#not on the painting itself just on the study part. it looks like a regular illust in my style now lol

[sketchy--akechi]

"Justice's Fool", or, an attempted renaissance painting study based on this painting that I gave up on halfway through lol

#not on the painting itself just on the study part. it looks like a regular illust in my style now lol #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5r #akeshu #shuake #persona 5 protagonist #persona 5 joker #persona 5 crow #goro akechi #akechi goro #akira kurusu #kurusu akira #ren amamiya #amamiya ren #persona 5 arsene #persona 5 loki #liz art

[ikinremu]

HI, all of your Tommy Shelby works, involving smut have gotten me all fired up!

So, I am asking you if you cou could please write a Tommy Shelby smut, where Tommy and the reader both have their own favorite part(s) of each others body, and that may lead to teasing one another.

or

Even where Tommy's voice or any of his mannerisms turns the reader on.

Thanks, :)

Hi anonymous, thank you so much for reading - its so appreciated and I’m overjoyed that you like my works! Thank you so so much for the request!! So sorry it took so long for a response. I really like this idea and I hope you like what i’ve done with it.. enjoy :)

|| Nsfw || Teasing - Tommy Shelby ||

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

A Tommy Shelby teasing based smut oneshot!

tags: Fingering, Orgasm Denial, P in V, Teasing

! Smut Warning !

You adored Tommy from head to toe. Truly. Though, of course, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses - and ironically enough, what you considered to be Tommy's strengths were often what sent strikes of weakness through you.

Your fascinated gaze found no problem with projecting itself - and its ferocity - through the Garrison, swiftly parting any obstacles with a lack of consideration.

Truthfully, you weren't at all proud of the way Tommy's mannerisms alone could excite you - and they certainly didn't act in solidarity; even a seemingly innocent quality of his could have a shameful effect on you.

Your lustful fixation found captivity as you studied Tommy's hands with great intent. You surveilled the motions of them, peering through your tunnel vision as the routine bustle of the Garrison drifted further from your focus.

Frankly, you rather favoured Tommy's hands - it was simply difficult not to when you withheld the knowledge of their capabilities.

Elbows pressed against the Garrison's most popular attraction, Tommy's curled fingers twirled a cigarette between their bridges. Veins accentuated his hands, trailing disorderly paths beneath his skin; it was truly against your power to keep from absorbing every detail. A light push of smoke slipped the part of his lips, softly staining the air as your mind wandered astray.

It didn't, however, take much observation to recognise the smug portrait painting Tommy's face. He knew you were looking at him, and no doubt he'd realised what specific feature had fallen victim to this lewd motive of yours.

One thing Thomas Shelby needed zero assistance with was eye contact - it was to be considered above a strength. He always kept a firm hold on you, and if his hands were disrupted in doing so, his eyes would easily substitute.

His pupils practically split you in two, keen stare unfaltering as a cigarette resumed contact with his lips. In what could be viewed an instinctive manor, your stomach began to flutter as Tommy trailed his focus over your frame - gaze echoing with allure.

His expression did everything but soothe you, shooting a rush of adrenaline through your body. What you'd interpreted as this subtle understanding, communication even, could only spike your anticipated arousal.

It was only a matter of minutes before Tommy would approach, you'd connected those dots immediately, though he was far closer to the double doors you'd been rather blatantly eyeing - and honestly, you just couldn't resist such a ravenous nagging any longer.

Mindlessly, you arose from the stern seating of a wooden chair - one specifically distanced from the intended accompaniment. Tommy's eyes hadn't left your own, their only travel being such gloriously hungry glances over your body as you continued to step closer. Regulars were dotted all over, however in this moment it felt as though Tommy and yourself were the only people in the world. You knew what you wanted, he knew what you wanted; it was reduced to a matter of strides before you were able to indulge in this shared interest.

With a hoarse cough, Tommy cleared his throat, stubbing out his cigarette with the help of a nearby ashtray. Hands harshly digging into his trouser pockets, Tommy took a seemingly accomplished walk in the direction of the room you both knew was due to lose its vacancy.

The moment privacy was activated, you brazenly launched yourself in Tommy's direction - expecting him to meet you half way. Your clothed chest pressed against his, breath desperately hitching beneath your silk blouse. The hands you'd been dreaming so fondly about now squeezing your hips, you elongated your stance, neck stretching as you veered to connect with the supple lips in-front of you - however, you weren't met with a kiss.

Tommy chuckled with a gentle, somewhat mocking, shake of his head. "I'm gonna give you exactly what you wanted, love."

His callous fingers stroked just beneath your chin, forcing your vision upon him to remain stationary.

You had an inkling for where this was headed.

"Tommy-"

"Shh.." He dismissed, "Don't want people to hear us, eh?"

His hushed tone only furthered the flame of intimacy, a soft smile tugging at your lips - pleading to be freed from the compression.

"On the table." Tommy instructed, nodding in the direction of his firm demand.

You hopped atop the familiarly rounded surface, scooting back against the sleek wood as your skirt developed an ever so slight, upward crumple.

Tommy slipped a rusted key within the lock's shadowed opening, twisting it with a pop. You hadn't been made aware of this oddly enticing possession of his until now - though it certainly made the specifics of the circumstances far easier.

Your chest could only indulge in the deepest of heaves, stomach flitting with anticipation as Tommy's body became exceptionally close with your own.

His right hand snaked between your clenched thighs, splitting the friction you'd subconsciously built as he spread them apart.

"So fuckin wet." He groaned, the heat of his words tickling your ear as tantalising sensations began to form elsewhere. His swift fingers traced teasing, supple circles over the sodden material of your underwear - varying between intensities as your clit met the brunt of the touch. "You got this wet just from thinkin about my hands, mm?"

His words were laced with amusement, sound waves clambering down your exposed neck. You nodded - the sentence confirming your suspicions of his awareness. With a smug curve staining his face, the thick fingers of Tommy's opposing hand slid beneath the well-fixed waistband of your skirt, yanking it down with a singular pull - also discarding the soaked underwear with impressive unison.

Tommy's arm slung round your back, the painstakingly expensive fabric of his button up brushing your blouse before he hauled you forward with an unexpected, rather harsh, jolt.

At the greed-enthused collision, you buried your face against Tommy's neck. With a steep inhale, you ingested his strong, musky scent - desperately revelling in his touch.

Suddenly, you felt a crisp motion between the slick of your upper legs, barely brushing over your heat. Your teeth sunk into the plush of your lower lip, body melting against the fingers sliding inside your increasingly wet hole.

"Shit.." You breathed, eyelids painting shadows over your vision as a large hand cupped your chin.

"Look at me. Eh?" Tommy breathed, delicately pressing his forehead against your own - passion radiating through the closing gap between both of your jaws.

As you unclenched your drooped lids, releasing a heavy exhale, Tommy's fingers began strumming your swelling clit. Your hands clutched at the width of his shoulders, finding stability as the stimulation quickened. With the prompting of very little temptation, you submitted to the urge of pressing your lips against his. Before your mouthes could properly connect, Tommy re-enacted his previous dismissal of a kiss.

"You wanted my fingers so bad? That's all I'm gonna fuckin give you."

As vexing as this - soon to be - teasing was, it somehow amplified the stakes of your desire. Mouth agape, you let a whimper slip your throat - hot face still touching Tommy's, despite the infuriating lack of a potentially incredible embrace.

His fingers pumped inside you, finding an insatiably rapid pace as they teased your sopping pussy.

"Fuck, Tommy.." You grew careless of containing any moans as desperation seeped from your every pore, clit throbbing against the pleasing motions of his fingers.

"This what you wanted, love?" His eyes hadn't broken their dedicated train to yours, balmy foreheads clashing with one and other as your back began arching in response. "You wanted my fuckin fingers?"

"Mhm." You uttered, an all too familiar stir flooding your pitted abdomen, "I'm getting close."

As you became submerged by the feeling of an orgasm's sloping build, Tommy's fingers retracted from your so heavily drenched arousal - blocking the release at its very brink.

God, was he agitating when he wanted to be.

"I want to feel you come around me." The lustful nature of his speech - of his breath - was enough to drive you to the edge, and his smirk only added to the mix.

Body processing the denial of a release, you only grew to crave it further.

Driven by this pure, unfiltered thirst, you made light work of Tommy's buttoned waistcoat and shirt, soon following through the momentary process once more  - this time your blouse being the subject.

It wasn't at all long before the pair of you had completely deserted all clothing - not a single strip of fabric sheltering your skin.

Tommy's large hands spread over the thick flesh of your bare behind, eagerly kneading at it as the space between you lessened. With a slow push, his hard cock filled the previous depravity of your tight hole - his eyes rolling back as he entered.

Utilising his grip on your ass, Tommy pulled you to match his first, deep thrust - leaking tip taunting your sweet spot as you firmed your grasp on his, now exposed, shoulders.

"Fuck, you feel good.." A low grunt fled his mouth, hand planting a light slap to your behind before returning to its previous, hungry grab.

His hips bucked faster, reaching euphorically deep within your seeping arousal. Your head lolled back, teeth relentlessly torturing your bottom lip as your back formed a rather significant arch.

Tommy grinned, "Right there?"

You - subtly though frantically - nodded, whispering clusters of breathy confirmations as his pulsing erection pounded into you. Your hole clenched around the pleasing motions of his length, moans escaping both mouthes.

Your hips bucked against Tommy's, a singular hand of his jumping to massage your soft breasts, flicking the tenderness of your nipples as the friction caused their pebbling. You pressed open mouthed kisses to the upper planes of his chest, helplessly whining as he marked rapid thrusts.

He flicked your hardened nipples, tip slapping the places you craved most as he pleasured your drenched arousal. You trailed sloppy, heated kisses down his naked torso, nimble fingers still adamantly clutching at his shoulders.

Tommy’s skilful hips continued to slam against your own, burying his cock deeper in your sopping cunt. His hand suddenly retracted the touch from your breasts, sneaking beneath the intense contact as his fingers began to toy with your throbbing clit.

"Fuck!" You slipped a less than quiet moan, instinctively grinding against his dexterity as a knot grew apparent - creeping up from the depths of your fluttering stomach. "I'm gonna cum.."

"Cum for me, love." He grunted, teasing words breaking from the binds of his throat.

His fingers applied further pressure, erection thrusting as deep as you knew possible.

The burning tension coursing through your body wound tighter, preparing to wash over you - clearly without the intention of implementing any limits.

Tommy groaned lowly, granting one final pound into you as you felt a sudden warmth spread within your cunt.

You couldn't help but tremor as your orgasm struck, much anticipated release possessing your body - sensitivity peaking like never before due to the pent up frustration of your earlier denial.

"Shit.." You panted, more breath than word, as you came down from the euphoric climax - a smile stretching your pinkish lips. You pressed your now rather heated forehead against Tommy’s, his soft lips meeting yours - insinuating the kiss you’d had such a desperate longing for.

After a few short seconds, far too short by your own judgement, the passionate embrace was rather frustratingly split.

“I love you.” He spoke, gravelled voice tickling your ears as he tucked strands of your disheveled hair to the side.

“I love you too.”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the asks feature on my page for requests of oneshots/drabbles/blurbs etc.. would be greatly appreciated! <3

#smut #smutty #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby smut #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #tommy shelby oneshot

[sallage]

I'm Not Giving Up

The Unexpected Fight Series

Part 2

Warning: This is a tickle fic!

