can’t watch tv. Not until I pass my test.”

What he said next was said with an intent that was anything but innocent. Was more an innuendo than as a casual remark as it should have been. 

“i won’t tell if you won’t.”

Your eyes met his.

And it was almost as if there was something—

But just as quickly the feeling vanished as you hopped to your feet, and jumped up and down like an excited little rabbit begging for a carrot.

“Oh please! Please! I can keep a secret!”

The chuckle he gave was ironic.

“i’m sure you can kid. go put it on and i’ll make some popcorn yeah?”

He stood up and…paused.

Touching your skin might’ve been too much for him, but your hair…

Sans considered your pretty wide eyes and giddy fidgeting as you looked up at him with a confused head tilt the longer he stood there unmoving, silently debating with himself. 

His soul was thrumming, his thoughts racing.

Very slowly, afraid to frighten a wild animal, he took a deep breath…and raised his hand.

Nervously he watched you glance up at it and then back at him but you didn’t move. 

Gently as he could, he rested it on the top of your head. 

The contact made him draw a harsh breath that he forcefully played off as a chuckle. He dared to move his hand just a little to tussle it, and happily dwelled in just how wonderful and light it felt between his phalanges and against his metacarpals.

Delicate, pleasant like spider silk.

“seriously kid, good job on the homework.”

You blushed again and he felt as if his patellas were going to buckle.

Especially when you said oh so shyly, meek, “Thanks for helping me.”

He really couldn’t help it.

“sure thing pal, happy to give you a hand anytime.” Sans winced as soon as he said it but you didn’t even notice. You instead gave him a bewitching giggle he wished he could’ve recorded and used for a ringtone, before spinning around and rushing to the living room.

He stood there a moment trying to breathe.

A grunt and pinch of his nasal ridge. “heh…i’m terrible.” 

Sans made a quick stop to the bathroom before washing his hands and going to make the popcorn.

#ask #request #undertale #sans/reader #okay so about my restraint i mentioned before #as a demisexual i only experience attraction when i fall for someone #so when you say 'SUPER attracted' theres going to be some sexualness to it because attraction/emotions/sexual feelings are all mixed for me #that's the personal experience i have #and that was asked as a focus so I didn't gloss over it #My writing

[lightphieric]

Over the past two and a half years, I have amassed a huge backlog of games and extensively catalogued the ones I’ve played. It started out as a way to keep myself sane during the pandemic, but since then it’s basically just become the way I play video games. I’ve recently reached the huge milestone of 200 games played using this system, and to commemorate, I thought a list of “Each Zero Escape character as one of those 200 games” would be fun! Let’s go!

(FYI, I kept a tier list and for this post, I’ve only drawn from games I’ve ranked B, A, or S. So yes, these are all recommendations! I played some of them via itch.io, but all of them are available on Steam)

Ace: Contradiction

An FMV detective game with elegantly simple mechanics: you do exactly what the title says and it’s very satisfying. Special mention goes to the pair of shady businessmen you encounter who totally don’t brainwash, kill, or kidnap people wink wink.

Snake: Dicey Dungeons

This is almost entirely based on Light’s codename meaning “snake eyes,” but it was between this and that game you play by blinking so this seemed like the more appropriate choice. A cute and cheeky roguelike deckbuilder played by rolling and assigning dice. The fact that its gameplay is built around basic arithmetic gives me 999 vibes in general!

Santa: Tell Me Why

A choice-consequence adventure game from the makers of the first two Life Is Strange games (LIS2 my beloved, don’t @ me). Two siblings who can communicate telepathically revisit their childhood home and the events leading up to their mother’s death. One of the siblings is a trans man so if you are as Correct about Aoi as I am you know where I’m coming from.

Clover: Chicory: A Colorful Tale

The game where the world is a blank coloring book and you get to fill in the lines. Tells a lovely and relatable story about art, burnout, impostor syndrome and mentorship, although the main reason I’m assigning this to Clover is because it’s just plain adorable. The relationship between Pizza and Chicory also reminds me of her and Alice.

Junpei: Lamplight City

Perhaps aligned more with ZTD Junpei than any other iteration, this is a steampunk point-and-click about a disgraced detective who is haunted by his late partner and can’t rest until he’s avenged his death. The best part of this game is the protagonist’s awesome wife, who, unlike Akane, will actually help you with puzzles sometimes.

Akane: Elsinore

You play as Ophelia. You are stuck in a time loop and must find a way to save yourself and manufacture a happier ending to the tragedy of Hamlet. This is basically tied with Celeste for the title of my favorite video game of all time, and I was delighted to find parallels between it and Akane’s story.

Seven: The Darkside Detective

I love detective games so I had a wealth to choose from when it came to the cop character. I ended up going with this game, a standard point-and-click that is a detective game in name and theming only but is still a lot of fun. A pastiche of Twin Peaks and X-Files with some of the funniest writing I’ve ever seen in a video game, it captures Seven’s zaniness and willingness to believe in the supernatural.

Lotus: Beglitched

A glitzy and girly game full of computer lingo and in-jokes that go over my head. Thankfully you don’t actually need to know a lick of code to enjoy it because the hacking minigames all take the form of really unique and strategic battles.

Kubota: Underhero

An RPG with one of the most wonderfully convoluted premises ever. Put simply, you’re a villain’s henchman who must play double agent when you’re magically chosen to be the next great hero. Kubota certainly doesn’t fit the “secret hero” angle, but a whole game about an underling seemed appropriate.

Sigma: Milkmaid of the Milky Way

A point-and-click (can you tell I love those?) in which a dairy farmer’s favorite cow is abducted by aliens and she must sneak onto the spacecraft to rescue it. Now, that absolutely delightful premise could work with just about any VLR character; I don’t want to spoil the game, but something else does happen that rings very close to Sigma’s story specifically.

Phi: Downwell

I really expected Phi to get a platformer, with all her soaring and kicking! Downwell is kind of a platformer, I guess, although really it’s more of a free-fall simulator and most of the things you land on die. You can either shoot enemies with your “gunboots” or step on them to kill them - killing things with your feet, very Phi.

Alice: Paradise Killer

A quirky open-world detective game where everyone is impractically hot. I’ve truly never felt more like a detective than I did while playing this game, but you can’t talk about it without talking about the style. The world is bizarre, the music is all vaporwave, and again. You, the investigator, are improbably sexy, and so is every suspect you interview.

Dio: Cult of the Lamb

The cute and cozy roguelike where you start your own cult and smite nonbelievers. I feel like I don’t really need to describe this one further, y’all know it already.

Luna: Cloud Gardens

An art/puzzle game about helping plants reclaim an abandoned, decaying urban environment. Has both a story mode which I completed, and a sandbox mode I didn’t try in which you can just grow gardens to your heart’s content.

Quark: Carto

A really cute puzzle game where you manipulate the very ground you stand on using a map. The story is about a little girl trying to find her grandmother, so it’s very Quark in both aesthetic and story.

Kyle: Hades

The mythological roguelike about hating your dad a whole lot. I don’t feel like I need to explain this one further, either, as everyone has talked about it at length including me on this very blog, but I’ll have you know that I’ve played it for hundreds of hours and it’s solidly my third favorite video game of all time.

Carlos: The Rewinder

This is the most recent game I’ve played; I haven’t finished it yet and I can’t even say for sure that it will be top-tier in the rankings, but I’m really liking it so far and since I wanted a puzzle game about time manipulation for Carlos it was between this and Braid. And as far as I know, The Rewinder doesn’t have a creator with the absolutely rancid vibes of Jonathan Blow.

Sean: 2064: Read Only Memories

A visual novel where you solve a mystery in a cyberpunk world with the help of the world’s first fully sentient AI. The AI is a precious baby baby baby; if you love Sean, you will love Turing.

Delta: Evergate

A gorgeous puzzle platformer about the afterlife and a fraught sibling relationship that transcends time. I loved this game so much that I 100-percented all the collectibles and time trials, which is something I never do. Made me want to call my brother.

Eric: Boyfriend Dungeon

Of course, my much maligned fave gets paired with a game that also gets a lot of undue hate but nonetheless has my entire heart. It’s a dating sim for all of the thirsty simps out there that’s also a roguelike about literally attacking your inner demons and fears with crazy impractical weapons. This choice has nothing to do with a certain Boyfriend Dungeon character who gives all Erics a bad name.

Mira: Carrion

Going through all these games I was surprised that this was the only real “play as the villain” power fantasy on the list. You might have heard of this one described as a reverse horror movie; you play as a biological weapon, or an alien, or something, that has escaped containment and it’s just about eating scientists and soldiers in an explosion of pixelly gore.

Diana: There Is No Game: Wrong Dimension

I won’t be all coy like every other reviewer: this is a video game, a point-and-click about a sentient computer program who really does not want you to use it. It’s really funny and full of meta-references, but the reason I chose it for Diana is because this game is actually a tragic love story not unlike SigDi. I’m not joking about that.

And there you have it, twenty-two great games, one for each Zero Escape character. This is just a silly post but, sincerely, check some of them out if they sound interesting to you!

#zero escape #zero escape 999 #virtue's last reward #zero time dilemma #999 spoilers #vlr spoilers #ztd spoilers #video game recommendations #not gonna tag every game and every character that would be insane

[dweemeister]

Best Documentary Short Film Nominees for the 96th Academy Awards (2024, listed in order of appearance in the shorts package)

This blog, since 2013, has been the site of my write-ups to the Oscar-nominated short film packages – a personal tradition for myself and for this blog. This omnibus write-up goes with my thanks to the Regency South Coast Village in Santa Ana, California for providing all three Oscar-nominated short film packages. 

If you are an American or Canadian resident interested in supporting the short film filmmakers in theaters (and you should, as very few of those who work in short films are as affluent as your big-name directors and actors), check your local participating theaters here.

Without further ado, here are the nominees for the Best Documentary Short Film at this year’s Oscars. The write-ups for the Live Action and Animated Short categories are coming soon. Non-American films predominantly in a language other than English are listed with their nation(s) of origin.

Năi Nai & Wài Pó (2023)

Rarely do both sides of one’s family ever meet. You might expect them to mingle at weddings and funerals. But cohabitation? Such is the case with Taiwanese American director Sean Wang’s two grandmothers in Năi Nai & Wài Pó (paternal and maternal grandmother, respectively), available worldwide on Disney+ and Hulu. Wishing to live closer to family, Wang moved in with his grandmothers Yi Yan Fuei (Năi Nai) and Chang Li Hua (Wài Pó) in their California household during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. His grandmothers rarely leave the house, even for groceries, and keep their heavy curtains drawn at all hours. As thin beams of sunlight barely stream through the interior’s earthy colors, both grandmothers continue to read the newspaper, sing traditional Chinese music, do their own cooking (I assume someone drops off groceries for them), tease each other about farting in bed, and reflect on their families and their pasts. They know that there are fewer tomorrows remaining, but that will not stop them from living joyously and with love for their grandson, who, though off-screen, they converse with throughout the shoot.

Qualifying for the Academy Awards by wining Best Documentary Short at SXSW in 2023 (in addition to the equivalent prize at AFI Fest), Năi Nai & Wài Pó freely admits that its subjects are playing up their act for their grandson. Observational cinema this is not. But in their sense of exaggerated play there exists a twofold acknowledgement. First, as Năi Nai states, “the days we spend feeling pain and the days we spend feeling joy are the same days spent. So, I’m going to choose joy.” And perhaps most meaningfully to Wang, their playing for the camera is one of many ways they express their love for their grandson. It is an elevated home video, a loving portrait, and a reminder to cherish those who loved us into being.

My rating: 7.5/10

The Barber of Little Rock (2023)

People Trust in Little Rock, Arkansas is a Community Development Financial Institution (CDFI). In other words, it is a non-profit – partially funded by the American federal government – to address issues in creating economic growth and opportunities in some of the most underserved communities in the nation through loans, emergency financial assistance, and housing subsidies. People Trust and its President, Arlo Washington, are the subjects of The Barber of Little Rock (available for free online through The New Yorker), directed by John Hoffman (2021’s Fauci) and Christine Turner (2021’s Lynching Postcards: 'Token of A Great Day'). The film, Oscar-qualified by winning the Grand Prize for Documentary Short at Indy Shorts International Film Festival (Indiana), requires a wealth of context to the issues that it raises, but does not always provide enough – especially how municipal, state, and regional history impacts racism in banking, and vice versa.

Arlo Washington is a fascinating, wonderfully-intentioned person, but the movie spends too much time with him directly stating the piece’s thesis about financial equality and generational poverty to the camera. Most compelling of all were some of the individual appointments at People Trust of regular people simply looking for financial relief or a loan to kickstart a business or make their rent payments. So too Washington's barbering training school – especially a scene when two students are asked to look intently at the other’s faces, to understand the other’s struggles simply through quiet observation. Arlo Washington figures in many of these scenes as well, and those scenes reveal as much, if not more, about the lives of People Trust’s clients than any of his brief lectures can accomplish. Hoffman and Turner clearly had deeply cinematic material to work with that could empower their messaging, and it is a shame they are unable to fully utilize it.