Summary: Bakugo has been different since his fight with Aya. His lack of presence in everyday activities and his changed attitude have become apparent to those around him, and people are starting to take notice. Even though Bakugo never asked for help, his friends would do anything to support him, even if that means confronting him directly and forcing him to face the truth.

Pairing: Lee Bakugo, Ler Bakusquad

Words: 4,995

Reading Time: 20 Minutes

A/N: Finally, Part 2! I'm sorry it took so long to come out. Turns out, remastering old works is a lot more work than I thought. I changed damn near every word and I'm still not satisfied with it, per usual. I'll continue writing the series until the end, so don't worry about me giving up on it. I hope it's enjoyed! 😇

Read more ∘₊✧Here✧₊∘

Bakugo was famously known for his temper and volatile nature, which often led him to spend long periods of time alone in his dorm.

However, this was different.

The fight with Aya stuck with him long after it had ended. In his mind, the scene repeated itself over and over again, with his uncontrollable and hysterical laughter echoing throughout the entire scene. He was unable to get over the embarrassing display he had put on, and in an effort to not be questioned again, he refused to speak unless necessary, and avoided everyone's probing eyes.

Bakugo made sure that he put in an exceptional amount of effort during his classes, and his hard work was evident from the high marks he constantly received. He also did remarkably well in his training sessions, and he would always show up the next day to put in another stellar performance. Despite his tireless work ethic, he remained stoic and avoided engaging with anyone.

For the most part, his friends gave him space, but they also worried about him when over time, he became increasingly reclusive. Hesitant knocks at his door gradually progressed to regular knocking sessions and Bakugo chose to ignore it all. With his friends constantly trying to probe why he had become so distant and unresponsive, Bakugo simply brushed off their questions and continued to ignore them.

His stomach growled and he growled back. Unable to ignore the hunger pangs, he got up from his studies and made the short trek to the common room to retrieve the ramen noodles he’d stored away. Looking out of the window, He could see that the night was already set, with only a few specks of light illuminating the darkening sky. There was no sound, just the peaceful stillness that encapsulated the world. The perfect night.

As Bakugo looked out of the window, he noticed a brief hint of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his attention towards the hallway and locked eyes with Deku. Bakugo felt a cringe run through him, certain that Deku would take the opportunity to try and talk to him. He felt a pre-angry vein ready up in his temple.

Five seconds out of his room and he was already pissed off.

“Oh! Hey, Kacchan!” 

Bakugo would rather drink paint than respond.

Midoriya faltered, picking up on it right away. “Right well…A bunch of us are going out to get food. I know you’re making some, but you should come.”

Bakugo’s annoyance was visible as he focused on stirring his noodles.

“Kacchan-”

“Does it fucking look like-”

“No, your noodles!”

“Shit!”

The water boiled over the top of the pot, spilling out onto the counter. Bakugo angrily turned the heat down and took the pot to the sink. Looking inside, he found that his noodles were completely overcooked and gross. He had an urge to blow the entire dormitory to dust, his frustration and anger peaking in that moment. 

Instead, he picked up his phone and shouldered past Midoriya. 

“Hey, where are you going? Aren't you still hungry?”

Bakugo remained silent, walking towards the exit of the building without a word. Midoriya matched his stride, catching up to him and pushing himself between the other and the exit. The blonde closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Move.”

“No.” 

Bakugo opened his eyes, dangerous energy flashing through them. “If you don't move, I will turn you and this entire place to dust.”

Midoriya shook his head. “You’ve got to stop being so hard on yourself. What happened at the circuit-”

“Holy shit, do you ever just shut up?!” Bakugo’s face instantly grew red with humiliation. Emotions pounded in his head like a gavel, his fists clenched tight at his sides, wishing he could detonate that annoying ass rock sitting in the back of his throat.

“A win like that may have been enough for a weakling like you but I have higher standards for myself. We're not on the same level, Deku! I’m better than you. And for some stupid reason you keep forgetting that!”

“Kacchan, I’m talking about you beating yourself up over something that's just a part of the process. Her quirk was-”

“I don’t give a shit! Get the hell out of my-”

“You’re falling behind.” 

Silence. You could hear a pin drop.

Midoriya quickly kept on. “You never go beyond anymore. Usually, we can hear you practicing in the arena by yourself or with Kirishima, but we haven’t heard you in weeks and Kirishima hasn’t heard from you. There was even an opportunity to shadow a pro hero and you didn’t take it-”

“I don’t need to follow some nobody-”

“No. It’s like you’re depressed or something.” Midoriya bravely interrupted. “It’s like you’re giving up.”

Bakugo's eyes widened, a sudden fire in his chest blazed with determined violence. Sparks spewed from his hands, his eyes set on the green target standing before him. He dared not allow himself to give up or be the laughing stock of the school. He would burn in hell before assuming a role like that.

Midoriya stood his ground, refusing to concede, and determined to face down the inferno before him. He knew being honest with his friend would reward him with something like a bloody nose, but he was determined to anyway, especially if it would help Kacchan in the end.

Bakugo was known for his prideful and arrogant disposition, but this encounter with Midoriya shook him. The younger prodigy’s comments caused the blonde to be infuriated and bitter, but only temporarily. Deep down inside, Bakugo knew there was some substance to the accusation, and it made him feel weak. His energy and willpower were dwindling, leaving him tired, exhausted, and lacking the spark that he always relied on to make him feel like the powerhouse he always saw himself as.

He no longer felt like he could truly measure up, and he hated that.

The sparks in his hands barely left a trace of smoke, leaving Bakugo feeling a mixture of grief and rage.

“I’m not giving up.” He mumbled before roughly pushing past Midoriya and exiting the building.

—

Bakugo took a walk, wanting to occupy his thoughts. He came to a beautiful forest clearing and sat down, leaning back on his elbows, to gaze up at the stars. Despite his efforts to keep his thoughts away, they still came to him on their own.

“It’s like you’re giving up.”

It was Deku that said that to him. That useless fucker told him he was the one slipping through the cracks. He angrily kicked at a rock near his foot.

“I’m not giving up, damn Deku.” Bakugo said out loud. “I’m just getting started.”

His ears suddenly pricked and his attention focused on soft, sneaky footfalls that came from a nearby spot to his left.

Bakugo warily looked around as he stood up, his senses fully alert now. A plan instantly materialized in his mind before an unexpected loud yell came from somewhere behind him. A dark shadow suddenly came hurtling towards him, which he barely dodged in time. He released a blast in that direction then was grabbed from behind. He was just about to unleash a full explosion when he heard a familiar voice.

“Ah! Okay, ouch! What the heck, Bakugo?!”

“Hey, man! Chill out!” 

“Kaminari?” Bakugo narrowed his eyes in the now illuminated darkness, as the tree that took the full brunt of his quirk was now on fire. He watched as Kaminari hurriedly extinguished some lit sparks from his hair. The other voice came from behind. ”Kirishima?” Bakugo yelled, confused as hell. “What the hell are you two idiots doing?”

Kirishima released him and put his hand behind his own head apologetically. “We heard you were out here so we all came to see what you were doing.”

Bakugo's eyes darted behind the red head to see the faces of Deku, Sero, and Todoroki, who was icing the part of the tree Bakugo set on fire.

“Sorry not sorry!” Kaminari smiled, still picking at his hair. “But I couldn't pass up on the opportunity to scare the pants off of you.”

“I almost killed you, idiot.”

“But you didn't!” Kaminari winked, throwing a thumbs up.

Bakugo scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets, turning his back to them. “You’re all morons.”

 He began walking but Kirishima grabbed his arm. “I’m just going to be straight with you, man. All of us are worried about you.”

Bakugo jerked his arm out of his grip. “Worry about yourselves.”

“We know you’re not okay, dude.” Kaminari spoke up. “You haven’t exploded anyone in weeks. That must be a personal record.”

The others nodded, sharing grunts of agreement.

Bakugo growled. “Do you want me to exploded you? Is that it?” Sparks flew wildly out of his hands. “I can take all of you losers without even blinking!” 

“Let's do it.”

Everyone looked at Kirishima confused, including Bakugo. 

Sero rose his hand as if he were in class. “Five against one? What’s that going to do?”

“He just said he could take us all, so lets do it. But let's make it interesting.” Bakugo saw Kirishima's smile and returned his gaze with sharp, dagger-like eyes. A challenge, even one that seemed suspicious, wasn’t in Bakugo’s blood to refuse.

"What?" Bakugo replied testily. He hated how they all looked at him with pity, as if he was some broken or beaten-down puppy. But he was far from defeated, and he could destroy them all if he wanted to. He would prove each of them wrong, even if it meant blasting them to charred pieces.

Kirishima thought for a moment before answering. “If you win, then we’ll leave you alone. If we win, then you have to let us help you.”

Midoriya knew exactly what Kirishima was trying to do. Bakugo couldn't hope to take them all on at once. There was too much power in this group for him to handle on his own. But, as Midoriya knew too well, Bakugo wouldn't back down.

The angry blonde had been distracted lately, and he was so focused on proving his strength and ability that he might not fully grasp the possibility of failure. Midoriya knew that a challenge like this could finally give them the opportunity to break through to him.

Bakugo turned his nose up, seconds away from refusing before Kirishima added the cherry on top. 

“Unless you think you can't?”

Bakugo's explosions ignited, and he sent a powerful blast towards Kirishima, who hardened himself in response and took the hit. Then, he sent a second blast towards Deku, Todoroki, Kaminari, and Sero, who were all standing together. Todoroki threw up an ice wall to block the group from the explosion. The ice wall took the blast and was shattered into sparkling pieces as the explosion dissipated.

Kirishima barreled towards Bakugo who used his quirk to send himself flying into the air. Todoroki instantly leveled with him on the right, raising his right arm. To the left, Bakugo spotted Kaminari still on the ground and sparking with electricity. Sero was next to Kirishima, face scrunched in focus as he held fast with some tape, and Deku had used his quirk to quickly speed behind Bakugo on the ground, so the blonde was covered on all bases. All of them seemed to have coordinated a plan for their attacks without even a warning that Bakugo was going to attack.

They planned this. 

In that moment of clarity, Bakugo knew he was going to lose.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try like hell anyway.

He shot his hand up and quickly used his blasts to send him back to the ground. Kaminari and Sero released their quirks at the same time, missing Bakugo and hitting each other. The blonde could hardly land on the ground before he was body slammed hard by Kirishima, tumbling unceremoniously onto his side. Deku jumped up and tried to kick him, but Bakugo grabbed his leg, throwing him in a random direction right as he was was tackled again by Kirishima who was trying to get a grip over the blonde’s wrists.

Bakugo wasn’t stupid, he knew he wasn’t going to win this fight. He also knew his friends weren’t going to leave him alone, but passing up an opportunity to fight them? He’d never done that, no matter his mental state.

Bakugo screamed and set off a blast all around him, knocking Kirishima off of him. 

Through the dust and sparks, his eyes widened as he saw Todoroki appear in front of him with his right arm raised, a short burst of ice that was too fast to dodge caught Bakugo’s hand. The blast was harsh, knocking him back a few steps. He slammed his hand onto the ground, using his quirk at the same time to break it. He threw his arm out to Todoroki but his large blast was averted when strong tape closed around his wrist and yanked it backwards. 

He glared harshly at Sero, who waved at him, looking nervous. Bakugo’s hands sparked explosively, ready to wipe them both out with a single blast before he suddenly cried out as Kaminari’s quirk seared through him, paralyzing him leaving a hot metallic taste in his mouth. 

He was stuck for a few seconds, but it was enough. Deku flew in out of nowhere and delivered a hard kick to his chest, making him fall flat onto his back. Kirishima immediately grabbed his wrists, hardening himself in time for a large explosion to overtake them both. Todoroki covered the others protectively with an ice wall, which shattered and exploded around them, falling around them like burnt snow.

Bakugo’s hands smoked and steam rose off of Kirishima’s body, but he was still holding the other. Bakugo cursed and readied himself for another round, but was quickly stopped when he felt tape wrap tightly around his wrists then ice following enveloping his hands in a large block that covered his arms from his fingertips to his elbows, securing him tightly to the ground with his wrists raised slightly over his head. Midoriya, and Kaminari jumped over to his legs, trying to restrain them as he kicked and cursed wildly.

It was over.

Everyone around him was breathing hard, trying to wrestle a feral and partially restrained Bakugo, who was still fighting despite the obvious. A hand was gently placed on his shoulder.

 “It’s over!” Kirishima shouted, trying to speak over his aggression. “Stop fighting, we won.”

Bakugo shook his head and cursed. “Get the hell offa me!”

“No!” Everyone yelled in unison. 

“I said get off!” There was a small chip in his voice. 

Everyone paused and looked at each other, worriedly. Kirishima put both hands on Bakugo’s shoulders and pressed them firmly to the ground. “Bakugo, stop!”

He did. He just laid there silently, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He was no longer struggling and no longer spewing hateful words. He was defeated.

But most of all, he was tired.

Silence lingered. Kirishima was the one to break it.

“We’re going to be real with you, man.” Kirishima started, easing up on his grip. “We’re all worried about you. You haven’t acted like yourself in weeks. You’re acting like you’re giving up on becoming the number one hero. You walk around as if someone killed your dog, man and its gotta stop. ”

Bakugo stayed silent for a while. “I’m not giving up.”

“Could have fooled us.” Kaminari mumbled, earning a glare from the blonde.

“Hate to break it to you, dude but you might be depressed or unmotivated or something.” Sero shrugged as a matter of factly. 

“You need support and you need it from your friends.” Todoroki deadpanned.

Midoriya stayed quiet and observed from the back, knowing his input could set the blonde off in a different way.

Bakugo knew deep down that they were right. He would never admit it out loud, but he was unmotivated, stuck in an endless cycle of self-hate and criticalness. Before the circuit, he was convinced that he had mastered all of his weaknesses and found ways to overcome them. Whether it was a new support item or modifications to his hero uniform, he felt unstoppable with every step he took forward. He felt as if he had everything under control, until such a trivial and unconventional weakness he hadn’t thought about since childhood nearly had him begging at the hands of a girl that didn’t even lay one finger on him. Technically he won that battle, but in his mind he lost.

Just like that damn sports festival.

Bakugo shifted uncomfortably, having reached his limit with everyone’s hands and eyes all over him. “Fucking whatever! Fine.” He grunted before he could stop himself.

Sero and Kaminari gasped, making Bakugo want to immediately retract his statement.

“Manly!” Kirishima whooped, shaking the blondes shoulders ceremoniously.

“Now let me up.” Bakugo demanded, pulling at his arms, unable to feel his hands anymore due to the cold.

Everyone’s smiles disappeared, and they looked at each other again. Bakugo noticed the looks and frowned.

“What?”

Kirishima smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, man. You're not going to like this but,” The red head paused, stealing a glance at Midoriya. “We’re going to help you.”

Bakugo growled. “What the hell does that mean? Just let me up!”

Kirishima braced himself. “We’re going to tickle you.”

Bakugo blanched. 

“No.”

“It makes sense.” Kaminari spoke up. “We can get your endurance up.”

“Eat shit and die.” 

“It could work.” Todoroki agreed. 

“Are you all deaf or something? I said no!”

“Damn it, Kacchan!” Midoriya yelled. He got up from his position and stood over him. “This is messing with you because you give it power. I know you feel like it’s a big deal, but it’s not the end of the world.” Midoriya’s voice was firm and confident. “You’re not weak Kacchan, but the way you’re acting is.”

Bakugo’s face turned red. With anger or embarrassment, Midoriya didn’t know or care, so he continued. “I’ve never known you to give up on anything, even when things seemed impossible. If you give up on this, you won’t improve. And you could become a liability; the weakness on someone else’s team.”

Everyone was slack jawed. Kirishima even leg go of Bakugo’s shoulders. The angry blonde looked as if he was about to explode, staring at Izuku with eyes that dripped with venom. 

After a few minutes, he finally spoke through gritted teeth. “Then fucking get it over with.” 

Everyone looked at each other then at Midoriya. His eyebrows were raised in shock, as if he wasn’t expecting his friend to even hear anything he said. Everyone shared his moment of shock before nodding at each other and moving. 

Bakugo’s heart pounded in his chest when Midoriya moved to sit next to Todoroki, who applied more ice to his already tightly restrained arms. Sero and Kaminari reinforced their hold on his legs and Kirishima sat criss crossed next to him. In a soft voice, he started speaking. “We’re just going to see how long you can last, and we’ll work from there. The safe word is red. Say that if you can’t take it anymore.”

“This is stupid.” Bakugo huffed. “I don’t need a damn safe woh-!”

Sudden light scribbles over the fabric covering his sides forced his mouth closed as Kirishima tentatively used the tips of his blunt nails to lightly scratch at the area. The blonde cringed and furrowed his brow. If Kirishima had a magnifying glass, he would be able to make out other’s nose twitching, the action so minuscule it seemed wrong to even notice it. Kirishima moved his nails to his stomach, where more noticeably, Bakugo’s body tensed. Kirishima resisted the urge to smile, knowing the blonde would put a stop to this immediately if he sensed any amusement from either one of them.

As soon as Kirishima’s devil nails touched down on Bakugo, the blonde instantly instantly regretted consenting to it. His wardrobe wasn't the least bit protective, sporting a simple black tank top and lose fitting sweatpants. When Kirishima grazed his fingernails over the sides of his hips, he involuntarily yanked at his arms hard, cracking some of the melting ice. Midoriya and Todoroki reinforced their grip on his elbows and biceps, forcing him to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent cursing them out, more worried about laughter spilling out than actual words.

Jolts of ticklish energy moved through his body, striking him at random like lightning in the form of twitches and jolts. Somehow he felt more sensitive, Kirishima’s soft fingers already driving him up the wall. He growled out loud when Kirishima struck a soft spot right above his hip bones and the red head paused before lightly spidering his fingers there. Bakugo tried to pull his legs to his chest but Sero and Kaminari where right there to prevent it. 

“Fuck this,” He mumbled, shaking his head. “I changed my MiHIND!” He cursed at the high pitched yelp that flew out of his mouth when Kirishima nicked one of his lower ribs. He shook his head again and pulled at his arms, face burning. “Did you h-hear me, idiot? I said-”

Kirishima’s big hands closed around his ribs and squeezed, causing the angry blonde to writhe and arch to the side. He wanted to open his mouth and tell him to stop, but he couldn’t get past the closed mouth grunts and giggles that wanted to slip past his tightly pursed lips. Bakugo started struggling, less from the sensations currently driving him mad and more by the need to escape. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything else.

The wind, the noise the trees made when it passed, the crickets-

His eyes suddenly shot open when he felt fingers in both of his armpits. He ripped himself from his meditation to lock eyes with Deku and Todoroki who were lightly tickling his armpits at the same softness as Kirishima. He spluttered and started yanking at his arms for a different reason now, but all for the same goal.

Kirishima looked up and locked eyes with the others. Bakugo almost missed the silent message that passed between the three of them, but before he could protest, they all transitioned from light curious scribbles to harsh and rough ones. Kneading, pinching, and scratching up and down his ribs and in and around his armpits.

Bakugo let out a bark of surprised laughter before soundlessly thrashing.

Kirishima used his fingers to keep a good grip on the blonde’s sides while his thumbs got to rotating, kneading right into the groves and ridges of his ribcage. Kirishima rotated his thumbs into wide circles, then would randomly pinpoint a small section that he would focus on, driving the blonde crazy with its unpredictability. Midoriya knew exactly which buttons to push, forcing the blonde to inch away from him the most despite similar treatment on his other side. Midoriya knowingly teased and traced around Bakugo’s death spot, and he was hyper aware of the fact that Midoriya had the golden ticket and how close he was to cashing it in.

“You…Mother…f-fucking NERD!” Bakugo hissed when Midoriya faked out scratching at his death spot, instead going around it.

“He’s not even paying attention to me. Midoriya, what are you doing?” Todoroki talked as if he was asking about the weather or a homework assignment, not like he was in the middle of trying to wreck his friend.

Bakugo shot Midoriya a world shattering glare, but Midoriya just smiled and shrugged, not wanting to be the one to reveal his childhood best friend’s weak spot. “You just have to look, I guess.”

“Okay.”

Todoroki picked up the pace, searching for a spot that would produce a similar reaction. Once Todoroki’s wiggling fingers descended towards the bottom of his armpits, Bakugo gasped and shifted away, causing the half and half hero to look at Midoriya with deadpanned victory. 

“I got it.”

Todoroki nodded at Deku, then at Kirishima. A silent agreement passed between the boys and Bakugo’s eyes widened as soon as he caught onto it.

 “Wait, fuck stop! You- Agh! No no NOO! WAHAIHAIHAIHAIHAIIT!” He screamed, arching his back and trying his best to kick his legs out of his friend’s tortuous grip. “AGGHAAH! AAHAHAHAHAHA WHAHAT THE HEHEHEHEHHELL?! NAH! STAAAHAHAHAHAHP!”

Bingo. Todoroki and Midoriya massaged the spot right above his ribs and below his underarms. Kirishima closed his hands into fists and started knuckling the bottom half of his ribs. Bakugo’s laughter went up a few pitches and he jerked around hysterically, attempting to buck his hips and free his arms and legs. He felt cool water rolling down his arms and to his frustration, even that tickled.

“STAHAHAHAHAP, YOU BASTARDS!” 

Black smoke rose from holes in the ice and Todoroki stopped to reapply it. Bakugo didn't even notice the break, due to Midoriya absolutely letting him have it on his other side. Bakugo sneered and cursed, face scrunched in delirious hilarity. Kirishima’s devious fingers wiggled down Bakugo’s torso, testing new areas for reaction. His sides caused him to writhe depending on the pressure, but he could explore that later. Once kirishima’s fingers graze over his hipbones, Bakugo threw his head back and let out an uncharacteristic shriek. Kirishima frowned, confused for a moment before looking over to see Kaminari and Sero messing with the undersides of his knees. Chucking to himself, He watched Bakugo try and fail to kick his legs, shaking his head and bucking his hips.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! FUCK! GEHEHEHT OFF MEHEHEHEHE!”

He slammed his head on the ground, his face and neck turning a dark shade of red.