My rating: 7/10

Island in Between (2023, Taiwan)

Ten kilometers away from the Chinese city of Xiamen lies Kinmen, a group of islands under control of Taiwan (the island of Taiwan is 187 kilometers away). Directed and narrated by S. Leo Chiang and distributed by The New York Times, Island in Between is Chiang’s meditation on not only Kinmen’s precarious geography and its political status, but his own identity of being American, Chinese, and Taiwanese – three separate identities that interconnect, but are forever distinct. Like many viewers, I was unaware of Kinmen’s existence before viewing Island in Between. This film is most valuable in introducing audiences to a place in some ways frozen in the mid-twentieth century, not so much capturing the spirit of the place and understanding its history.

During visits to mainland China in the late 2000s, Chiang, Taiwanese-born and American-raised, was struck by how vibrant the mainland was – something unrecognizable from “the communist wasteland [he] learned about in school.” In the years since, the crackdown on Hong Kong’s democracy, the COVID-19 pandemic, and increased political tensions between China and Taiwan have complicated his feelings towards the mainland. As a Vietnamese American, I easily saw parallels between how the younger diaspora views our so-called “motherland”, what we are taught, and how older generations perceive their original home. Even among generations, there are divisions in how we feel about the motherland. But Chiang has the additional complication of being caught between three nations important to his being. If anything, his mentions about his parents and their views feels far too cursory, as they are the ones most responsible for shaping his views about American/Chinese/Taiwanese tensions. One hopes this film is not a harbinger of things to come, as beached tanks rust on the placid Kinmen shore.

My rating: 7/10

The ABCs of Book Banning (2023)

As of the publication of this omnibus write-up, bans and challenges to books in libraries and schools have spiked since 2021. These book challenges, often taken up by parents and certain religious organizations, have disproportionately targeted books by and/or about LGBTQ+ and non-white (especially black) people. Stepping into the debate is MTV Documentary Films’ The ABCs of Book Banning (available on Paramount+), directed by Sheila Nevins, Trish Adlesic, and Nazenet Habtezgh. Unfortunately, the film advocates against book challenges in the most stultifyingly artless way. Early on, a title card reveals that the filmmakers will ask about book banning and restrictions from a group that we have heard little from: children. An honorable approach, but the interview snippets found in The ABCs of Book Banning are repetitive and seem rehearsed – children, aghast at the notion that a selected book is a target, offer reasons why book banning is a terrible idea. Nothing Americans have not heard before. Breaking up their interviews are images of book covers, followed by a brief quotation from said book, and an amateurish “BANNED” or “CHALLENGED” banner in red over the book. Sometimes, cheap animation depicting that book’s passage appears; the placement of these animated sequences has no rhyme or reason.

Damningly, this is a film in search of a structure. A handful of authors whose books have been banned from libraries or schools show up to introduce themselves over what appears to be an interview over Zoom. They say a few sentences about why book banning is terrible and we never hear from them again in the film – a complete waste. I suspect these authors recorded longer interviews, but there is almost nothing that remains of those interviews in the final product. This is a film for those who agree with its premise, have no cinematic taste, and are tediously self-satisfied in how they express their political views.

My rating: 4/10

The Last Repair Shop (2023)

The Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD) is the last major city school district in the United States to offer free musical instrument repair to its students. From the Los Angeles Times and Searchlight Pictures comes Ben Proudfoot and Kris Bowers’ The Last Repair Shop (also available on Disney+ and Hulu), which takes us to LAUSD’s repair shop. Just short of the 40-minute limit for short films, The Last Repair Shop curiously tells the viewer preciously little about the shop itself (what are the challenges it is facing, and why is the last of its kind?). Proudfoot and Bowers – both previously nominated in this category for A Concerto Is a Conversation (2021; also available online thanks to The New York Times) – adopt much of the same style as their previous nominee. Both films share talking heads in shallow focus and snappy editing. These aspects sometimes made A Concerto Is a Conversation incohesive, but they work immensely better for The Last Repair Shop. It also helps that The Last Repair Shop, which slowly reveals itself to also be a portrait of a rarely-seen side to L.A., has a clear structure that the viewer can discern early on.

What carries The Last Repair Shop are the life-affirming conversations we have with the four principal interview subjects, all of whom work in a different department at the shop – Dana Atkinson (strings), Paty Moreno (brass), Duane Michaels (woodwinds), and Steve Bagmanyan (pianos; also the shop supervisor, and who inspired the film as he tuned pianos at Bowers’ high school). Whether they play an instrument or not, all four recognize music’s ability to better understand ourselves and others, and as “one of the best things that humans do.” The addition of student voices to the film – especially when one realizes that the repair shop employees almost never hear back from the children whose instruments they repair – strengthens a connection, however distant, through music. The Last Repair Shop’s final minutes provide it that final cinematic touch you might have anticipated, an affirmation of why those who speak the language of music hold it so dear.

My rating: 8.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

From previous years: 88th Academy Awards (2016) 89th (2017) 90th (2018) 91st (2019) 92nd (2020) 93rd (2021) 94th (2022) 95th (2023)

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Nai Nai and Wai Po #The Barber of Little Rock #Island in Between #The ABCs of Book Banning #The Last Repair Shop #Sean Wang #John Hoffman #Christine Turner #S. Leo Chiang #Sheila Nevins #Trish Adlesic #Nazenet Habtezgh #Ben Proudfoot #Kris Bowers #96th Academy Awards #Oscars #31 Days of Oscar #My Movie Odyssey

[chocoenvy]

So you thought the last one was good well how about this i put 5% of my angstussy into this one

Reader can be seen swinging vortex vanquisher while fighting childe in the snowy fields of the tsaritsas domain for some "exercise" as the acolytes watch from afar with medical aid at the ready but zhongli notices something about how Reader fights

Zhongli: Barbatos do you notice anything...... strange with how our grace handles a polearm

Venti: uh yeah there AMAZING at it but that's expected of our divine creator

Zhongli: its probably nothing but just look

Cut to Reader spinning vortex vanquisher around parrying and blocking all of childes attacks even forcing him into his fowl legacy form but what really stands out to zhongli and even the tsaritsa is how devoid of emotion readers face and eyes become like the moment they pick up a weapon they only have one objective........to kill

Suddenly Zhongli is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of childe being knocked out of his foul legacy and the hard almost rib breaking stomp of the readers foot on childes chest as reader holds vortex vanquisher to childes throat as he holds his hands up in surrender

Childe: wonderfully done your grace you surely had me on my toes (reader doesn't respond only stares into childes dead blue eyes with their equally dull red ones but that's not right readers eyes are the color of stars) um your grace......are you okay

Reader doesn't respond only holding vortex vanquisher dangerously close to childes throat oh how easy it would be to just end it

Reader then raises the polearm away from childes neck allowing him to let out a breath of relief as everyone gets ready to congratulate them on there win before it turns to fear as they thrust the polearms blade once again towards childe but stop just a blood is drawn from his throat before they start to shake and cry before falling to the ground unconscious there eyes returning to there starry and gold appearance as everyone races to check on the reader to ensure there safety Ei and the tsaritsa both stare at reader with eyes of fear

Ei: you saw that didn't you

Tsaritsa:.........i

Ei: they fought just like They did during the fall

Tsaritsa: it can't have been them remember the scrolls said "the divine creator would return from there world of healing to lead us into a golden age" an age without celestia.......do you dare oppose our creator....our LOVER

Ei: i.....I'm sorry its just after that day everytime I try to think back to that monsters face all I get is.....nothing

The tsaritsa and Ei decide to put this topic aside and help the other acolytes get ready to the castle

Long ago during the earlier days of teyvat before the idea of archons was even conceived there was a warrior one adept with any weapon and able to control all the elements they had no name, they had no face, and where ever they went.....was left destroyed without a trace

A warrior created by celestia to enforce there rule and tasked with the sole purpose but to destroy any and all disruptions of celestias rule and since so many have fallen to their blade not much is know about them only tales of a monster with dull red eyes and a hunger for death

So how did I do?

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH AND HOW HARD I LAUGHED AT ANGSTUSSY

okay but the god that they've been worshipping, the god they thought was so holy and good because they came from a world different from their own. That they'd be able to save them from the forces of their world because they were not originally from here.

Just for them to be the very thing they sought refuge from.

For them to watch as you flourish and blossom into a killing machine that will one day kill them all. They worshipped you, all for you to kill them in the end. They were the hands that nurtured their own demise and they can't help but hate themselves for being so blind.

Even if you were innocent and had no control over this force, if it was something invading your body and something you had no desire for... if any of them could they'd all go back and kill you when they had the chance.

Or maybe some of them cared too much about you to kill you. Perhaps someone knew but decided not to say anything, because they love you.

It's a very yummy thought im gonna nom on this for a while thank you <3

#choco.asks #angstussy KSJFLASDKFJSAD IM SOBBING #ngl you sent this in right after the makoto x tsaritsa thing so i thought reader had makoto's soul in their body #which is quite the yummy thought that i kinda wanna munch on just for the brainrotting goodness i'll get from it #nothing i say ever makes sense i just like chewing on your thoughts

[bookwyrminspiration]

Hello! I have drawn more art that has managed to capture Maui's personality I think! (The oc I was talking about a while ago, I don't expect you to remember)

Also I have decided that he has given his prosthetic arm a skin-like quality withb nano tech or something (Like in detroit become human) but its only because I consistantly forget about the arm and I don't properly know how to draw the arm. I’m very happy with how the most recent one turned out! And have one of my WIPs as a gift :)

-Heathen

(Yes, this submission was intentional <3)

_____________

Heathen! Hello! actually fun story about these art pieces I saw you posted them to your account but didn't realize it was you at first and went "oh wow those look a lot like Maui" and then got whiplash (/hyp) when I realized it was Maui and that you had drawn them. I don't look at urls most of the time but I recognized your art style. Also I remember almost everything about maui!!

I don't know anything about Detroit Become Human, but I will take your word for it and assume it's essentially hyper realistic prosthetics. that reminds me of something but I don't know what.

also these wips??? are absolutely incredible??? (I started rambling so putting this under a cut)

I'm absolutely obsessed with the detail in the tattoos on that Playboy drawing. gotta say I think the crescent moon with flowers in it is probably my favorite as I happen to love drawing crescent moons in artwork (I think I have a few drawings like that I've never shared). also the hands look so nice?? you've somehow made them look super natural while also not needing a lot of specific detail and I think that's very impressive. of course there's also the whole outfit that I can't ignore!! skintight things can be so so annoying because then you actually have to think more specifically about the anatomy of things, and you did that wonderfully!! the highlights on the bodysuit (and him) are so bright and make such a statement in the best way possible. the eyes also look so interesting with the way the green and brown are split. and then the attention to detail with all the advertisement thingies all around? I don't know what to call them but the words. down to the price of the magazine!! this could just be a magazine cover and I'd believe it

and then you turned him into a space person??!! I think. I think that's space. it looks like sci-fi at least, especially with the tentacle person off to the side. tentacles can be so fun to draw. but back to maui. He looks. like chaos incarnate. I do not know what he is planning to do but it just feels like it is going to be mischievous or accidentally mischievous as he concocts a wild plan that leaves the whole crew amazed and horrified at the same time. and that background??? oh my??? like you went all out I am amazed. you've got the walls and the panels and the perspective of a curved room and things on the walls and in the center and people positioned around it. and then the lighting from different glowing things around the room because it's sci-fi and things just glow a lot there. that sounds like so much work just thinking about it and yet you make it look so good??? I hope whatever Maui is doing in this drawing ends well...

a classic mermaid maui!! that feels very you. I have a memory of you expressing and interest in mermaids, and to that I say hell yea. I love love love the fluidity of his tail and how it curls!! I am very picky about flowy lines so a lot of mermaid drawing where it looks like they have knees--while beautiful--can bug me. I also thinks it a very unique design how the colors of the tail come up his body and cover his arms and even parts of his face!! the water looks so pretty as well with the light shining through it and the. I don't know what to call them. the white details up in the top that indicate it's the surface. those are incredible!! i'm curious if there's a reason you made him blue or if that just felt fun when you were drawing it, as sometimes characters have color associations!! also is that stitches on the bag? like on the thing that would hold the strap if there was one. if so wow that is a lot of detail, if not you have given the illusion of detail and that's also cool!!

I also love the last drawing because it gives him in more of a...typical? setting. it's like it's a closer glimpse at him because you're not distracted by the situation or surroundings--the others are also excellent! this one just has a different vibe that I enjoy. he's got spiky teeth and a piercing and honestly that tells me so much about him and the chaos he contains. something about his expression is so smug but also so carefree I don't know how to explain it. also hang on wait a minute. the detail in those straps??? I am in awe??? those legit look realistic your skill is uncanny. same thing with the scarf they both look like real fabric/materials that's so cool. for some reason his hair also stands out to me with how you've highlighted it, and I think it's incredible. the whole piece is! the outfit and the pose and the folds in the clothing!! *chef's kiss*

these are all so cool thank you so much for sharing them with me <33 I got a little rambly there but your art is so colorful and pleasing to look at and I am honored to receive Maui in my inbox!!

#submission #heathen nonsie #other's ocs #other's art #everyday I learn more about maui and it is great #i am slowly piecing him together in my brain #puzzling him together from the art and snippets of lore you give me #he is truly lovely this is wonderful <33

[denimbex1986]

'Rating ***

Grief can be a powerful emotion that lingers long after the loss that spawned it. All of Us Strangers explores how regret colors one’s memories and allows one to fantasize about what might have been.