Without warning, Midoriya and Todoroki doubled their efforts. Not wanting to be outdone, Kirishima doubled down as well. Kaminari and Sero chuckled at Bakugo’s hilarious reactions and started teasing the top of his knees as well as the bottom. Bakugo’s laughter stayed the same but his thrashing increased, throwing Kaminari around as the electric hero lost his grip a few times.

Bakugo’s laughter became desperate. The spidering along his hips, the fingers in his underarms, the knuckling along his ribs, the annoying and jolting tickles on both sides of his knees and the massage along his death spot was way too much. Through a frustrated yell, his struggling doubled and the ice crackled again, bits and pieces flying off in jagged layers. 

“AAHHHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAH! SHIT! SHIHIT OKAY! RAHAHAHA- REH- REEHEHEHEHEHHED! RED DAMN IT SSTAHAHAHAHAHHAPP!” 

Everyone’s fingers stilled and Bakugo’s entire body slumped, head pushed back, defeated.

“Alright man,” Kirishima started. “That was 4 minutes.”

“I can understand why you think it’s a weakness.” Kaminari stifled a giggle.

“Yeah, dude you're like, super ticklish.” Sero chuckled, nudging Kaminari.

If Bakugo’s face had been able to blush any further, it would have.

“Shut… up.” He gasped. “Get this damn ice offa me.” 

Everyone let up. Todoroki melted his ice and Sero cut his tape. When Bakugo was free, he sat up and dusted himself off. He rubbed his hands together warming them and resisted the urge to smack and rub his body to make the phantom sensations go away. 

Everyone was looking at him, expectedly, wondering if they had went too far. Bakugo picked up on it and groaned. “The fuck are you all gawking at?”

Kirishima clapped his hands together once, eagerly. “Alright well, I say we set up some training sessions! Come up with different challenges that Bakugo would have to face and track his progress.”

“One could be an interrogation! Someone could give him a set of numbers and he would have to hold onto it until a time limit expires.” Sero shrugged.

“One could include combat training.” Todoroki quietly suggested. “We could spar and see if it affects how he fights.”

“Then after a while we could do this again and see if he can last longer!” Sero concluded.

“So it’s about endurance?” Kaminari asked.

“Well, yeah.” Kirishima answered. “That means he’s going to have to get tickled. A lot.” Kirishima felt a small twinge of guilt as he looked at Bakugo, realizing that the blonde's plight was indeed a humorous one, but he also recognized the severity of the situation. He had never viewed being ticklish as anything more than a harmless and fun activity, but he could see that it affected Bakugo differently, which made him want to reach out and be there for him. 

Kirishima had no idea what exactly his friend was feeling, but he intended to support him in whatever way he could. “You have to be willing, Bakugo or this isn’t going to work. You can say yes or no and we won’t push you, but know that this will help you, and it will help you improve rather than hold you back.” 

Bakugo finally looked up at the group, and exhaled tiredly. It was not an angry, irritated, or upset sigh, but one of pure exhaustion.

“Fine.” He conceded, rolling his eyes as everyone’s faces lit up in happy surprise. “No one finds out about this. I mean it, assholes. Got it?” 

Everyone nodded enthusiastically and Bakugo huffed.

The tired blonde stood up and stretched, narrowing his eyes at everyone, gaze lingering on a nervous green headed nerd. “Who told you losers I was out here?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Sero pointed at Deku, who squawked at the other in betrayal. Bakugo’s eyes flash red and he set off some small explosions in his hands. “Run. Run hard and fast.”

Deku wasted no time, tripping over himself as he rapidly climbed to his feet and ran away, yelling some sincere sounding apologies behind him with Bakugo right on his ass.

Everyone laughed and Kirishima sighed contently. 

Bakugo was back. 

˚ · • . ° .

Part 3

#tickle blog #tickle community #tickle fic #ticklish!bakugou #bnha tickle #lee!bakugou #mha tickle #t word community #sallage-mha #ticklish!bakugo #lee!bakugo

[silaslich]

Where There is Light, a Shadow Appears

Ghoap Hogwarts Professor AU

Part 4/10 - Draughts & Ditches

Wc - 4k

No warnings

Tag list - @siriuswritingandart @wheezytomato

Johnny looked as if he was stuck in a constant daze.

His usual wondering eyes were now glazed; normally focused on everything but the conversation at hand, taking in the intricately carved ceilings or the portraits on the walls. Now there’s nothing there.

He’d always had a short attention span, at least, for as long as Simon had known him, he was always starting conversations he couldn’t finish - getting too sidetracked by something shiny he’d seen, like a magpie.

This was something else, as if clouded by something, it was as if there were smoke in his eyes, set in a haze. Simon thought he recognised it as a side effect of one taking Draught of Peace, he’d smelt it in Johnny’s classroom the other day when asking about Wolfsbane. It never even crossed his mind that Johnny might be brewing it for himself, he’d never been a regular taker of it before, as an Auror. So what had changed?

Was it his accident? Or perhaps it was something else.

Simon couldn’t put his finger on it, and, admittedly, he thought about it more often than he should.

He reminisced a lot about before, on how things used to be between him and Johnny. It was always a slippery slope, neck deep in firewhiskey, remembering how it had felt to finally kiss Johnny after spending so long just thinking about it - just dreaming about it.

Now there was nothing to show for it. Nothing to show for the years of friendship and what came after, it was all muddy now, nothing more than a stain on his past, a mistake he wished he never made.

As the weeks pass, so does Simon’s judgment. Every time he sees Johnny it’s the same mist over his eyes, the same forced smile and the same solemn lull in his voice. To those that didn’t know him, it wasn’t particularly noticeable, but Simon had studied and catalogued every minute detail of Johnny’s entire being - and this wasn’t his Johnny.

The feast is over, as is the sorting ceremony.

John feels relief wash through him, a few hours he had been dreading had turned out to be quite pleasant, perhaps it was the potion - either way, he was ready for his bed.

His social battery, safe to say, is drained. Before becoming an Auror, he had been utterly overbearing, as he was told, too much and too loud and too bashful. While he was a bookworm at heart when it came to his favourite subjects, he was still a clown through and through, always getting himself and his mates into trouble when he was a student. As he grew older, that streak seemed to die down, fizzling out. When he became an Auror it became apparent that there was little room for tomfoolery in Price’s ranks. Which in itself, was fair, but John ways felt like the odd one out, a black sheep of sorts, he was remarkably young when he was accepted into the Auror programme, and he sometimes feels like he was robbed of some of his youth.

Those years he should have spent finding himself, he spent fighting for his life, fighting for the lives of others. He doesn’t regret it, not in the slightest, even after his accident, but he often thinks of what life would be like for him now had he not gone down the Auror career path.

John assists in showing the first year Hufflepuff students to the dormitories, ushering the last few stragglers out of the Great Hall as they stare at every painting and carving and statue with wide-starry eyes. While he understands the feeling, the sooner he gets them to their rooms, the sooner he can head to his own. While under the influence of Draught of Peace, John feels sluggish, like all of his worries and troubles melt away and he’s left as nothing but an empty shell. It’s what he wanted, really, but it makes his blood pump slowly and his head starts to lull as he nears closer and closer to the call of his bed.

As John ascends the last few steps, he hears two voices at the top of the corridor, he can discern that one belongs to Simon - but the other is lost to the slowness that eats away at his mind.

As he comes closer to his door, the voices grow louder and John spots Simon speaking to another teacher outside of his door.

It’s Professor Garrick, the transfiguration teacher, the one John had to look twice at because he looked like he’d blend in easily with the seventh year students.

John catches the tailend of their conversation, “It shouldn’t be a problem next time around” Simon says, “Lich leaving so suddenly like that didn’t exactly give me time to prepare” he adds. Garrick nods along to Simon’s words, “yeah given M’s movements it would have been perfect for you to follow-“ as if sensing John’s presence - Garrick snaps his mouth shut.

Too tired to care, John barely notices it, only realising he’s perhaps interrupted something when the two men watch him cross the corridor and walk straight through the middle of them, they watch his back as he heads to his door, slightly bewildered by his strange behaviour. John unlocks and opens his door, but makes a strained noise in the back of his throat before he enters, tapping his palm against the door frame and arching his neck to a strange angle to look at Simon. “I’ll have that stuff y’need whenever Si” he says, slurring his words slightly, “jus come by ma classroom when y’need it” he nods as he speaks, affirming himself, his body growing heavier and heavier each second he remains standing in the dimly lit corridor.

Just like that, he steps into his room and slams the door, having not meant to, too delirious to comprehend the placement of his own limbs.

Garrick’s mouth is agape, confused beyond belief, looking between the closed door and Simon’s face, “Si?” He questions, watching Simon’s face twist, “come off it” he spits, turning toward his own door to hide the rising of colour in his cheeks. “Told ya his head wasn’t screwed on right” he says, a false venom in his voice, Garrick tilts his head “you think he’s been on the drink?” It’s a genuine question, what else would make him so uneasy on his feet and so clumsy with his words?

Simon shrugs, “he’s definitely on somet” he says, opening his door and turning to face Garrick, “goodnight”. The transfiguration professor smiles softly, “goodnight Simon”.

As Simon closes his door and Garrick makes his way to the set of stairs at the other end of the corridor, there’s something that blocks the light beneath John’s door.

The amber-yellow light bleeding through the crack underneath is obstructed, obscured by none other then John himself, sitting with his back pressed to his door and his knees pulled to his chest - having been listening to the venom in Simon’s tone, the pure distaste to have the subject of John in his mouth.

The effects of the Draught of Peace are wearing thin, and it leaves a cavity in John’s chest that is readily filled with everything that been bottling up lately. This, was the icing on the pumpkin pasty.

John cries himself to sleep as he sits at the bottom of his door.

It’s four weeks into the first term of the school year.

Safe to say, John is getting by, he dare say he’s really enjoying teaching.

He hadn’t really been able to see himself as a professor, not proper enough, he thought. Yet, it’s one of the easiest adjustments he’s come across throughout his life, it’s almost natural in the way he drones on about potions and demonstrates how to make or brew them. He tries his best to keep it interesting, to keep the yawns at bay and keep the weary teenagers interested enough that they don’t start sending paper cranes darting across the classroom at each other.

It’s before lunchtime on a Thursday, he’s got his seventh years attempting to brew Veritaserum - a truth potion.

While it’s one of the more advanced potions out there, John has faith in his students, none have disappointed him thus far, he sees bright futures for all that sit in his class. He’s got plenty of time before they sit their N.E.W.T exams, but honestly, he’s not worried about it at all. At least, not for this particular group of students, these are the ones that have potions as one of their chosen subjects; much like him - they have a passion for it.

Which makes all the more difference when you’re learning about something you actually have an interest in. The same can’t be said for some of his fifth years, most clearly didn’t want to be there, they simply had to be. It reflected in some of their work, but John knew there was nothing he could do to force them to love potion making like he did - he just hoped they were inspired enough to get through their exams.

All of this keeps him busy, and John prefers it that way. He’d steadily weaned himself off his Draught of Peace, he was glad to have it in the beginning while he was finding his feet, but now he’s in his routine and everything’s predictable and he knows that there is safety in that. There’s no shame in it, not really, he could have taken more dire measures; seeking the bottom of a barrel like his big brother did, or rub powders into his gums like his little sister still does.

There’s next to no natural light down in the dungeons; and it’s the one thing John really hates about his classroom. He’s enchanted a dozen lanterns to sit high and flush to the ceiling, dowsing the room in a pale-amber glow that means his students can actually see what they’re doing properly. It had been his first improvement after only his first day of teaching - the result of three blown up cauldrons and a finger-biting concoction that came to life after too many murtlap tentacles were added to the mixture.

He liked to blame it all of the students lack of sight, he’d given them the benefit of the doubt, and it’s been working out thus far since he’d given them more light to work by.

After the seventh years have finished brewing there is still time left over and John lets them have it to themselves, whether they want to revise potions or something else entirely - he gives them free rein. He knows how much work the seventh years have on their plates this year, so he won’t get on at them until the countdown begins, for now he’ll let them be.

While at his desk, he eyes the small desktop calendar that sits in the left hand corner, amidst the piles and piles of papers and recipes. Today is September 29th, tonight will be the first full moon since John had arrived at Hogwarts, and it’s the first time that Simon will be using the Wolfsbane John had brewed for him.

He came close to not doing it at all. After that night he overheard Simon and Garrick talking out in the corridor, after he heard the way Simon spoke of him, John willed himself to tell Simon where he could shove it when he came around asking for his wolfsbane.

Then again, that wasn’t John. As much as he wanted to tell Simon he could go elsewhere and pay extortionate prices or try to brew the potion himself, John knew that wasn’t fair. Even if Simon didn’t like John, he still knew he owed it to Simon to do this one thing for him. It should be John preparing for this full moon; it should be John who dreads the call of the night like Simon does, it should be John that questions wether or not this existence is worth it at the price he has to pay with each full moon that rises and sinks.

For that reason and that reason only; John will continue to make the potion.

The atmosphere of the classroom is calm, the sound of quills scribbling into parchment and quiet-yet-idle chitchat echoes around the old room, punctuated by the flames crackling beneath cauldrons and that one drippy cobblestone in the ceiling in the very farthest corner near the broom cupboard.

John stays silent, thumbing through his papers, grading some homework from his first years; he’s snatched out of his thoughts when there’s a rapping knock against the wood of his door. He looks up through his glasses as they start to slip off the end of his nose, he’s greeted by the ever present void of an expression that is Simon Riley’s face. John’s quick to look at his watch, there’s still ten more minutes of the period, but he supposes he could get away with sending the seventh years off a touch early.

He stands, the feet of his chair scraping harshly against the stone as it’s pushed back, creating a horrible sound that pierces everyone’s ears, “alrate lads and lasses” he starts, clearing his throat, “good work today, get your sens off a bit early, I just need a quick word with Professor Riley” as John finishes speaking, his students snap their heads around in unison, having been too ingrained in their conversation to notice the Dark Arts Professor looming in the doorway. They don’t hang around to ask questions, they scoop up their textbooks and papers and scurry out of the classroom as quick as possible, not able to avoid the half-arsed glare that Simon aims their way.

“Could you stop death-staring my students please” John says, curtly, moving to sit back down in his chair and looking back to his papers as Simon steps into the classroom and shuts the door behind himself. Simon’s quick to retort, not verbally, with a simple noise of dismissal hissed through his teeth. He starts across the room, his hands clasped together behind his back as he makes his way over toward John’s desk, despite the fact he had already been inside John’s classroom before - his eyes still wander the walls and shelves like last time.

“You didn’t need to send them off early” Simon says, now looking pointedly at John, despite the fact he doesn’t get the same back. John remains ingrained in his papers, idly scrawling over the pages as he marks them, “I didn’t realise that your condition was common knowledge” John speaks clearly, having thought over his words, knowing exactly what he wanted to say to Simon once given the opportunity.

Simon tilts his head, still waiting for John to look at him, he doesn’t. “It isn’t” Simon retorts, matter of factly, earning the reaction of John downing his quill and pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses - finally looking up a him through the frames, “then why would you want to discuss wolfsbane in front of my seventh years?” Although it’s a question, John doesn’t exactly require an answer. Simon’s thighs are just shy of John’s desk now, and it means he’s completely at the mercy of Simon’s body and shadow as he looms over him, perhaps not purposely, but he’s all that fills John’s vision now.

Simon’s brow softens, just slightly, “I didn’t know you wore glasses” it’s soft, as if it isn’t Simon’s voice at all. It’s the little voice in his head, the one that’s observant and reasonable and kind, but he’s let it slip out. It catches John off guard, Simon can tell, because he watches those blue eyes swell large, his pupils widening in surprise and confusion. Simon swears he’s never met anyone with eyes as blue as John’s, it’s a cornflower blue, pale and bright silver like icicles that hang fat and wet from drainpipes - framed by the light that catches them.

John catches himself, he blinks hard a few times and tightens his lips, he sighs - taking off his glasses and placing them on his desk, “Simon I-“ he’s cut off “how did you know that’s what I was going to ask about?”

John tastes something bitter on his tongue, and he isn’t quick enough to swallow it back down.

“Don’t start this Simon” John’s voice wavers and he hates it, but Simon isn’t backing down either. “Don’t start what Johnny?” He’s fishing for an argument, now, because he’s realised that Johnny has shut his mind off from him. He couldn’t pinpoint what felt different when he walked in, he scanned the classroom, noting nothing was brewing that might make him feel some side effects, nothing was out of place from before and everything else seemed normal. Then it clicked, it clicked in his mind like a pin pulled out of a grenade, Johnny was completely and utterly shut off from everything around him. And Simon had no idea how.

Johnny bites, “surprised you can even stomach being around me” he sneers, chest starting to heave as he glares up at Simon, he watches his face twist in confusion, “since my head just isn’t screwed on right I’m surprised you still want this potion” John’s chair scrapes harshly against the stone again as he stands, retreating away from his desk and over to a small cabinet by one of the windows. Simon watches as he retrieves a large glass bottle, the liquid is thick and sloshes around the bottle with every movement John makes. Simon notes the potion is as blue as John’s eyes, pale and silvery.

Simon’s face contorts suddenly, “that’s not-“ “that’s not what?” John starts to shout now, anger eating away at his nerves, after masking everything with Draught of Peace for so long it makes everything taste like fury, he hasn’t felt anything for weeks, and now it’s flooding back like a tsunami wave. John storms back to the desk, smacking the bottle so hard against it that it’s any wonder it doesn’t shatter, “I don’t want to hear it” John spits, sliding the potion across the polished wood. Simon just manages to catch it before it goes hurtling towards the cobblestone floor, he catches it by a hairs breath. Despite what John says, Simon still tries, “Johnny-“.

“Get out!” There are tears in John’s eyes but he won’t let them spill, not for a man like Simon, not for a man that can’t even stand to be near him or hold a conversation with him.

John suddenly feels an incredible shooting pain behind his eye, it burns, as if it he eye itself is being ripped from its socket; he cries out and clutches his head. It’s unlike any of the other pains he’s had before this, it feels like it’s tearing from the inside out - like there’s molten lava behind his bad eye.

The tears do in fact spill now, freely, uncontrolled by John’s wavering stability, he completely forgets Simon is still standing in the room as his spine bows - keeled over in pain.

“Fuckin’ hell” It’s instinct, the way Simon’s suddenly at his side, palms bracing his shoulders and holding him up, but to John - Simon’s touch burns just as much as his eye. John recoils at Simon’s touch, “don’t touch me” he spits, half-heartedly shrugging himself away from Simon’s hold.

Simon simply raises his hands in surrender, giving John only enough space to breathe, he’ll stay close to catch him if he falls.

It’s overwhelming, as quick as the tears fall, everything floods through John, everything he’s bottled up for the last few years come steam rolling to the forefront of his mind - and having Simon this close makes him fear that history will repeat itself all over again.

John raises his head, weakly, meeting Simon’s expectant gaze, but it soon turns sour. “You need to go”.

The Three Broomsticks is just as John remembers it, but, with any luck, he won’t remember anything when he’s finished.

Taliesin, the bar maid, had started switching out his red current rum for water some hours ago now, but it was far too late for that.

John had drunken himself silly, till the throbbing pain was no longer just behind his bad eye, but pulsing throughout his entire head. It was school night, but John couldn’t find it in himself to care, there was lost time to make up for thanks to his use of Draught of Peace - he’d spent weeks hiding behind its veil.

Now he’s beyond his he point of being too far gone, he can’t barely sit upright on his stool and the tables around him are scrubbed clean with the chair stacked upside down on top of them, he’s beginning to overstay his welcome.

Taliesin teeters over, with a few taps to John’s shoulder with a singular finger, “would you like me to send an owl for someone?” She asks in a hushed tone, knowing his head is delicate, he’d reacted to the sounds of the chairs being stacked and the barrels being put away only ten minutes ago. John merely groans, a slur of words that she can’t really understand then tumble from his lips. “Na hen y’ne need’te worry” it’s a slurry of words that are too quick and too incoherent, so when she simply stares wide-eyed at John in response, he grumbles and forces himself to a staggering stand.

The walk back to the castle from Hogsmeade feels longer than it had been coming the other way. Maybe it’s because there is no intended destination, there is nothing John has to look forward to back at the castle. As John drags his feet along the stone path he realises just how much he doesn’t want to go back, as well as his teaching is going, the pain in his head isn’t going away - and having to face Simon everyday is an entirely different pain in itself.

It fills him with guilt and dread, it takes him back to the past, back to how things used to be and he just can’t stomach it anymore.

To go through that heartbreak over and over again, to blink and relive it day after day, it isn’t fair. Worst of all, Simon can see it happening, when Simon looks at John it’s as plain as day, even without legilimency - every time he meets John’s eyes he can see the same day played over and over again in his head. For John, there is no forgetting it.

The way John sees it, Simon appears unaffected, unbothered by everything that transpired between them. He looks at John with those devoid eyes of his, hiding everything away when it suits him. On other occasions, Simon attempts small talk and asks about trivial things, all the while the only thing John can focus on is the searing pain in his chest that Simon left there - rooted deep.

John shivers, suddenly aware of the chill in the air that bites at his nose and cheeks, pinching the tips of his fingers as he tries to tuck them into the opening of his coat - seeking warmth. It’s no use, the alcohol is trying to wear off and it leaves him with a lack of warmth in his belly, the breath that wisps in front of his face as he exhales seems to taunt him, pointing the way home.

He stumbles, unsure of his footing in the darkening night, he shakily retrieves his wand from the breast pocket of his coat in an attempt to cast lumos, but it slips from his fingers and bounces against the stone road. “For fucks sake” he spits, unsure of where his wand has landed, he was never the strongest at wandless magic, bar stirring the odd potion or summoning a book.

As John steps off of the cobblestone and into the wet grass beside it, he’s immediately sent hurtling downward, his heel catching in the mud making him slip. The ditch that tries to swallow him whole isn’t extremely deep, but the relentless rainfall the last few days means it’s waterlogged and boggy, enveloping John as he squirms and tries to drag himself out of the mud. He tries his best to stand, only reaching a crouch before it’s glaringly obvious that something is wrong, there’s a sharp pain in his ankle - possibly broken.

John grits his teeth and tries his best to claw his way up the side of the ditch, but it’s no use, the alcohol clouding his senses and the pain in his ankle head are almost too much.