Trying to explore the essence of grief in the written form, screenwriter Adam (Andrew Scott) reflects back on the loss of his parents when he was twelve years old, never having gotten to show them what he had become. Blocked from starting his script, he travels back to his childhood home where he discovers his parents (Jamie Bell, Claire Foy) are still alive, just as they were more than two decades earlier. While he understands that they are figments of his imagination, he can’t help but seek them out regularly just to have conversations with them that he never could have had in reality.

The film also finds Adam seeking companionship in a fellow resident in his newly-constructed apartment building. Harry (Paul Mescal) makes the first move but does so more out of the same desperation he an Adam share, the need for others to fill the voids of their empty lives.

As with much of what writer/director Andrew Haigh has produced, the narrative themes are rich but subdued. The performances here aren’t filled with hollow theatrics or histrionics, making them feel more natural than they might otherwise have. Yet, as real as these figures are, his parents more real than Adam himself feels, the emotional connectedness is minimal and the film ends with little emotional catharsis. The ending is perhaps a bit surprising, but makes sense in the context of the film itself, which is all we can ask for.

What works best in this thought piece is the exploration of the change of attitudes from when 12-year-old Adam was coming to terms with his own sexuality and the more socially acceptable environment that now embraces him. Examining these attitudes with his sometimes confused, sometimes aloof parents allows some in the audience to connect with the material while others may remain unfazed. That may contribute to the film’s limited perspective. Non-LGBTQ kids who grew up in the 1980s in the specter of AIDS and the broadform rejection of their essential beings will find something emotionally resonant while younger audiences may have trouble understanding the touching depth of the journey Adam takes.

All of Us Strangers has a wonderfully subtle way of digging into the essence of being an aging member of the LGBTQ community, our challenges of relating to and connecting to others when we’ve spent so much time expecting those around us to hate or misunderstand us. It’s a solid look into the generational aspects of growing up queer for the survivors who made it to the now. Yet, its limited scope won’t connect with audiences at large.

Spoiler Discussion

It might be a lame joke, but this film could be considered the LGBTQ The Sixth Sense: “I see dead people.” No, I know it isn’t anything like M. Night Shyamalan’s film but considering how many dead people he can see, it is a somewhat interesting connection. Now to the crux of this sections discussions/arguments.

There are many theories out there. Some say that Adam may also be dead, which could explain why showing up and pestering his childhood home has not drawn the attention of the police. It might also suggest an alternative theory that Adam is the Angel of Death who guides the departed to their afterlives and that his “parents” are just some untethered souls that can’t let go of their orphaned son and that “Adam” takes on the guise of their son in order to alleviate their suffering and prepare them for departure. However, this theory does not fit because of the types of things he tells his parents and how they aren’t the types of things that allow specters to resolve their past trauma, especially those from a bygone era. It fits with the Harry scenes somewhat well but not with the parents.

To be honest, I don’t buy these alternative theories. They would certainly make the film seem deeper than it is; however, genuine depth should not require either familiarity with the source material or reading into things that aren’t explicitly presented in the film. Yes, that closing shot of zooming out into the cosmos could enable some of these concepts to have a foundation, but ambiguousness only makes the film feel less grounded than it already did.'

#All of Us Strangers #Andrew Haigh #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Claire Foy #Jamie Bell #LGBTQ

[tryst-art-archive]

La Cirque 2

The audience was hushed, entranced by the cirque as they always were. It was not a place for talk, but for awe. A dramatic scene, told in brief minutes, unfolded in this act. The hearts of romantics fluttered and the young hopefuls’ eyes sparkled.

The expectant hush as mists rolled about the polished stage floor and a chord of anticipation echoed across the cirque. A solitary figure clad only in a pair of white flannel pants that looked quite comfortable in their baggy freedom, rose from beneath the stage, through a stage-door hidden by mists. There was a peculiar living death about his stance and state.

Five more figures dropped from the ceiling, entwined in scarlet ribbons and rolling down, though them, ‘til the figures hung in the air, just short of running out of scarf to hold unto, suspended by only their strength and the cloth between ceiling and floor. The five females, garbed in oranges and yellows displayed upon skin-tight clothing that was reminiscent of India in its patterns and designs, slowly began to move as one, climbing up the ribbons that held them.

The mists part, and the figure in white, moved.

And a song began.

It was sung in a ringing soprano by a fine lady who was – perhaps – a bit large, but not unhandsomely so. She had bright, vibrant eyes with a blue fire sparkling within them. Make-ups and mascaras hid her natural beauty to replace it with a stage beauty. She wore whites and light pastel pinks, purples, and blues. Her hair was done up in similar light fashion. She stood with all the regal air and beauty of a swan, arms outstretched and excess cloth dangling from them to connect with the odd dress that she wore. But above all else, she had a stunningly beautiful voice that echoed across the cirque. It was loud, then soft, then loud again, and contained so many different emotions at so many different times and yet the same.

Her name was Floe, and she was the best friend of the ballet dancer who presently flitted across the background of the stage, seeming to try to be getting a better view of what was occurring center stage. This dancer wore greens and blues that were reminiscent of peacocks, but – yet – not flashy. She wore a complicated and yet simplistic leotard that both flattered her and yet was not too skimpy. Truly, the only bare skin she bore was that on her arms, hands, face, and neck. She wore tights and shoes that, too, were spectacularly complicated and wonderfully simplistic at the same moment.

There was a small amount of cosmetics on her fine, fair-skinned face, and a bit of decorative mascara around her bright, black eyes. Her dark chocolate hair was pressed to her scalp and contained in a bun and decorated with feathers and sequins, yet not overdone. It was clear who the fair lady in this scene was.

Two scarlet scarves – identical to the ones the five women were suspended in –danced down from above and the man in white took hold of them, seemed to test them and see what they were, before he made use of them.

The audience oo!ed and  ah!ed as the five women and the fellow in white showed off their tricks in the air with the fine ribbons.

All the while Floe sang and the lovely ballet dancer twirled about, flitting her way around the stage, ever light on her feet, drawing nearer to the center stage. She made an indirect route and reminded the more poetic of a curious deer.

Eventually, the five flying females were drawn up into the ceiling and thus disappeared. The man in white, however, remained, and presently cocooned himself within the scarlet material.

The dancer in cool colors strode carefully forward, cautiously even, and with one hand reached out and touched the hanging end of one of the ribbons. Just as her fingertips reached the cloth, the man in white left his scarlet cocoon and rolled down through the ribbons to the very end where he was met with a very startled dancer.

The romantics in the audience were practically drooling with anticipation.

Renee paced around the dressing area, watched by Floe. She’d removed her ballet shoes, the cirque show having ended, and she was blushing furiously, acutely aware of the heat in her cheeks. Her heart was hammering – she couldn’t hear her footsteps over it. This was partly because she was terribly embarrassed about being embarrassed and partly because…

Well, she was embarrassed, that was good enough, right?

“You really need to calm down, luv,” Floe stated with one of those ‘tut tut tut’ tones in her voice. She shook her head while rubbing her feet, having removed the uncomfortable shoes she’d worn in costume. Her sore feet hurt from standing around so long in such terribly uncomfortable shoes. “I mean, doing what you’re supposed to do for the act is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Well, I am embarrassed about it!” Renee snapped in replies, hastily taking the feathers and sequins out of her hair, her pacing having been arrested by Floe’s hand upon her arm. “It’s just---!” She sighed and sat down.

Floe placed a comforting arm about her friend and let the silence do all the talking.

Renee suddenly sat bolt upright and said suddenly, “I’ve always wanted to fly, you know.”

Floe thought this an odd thing to say, but nodded and said, “I know, you’ve mentioned it before.”

Renee bit her lip, as if undecided on what to say next. In the end she said, “Y’know the part of the act where we flew through the air together – Darien and I?” Floe nodded and Renee continued, “I put that part in.”

Floe’s eyebrows arched incredulously. “Really,” Renee insisted. “I did. I went to Darien and… suggested it, and he… suggested it to Chip who… passed the word on.”

That actually wasn’t exactly what happened.

Renee had been… fed up, to say the least. So had Darien for that matter. She was thoroughly annoyed with what she saw as his incompetence and he was annoyed with what he saw as her incompetence. Chip was quite fed up with them both for being such whiney brats.

Chip had recently left the practice area to get himself some Tylenol – Renee and Darien were giving him quite the headache. At the moment, the two performers were engaged and a fierce debate. Actually, ‘fierce debate’ didn’t do it justice. They were engaged in a vicious shouting match.

They had just simultaneously screeched “Why don’t you get the hell over yourself?” and were presently huffing and puffing. In the temporary calm, Renee stated angrily, “If my so-called ‘incompetence’ bugs you so much, why don’t you just teach me to fly like you do?”

She realized belatedly that had been a very poor choice of words and a very real desire. She cursed herself for uttering one of her closest-kept desires.

Darien had looked at her oddly after she said this, and it had given her the uncomfortable feeling that he could see right into her. She blushed under that stare. Eventually he said, “Maybe I will.”

Renee still didn’t know if she had thought that good or bad.

When Chip returned he has been quite surprised to see Renee and Darien actually working together for once. He was even more surprised to see that they’d come up with an entire sequence in the act. It began with Renee running off, seemingly from Darien, and he following her, carting scarlet material along. However, she’d run too far, and he’d have stop for he’d run out of material. Darien then turned around and ran off, taking to flight. Renee followed him a little way, but stopped and simply watched him float about.

However, by running after him a ways, Renee was now perfectly in Darien’s flight path, and so Darien easily swooped downward, snatched her up, and ran for another take off and ribbon-hanging flight over the audience.

Chip had said he wouldn’t dream of letting such an idea be passed up, immediately ran off to run it by the officials, and the sequence was incorporated into the act and survived to the day of the show, looking at it’s best and even making Renee smile despite her loathing of sir pretty-face Darien.

Actually, ‘pretty-face’ didn’t fit anymore. Nor did ‘ladies man.’ Renee made a face. Some little meek voice in her was viciously enforcing that Darien wasn’t just a pretty face and wasn’t just a ladies’ man. A more extreme voice was insisting that he probably had never even shagged anybody, but Renee ignored that irrational one. The original voice of ‘Darien isn’t all that bad’ proceeded to suggest Renee go find out that there is far more to the fellow. Renee scowled at this, packed her things, changed out of costume, and proceeded to the party for the performers that had been designated for after the performance. Floe had already left for it.

Determined, she set an expression she would normally wear upon her face and was careful not to act out of the ordinary.

Which was hard as her heart was still hammering.

She came to the door of the designated ‘party lounge’, took a deep breath, turned the door handle, and entered. The first thing she saw was Darien.

Instantly, she lost her nerve.

This is a piece of writing from my 2005 archives. You can find my current work via @tryskits

#prose #fiction #oc writing #old writing #deviantArt archive #writing archive #TrysKits work #Age 14 #00s #romance #2005

[compellingselling]

Here are my favorite advertising podcasts. Well, podcast. Singular.

Tagline, with Tim Nudd of Muse by Clio, is an oral history of some great advertising campaigns. The podcast's description says, "Tim Nudd digs into classic commercials and campaigns by talking to the people who made them." And they mean ALL of the people.

The account handlers, the planners, the creatives, the clients, the directors, the actors, the editors, the composers, the key grips, the caterers. Okay, maybe not the key grips and caterers. All the people who played a role in shaping the campaign's success.

For us old-timers, it's a great reminder of the roller coaster of luck, triumph, and tragedy that is the creative process. For newcomers, it's an accurate peek inside a process that seems mysterious from the outside.

Here are my 5 favorite episodes. I strongly commend them all to you.

5. Motel 6 / We'll leave the light on for you

We know this has a tragic ending, but it's still great to hear the origin story. You also get to hear a bunch of the campaign's best spots as well as that infectious music track on its own without Tom Bodett's voice.

4. Skittles / Blank the Rainbow

This starts with a good reminder that the brand assets this team inherited were centered around the rainbow and twee "magic." So it's especially fascinating to find out that this campaign wasn't trying to be weird, it was trying to be DARK. There are also some fun backstories on now-classic lines of dialogue. 

3. Apple / Get a Mac

Campaign US compiled an oral history of this campaign in 2016. Those articles’ colorful, horrific descriptions of the hell of working on the Apple account must have made it hard for Media Arts Lab to recruit after it came out.

This podcast covers the same ground, but it's easier and more fun to digest. We hear about the germ of an idea that gets alley-ooped by the CD, and we hear how the idea evolved into the campaign we know and love. I was surprised to hear how many they shot that never aired.

2. Bud Light / Real Men of Genius

What a ride! This is SUCH an accurate depiction of the big agency creative process – a stressful jump ball involving a ton of creatives, someone who has a kind of idea rooted in a human insight, a CD who spotted a germ of an idea and improved on it, the account lead who champions it, and the client who killed the idea the moment he first heard it. I'll stop before I rob you of any more cliffhangers and plot twists.

I especially enjoyed hearing how they ended up with the music and voice that were so integral to the campaign.

I also had never noticed how templated it was – for hundreds of spots for 10 years. There's a lesson here about not ruining a good campaign and shouting down any new team members who suggest "we need to mix things up to keep it fresh."

And then of course it's a delight to hear so many of the laugh-out-loud-funny spots in their entirety.

The only thing missing that I heard in an Advertising Week presentation by this team back in the day was that this started as a big flip of the bird at Budweiser's "This Bud's for you" campaign.