It’s so dark that John can barely see a few feet in front of himself, he tries to scramble through the mud, trying to gain leverage on some of the longer reeds that line the dyke he’s found himself in. He manages to grab a fistful, twisting them in his palm to test their strength, he must misjudge. As John tries to pull himself up and out of the ditch, the strands of grass snap off in his palm and he flies backward - hitting the back of his head off the edge of a rock with a painfully loud thud.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #alternative universe #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #cod modern warfare #cod mw ghost #cod mw soap #cod mw2

[broken-bottle-chandelier]

" And now here I am, to my waist in water and getting drowned on the regular. "

Looks to the Moon being reminiscent of memories she no longer has... ...Featuring, my design take on Moon! Yaaay! This is my first time actually sitting down and fully coloring and fleshing out the look, wow!

This was originally for the Rain World art month, but as it approached the end of the month I just decided to finish it on my own time, and as is often the case, my own time is usually about a month- TT+TT [Though drawing the very last-minute background that I had NO planning beforehand other than the realization "Oh, right, Twitter doesn't do transparent images" most likely did not help...]

Despite having said all that, I actually am kind of proud of how long this took me! I tried a lot of new techniques for this! For instance: I knew I wanted to show motion with Moon's wires and incorporate them into the piece but I wasn't really satisfied with how I draw wires, and drawing two parallel lines by hand would have taken substantially more time. SO- to counteract this I did some research into properly making my own custom brushes for my software, I use Paint Tool SAI so I don't necessarily have the luxury of softwares like Clip Studio Paint to have catalogs of brushes sadly, and was able to make my own 2-point brush! It definitely needs some tweaks and revisions, despite being the 5th one of its kind that I made for this piece, but it served itself well for this piece and was a great help! The texturing was also a custom brush, made by someone else but heavily tweaked to match my preferences so that I could replicate skin refracting the rain. That in itself took a LOT of time studying references and watching tutorials and tips. [Thank you Sinix Design for all you do for the art community...]

However, there's more that I wish I could've done for this piece and it is FAR from perfect. I really wanted to make the red parts of Moon's body much shinier to show that they are a different property than her skin. Part of me really wanted to add in some rain falling from the ceiling too, to better sell the look of her being in the middle of an active rain cycle. Alas, my art program was really struggling to keep up with the number of layers I already had on the canvas and... also I didn't want to spend another few hours learning how to draw raining in free fall... there was also that... [Also I promise I am much better at drawing water and waves than this, I DID NOT plan how that shape would look in a third dimension at ALL and it suffered as a result- Oops--]

But! She's done and I'm comfortable enough with how this turned out! I'm glad to have finally properly drawn an iterator finally! It only took 6 years...

And thank YOU, yes you... for reading all my ramblings on my work and the process I went through!

#rain world #looks to the moon #finished art #digital art

[scotianostra]

Happy birthday actress Daniela Nardini born 26th April 1968 in Largs.

Nardini was educated at Largs Academy school, then trained as an actress at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama in Glasgow. Her parents owned Nardini’s, an ice cream parlour and restaurant in Largs. She was on the point of giving up acting and training to become a drama teacher when she was offered the part of Anna in This Life.

Other roles for Danniela have been in Taggart, of course, Big Women and Waterloo Road. as well as Bob Servant, we last saw he in Sunset Song with Peter Mullen. Nardini currently lives in Glasgow with her partner, Ivan Stein, a former civil servant-turned-chef, and their daughter. She had previously lived in Notting Hill in London, but moved back to Scotland after the birth of her daughter.

Daniela has been a bit quiet on the acting front, apart from a couple of shorts in the last couple of years, we have to look back to 2015 and Bob Servant for anything regular. I poked around further and found she is narrating Priest School, a documentary on BBC Scotland that follows a group of seminarians for a year as they train at the Scots College in Rome. It’s the first time the college – Scotland’s oldest overseas institution – has opened its doors to TV cameras. The best part of the filming however has been left out. The footage featured the Holy Father Pope Francis accepting a bottle of Oban malt from some students and proclaiming it “the real water of life”

Following a feud, the big Art Deco Nardini’s ice cream shop on the prom in Largs is no longer run by the family. It was founded by Pietro, her great-grandfather, who came to Scotland from Barga in Tuscany. He ended up in Paisley and then moved to Largs to open the shop that still bares the family name, I think anyone who has visited Largs will have visited it, at least just admire the shop itself.

Daniela had a health scare a couple of years ago when abnormalities showed up following a mammogram, she said in an interview in The Sunday Post;

“It was a huge shock to be told I had breast cancer, and it was another shock to learn I needed to have a mastectomy. All these decisions that have to be made come at you, like whether or not to have reconstruction at the same time as the surgery.

“I was in shock. After all of it is done, you can get over the physical side, but mentally, well, you are just a bit off. Now I look at it and think I was very lucky. After the treatment I’ve had nothing – no other symptoms – and I’m in the clear.”

She admits to seeking professional help after the death of her father, and her divorce, but has come out of it and is now embarking on her own journey into counselling. She says it’s always been something that interested her, so she completed an HNC during lockdown and is now studying for a diploma.

Last year Daniella teamed up with fellow Scot David Tennant to play Lady Macbeth, David playing the title role.for the play, which was aired on BBC Radio 4 just over a year ago. In a recent interview, she said spending time in lockdown at her home with her teenage daughter helped her focus on two new pursuits - painting and training as a mental health counsellor.

#scotland #scottish #Ayrshire Largs #Scots-Italian #actress #television #theatre #radio #happy birhtday

[victorluvsalice]

Hello, and welcome to this two-part building update from the Chill Save, entitled “Valicer Haunted Farmhouse Makeover!” Yes, after realizing the gang had some cash, I decided to take a playsession or two and make some upgrades to their farmhouse, and these are the results! Took me a while to get everything the way I wanted (and to get the game to behave itself -- lights kept turning off every time I tried to place things on the wall in the barn first time I tried this), and I’m probably still gonna shuffle some stuff around as time goes on, but right now, it’s looking pretty good, I think. :) This post focuses on the downstairs  and the grounds, so let me take you through the changes --

-->Well, first off, I’m sure you’ve noticed all the pet obstacle course stuff tucked into the corner there. ;) Yup, one of my intended goals with this family was to get them some pets (a cat and a dog specifically), so I figured while I was making the house nicer that I could put in all the pet stuff. Downstairs, we have the obstacle course in the front yard; a litter box, natural branch scratching post, outdoor toy bin, and cat teaser on the front porch; a more traditional scratching post and an indoor toy bin (with toys) in the first floor main hall; and automatic pet feeders in the kitchen, complete with mats. :) The pets have not been acquired yet, but you’ll meet our candidates next update.

-->Another major addition -- rugs! I kept meaning to put them down, so I made sure to slap them in now. The downstairs landing has a nice big slightly-worn rug for Sims to cosy their feet on, and the creative study has a rug for everything you can do in there (Alice always had her painter’s tarp rug, but I added a Selvadorada rug under the chess table as that’s where Victor and Alice’s Selvadoradan honeymoon pictures hang, a Granite Falls rug under Smiler’s guitar as that’s where all THOSE vacation photos are, and a standard blue rug under Victor’s piano just because). There are even more rugs upstairs, I assure you!

-->Other decorative changes include moving the egg collection from the last couple of Egg Days to a shelf (from the “Cottage Garden Stuff” fan pack by @plumbobteasociety) that could fit all of them and putting them in a different spot; swapping out one of the MySims statues on the fireplace mantle in the living room -- Alice’s new Elmira Clamp one looked like it belonged near the bookcases, so I put the Hoppy one upstairs in Smiler’s room; updated the “house” shelf Alice’s Simmie from the Festival of Snow sits in so it stands out a bit more; and adding some new pictures and the aprons to the kitchen, along with some pet treats. . .which involved me actually making the whole kitchen one tile longer so I could put in another counter to fit them. XD I suppose I could get rid of the microwave, they don’t really use it, but. . .eh. XD Oh, and I put the special “gives you money” trash bin in the kitchen -- dunno how often it’ll be used, but hey, a few extra simoleons just from cleaning up never hurt!

-->I also made over all the bathrooms! The downstairs bathroom now has a nicer toilet (from Tiny Living, if I recall correctly), plus a better pedestal sink and one of Alice’s most recent paintings on the wall for color. (No, I don’t know WHY the downstairs bathroom is The Beige Bathroom, it just happened.)

-->Outside, I FINALLY got a system I like going for the greenhouse! We have a couple of cute wheelbarrow decorations out front by the door (both official and CC); the flower-arranging bench, the juice fizzer, and a grill for making herbal potions along one wall; and then the plants themselves. From back to front, we have the “orchard” (most of the regular trees Victor is growing); the “unusual plants and mushrooms” line of planters (magical plants, Granite Falls plants, mushrooms, the Tree of Emotions, and the Plasma tree); a line of flowers (either end), veggies, and fruits, with the beehive in the middle; two planters where things overlapped (like fruits with veggies, or flowers with herbs); and the final row of earth where Victor will EVENTUALLY plant the oversized crops. It WILL happen. (Once everything else reverts from “dirt pile” state -- to be fair, I’m not too pissed, as the plasma fruit tree wasn’t actually producing fruit, so this gives it a chance to reset, and they’ve got plenty of other produce and flowers right at the moment.)

-->And over at the barn, I made a little fenced-in area for the chickens, since I didn’t want them running all over and sundry (I WOULD have used the Werewolves picket-style fence, but for some reason that doesn’t have a matching GATE, so StrangerVille picket it is); put the insect collection on the back wall (missing one certain insect that instead is being kept in the house as a “pet”); moved the robot bench and the fabricator to the wall with the woodworking bench and the candle-making bench; and threw in a cauldron for Victor so he can do some alchemy stuff! Plus some of the Tetris-inspired shelving from Cepzid’s “Arcade Room Stuff” fan-pack to show off Smiler’s frog collection. Mostly because I wanted to keep only the cheap frogs in their inventory for plasma-pack-breeding purposes. :P

Okay, so that’s ground-level pretty well covered -- how about the upstairs?

#sims 4 #the lazy save #builds #makeovers #valicer house #this took way longer than it should have because I kept fussing over that damn greenhouse #unsure how I should group things #unsure where stuff should go #fortunately Alice picking up those extra goodies for Victor last episode meant I could have a special 'mushrooms' planter #and then I found a tulip randomly growing by the barn and used that to round out a flower planter #and it finally came together #just ignore the floating ceiling lamps please #they were the ONLY ones that properly lit up the space at night #but yeah overall I'm pretty happy with this #I'm glad I finally remembered to put in rugs! #it actually got to be pretty fun deciding what should go where #I like this house and all the colorful stuff I've put in it #really makes it feel like THEIRS you know? #queued

[sociologyonthemove]

A Stroll Through Cardiff’s Most Affluent Neighbourhood by Finn Prendergast

It’s a cloudy Saturday afternoon in April, but according to the forecast it should be raining by now. I’m taking no chances and have come equipped with an umbrella. Leaving the train, I emerge into a car park and my walk begins. To my surprise, there are no barriers or wardens to check my ticket. There is also a distinct lack of the usual “don’t get caught red handed” posters which tend to adorn the train stations of more bustling metropolitan areas, dissuading the rabble from the pettiest of crimes – fare-dodging. I am particularly sore about this because I once received a “notice of incident” and warning of prosecution for forgetting my railcard on a five-minute train journey. The train station is being renovated and, to the chagrin of Whitchurch residents, has been for the past three years. Transport for Wales promises to deliver free Wi-Fi, a new weather shelter, and of course, more CCTV (Evans, 2023). 

I orientate myself briefly, and it does not take long before I remember my route. I have sketched it out in my head from revising Google maps; my only prior experience of this neighbourhood beyond a WalesOnline article (Ahmed, 2023). Maps, at least those provided by Google, do not usually account for verticality. Although verticality is a factor usually associated with more urban landscapes (Jackson et al., 2021), it nonetheless plays an important role in this neighbourhood which sits on a hill above the other streets. The first part of my journey will see me ascend to this neighbourhood that I can just see posturing itself over a thick brush of green; hidden for the most-part, but nonetheless asserting itself over the houses below. The first hint of a millionaire’s row. I make my way up the stairs of the overpass, running my hands across a well-held handrail which reveals galvanised iron beneath a layer of flaky clover-green paint. This walkway lacks the usual trappings of railway overpasses: discarded cigarette packets and puddles of strange liquid which hurry you along the bridge. I wonder whether these bits of urban debris ever find themselves in Llandaf, or perhaps they’re just cleaned away the moment they’re spotted. 

I emerge onto a street called The Parade which runs parallel to the Llandaff line, the only source of intrusive noise for the street. Currently, the street is silent apart from my footsteps. The left side of this street looks down onto the neighbourhoods below. I walk across the road to the pavement with a line of houses so that I can get a better look. I am greeted by a dense strip of hedge, obscuring my vision of the homes. My inspections are limited to the regular driveways in the well-pruned fortifications revealing expensive cars and equally expensive gardens. Several houses have scaffolding outside, no doubt in a bid to continue the spectacular rise in house prices this neighbourhood has seen. The latest sale on this street was for £1,425,000 in 2022, an increase from £550,000 in 2005.

I only get glances at these houses, however. As much as I’d like to spend longer admiring each one, the security system notices, and panoramic bay windows seem to convey that I may look but not stare. Indeed, as far as I can tell, I’m the only one on this street so I opt to keep moving. My pace is slow and thoughtful and as my view of each house is obstructed by hedge or wall, only the house turrets remain – sentries watching over the street below. These towers would not look out of place in a fairy-tale; the wizards’ quarters of a king’s keep. Their pointed roofs and weathervanes stand proud above the crenelations of red-brick ramparts. I imagine these rooms are actually filled with the studies of hybrid workers – wizards in their own right. Nonetheless, I feel watched, in the same way that a suspect in an interrogation room can't see through the one-way window. The crime… loitering. 

As I continue down The Parade, the street remains desolate apart from a few cars which spill out onto the street from private driveways. For some reason, I expected the parking situation to be the same as Cathays: masses of student cars which indiscriminately drift up against pavements whether they’re double-yellow or not, creating a nightmare for pedestrians and residents. All of this is absent from The Parade, making me wish I brought my girlfriend’s car with me instead of paying the train fare. The pavements are also empty. Beyond the odd cigarette butt, there is a pronounced lack of litter. No gum embedded in the asphalt, no hints of the previous Friday night’s revelries. The beeline of alcohol that leads swarms of students into the city centre every weekend does not extend this far. And though the air here is still and tepid, it smells fresh. I’m not met with the sickly scents of hangover I associate with residential Cardiff. The discarded cider that stews on the street – mementos of the night before. The residents of The Parade will be met with no such guilt. I can’t hear the chatter between students walking to lectures, or the honks and revs of cars with modified exhausts. Instead, I hear birdsong broken up by the occasional passing train.

Approaching Kingsland Road on my right, another unapologetically aristocratic street name, I notice the first signs of life – a woman and young child packing a pushchair into an electric SUV. I suddenly become even more aware of myself. I must look very suspicious with my cap, large backpack, and wandering eyes that flit with intent between houses and my notes app. I note my obvious lack of familiarity with the street; the way my head pivots sporadically when crossing the road, as it does in the busy urban centres of Cardiff. If I was a resident, I’d probably be wary of myself. My pace quickens slightly to cross Kingsland Road, and as I pass, I hear the woman speaking in Welsh to the child. I can only make out the word “peidiwch” which means “don’t”. 

As I continue down (or up) The Parade, the street bends to the right, creating a levee of houses between this street and the noisy railway. As it bends, the steel palisade fencing ends and an even taller red-brick wall begins. In its foreground, a lightly graffitied street sign lets me know that I have entered Westbourne Crescent – Cardiff’s most expensive street. Next to it, drilled into the wall, a sign warning me that “THIS IS A NEIGHBOURHOOD WATCH AREA”. Of course, I take a photo of this before continuing. Before I walk Westbourne Crescent, I turn around and see the two people from earlier stood in the road facing me. I am smacked in the face with the hammer of reflexivity which spurs me out of sight down Westbourne Crescent. It’s difficult to tell whether the unease I feel is because of the street, or because I now know how suspicious I look. Would I feel as uncomfortable if this was a normal walk? I decide I will assess this when I walk back through the street to catch my train, this time without the eyes of a researcher or my phone camera. 

Westbourne Crescent is similar to The Parade so far, however, what becomes apparent is the frequency of neighbourhood watch signs has increased, contributing to the “securityscape” (Atkinson, 2020, p.144). I’m not surprised by this; one of the commenters on the WalesOnline article was upset with the attention drawn to their street, fearing that it might attract burglars. I imagine he would be equally upset with a nosy sociology student snooping around. The evidence points towards this being a very reserved neighbourhood, especially now as I walk along Westbourne Crescent, where frontages seem to have sunk slightly deeper behind walled gardens. I notice a house with a Welsh name, and think back to the Welsh I overheard earlier. I’ve heard that in some parts of Cardiff, speaking Welsh is worn as a symbol of prestige. However, where I come from in North Wales, it is more taken for granted and Welsh acquiesces into ‘Wenglish’. Here, proper Welsh is honed and displayed loudly, mutations and all. It seems ironic having these displays of Welshness on streets named Westbourne Crescent and The Parade. I think that perhaps the middle classes have a penchant for ancient languages that aren’t widely spoken like Welsh and Latin – they denote membership to an exclusive club of speakers.  

The eerie silence and stillness of the street invokes a sense of suspense which hastens me along. Knowles (2022) describes how her final walk through the Surrey Suburb of Virginia Water was curbed by the heavily securitised, hostile atmosphere of one of its private streets. Westbourne Crescent has a similar effect: all but the law is levied against the wandering public in an effort to deter them from exercising their right to roam. Households also seem to grate against one another. A semi-detached house across the street boasts a navy-blue wooden balcony and another turret with a panopticon view. The house is joined reluctantly to its neighbour, with a barely-distinct shade of light grey so that everyone knows they are separate houses, albeit with matching tastes. The next few houses along the right of the street seem ordinary in comparison to the houses on the left and those of The Parade. Exposed brick façades yield to pebbledash which seems to bubble up under coatings of white paint. The garden walls sit lower or have been replaced entirely by decorative metal fencing which let me see into the garden. One reveals what looks like an automatic lawnmower. Maybe not exactly what you’d call phantasmagoric (See Knowles, 2017), but I’m impressed! 

The real jewel of the street, however, sits just further along, where Westbourne Crescent splits into Westbourne Road at a roundabout. All the medieval metaphors up to this point crescendo in this final house; a veritable faux-Tudor fortress. All I can see of this house beyond the walls is its top half. Twin gables where dark wooden beams jut out of the white plaster. Protruding from the brown slate roof, three chimneys. And that’s all I can see of it. The wall, which is the highest so far, doesn’t let me see anything else. I try to get a better look as I continue to walk, but the wall wraps around the periphery of the house. The only entrance are two black doors in the wall which are bolted shut. There is no chance of me getting a look at the secrets behind them. According to Simmel (1906, cited in Harrington, 2021), wealth needs secrecy to survive. Exposed wealth can be scrutinised by the public, leading to indignation and calls for accountability. As such, wealth is hidden in VIP clubs, on offshore accounts, and behind tall walls. Knowles (2022) notes how wealthy neighbourhoods are characterised by anxiety. They are rife with physical and legal barriers which instil a sense of exclusion in the public, such that strolling becomes trespassing. Safe from prying eyes, the wealthy may exist comfortably, albeit anxiously, protected from those who might not think their wealth is entirely meritocratic. 

The final house on this street is a sharp contrast to the previous. Only slightly visible over the wall that has continued from the last property, this modernist house resembles an arrangement of black shipping containers. The wall is interrupted by a black gate with a home alarm system installed into the wall next to it. To my right, the road branches off into another street with a resident’s sign reading Rushbrook in a gothic font. Down this street is an even tighter cove of walls, trees, and electric cars. Not at all inviting – a walk for another day. The street narrows to a close, and I reach a path which leads me down to the modestly named Ty-Mawr Road, where my walk ends. My return trip back to the train station confirms my suspicions, my unease was not just because of my photographing and notetaking. Surveying the street a second time does not make me appear any less suspicious, and anxiety still seems to seep from the walls of the wealthy and washes me home in its tide. I’m sure this evening my photo will appear on some Westbourne Watch Facebook page with the caption “BEWARE”. 

Methodological Note

Walking as a method allows researchers to apply the sociological imagination (Mills, 1959) to the everyday, often mundane, settings and spaces that we dwell in (Rhys-Taylor, 2013). By using our senses on walks through these spaces, we can better understand the social structures that penetrate and dictate everyday life. This allows researchers to delve into the phenomena they are examining, “decipher these clues, or perhaps note their absences, as well as show their significance." (Bates and Rhys-Taylor, 2017, p.5). Walking also allows us to see how space can create and recreate inequalities. It allows the researcher to see "how power functions through the erection of physical, symbolic and sensory exclusions" (Jackson et al., 2021, p.1). Materially, this may refer to how mobility is restricted physically by stairs and corridors. In the abstract, exclusion might be manufactured by security cameras, legal notices, or walls. My walk focussed largely on the latter to consider how ostensibly public spaces can imbue emotions like anxiety and unease and to understand the friction created between urban wandering and the organisation of wealthy neighbourhoods. Can one be a flâneur in these neighbourhoods? I don’t think so. 

The aim of my walk was to explore how middle-classness manifests and is experienced in Cardiff, a city I have lived in for four years. To do this, I drew attention to some of the sensory distinctions between the urban areas of the city that I’m used to and the middle-class streets I explored. I was focussed on the sounds, smells, and sights of the walk, and how they differ from the neighbourhoods I am used to. As a newcomer to this neighbourhood, these distinctions were emphasized. I tried to show these distinctions rather than tell what they meant. This method enabled me to take the reader along on the walk with me (Becker, 2007).

I also wanted to reflect on how my perceptions of this neighbourhood were shaped by my identity as a Welsh person and student. Furthermore, I considered how the observations from my walk aligned with or contested my existing assumptions about Cardiff, Welshness, and the middle classes. As such, I can say that I incorporated autoethnographic elements into this work (Ellis et al, 2011). This method allowed me to connect my personal experiences to wider social structures such as social class and nationality. Of course, this method raises questions of positionality and reflexivity; to what extent do my perceptions of the street reflect what I’m seeing? How much of what I see is shaped by my own experience? Nonetheless, I tried to draw boundaries between my own bias, often influenced by my sociological readings before the walk, and the sights as presented to me whilst I wandered.