1. Dos Equis / The Most Interesting Man in the World

I loved this campaign. I was intrigued how the visuals didn't match the soundtrack, how the vignettes would jump all over the place chronologically, and I loved that wonderfully so-understated-it's-believable line at the end. So it was great to hear how it all came about.

This, too, is an accurate glimpse into agency life. A creative team who didn't like the brief and begrudgingly brought a few lame tries to their first internal review. And a CD who spotted a germ of an idea for a campaign that became a legend. (If you're seeing that I as a CD am drawn to stories where CDs save the day, YOU'RE RIGHT.)

It's great to hear the details of the casting process on this one, too. And while I always assumed this whole schtick was ripped off from Chuck Norris jokes, you'll find out that it was inspired by something from Saturday Night Live.

Listen to them all and fall in love with advertising again.

#advertising #ads #adverts #creative advertising #advertising education #radio ads #advertising campaigns #I'm a mac #The most interesting man in the world #Real men of genius #We'll leave the light on for you

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Needles and Ink, Pt 1

Lena doesn't usually make a habit of ogling other people's tattoos. Oh, she clocks them, certainly, her eyes catching on bits of colors and clean lines that peek out from underneath sleeves and collars, but she doesn't stare. But when she sees the long tail of a dragon coiled along a woman's arm, she can't help but fall into awe at the artistry of it.

Its bearer is a tall brunette with a side cut who stands in front of Lena in line for coffee one Thursday morning, oblivious to Lena's attention. Lena lets herself study the way the scales seem to move with the muscle underneath the skin, the way the colors still pop like new despite the fact it's fully healed. The technique is flawless, its placement precise, and while Lena sees the influence of the traditional japanese style, its been blended with a fantasy element that morphs the snarling dragon into something truly unique. Lena knows she'll never see anything like it anywhere else.

Lena only looks away when the woman orders, and then Lena herself, but when they bump shoulders at the cream and sugar station, Lena finds herself drawn to the art once more. This time, the woman catches her staring.

"You have beautiful art," Lena says, by way of explanation when the woman gives her a pointed stare punctuated with an arched brow. "It's spectacular, actually. Who's your artist?"

The woman smirks. "Kara Danvers," comes the swift reply. "She's based here in National City. You should check her out."

"I think I will," Lena says, pressing the lid of her coffee back into place. "Thanks. And again-- truly magnificent."

She leaves with a nod, and she does indeed do search for Kara Danvers in National City. She's immediately taken to Argo Tattoo's website, and when she clicks on the artists list Kara Danvers is featured prominently as the owner and head artist. Clicking through to her instagram portfolio, Lena sees example upon example proving the dragon in the coffee shop hadn't been a fluke: the woman has talent.

An insane amount of talent, Lena discovers as she continues to swipe through. A few of the features pieces adhere to traditional styles, executed impeccably and demostrating that this Kara Danvers both understands and respects where her medium came from. But more than half of the pieces are wonderfully illustrative, uniquely stylized regardless of the content. Mermaids, animals, flora... all of it beautiful, all of it mesmerizing.

When she sees a traditional koi, a good two years into the woman's timeline, followed by a slew of other Japanese style pieces, Lena knows she won't be leaving National City without paying this woman visit.

---

When Kara receives an appointment for a consult via her website, a quiet thrill runs through her. As the owner of her small two-man shop, she's lucky enough to rely more on commissions than walk ins, but she's not exactly booked up, so the prospect of a new client-- asking for her specifically-- envigorates her to the point of nervousness.

Kara clocks her client as soon as she steps into the shop, and her heart falls when she sees it's a woman in a business suit, crisply pressed and hair upswept into a tasteful bun. She didn't have a single visible tattoo or piercing beyond the traditional single lobes; Kara knew her type: something small, discreet. Maybe a flower. Or a tramp stamp, if she were lucky.

She'd been hoping for a bigger piece.

Still, she wears a genuine smile as she extends her own colorful hand towards the woman.

"Hi, are you Lena?"

The woman nods. "And you must be Kara Danvers."

"Sure am! Why don't you come back to my station, and we can talk about what you'd like to get."

Kara leads the way, and when the door closes behind them, it suddenly occurs to Kara that this woman is gorgeous. With dark hair and red lips, she cuts a striking figure in Kara's little work space. She struggles not to stare as she takes a seat on her rolling stool, and motions for Lena to take a seat in the tattoo chair.

"So, what were you thinking?"

"I'm in the market for a japanese style tattoo, content to be determined."

Kara nods with a smile. Of the traditional styles, japanese is her favorite. She can work with that.

"Okay," she says. "To be determined by what?"

"You, really. Real estate is a little limited, and I'd like your input on what would work with the overall flow and concept."

Kara's eyebrows lift on their own accord. Perhaps she judged a little too early. She should have known better than to jump to conclusions. This woman is definitely no stranger to the realm of tattoos.

She nods. "All right. Is it okay if I see what we're working with?"

Lena nods, rising to her feet. Stripping out of her blazer, she unbuttons her blouse with long fingers, and with each opened gap Kara realizes just how wrong she'd been.

There's a certain, unspoken line between a person who has tattoos and a person who is tattooed. Lena is tattooed-- from edge to edge, Kara realizes as the blouse is set aside. Creamy skin meets lines of color at collar and wrists, and bold japanese cloud designs descend to disappear below the waist of her trousers.

Kara sits back on her stool, gobsmacked as she takes in the whole of Lena. Limited real estate wasn't a euphemism-- there's only a single gap between Lena's left hip and extending to only halfway up her hip. The rest is all filled with traditional japanese imagery, all united by stylized backgrounds. Lena's not just gorgeous: she's a walking work of art.

"Wow," Kara utters. Her eyes flicker across Lena's body, taking in the dragon creeping up one hip and a foo dog guarding one shoulder. Lena turns, and a phoenix curls up her back with wings outspread, ready to take flight. "That's... beautiful."

"Thank you," Lena murmurs, weathering Kara's stare with warm patience. Kara finally blinks free of her trance, and focuses on the open space.

"There?" she asks. When Lena nods and lifts her arm to expose the area, Kara leans in for a closer look. As far as she can tell, it truly is a free space, not blending through from any other design. From the look of her other pieces, Kara knows she'll want something unifying, something that blends in rather than stand out, but beyond that, there's a lot she could do with the space.

"What do you think you could fit there?" Lena asks.

Kara shrugs, then pauses. She looks up with a grin. "Dude... you got a tiger yet?"

"Right leg. Sorry."

Damn. That would have looked so cool. But Kara quickly moves on. "Well, there's a lot we could do there, honestly, so it's really more about what you'd like."

Lena lets her arm fall with a small frown. "That's the trouble. I've already gone through most of the traditional images."

"Well... there's nothing wrong with doubling up,"  she points out, only to disregard the notion when Lena's nose wrinkles at the suggestion. "Okay, different question then: where you looking for an eye catcher, or more of a background piece."

"Either."  Lena pauses. "Actually, no. That's a lie. I don't consider any of my pieces to be background, or filler. Each one is... a different exhibit. I want there to be something to look at."

Kara nods. "Yeah. I get that."

Her heart pounds, conscious of the way Lena stands unabashedly in front of her. There's nothing sexual about her stance or their conversation, but Kara finds herself wondering exactly what other images Lena has below the waist.

Clearing her throat, Kara turns and reaches for some trace paper and a marker. "How about I take a trace of the space, and I'll work on it for a couple weeks, and see what I can come up with."

Lena turns and lifts her arm again obligingly. When Kara leans in to press the paper to Lena's skin, she's acutely aware of the warm skin under her fingers and the light fragrance of Lena's perfume. Her mind races to think of anything else as she traces, and cycles through a variety of options on how to fill the space.

Suddenly, she freezes.

"What's wrong?" Lena asks, her voice low.

"A crane," Kara states. She looks up to meet Lena's gaze. "A crane would look beautiful here."

Lena's eyes widen slightly-- clearly, she hadn't considered it. But the next moment, her entire face warms into a blinding smile.

"So that's a yes then," Kara surmises with a grin.

"Yes," comes the swift response. "Yes, yes yes! I love it."

Finished with her tracing, Kara rolls back and returns the smile with a grin.

"All right then. I can work with that."

---

They schedule one session before Lena leaves National City. When Lena walks into her appointment two weeks later, though, her thoughts are turbulent and stormy. Talking with her mother never bodes well for a good day. Still, she manages to offer Kara a smile, barely, before the artist turns to her work station to reveal the two designs she came up with.

"I wasn't sure which you'd like more," Kara explains. "I figure the first one is more in line with your existing work, if you're looking for something for people to look at, the second one is a little more... dynamic?"

Lena scans the two drawings, noting that both are breathtakingly beautiful. The first is a solitary crane, its feet submerged in a spread of flat water. Its attention is fixated on the water, neck poised as though it might come alive at any moment to spear a fish.

The second image displays the same crane, only this one poised admidst a nest of reeds, where a trio of eggs sit. Kara's right-- the sinuous neck of this crane conveys a sense of motion, a mother waiting in watchful anticipation for her chicks to hatch.

Lena's eyes catch little details in both of them that she loves... the broken reeds that show where the mother crane harvested to make a nest, and the reflection of the still pond in the first. The mother crane calls to her, evoking an empathetic softness that almost makes her coo as she runs her fingers along the delicate lines. As soft and beautiful as it is, though-- as much as Lena might wish she were the maternal type... it isn't who she is. She's mother.

A predator, on the other hand, eternally on watch for opportunity to rear its head? Abso-fucking-lutely.

"This one," Lena says, pinching the edge of the first image between thumb and forefinger. "100%"

"That's what I like to hear," Kara grins. She sets the discarded drawing aside and rises. "Let me go get this on a stencil and then we'll get started."

Like the crane, Lena feels sharp as she removes her shirt and unbuttons her pants. Her mother's words prickle under her skin, distracting her from the touch of Kara's fingers against her skin as Kara first places the stencil, then guides her down to lay on her side.

"Are you ready?" Kara asks.

Lena hums in affirmation, already mentally dialling out. But instead of getting lost in her thoughts, the line of fire the needle tracks across her skin is punctuated by her mother's voice ringing in her ears.

Foolish.

Aimless.

Disgrace.

Moving the company across the country wasn't supposed to be easy. Lena had expected to fight the board, the investors, her employees... She'd just hoped the one place she wouldn't have to claw tooth and nail would be her own family.

Not that her mother's opinion matters, Lena told herself as Kara continued to work her magic. Lillian never approved of her actions when she wasn't working for the family company-- why had Lena expected things to change now that she was? She should be used to it by now, but even so Lillian's disappointment stings even more than the buzz of the tattoo gun.

Lena doesn't realize she's crying until the tattoo machine goes silent.

"Too rough?"

"No," Lena coughs, her voice damp. "No, it's not you...."

"Let's take a break anyway."

They're barely an hour in, but Lena lets Kara wipe her down and tape some plastic wrap to the unfinished tattoo before helping her sit up. When Kara hands her a tissue, Lena accepts it with a watery smile. "Thanks."

Kara gazes at her in concern. "Wanna talk about it?"

Lena shakes her head, dabbing at her eyes. "It's just family stuff. There's been a lot going on, and absolutely no one likes what I'm doing, and it-- it's just a lot."

Nodding as though she understands, Kara rubs circles on Lena's knees with her hands, warm and gentle. "Sounds like it. I'm sorry things have been so rough for you. Do you want to reschedule?"

"No!" Lena shakes her head. This time, her smile is genuine as she dries her eyes. "Believe it or not, this actually helps."

"Yeah. I've heard that."

"I promise I won't blubber on you again."

"Hey," Kara says, wheeling back to her tattoo machine, "pretty ladies can blubber in my room all they like."

Kara freezes a moment later. "Wait. That came out wrong..."

"Did it though?" Lena teases, earning a huff of exasperation. "All right, fine. Best not to tease the woman doing permanent things to my body."

She's rewarded with the solid red flush of Kara's face and neck, as she quickly busied herself with refreshing her gloves and picking up her machine. Lena smiles again, this time small and satisfied. So Kara isn't completely unrattled then. Good to know she isn't the only one.

Lena settles back down on the table, and this time when the needle buzzes against her skin, her mind fills with thoughts of blonde hair and blue eyes, her mother all but forgotten.

---

"I love it," Kara hears from the mirror. She turns, and watches Lena admire her finished tattoo in the mirror. Not for the first time, Kara's gaze catches on Lena's near-naked torso, but for the moment she simply focuses on the wide smile that graces Lena's features.

"I'm glad you do. I think I do too." Stripping her gloves off, she begins to wipe down her table, still watching Lena. After a moment, she tilts her head. "How'd you find me? I mean... I'm glad you did, you're, well... a phenomenal canvas, to say the least. But I'm curious how you came to me."

Lena smirks, and something dangerous slithers down Kara's spine.

"I saw one of your works in the coffee shop. Dragon," Lena illustrates by tracing her own arm.

Kara perks up instantly. "Oh! You met my sister!"

When Lena smiles, Kara feels like the air got sucked from the room. It makes her feel hot and cold, like every nerve is firing at once. She likes it. She feels like she could look at that smile for a hundred years and never tire of it.

"Your sister, huh? Well, you should give her a paycheck for being an excellent walking billboard for your services."

"She already got a free tattoo!"

Lena laughs, and Kara nearly melts at the sound of it.

---

"Girl, you got it bad," Nia says after Lena leaves. Leaning in the doorway, she watches Kara try to tuck her payment into her jeans pocket, only to give up and shove the bills into Nia's hands.

"Put this in the till, will you? And I have no idea what you're talking about."

All Kara knows is that Lena had walked out without giving Kara her number, or vice versa. Kara had been too flabbergasted by her exorbitant payment to even think of anything else.

"Your rates are too low," Lena had said sternly. "This is how much I would pay a top artist in Metropolis, and it's what I'm paying you. Stop underselling yourself."

It was too much, way too much, but Lena had insisted, nearly twisting her arm until she accepted. But then she'd left, before Kara could even think to ask for a photo of the piece.

"A photo!!" Kara exclaims, smacking herself on the forehead. "I meant to ask for a photo! Damn it!"

Nia smirks. "Of her or the piece?"

Kara glares.

"Oh, come off it. Besides, from how buttoned up she was, I bet she's not keen on people seeing her tattoos anyway."

Making a face, Kara lets it go. "Yeah, you're probably right. But still..."

But Lena had said her pieces were like exhibits, implying that she let *some* people see them. Resuming her sterilization procedure, Kara desperately tried not to imagine a lover admiring Lena in the privacy of their home... and tried even harder not to imagine herself in their shoes.

---

"You got work done?" James fires off as soon as Lena steps into his shop. Contrary to his tone, his smile is wide as he moves in for a hug. Lena receives him with a smile, but swats his shoulderblade to chide him.

"The warning text was a courtesy, James Olsen. Not an invitation for a territorial dispute." She kisses his cheek as she pulls back. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine. Come on, lets go back." He leads them back to his workstation, talking all the way. "I mean, a little less fine knowing you got a flash from some hot rod in National City, but fine."

Rolling her eyes, Lena steps into the room after him. She climbs onto James' table and stripped out of her shirt. Lena smirks.

"This look like a flash to you?"

Her answer is a long, low whistle. James leans in close, then even closer as he studies the work. "Is that... wow. Damn, girl, you found a good one."

"I know right?!" She leaned back, lounging while James prepared his gear. "I literally saw her work in a coffeeshop and got her name right then and there."

"So?" James snaps one glove on. "What's her name? I haven't heard of anyone doing work of that caliber in National City."

"Kara Danvers, out of Argo Tattoos."

"You got her insta?"

Lena hums, handing over her phone. James takes it with his bare hand, propping it on his knee as he scrolls through. The further he goes, the slacker his jaw gets. Lena just watches, smug.

"Damn. All right, okay. So, I got someone amazing moving in on my turf, no big deal." He hands the phone back and pulls on his second glove. "But for the next six hours, you're mine. Roll over, lady."

Lena obliges, settling on her stomach to give James access to his piece-- the great unfinished phoenix. It's been their project for years, sessions squeezed in when they both had the time. Lately, Lena's been the biggest constraint, practically living in the office since Lex's arrest.

Kicking his machine on, James leans in. "Okay, deep breath."

Lena inhales, and slowly releases it as the needle makes contact. This, she knows. This, she loves. She could take or leave the company, her mother's snide comments, the revilement of the greater public. But James' table is a safe place, and she's going to enjoy her time.

And if, Lena reckons as she relaxes into it-- if her mind wanders back to a certain blonde back in National City... who could blame her?

---

Kara swallows her bite of potsticker and answers the shop phone on the final ring.

"Argo Tattoo and Piercing, how can I help you?"

"Kara Danvers, please," says a male voice.

"Yup, this is she."

"Hi, Kara. This is James Olsen. I'm--"

"Metropolis' biggest tattoo artist," Kara coughs, shooting to her feet, lunch forgotten. "I know who you are. Um. Hi?"

James chuckles. "Hi. I know this is kind of out of the blue, but I've recently come across some of your work, and I wanted to reach out and talk to you about maybe coming out to visit Metropolis for a guest artist position at my shop."

Blinking, Kara chokes on her own spit. She coughs, pulling the phone the phone away from her as she doubles over. When she recovers, Kara stares at the phone for a moment before bringing it back to her ear.

"Um, Mr. Olsen?"

"Still here," he says amiably. "And it's James, please."

Kara breathes. "Right. James. Sorry about that, um... what was that you were saying? It sounded like...."

"I'd like you to come to Metropolis. I've seen some of your work, and I think you'd make a lot of people here really happy."

Kara takes one deep breath, then another.

"But you know what, how about we talk a little bit, and see if that aligns with what you're looking to get out of the business."

Talk. Kara can do that.

"Sure. Let's talk."

---

"Question," Winn asks, lifting one finger as Kara paces around him, "how could you freaking NOT go to Metropolis?"

"I have a shop here," Kara exclaims. "I have clients--"

"Kara. I say this with love, but... This place is practically dead. But with exposure like this? You'd be writing your own check!"

Kara takes a shaking breath, then turns to her sister. "What do you think?"

Alex holds her gaze intently. "I think you're in the red, and the crane tattoo was a taste of what you could be earning if you put yourself out there."

"You two are ganging up on me--"

"We just want what's best for you, Kara," Alex insists. She braces Kara by the shoulders and looks her in the eye. "You asked for our opinion. You know we'll take care of the shop while you're gone. What's holding you back?"

"I'd be working with some of the best tattoo artists in the country, Alex. What if-- what if I don't measure up?"

"They're not asking on faith. They've seen your art already-- they just want you to do it somewhere else for a month."

"Yeah," Winn chimes in. "And it's not like you'll be abandoning us. You're going to be raising a lot of publicity for the shop while you're there. Heck, I bet some clients will even follow you here to get tattooed if you run out of time in Metropolis."

Kara's still not sold. "You think?"

"We know so," Alex affirms. "Come on, Kara. How many other ways can we tell you to go before you'll believe us?"

Finally, Kara exhales, releasing the tension in her shoulders.

"Okay."

"Okay what?" Alex prompts.

Kara grins. Their enthusiasm finally sinks in, gripping her by the chest and refusing to let go.

"Okay. I'm going to Metropolis!"

#supercorp #tattoo au #based on my tattooed supercorp headcanons i had a while ago #bc guess who found a new tattoo show on netflix #and has her own tattoo coming up #and thus has ink on the brain? #this girl #read more

[reed-archived]

Fairytale

Request: No

Pairing: Demon!Ranboo x Pastor boy!Tommy

Warnings: NSFW, dub-con, possessive behavior, small blood, dacryphilia, size difference

Word count: 2154

Ranboo is a demon, to put it bluntly. He’s a part of the seven deadly sins, known as Envy. He spends his free time wandering the overworld, seeing what mortals are up to these days.

Ranboo blended in with the gloom of the forest one day in particular, his footsteps crushing the dead leaves beneath him. Certain animals avoided him, while others were unconcerned by his presence. He searched around for anything to occupy his time, something to pique his interest.

That's when his gaze fell on a living being. A mortal boy with curly blonde hair, one that looked so tempting to touch and feel. Eyes that reminded him of the arctic on a murky day and quite fair looking skin from afar. For the first time, it was a mortal teenager who drew his attention; he was unlike any other.

Ranboo had to get a closer look. He took a step closer, watching as the boy gently laughed as a deer approached him and pressed its nose against the tip of his finger. He reminded him of an angel, and the sun had done him such a favor; his hair glistened wonderfully in the sunlight. The flowers, grass and wildlife that was around him was really stunning.

He paused at the penumbra's edge, his tails swaying slightly in anticipation. When the deer eventually realized there was another presence in the forest, it bolted away from the boy and into another part of the woods.

The boy was perplexed as to why the deer fled so quickly, so he peered around till his gaze fell on dual-colored eyes. The only resemblance between the two eyes was how brilliant they stood out in comparison to the shadows.

Ranboo took advantage of the opportunity to emerge from the shadows and show off to the boy. When he saw the demon, his eyes widened; it wasn't like anyone he'd ever seen before. Skin, hair, horns, and tails are all multicolored. It was a two-tailed creature. With sharp horns curling from its head, that was obvious enough that this was no human being. This was a demon.

As he took a step forward, the boy rose from his position, ready to flee.

“Stop.”

He remained motionless, gently rotating his head to face the demon.

“Wh-what do you want from me?”

The sound of the blonde boy's voice sent shivers up Ranboo's spine. He wanted to hear more of it, to make him repeat his name, to make him scream things he'd never screamed before.

He could see the boy wasn't an ordinary mortal, now that he was much closer to him. This mortal retained so much purity, his dual-colored eyes traveled down from his head to his chest. His gaze fell on a beaded necklace with a wooden cross dangling from the bottom.

“I want you,” As he got closer to the boy, the demon's voice dropped an octave. Ranboo grabbed him by the waist and pulled him closer to his body, before he could escape.

In every way, Ranboo towered over the teenager; he had to hunch his back to even brush his lips over the blonde's ear.

“Are you not tired of playing nice? Don’t you just want to be released from those shackles of clarity and let yourself go?” He whispered huskily into his ear.

As the boy relaxed in his arms, he grinned, and he could see he was pondering over his words. His hands moved gently across the boy's body, allowing him time to consider.

“I-I guess? I’ve never really liked having to go to church everyday… But my father’s the pastor, I just want to make him happy…” The boy stammered, his gaze drawn to the black and white hands sensually massaging his arms.

This boy is the son of a pastor.

The son of a pastor.

Everything happened so quickly, Ranboo seized his arms and pinned him to the ground. Flowers in their immediate vicinity were crushed or blown away by the intensity of the wind. When his eyes met the demons, the blonde gasped, closing and opening his eyes as his breath hitched. They were filled with hunger.

“Tell me your name. I want to know the name of the mortal I’m going to fuck~” Ranboo leaned down, kissing down the blondes neck.

"My… My name is— Tommy," Tommy gasped, pressing his thighs together and quickening his breathing as the demon's lips trailed down.

“Hello, Tommy. My name is Ranboo.”

As Tommy gazed in disbelief, Ranboo grabbed the beaded necklace and yanked it off, sending beads flying everywhere. Not only because of it, but also because it became clear that this was no ordinary demon. This was one of the seven deadly sins, Envy.

Perhaps he should have heeded his father's words.

The moment Ranboo resumed his descent, he realized it was too late to turn back. He drew his shorts down to his ankles by slipping his fingers beneath the hem. He didn't stop there; he removed his shoes and socks, as well as his shorts, and laid them in the grass.

This was all happening so quickly; one moment he was playing with the animals in the forest, the next Envy was ripping his underwear off. Please, God, forgive him for what is about to occur.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ranboo kissed the insides of his thighs, his hand creeping closer to his hole, “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Tommy bit his lower lip as a finger circled his hole's rim before entering within. He knew it would happen one day, but with a demon? He had never done anything like it before in his life. However, the idea is appealing.

Oh no, his mind has already begun being tainted, with thoughts of this sinner before him.

Tommy whined as the finger inside of him eagerly thrusted in and out of him at a fast pace. Soon it went from two, three then four fingers. Four fingers were inside of him, stretching and thrusting in and out. He was a panting mess, he’s never felt anything like this before and he doesn’t know if he regrets ever letting this happen or not.

Ranboo took his fingers back out after a few more minutes of preparing the boy, watching the blonde's reaction. His face was flushed, and he was panting and trying to catch his breath.

“You’re so cute. I can’t wait to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

Tommy thought his face couldn’t get any redder the moment the demon slipped not one, but two dicks out of his pants. Two!? His eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise, and he couldn't take his gaze away from them. Ranboo laughed and grabbed the blonde's hips, pulling them closer to him.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” He aligned the first dick with his hole, “In the first half, that is.” He slowly slid in, stopping half way to let the other adjust. He slid in slowly, pausing halfway to let the other adjust. Ranboo watched as the boy beneath him tried his hardest to maintain his cool, but he wondered how he'd react if he had two cocks inside him.

The second dick prodded at the boy before shoving its way in the same hole. He didn't think Ranboo would actually put both of them inside, hence his eyes shot open as a silent scream ripped from his throat.

“Oh my God! Ranboo!” The blonde panted, his breathing quickening as his body attempted to adjust to being stretched beyond belief, “It’s too much!”

An unintelligible smile formed on Ranboo’s face, “Don’t use the lord’s name in vain, my love.”

He pressed his hips flush against the other’s, bottoming out both of his dicks in the boy’s ass. Tommy's eyes welled up with tears, and his asshole throbbed with pain. But the demon stayed true to his word, he showered the boy with affection, as he waited for him to adjust around his cocks.

After a while, he slid his hips slowly and halted at the tip of his cocks, keeping an eye on Tommy's face for any signs of discomfort. The blonde's eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head as he pushed back in, seeing as his reaction was the opposite of discomfort.

He took that as a cue to keep going, but at a slower pace so as not to endanger his sweet little angel. Tommy liked how gentle Ranboo was with him, and he wasn't sure he'd regret sharing his first time with a demon of sin.

“Feels so… good,” Tommy moaned, “Love being stuffed full of your cocks,” His lips suddenly squeezed together, preventing him from continuing to speak. He couldn't believe he'd just said the most sinful thing he'd ever said in his life, aside from his daily swearing. Despite the blonde's amazement at his own comments, Ranboo was very pleased.

“Don’t be ashamed,” he cooed, rolling his hips into the other's, “I mean, that’s not as bad as getting fucked by a sin…” Tommy's spine arched as he let out a loud, trembling moan after he delivered a strong thrust into the boy.

"As I've already stated, nothing is more immoral than being fucked by a sin, so let yourself go," His thrusts picked up, his hips slapped against the boy’s ass, “just give into your desires.” All they could hear were the sounds of skins slapping against each other, as Tommy finally listened to the demon before him, any restraint he kept on himself was broken.

He threw his head back, wallowing in the incredible pleasure of Ranboo practically rearranging his insides, as loud moans erupted from his throat. His dick was a painful red, with the tip oozing with pre-cum and clinging to his stomach.

Ranboo’s dual-colored tails separated from each other, each of them coiling themselves around the boy’s ankles to pull him close to his body. He wanted Tommy to remember this moment and that he was the one who had made him feel so fantastic.

“No one else can make you feel this amazing,” He grunted, gripping onto the blonde's hip with a bruising grip, “I’m the only one who can make you feel this way, no one else is allowed to get close or even touch you.”

Tommy has no idea where this sudden possessiveness came from, or why it was such a major turn on for him. “I’m yours! Only you can touch my body, only you can taint me!” He cried out, caving in to the demon's demands. His fingers were tightly clutched on the grass, with only a few ripping from the earth's rich dirt.

Ranboo's nails scraped into Tommy's skin as he drove his cocks deeper into the blonde. Blood dripped down his sides as his skin shattered under the pointed nails. Tommy wondered if he was in heaven or hell, and if God would ever forgive him for what he had let happen. His jaw hung open as drool flowed from his lips and down his chin, and his cock pulsed embarrassingly. Cum soon spurted out of him, coating his stomach with the pearl white substance.

Despite the fact that the demon continued to penetrate the teen, regardless of the fact that he was well aware that he had already come and was overstimulated, he desired to corrupt the blonde. He wanted to contaminate him, to spill his cum in him.

Tommy's eyes welled up with tears as he pleaded Ranboo to slow down. The demon hushed him before ramming his hips to a halt with a few more violent thrusts. Semen was pumped into the boy by both cocks, and it continued after it overflowed past his cocks. The teenager shook his thighs, sobbing from the overstimulating sensation of warm cum.

Sweat clung to both of their bodies, and the birds in the forest chirped in unison to their heavy breathing.

Ranboo put his right hand over Tommy's belly, his palm hovering there. The blonde cocked his head to see what he was up to.

A bright, green light shone from his palm, and the teenager felt a burning sensation in the same spot. He let out a pained groan, but the sensation passed quickly and the light faded out. Tommy wiped his eyes, and just when he thought things couldn't get any crazier, the symbol of Envy appeared on his stomach.

Tommys eyes shot up, to meet with Ranboos, “What… What the fuck did you do!?”

Ranboo raised a brow at him, an expression of mild amusement, now adorned his features “Did you think those words were just mere dirty talk? Oh, no, no-no-no… You’re mine now. I just bonded you to me.” He smiled with mischievous delight, as he kissed Tommy on the lips.

At that moment, Tommy knew for sure that God and his father weren’t ever going to forgive him…

#poppytwt #tomboo #tommy x ranboo #smut

[citrusdarling7]

Kinktober Day 5- Corruption Kink with The Darkling

summary- the leader of Ravka’s Second Army takes a special interest in his innocent new solider, you

cw- kinda manipulative behavior, loss of virginity, use of “y/n” once, use of the word “sir”, and the Darkling himself is a warning lmfao

🗡—————————————————————🗡

Shadows danced across the palace walls in an unnatural rhythm. All of the curtains were drawn and the only sound that could be heard was the occasional clunk of boots. Oprichniki guards were surely patrolling the halls, but they were the least of your worries.

Truthfully, you were unsure of why the Darkling had requested your company tonight. You had been told by a maid that he needed the help of a Corporalki to test some sort of new Fabrikator device. But you had only been in the Little Palace for a mere month, and surely someone with more experience would be of more use to him. Nonetheless, you stood waiting outside of his quarters at exactly midnight, just as you had been requested to do.

Suddenly, the long door slid open, creaking on its hinges. The Darkling stood tall in his dark kefta as a satisfied smile graced his face. You inclined your head slightly to show your respect for the general.

“Y/n. You look lovely, as always. Come in and join me.” He stepped to the side, allowing you room to pass. As you entered the dark quarters, you watched him wave away two nearby Oprichniki.

This was your first time visiting the Darkling’s private rooms, and you were more than impressed. A round table in the war room depicted all of Ravka, along with its neighbouring countries. A variety of little figurines had been placed over certain cities and trade routes. Beside it, there was a smaller table that sat next to a bursting bookshelf. The country’s emblem had been stitched to a large banner which hung from what you assumed to be a window.

“The new kefta suits you. It was a shame that the old one was wrecked beyond repair.” He reached for your sleeve, then stopped for a visual confirmation of consent. Proud to be wearing your Grisha colors, you held your left arm out to him. The Darkling admired the material between his fingers, most likely impressed with the work of one of his loyal Fabrikators.

“Thank you, Sir. Grisha technology is still so new to me, yet incredibly intriguing. Where is the new device I am meant to test?” You had glanced around the room, but seen nothing that looked as if it needed a Corporalki to operate it.

“Ah, about that. Forgive me, but I may have lied a bit to get you here,” he told you with narrowed eyes. You took a step closer, interested in what the general had to say. “The matters I wish to discuss with you tonight are rather confidential.”

Ohh. This was a matter of war and politics. Well, now you understood why he had sent those two guards away. Before you realized your abilities, your studies in Balakirev had been focused on international relations. It made sense that he would come to you.

“Is there a particular issue you wish to seek my counsel on?” The Darkling closed the gap between you, unknowingly pressing your back against the edge of the circular table.

“You’re too innocent for your own good, especially considering your status as a Heartrender,” he laughed, his hand brushing your hair behind your ears. Unsure of how to respond to his sudden, you meekly smiled up at him.

“Since the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that I needed to make you mine.” Cold fingers traced your jawline as he spoke.

“I am yours. I answer to my general, as any good soldier would,” you told him. You had concluded that this was a test of your loyalty, which made sense, seeing as you were still a fairly new recruit to the Second Army. “I would slit my throat before I join forces with the Shu Han or the witch-hunting Fjerdans.” The Darkling let out a deep chuckle as he shook his head.

“Although I admire your undying loyalty to Ravka, that is not what I meant. Saints, you truly are clueless.” You frowned, a bit angry that he would say such a thing. Although the mastery of your Heartrender abilities was still coming along, you considered yourself to be decently intelligent. “Do not fret, pretty girl. I did not summon you here to reprimand you. Your training is coming along wonderfully,” he assured you.

“Then Sir, why am I here?” He chose to non-verbally answer your question by grabbing your face and pulling you in for a rather passionate kiss.

You would never admit it to any of your fellow Grisha, but you had never been kissed before. In that moment, it was everything that you had ever imagined. The Darkling gripped the back of your head with both of his hands as his lips worked against yours, sending waves of euphoria down your spine. His tongue invaded your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

When you finally forced yourself to push him away out of a need for breath, you realized how wrong this was. A reflective surface nearby revealed that your lips were flushed red and your hair was completely askew. Immediately, you headed for the door.

“Wait a moment,” the Darkling requested. His hands snaked around your waist from behind, successfully trapping you in his grip. “I apologize for being so forward with you. But Saints, you have ignored all of my previous advances! I simply wanted to confirm that you were interested.”

“Advances,” you spoke in a shaky breath. “Sir, what advances?”

“Was it not obvious? The flowers delivered to your room, the introduction to the royal family, the new kefta. Why else would I have been so welcoming to a Heartrender who came to my army nearly ten years late, with absolutely no battle skills whatsoever, if not for my clear desire?”

“I thought you saw potential in me,” you admitted. He laughed again, although this time it upset you.

“You are quite beautiful, but not of much use to me or the Second Army. A Heartrender who refuses to kill is like a dog that doesn’t bark.” Your face blossomed with shame at his reminder. He was right; you had made it clear to all of your instructors that you would not take a life. “Do not fret, pretty girl. I would reckon that all you need is a bit of corruption. Some darkness put into you.” The Darkling’s lips met the crook between your collarbone and neck. He nipped at your skin while humming quietly to himself.

“What do you mean?” you asked nervously.

“Let me ruin you; wreck that glowing innocence of yours. I will show you pleasure beyond what you have ever imagined,” he propositioned as one of his hands started to fumble with the fastenings of your kefta. His hot mouth against your skin made it so that the pit of your stomach felt as if it was on fire. “If you ask nicely, I might even be gentle.”

Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, you shrugged your kefta off your shoulders and turned to face the man. Dark eyes met yours as you wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. You silently prayed that the Saints would forgive you for the mistake you were currently making.

This time around, the kiss quickly escalated. Strong arms lifted and positioned you on the table, scattering about dozens of figurines and notes. The Darkling hastily removed his own kefta while you discarded your boots and woolen stockings. Underneath your red Grisha coat was a simple black dress.

“My color looks wonderful on you,” he praised you as his hands slid under your dress. You whimpered in surprise and anticipation as two of his fingers gripped the waistband of your undergarments and pulled them down. He had to manually bend your knees to get the garment completely off of you, seeing as your body was too overwhelmed to do much.

“My pretty girl, has a man ever touched you before?” The Darkling’s fingers grazed against your bare core while he awaited your response.

“N-Never like that, Sir,” you told him, attempting to hang your head to shield your reddening face. He used his free hand to grab your chin and yank it upwards.

“Good. I want you all to myself.” His digits trailed gently across your cunt, collecting your arousal with every swipe. “So wet for me,” he hummed in approval. Two fingers penetrated you suddenly, eliciting your body to lean forward into his. Once again, your lips met his in a fiery kiss.

As his fingers continuously thrusted into your sensitive cunt, it became harder and harder for you to concentrate on the kiss. Small moans left your mouth every few seconds as the pleasure continued to grow.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed in between heavy pants. Your head fell between the crook of his neck as the Darkling added another finger, which increased the sensations you were feeling by ten-fold.

“Does that feel good, pretty girl?” Unable to form a coherent response, you opted to nod your head and whimper. The general’s fingers left you, leaving your cunt aching and clenching over nothing. “I think you’re ready for the real thing.”

Before you could process anything that had just happened, you were lying on black bed sheets in a very dark room as the Darkling attacked your neck with his lips. His bare cock was hard against your thigh. You were so overwhelmed by everything happening that you had yet to notice anything abnormal in his sleeping chambers.

“Give me your hand,” he demanded suddenly. You obeyed, although hesitantly. “It’s going to hurt at first. Dig your nails into my palm if you must.”

Without warning, he lined himself up to your entrance and began to slowly stretch your walls. You bit against your lip and clamped your eyes shut in an attempt to ignore the sharp pain. The Darkling pressed his forehead against yours as he let out a low groan.

“Saints, you’re fucking tight. You take me so well.” You had the sudden urge to claw at his back, which you acted on. As he bottomed out inside of you, your fingernails drew blood from his skin.

At least, they should have. When you retracted your hands, you were surprised to find no trace of blood. Perhaps your Grisha abilities had finally shown up in a most unexpected way. The Darkling came to a similar realization.

“My pretty girl, I am going to have so much fun with you.”

🗡—————————————————————🗡

(tagging some of you hotties even tho idk if you’re a grishaverse fan) (if you’re tired of getting tagged in my kinktober stuff lmk!)

@brriley @b-aobao @ravenriddlewrites @littlemulattokitten

#the darkling #grishaverse #shadown and bone #the darkling smut #kinktober #citrusdarling7kinktober #citrusdarlingkinktober #smuttober #grishaverse smut #six of crows

[pleasantanathema]

Pairing: Tetsurō Kuroo x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Consensual non-con (reader and Kuroo have agreed together to engage in a consensual non-consensual situation), degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, biting, choking, hair pulling, mentions of blood, spit, and smoking cigarettes

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a collab piece for the The Smut Pile Mafia Collab hosted by myself, @present-mel, and @linestrider​

You can find all the other wonderfully creative and smutty pieces on our masterlist!

And thank you @present-mel​ for this beautiful banner 💕

           Kuroo always took pride seeing you on stage, especially when you wore those provocative gowns that he bought for you. He sat back in his chair, one arm crossed across his chest while the other nursed a glass of bourbon to his lips. Tonight, you were more sensual than he’d seen you before, your hands cupped around the microphone, hips swaying as you sang. You were a harpy culling her crowd. The designer dress was dripping from your curves, every seam crafted to hug your body. He couldn’t keep his eyes off your waist, couldn’t keep his eyes off the high cut of the slit that exposed the smooth flesh of your thigh. He knew every man in that room was doing the same, all of them lost to the delirium of melody, but none of them got to have you like he did.

           You never asked for the dresses, or the shoes, or the pearls, or his favorite color of lipstick; no, you never asked for anything, his seductive little songbird. But you always said thank you, a peculiar glint in your eyes that he knew you saved only for him.

           His station in life as the leader of the Nekoma Mafia allotted him any woman he wanted in Tokyo—and he had plenty of playthings, but you? You were his favorite. You always fucked him like you loved him, let him do anything he pleased and still begged for more. But then you’d always let him go; there was no pleading, no big eyes and pouty lips begging him to stay the night. You let him be who he was, let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to, never asked where he was or what he did or who he killed, and it was your indifference to him that kept him coming back.

          He wanted to make you beg for him to stay, but tonight, he wanted you to beg for him to stop.

         Your voice rang in his head unconnected to the lyrics you were singing.

         You can force me to fuck you any time you want, Tetsurō—god his name sounded good in your mouth, even in his thoughts—surprise me one night. I’ll say no, I’ll fight back, but only stop if I say our safeword.

         The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and, at the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, still too blissed out after fucking your face underneath his desk. You’d still been swallowing his cum when he mentioned how he liked to take control of you like that, all rough hands and violent kisses that left bruises even on your cheeks where he had pulled you in to suck his cock.

          But now, after too many weeks of being away from you on business, he’d had a lot of time for the exchange to settle into ruminations. He came here tonight with the full intention of forcing himself onto you after you stepped off that stage, and the image in his mind alone was enough to have him resituating his aching cock in his trousers.

__________________________________

          Of course you spotted him in the crowd. He was unmistakable, black hair simmering beyond the heat of the stage lights. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him for a little too long at moments, excitement curling inside your belly.

          You hated to admit to yourself that you’d missed him, that you’d been looking for him within the throngs of people every night, just hoping to catch a glimpse of golden eyes and a loosened tie in his usual spot in the back of the nightclub.

          And there he was, eyeing you down like a predator would his prey, a grin so cavalier and catlike it made you shiver. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were already rolled up like he was prepared to sink his fingers into you at any moment.

          It was hard to focus on your set, hard to keep your attention on other members in the crowd. Your hands were sweating and you were glued to the microphone out of fear that, if you let go, you’d wander right off the stage and into his lap. It was an agonizing, and quite titillating, half hour of singing.

          You made a beeline to your dressing room in the back after taking a bow and blowing a few kisses, foregoing mingling at the bar with patrons. You needed to wash your hands, you needed to take a breath before you went out to see him, before you hurriedly texted him to come meet you.

          But he was already there, a fresh cigarette between thumb and forefinger as he lounged against the doorframe to your room.

         “Hey, kitten, been a while.”

          His voice had your hair standing on end, made you stumble in your stride.

         “Tetsurō,” a smile pulled at your cheeks, “you’re in my way.”

         “I would say give me a password, but I suppose a kiss will do.”

          You stood before him, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and pressing it to your lips for a drag. Your weight shifted to one heeled foot, your eyes never leaving his as you took a long inhale of the menthol and tobacco, the cherry of the cigarette growing hot.

          He reached for you, pulling you against him so his lips could capture the smoke, drinking in the taste. You both groaned at the contact, a voltaic hum syncing your bodies together. His lips were forceful, commanding, taking the lead and easily prying yours apart for him to explore the familiar home of your mouth. The action felt natural, but you could sense there was something unknown pent up inside of him.

          Your free hand fumbled with the doorknob behind him, the other holding the ashen cigarette at a safe distance away.

         “Mhm, did you miss me?” he mumbled against your lips, hand trailing down the satin of your dress to trace the slit at your thigh. Long, nimble fingers curled up to find your panties.

         “Not very much,” you were being cheeky, but he didn’t have to catch that.

         “Oh yea? Your pussy tells me otherwise.”

          A sharp moan erupted from your throat as his middle finger pressed against the dampness of your panties, his forefinger following and circling against your clit.

          “Fuck—get, get in the room,” you breathed, finally getting purchase on the knob and shoving him and his greedy hands into your dressing room.

           Kuroo snatched the cigarette back from your hand, taking in a pull before smothering it into the ashtray on the vanity built into the wall.

           You stood before the mirror, catching a flash of him moving behind you. You felt hot, a little overwhelmed, and you weren’t sure if it was the heat from the bulbs that lined the edges of your dressing table, or if it was his presence making you edgy.

          His hands were back on your hips as you removed your earrings and set them onto the table. His fingers were eager, one hand ghosting up your body to slide down the strap of your dress so he could kiss and suck at your neck and shoulder.

          “Shame you didn’t miss me,” there was a tonal shift in his voice, the timbre deeper, darker, “cause I sure did miss that pretty little mouth of yours.”

          His fingers dug into your jaw, roughly pulling your face to the side so he could nip at the corner of your lips.

         “Easy,” you warned, pressing your elbow back against him to get some space.

         “Easy? Oh kitten, there will be no easy, tonight. I haven’t had you in weeks, and I’m taking what I want.”

          Realization washed over you after a few heartbeats. You grinned against the fingers pressing into your cheeks, knowing and delighted.

          “Sorry, Tetsurō,” you added a vile bite to his name as you pulled your face from his grip, “I’m not interested tonight.”

         “Not interested?” he sneered, that wild, feline smirk back in its place.

          He was still behind you, pressing up against your back with fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh. He eyed you through the mirror. He looked menacing behind you, amber eyes narrowed and glowing within the reflection of yellow lights. You’d almost forgotten how big he was; his broad body dwarfed yours, meaty shoulders caging around you, strong, round biceps curling underneath your arms as he encircled you in a tight embrace. You were drawn to the moving hand on your leg, the entirety of his palm almost eclipsing your thigh as desirous fingers once again crept towards your pussy.

          “You should leave,” you meant for the words to sound serious, but there was clearly an underlying, breathy want within your voice.

          “Absolutely not,” he sunk his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, groaning at the taste of your skin, “I came here for you.”

           You held back your moan, struggling within his hold. Your hands flew over his, one on your thigh, the other on your stomach, bidding to pry off his ironclad fingers.

          “Get off me.”

           He only pulled you deeper into him, his grip tighter, teeth harsher. You winced at the pain of his bite. You struggled again, panting as you found no fruition to your efforts. God he was strong, and he was barely using any of his power to hold you.

           You stepped a heeled foot onto his, jamming the stiletto into the leather of his shoe. He hissed and shoved you forward, sending your hips to knock into the edge of the vanity.

           “I said get off me!”

           You thought he’d hesitate, that he would take a moment to see if you really meant it, but you were mistaken.

           He was into the game now.

          “I like it when you’re feisty, kitten.”

           You turned around to say something, but he was already on you, already one step ahead. The moment you turned, he had you in his arms, using his strength to lift you up onto the hot vanity.

          “Tetsurō—!”

          “Oh, shut up, you little slut, I know you want me, there’s no need to hide it.”

           His hands were on your legs, in your dress. Too easily he tore at the fabric, the threads snapping like crackling fireworks against your skin. You gasped, pressing your hands against his shoulders, pushing at him with a genuine amount of strength to which he didn’t budge.

           “Fuck, you can’t just—”

           “Yes, I fucking can,” he scoffed, continuing to tear at the seam that lined the side of your gown, “don’t forget who spoils you.”

           “Yea, a fucking mob boss,” you slighted, digging your nails into his wrist as if that would stop him.

            He slapped your left cheek, hard, quick, like the fast swipe of a panther swatting at restless prey. Your neck swung to the side and you moaned, deep and strained from your chest. Your face throbbed, blood welling under your smarting skin like it was trying to figure out what happened and how to dull the pain, even though the pain was blossoming into pleasure.

            “I’m someone who could end your life any time I want to, kitten. I can either hunt you down here or somewhere else, so I suggest you stop fighting.”

           The gown was finally tugged from your body, and what was left of its shape fell down to your sides, the fabric caught underneath where you sat on the vanity.

           With his hands free, he cradled your face, palms engulfing your cheeks. He forced you to look up at him. When you did, it brought you back to reality. He appeared wicked, enthralled, you could practically see thoughts churning inside his mind like the inner workings of a clock—he always was too smart for his own good, or, perhaps, for your own good. Your irises danced over the handsome planes of his face, over the feline curve of his eyes, over the full lips that you truly had missed feeling against yours. But you held yourself back; if he wanted to force you, you’d damn well let him.

           “You’re mine, all mine.”

           “No, I’m not yours. You don’t own me.”

           His thumb caught to the edge of your lips, keeping them parted.

          “Oh kitten,” he purred, sucking his tongue back into his mouth.

           Your heart began to race as you heard a swish.

           He spit down onto you, a slow, viscous string of saliva dripping from his mouth onto yours where he kept your lips pried open.

           “I do own you.”

            You tried to turn your face, but his hold was firm, keeping you from avoiding his territorial marking.

            “Stop,” your voice was weak.

            “Drink it all up like a good little girl.”

             He shoved himself between your thighs, getting even closer as he watched your eyebrows furrow while you obediently licked your tongue along your lips, gathering his saliva to gulp down.

             He groaned aloud at the sight, smashing his mouth down on to yours, wet and messy from spit. You didn’t kiss him back. You kept pressing back against his shoulders, trying to pull one of your knees up between your bodies to push him away, but he was quick. One of his hands snatched your thigh, roughly pressing it back down against the table to keep you in place. His mouth still worked against yours, hungry and ferocious, taking from you even though you weren’t giving anything back.

           You needed to do something before you gave into him, before you wrapped your arms around him and spoiled the fun. He was intoxicating, especially with one of his hands drifting around your back to unhook your bra with ease.

           One of your hands slid to his loosened tie, fingers entangling in the red fabric. You tugged, hard, attempting to force his mouth away from yours; he merely chuckled, continuing to pull at your own clothing, a little too effortlessly removing the cups of your bra from your breasts.

           As cool air swept over your exposed nipples, you shivered and groaned, attempting to swat away the strong hand reaching to grope one of them.

           You bit his greedy mouth, sharp and quick, catching his bottom lip between one of your canine teeth. He reacted immediately, shoving your head back against the mirror so harshly that a thick crack burst into the reflective glass.

           “Fuck!” it was both of your voices shouting together, you cupping your aching skull and Kuroo fingering his busted lip.

           “God you fucking bitch, you’ll pay for that.”

           Blood was slick down his chin, the plump flesh of his lip noticeably pierced and split.

           Your instincts were telling you to apologize, but you kept them at bay, choosing instead to take the moment to attempt to dash around his side towards the locked door. The remnants of your ruined dress fell to the floor as you quickly stood from the vanity, feet nearly tripping over one another in your heels.

           “Oh no you don’t!” He caught your upper arm, swinging your helpless body back towards his. The severity of his motions had your legs buckling underneath you, your balance completely lost. He caught you before you hit the floor, keeping his arms tight around your nearly naked body as he maneuvered you to where he wanted you.

           “Tetsurō,” your fingers were clawing into his forearms, feet dragging against the hardwood as he wrangled you to stand in front of him, “let me go.”

           You were startled to see yourself in the mirror, having already forgotten your nakedness. You both looked disheveled, wild, his normally pristine shirt wrinkled, the white collar soaking up the drippings of blood from his mouth. You had bite marks on your neck, dark and glaring against your skin, your breasts shaking as you struggled against his encroaching arms—it was sensual, to watch yourself wrestle against him, to see his smoldering eyes watching you just as intently in the mirror. You caught a glimpse of your panties, the rustling of your bodies against one another having pushed the fabric higher on your hips, and deeper within your sopping folds.

           One of Kuroo’s hands settled around your throat, using his fist as an anchor to keep your body still. His grip was harsh, fingertips solid but dormant against the sides of your neck, but there was the lingering threat that all he had to do was twist, squeeze, or press, and you’d never sing again, perhaps never leave this room again.

           “Do you know what normally happens to people who fight me?” he tilted your neck back in his hold, bringing your ear closer to his mouth.

           Your eyes stared at him through the reflection, your attention not leaving his face even as his free hand began to stroll across your body, fingertips tracing figure-eights on your stomach, climbing toward your breasts.

           “Answer me when I speak to you, slut.”

           “N-no,” it was hard to gulp underneath his palm, saliva pooling against your tongue, “I don’t know…”

           “Oh yes you do, you just don’t like thinking about it.”

           You could feel him smirk against your ear, see the catlike grin spreading like wildfire in the mirror.

           He groped your breast, fingers brutal against your sensitive skin, pressing into the fatty flesh with unbridled possessiveness. It was painful, making your back arch away from the touch and into his chest. But it was stimulating all the same, your nipple hardening and beckoning to be pinched, tugged, owned by his hand.

           “I kill the people who displease me, kitten,” he disclosed, admiring how large his hand looked against your breast as he kneaded your flesh. His knuckles were scattered with bruises, ring finger still forming a fresh scab from a recent altercation that required his fist. His skin looked barbaric compared to yours, scars and bruises against a fresh, smooth body.

           He captured your nipple, wringing it between thumb and forefinger. Your whine was stopped by his hand, trapped within your vocal cords and unable to emerge under his grip.

           “I could kill you so easily…” there was a pleasured grumble within his voice, bloodied mouth now kissing at the column of your neck between his spread fingers, “does that turn you on?”

           You tried to shake your head, your hands pushing at both of his forearms in an attempt to free yourself. He only clutched onto you more tightly, your nipple now stinging from pain, your vision blurring from the decreased oxygen to your brain.

           There was a panic brewing in your belly that you didn’t expect, true fear creeping up your spine. You knew you could mutter out your safeword and he would stop...or at least, so you thought. He looked lost within the mirror, bloodstained face almost drunk with power, his cock hard and nudging between your ass cheeks. He was getting high from this, and while you could feel a craving gnawing inside of you to give yourself up to him, there was also an edge of reality still pressing into your thoughts. Kuroo was dangerous, and if he wasn’t careful, if he crushed into your windpipe just a little too hard, and he’d have a mess on his hands, a dead plaything to throw in the dumpster behind the nightclub.

           “Do you know how many mouthy whores I’ve had to get rid of? I’ve learned it’s so easy to snap pretty little necks,” his fist grew tighter around your throat to emphasize his point.

           “Don’t say things like that,” you gasped, nails nearly tearing into the skin of his wrist.

           His hand released your breast, your skin hot and burning from his harsh ministrations. But the reprieve was brief, his fingers snaking down your body and into your panties. You jerked your hips backwards to avoid his touch, only to find yourself grinding against the fat cock straining against his pants.

           “I think you like what I’m saying,” he emphasized his words by running the pad of his index finger over your clit, your body shivering at his touch. He laughed in your ear, pressing his hips firmly against your body as you struggled to get out of his hold.

           His fingers were ruthless. He spread you apart, sliding between your shamefully dripping folds with quick ease. His palm was cupped against your sex, thumb shoved directly against your clit as the other long digits prodded your tight hole. You tried to clamp your legs shut, but his hand was more durable than you expected. There was no physical way you could wiggle yourself out of this situation, and that realization alone had a concoction of panic and pleasure toiling inside your belly.

           You bit your lip to stop the moans from bubbling out of your mouth.

           You’d always loved his fingers; they were long, thick, perfect for curling inside you and finding that fleshy patch against your inner walls that had you shaking and panting. Two of them pushed inside of you, your panties ruined and forgotten against your thigh. He wasn’t gentle. Each move of his hand was a satisfying jab into your pussy, jolts of hard pleasure racing up your spine. And his thumb was just as merciless. He twirled it in tight circles across your sensitive clit, the bliss turning hot under your skin.

           “Stop, stop, please stop, it’s too much!”

           He knew the words were a lie, he could tell by how your legs were shaking.

           You were Kuroo’s favorite instrument to play, he knew your melodies of ecstasy by heart. You might be able to cull him with that siren’s voice of yours, but he could string you along no other man could.

           Your slick was dripping against his fingers now, each squelching push of his fingers had you pressing farther into him. His cock was nestled perfectly between your ass cheeks and each convulsion of your body, every clenching, stimulated him just as much.

           “Fuck, no, no, you have to stop, Tetsuroō, please!”

           “Shut. Up.”

           His hand squeezed tighter around your throat, your eyelids fluttering at the increased loss of vision as your oxygen flow waned.

           Kuroo watched you in the mirror, watched how your stomach was tightening, your thighs clamping together, knees buckling together from his invasive touch. You could see him watching you behind your closing lids, could see his smirk growing like a weed in a garden.

           You felt his fingers begin to curve inside of you, wrist twisting to get the perfect angle. You were gasping, trying to catch short breaths beneath his hand before your inevitable fall.

           “T-tet—”

           You came hard and fast, the pleasure so blinding that you slumped within his hold, knees dropping to where the only thing holding your body up were his hands. Your cunt was aching, now cinching his fingers inside of you almost painfully. You cried out, sobbing at the intensity of it all, tears pricking at your lashes. Your body was humming, buzzing, almost like you’d left your skin and were hovering above your body in a cloud of euphoria.

           He kept pushing his fingers inside of you, thumb never ceasing against your clit.

           “Stop! Stop!” you were screaming it a little too loud now, if someone were to walk by your dressing room, they’d hear you. Kuroo’s hand flew to your mouth, finally giving your neck a reprieve from his monstrous grip. You exhaled shakily into his palm, your body calming down as his hand between your thighs came to a halt.

           “I’m not stopping, kitten. No one could stop me now. I think your filthy little body is finally warmed up enough for my cock, what do you think?” his voice was husky against your ear, breath fanning into your hair.

           “N-no! Anything but that, please don’t, Tetsuroō, please, I’m sorry!”

           Your words were muffled against his palm, tears now streaming into his hand.

           You didn’t expect that you could actually get yourself to cry—were you truly scared? Or had you fallen deeper into your role than you expected?

           Kuroo paid your sounds little mind.

           Your body was weak as he pushed you forward, hand releasing your face to grab the back of your head as he pressed your face into the vanity. Your legs were shaking, wobbly within your heels with your ass pressed into the air like this, your hands flat against the counter. You took a few moments to take deep breaths, your eyes focusing on the table. The ashtray was still lightly smoking from the half-smoked cigarette that had been shoved into it, your lipstick and earrings appearing like lost treasures drifting upon a sea out before you.

           You heard the clinking of Kuroo’s belt buckle behind you, felt his hand secure itself into your hair, keeping your face smashed against the vanity’s surface.

           Then his other hand was on your ass, kneading your flesh before smacking the rounded flesh. You winced, hissing between your teeth.

           “You’re a worthless whore, I don’t know why I even bother with you anymore.”

           That jab stung more than your smarting ass cheek.

           You whimpered, closing your eyes as you felt his hand pull at your panties, once again shifting them to the side so he could access your weeping pussy, already spent from your first orgasm.

           “Mhm, I can’t wait to see you cry when you're stuffed with my cock.”

           “Stop this, please. I’ll do anything else you want, I-I swear!”

           You felt the hot tip of his cock press against your folds, gathering your slick against his heated skin. You tried to angle your hips away, but Kuroo drew the back of your panties up into his fist, using them like reins to keep you in place.

           “I don’t think you understand, kitten. This is what I want.”

           He shoved his cock ruthlessly inside of you, the sharp pain of being spread racing across your nerves. You cried out, mouth hanging open against the cold countertop as his cock speared into your insides. But that pain quickly morphed into pleasure, his hips snapping up against yours with a ferocity that had moans spilling from your mouth even as you tried to stop them.

           Your body was bouncing from his actions, ass slapping against his unbuttoned slacks as he pounded inside of you. There would surely be cum stains against the threads once he was done.

           “Such a helpless little thing, aren’t you? Couldn’t stop me even though you tried.”

            And you had tried. You told him you’d fight back if he ever wanted to play like this, and you expected that you’d be able to stave him off to some extent. But you hadn’t been able to. Every attempt to run, to move, to get him to stop, had been futile. He was too strong, his will too powerful for you to overcome. And that’s what had you quaking beneath him; you’d truly fallen prey to him, and you knew that if this ever wasn’t play, he would probably use even more force against you. You were helpless, save for the trust you had in him.

           He kept a tight pull on your panties as he fucked you. His fingers were fisted around the fabric, pulling it tight against your skin, keeping it molded against your clit as his cock continued to barrel inside of you. Your walls were clamping down from all the sensations, fluttering with every thrust of his fat cock inside of you. You could feel that familiar, thick vein that ran along the underside of him rubbing against your pussy with every plunge. You felt stuffed, like your body was taking on more than you could handle.

          “St-stop,” it came out with a moan.

          “You know you love it,” he groaned, loud and deep and it made you shiver, “you love it when I treat you like the slut you are.”

           You weakly threw your hands behind you, hoping to claw at him, to throw him off his game, but all he had to do was fist his fingers into the roots of your hair and tug to get you to stop. You screamed at the searing pain, not used to him pulling your hair so roughly. Your neck arched back at the force, lifting your breasts from the cool table to bounce with his thrusts. Your hands were slick with sweat as you trained to gain purchase on the vanity, lewd sounds pouring from your mouth with every thrust of him inside of you.

          With his hand jerking your head back, now you could see him again in the mirror.

          He was grinning, that smear of blood still staining his lips, his chin. He looked wild, black hair tousled even more than usual from your tryst. The sight of him had your heart racing, blood pumping even faster to where your bodies were joined together. You loved that look in his eye, like at any moment he was going to devour you and spit you back out spent and needy. You felt violated, wrecked, but you knew he wasn’t going to stop soon.

          “You like watching, kitten? Like watching me stuff this pretty pussy of yours?”

           “I hate you,” you spit the words out like venom, narrowing your eyes at him through the reflection.

           “Say that again and I’ll slap you harder than I did earlier.”

            Your cheek stung with the memory of his palm.

            Before you could open your mouth again, he increased his pace, using the leverage of his hands in your hair and around your panties to slam you back into his cock as if you weighed nothing, as if you were nothing.

            Curses painted your lips each time his cock stretched you again, and again, and again, as the angle he pulled you into had his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside of you. Your underwear was pulled even tighter than before, each jostle of your bodies making the fabric rub against your swollen clit. The feeling of orgasm was growing again, your senses constantly being propelled into a state of bliss every time he took a deep stroke inside of you.

            “You think you’re special, don’t you? That’s why—fuck—you think you can tell me no? You’re just another whore to fuck,” he was growling, panting, “that’s all you are, you’re pathetic.”

             His words felt like acid on your skin, burning you, heating you in all the wrong ways, but your body loved it, soaked up every curse and slight and turned it into boiling pleasure.

            “Fuck, stop! I don’t wanna cum, I don’t wanna cum!”

            “You’re gonna cum, kitten. Cum so that little pussy gets tight enough to milk my cock.”

             You clenched your lower muscles, genuinely trying to avert the churning coil of pleasure inside of you, but all it did was make matters worse. Your pussy kept sucking him in, each thrust messy, loud, your ass slapping against his slacks and slick pooling down your thighs.

            “Oh you feel so good, feel so fucking good squeezing me like that.”

             That fresh praise had you coming undone. You felt him pull your panties even tighter against your curves, the fabric now almost cutting into your clit, and the sensation was all too much.

            “Tetsurō, Tetsurō, stop, stop, I-I’m cumming, stop!”

             It was more intense than before. You felt your whole body go numb, you watched as your mouth opened in a silent scream, every part of you trembling as the seams of sanity split with your orgasm.

             He didn’t stop, not even as he came inside of you, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy pussy and spurting out onto his clothes, onto your thighs. He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. His force had your underwear splitting in his fist, threads snapping against your ass as the cloth broke apart.

             The sound of your ripping panties had him slowing, now grinding his cock deep inside of your walls as you both came down from your highs.

             When your bodies finally came to a halt, he let go of your hair, allowing you to catch yourself with your palms flat to the vanity. You hung your head, trying to even out your breaths and let your heart rate calm down as your vision unblurred.

             You could hear him panting behind you, then finally felt his spent cock slip out of you, trails of cum and slick falling against your thighs.

             You finally began to move, reaching between your legs to pry the remnants of your panties away from your cunt, letting the ravaged fabric fall to the floor where the remains of your dress still lay.

             “Kitten?” Kuroo’s voice was soft, hands even more gentle as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, “are you okay?”

             “Fuck,” you groaned, straightening your back to look at him, to fall into his arms, “that was...exhiliarting.”

             He pressed tender kisses into your neck, tongue soothing over where he had bitten you earlier.

             “God I fucking missed you,” he mumbled into your skin.

             “I missed you too.”

             You turned in his arms, pressing your weary body against his chest, feeling the sweat that had cooled into his white dress shirt. He kissed you slowly, deliberately, the taste of iron still present from his split lip. You embraced him, kissing him back with the same kind of easy passion.

            “I need a drink after that,” you mumbled against his lips.

            “I need new pants.”

             You stepped back and looked down at his black suit trousers, finding them all kinds of soiled with creamy cum. You couldn’t help but laugh, the heaviness of your earlier actions breaking with the sound of your giggles.

             “You normally keep spare clothes in your car, right? In case they get all bloody? Let me get dressed and I’ll go get them for you.”

             You bent down to gather your own ruined clothes, wadding up the fabric of that beautiful dress and dumping it in the bin. You heard Kuroo mutter something about buying you a new one as you sifted through the small closet in your dressing room, slipping on a short cocktail dress and a fresh pair of panties to catch whatever cum was going to continue to leak out of you tonight.

              He was smoking another cigarette as you left him behind in your dressing room to fetch him a new pair of pants, car keys in hand.

             The music of the jazz band was loud as you meandered back and forth between the nightclub. You realized that no one could have heard you screaming over the sound of the plucking bass and the shrill of the trumpet.

             You hurriedly returned to your dressing room, pants in hand.

             You cleaned Kuroo’s lip with a damp cloth as he slung on his fresh pants, the cigarette now between your lips as you did your best to clean the blood from his face.

            “Sorry, I shouldn’t have bitten you so harshly.”

            “Don’t worry about it, made it feel real. I can’t believe you didn’t call the safeword.”

             He plucked the cigarette out of your mouth once he was done buckling his belt, grinning despite the clear cut on his lip.

             “I told you I wanted to play along.”

             You flicked off the lights to your vanity, grabbing his hand to pull him from the room.

            The two of you found empty stools at the bar, Kuroo ordering your favorite drink as a few patrons wandered by to compliment you on your earlier set. You leaned your chin into your palm, keeping your eyes on the handsome, wondrous creature next you. You never knew what each encounter would consist of whenever he came around, but you felt yourself falling deeper into his web every time he fucked you. But you were still a little afraid of his world, but knew you’d be on the mafia’s doorstep if he ever asked you to be.

            You thanked the bartender as your drink arrived, holding the cool glass in your hand.

            “I think tonight deserves a toast, don’t you?”

            That catlike grin was back on his face, amber eyes glowing with mischief.

            “Mhm, what to, Tetsurō?”

             He dipped his glass closer to yours, the rims kissing together.

           “To being daredevils.”

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