References

Ahmed, R. 2023. The Cardiff Street where the average house price is more than £1 million, Available at: https://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/homes-property/property-news/inconspicuous-cardiff-street-average-house-25881838 (Accessed: April 27, 2023).

Atkinson, R. 2021. Alpha city: How London was captured by the super-rich. London: Verso Books.

Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. 2017. Introduction: Finding Our Feet. In: Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. eds. Walking through social research. London: Routledge

Becker, H. 2007. Telling about society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Ellis, C., Adams, T. and Bochner, A. 2011. Autoethnography: an overview. Historical social research 36(4), pp.273-290. Available at: http://www.jstor.org/stable/23032294

Evans, L. 2023. Work finally underway to revamp Cardiff station three years after plans started, Available at: https://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/work-finally-underway-finish-cardiff-26632139 (Accessed: April 26, 2023).

Harrington, B. 2020. Secrecy, Simmel and the New Sociology of Wealth. Sociologica 15(2), pp. 143–152. doi: 10.6092/issn.1971-8853/13565.

Jackson, E., Benson, M. and Calafate-Faria, F., 2021. Multi-sensory ethnography and vertical urban transformation: Ascending the Peckham Skyline. Social & Cultural Geography, 22(4), pp.501-522. doi: 10.1080/14649365.2019.1597152

Knowles, C. 2022. Serious Money: Walking Plutocratic London. London: Penguin.

Knowles, C., 2017. Walking plutocratic London: exploring erotic, phantasmagoric Mayfair. Social Semiotics, 27(3), pp.299-309. doi: 10.1080/10350330.2017.1301795

Mills, C. 1959. The sociological imagination. New York: Oxford University Press

Simmel, G. 1906. The Sociology of Secrecy and Secret Societies. American Journal of Sociology, 11(4), 441–498. Available at: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2762562

[ariajonesstyle]

LET’S LEARN ABOUT THE ART OF COSTUME DESIGNING

Costume designing is art in itself. Costume designing is not only about choosing certain outfits for certain characters. It is much more than that. Costume designer goes through a thorough process of choosing the costumes, accessories, arranging them, studying them and planning them for the character.

Every kind of theater, films, shows, series, etc. feature characters that need to look their part in the same. To bring justice to their character, you as a costume designer need to bring justice to the character’s role by collaborating with directors, actors, producers and writers. Without having the proper outfit, the audience can’t connect with the character which in turn would dull their experience of watching it. The costume designing is a creative process which many times go unnoticed.

COSTUME DESIGNER IS AN ARTIST It does not come to everybody’s notice that the costume designing is also a kind of art just as we see the paintings and sculptures as art. But art comprises of all kinds of human creativity in which costume designing comes too.

No matter what kind of visual media you are designing for, be it a movie, show, play or anything else, costume designing is an art needed in it. Anything which has used our creativity and imagination and is being able to be understood by others is an art. With this in context, costume designing is also an art.

The people who design costumes are also artists. For them the canvas of their art is the outfit worn by the characters. They create their art using variety of clothes, accessories and other elements needed to complete a costume. Like any other artist, they express their imagination and emotions through the costumes. They help in bringing the characters the humane touch which is important.

IT IS NOT ABOUT SOPHISTICATED SUITS Costume design does not mean to always wear sophisticated suits, elegant gowns, and such things. It also includes clothing of a normal human. It also includes normal clothes like jeans, shirts, dresses and formal modern wear. The kind of costume you are planning depends on the character which actor or actress is playing and what kind of movie they are featured in.

Some movies which are based on present time and the theme is normal, then their clothes will be of casual or formal style which any regular human would wear on a daily basis. Your prime job is to choose the correct costumes which go well with the story as well as the character’s personality.

NEED TO GRASP THE SCRIPT To know what kind of costume you are going to make for the character, you need to first start off by reading the script thoroughly. You need to read the script in order to know what actually the personality of characters is; other important things such as timeline, conditions, and story line are also needed. The script will let you know the dialogues, direction and plot of the film or show.

They are not only the blue print of the show but also the blue print of your imagination and inspiration for creating the costumes. To know more about the script, you also need to talk about it with the director and writer to know what exactly they are imagining the characters wearing during the scenes.

RESEARCH IS IMPORTANT

Any costume designer will conduct a detailed research before finally a certain outfit for a character. The attention is not only about the clothes but also about the other elements of the outfit such as accessories and footwear. There are various topics on which the costume designer has to research about.

You need to know about the timeline, the decades in which the story is based, the personality of the character, the financial conditions of the characters, the story line as well as the culture of the characters. It becomes even more important if the story is based in the past.

For the movies and shows which are happening in the history, the costume designers need to be accurate about outfits, accessories and vintages which are relevant to that time period. The value of your costumes will be increased if you pay attention to the historical and cultural accuracy of the costumes.

A good costume is not only based on the script, but the costume designer should also pay attention to the other elements of the story. In this way, you will be able to choose the right costume which will be remembered all along.

CONCLUSION There is always imagination and creativity behind the creation of any kind of arts. This statement remains true for the costume designing as well. Costume designing is also a form of art like any other. Costume designing requires much talent such as research, design, planning and creativity.

#style #fashion #styleblogger #women fashion #fashionblogger #womenswear #style guide #costume

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

#genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact albedo #albedo x reader #yandere albedo x reader #genshin impact albedo x reader #yandere genshin impact albedo #yandere albedo #albedo #genshin impact fanfic #he's so handsome :0 #in writing this i hope it will bless me with luck

[flowerwrites06]

thinning thread — jjk

Plot: In the heat of a tumultuous rough path in their marriage, Jungkook is handed their last resort. 

Pairing(s): Jungkook x Writer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 2k+

Genre: Marriage!AU 

Tags & Warnings: angst, rough marriage, divorce, explicit smut 

Authors Note: sorry the reposting has been a little slow, everyone! the end of feb was a little rough but I’ll try to get the fics out as soon as I can. 

ALSO requests are currently open and they’ll close on Sunday! So be sure to fill the request form HERE

Days turned to, weeks turned to months the blanket of home they knitted together now stripped to nothing but a pathetic string. Both of them dangling and swinging on it pretending that the world around them didn’t just crumble beneath their feet. It started with regular fights over the lack of time they spent together; the usual reason most couple would go through a lovers’ spat. Then fights were followed with silent treatments lasting days on end to point where one of them would be out of the house completely.

Paranoia kicked in soon afterwards as Jungkook saw Belle chatting with one of her clients leading to yet another exhausting argument about her supposedly cheating. Jungkook left home that night for three days until he came back without saying a word. Belle spent more nights in her office using a glass of wine to loosen herself up and get some sleep while writing herself to near madness.

Her publishing company even asked her if she was okay after her latest manuscript submission stating it had a lot more disturbing themes than her usual works. Belle simply stated that things changed. Happiness wasn’t a fucking commonality anymore and the themes she wrote now seemed more realistic.

Jungkook spent hours in the gym, punching bags until the skin on his knuckles ripped apart breaking himself down enough to get some damn shut eye. He was getting a lot more complaints from his producers these days saying he had too much of a short fuse nowadays. Which, to prove their point, he ended up snapping and earned himself a break away from sending in anymore songs until he got himself sorted.

Swinging and swinging on this thinning thread, it all dwindled down into one night.

Instead of going back to her office for the night, Belle paid a visit to her lawyer about a set of paperwork that she needed organized. Thankfully the name she made for herself allowed the time to finish all these documents were significantly lessened. The next day after making her request she was able to have the papers in her hand.

-

As she walked into the apartment the woman realized how long it had been since she walked into their home at this hour. The twilight sky looked like a painting through the large panned windows, creating a beautiful silhouette of the city buildings. For a moment Belle could have smiled until she heard chain clanging and something thudding.

Jungkook began his attack on what could have been his fifteenth punching bag this fortnight, not caring about the world around him.

She sighed, placing her bag on the kitchen counter before stomping over to the man with her brown envelope in hand. “I need to talk to you.” Belle announced trying to sound louder than the punching bag thudding and clanging.

The man gave the bag one harsh punch before letting out a deep sigh, a droplet of sweat . “I’m not in the mood.” He mumbled immediately causing a rush of fury in her belly.

Belle tightened her jaw her whole body urging to just throw the papers on the floor until he sees it. But she took a long, drawling breath as she walked closer to the male who proceeded to assault his punching bag. “This is important.” She spoke firmly. “Just listen to me for one second.” She pursed her lips when Jungkook finally held onto the punching bag to pause for a moment.

Though the male still glared at her a little making her heart drop.

She remembered when he used to look at her with eyes soft and sparkling. Now all she felt was hate radiating from him. Belle handed the envelope over which he accepted, ripping off the top carelessly before pulling out the papers.

Jungkooks’ brows furrowed when he skimmed through the contents of the document. “What the hell is this?” He fumed.

“Divorce papers.” Belle replied simply.

He tightened his jaw still staring at the words on the pages instead of looking up at her. “I need a pen.” Jungkook muttered quietly before walking past her towards the living room.

Chest clenched tightly but she let out a quick breath before following him along watching him walk towards the sitting area.

Belle’s brows furrowed when she noticed they were walking away from the staircase to the study to get a pen. Instead she saw Jungkook pad towards the couches, to the fireplace sitting in front of them still running to keep the place warm and cozy. Even though the atmosphere was anything but that.

It didn’t take long until finally she saw Jungkook tossing the papers and empty envelope right into the fire. Stammering she watched the flames rise higher before dissipating the documents, their names burned away achingly slow. “Jungkook.” She tried to move past him to grab the remnants of the papers but both her arms were grabbed to keep her in place.

“Are you trying to hurt me now? Huh?” Jungkooks’ eyes burned into hers, hair matted to his glistening forehead.

Belle yanked out of his grasp which made his move his arms but he still stood dangerously close. “Don’t try to make me look like the bad guy here.” She seethed. “We’ve tried to fix this but it’s not working. You didn’t even want to talk to me when I walked into the room.”

“Because I thought you were going to start up another fight which clearly you were.” He gestured harshly towards the fireplace.

“Do you have a better idea?” Her vision grew blurry. “Because I don’t want to wake up another morning feeling like you hate me.” Belle hadn’t spoken about her feelings to the man in a long time. So long that expressing it now made her feel utterly exposed.

“You really think I hate you?” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth. “You really think I’d still be in this apartment because I fucking hated you?”

“When was the last time you told me you loved me then? Hm?” Tears streamed down her face, mascara smudging at the corners of her eyes a little. “When was the last time we actually spoke to each other without yelling or crying?” Belle sobbed out.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.” He protested, his eyes glistening even in the dimmed warm light. “How did you even think I would sign those papers, huh?”

Belle shrugged weakly, smiling a little sadly. “Maybe you’d be happier without me.”

His eyes twitched as he pursed his lips together tightly. “Would you be happier without me?”

Her heart felt tired at this point tightening around itself as if trying to push out all the hurt or keep it all in. Happiness wasn’t a commonality for sure. But would it be any better if she couldn’t see him altogether? Spending years thinking of what could have happened if they just—kept holding onto that thread?

Without uttering a single word, Belle merely shook her head. In a second she was reminded at how well Jungkook still was at knowing what she needed right at that moment.

A small tear escaping down his cheek, Jungkook grabbed her by her cheeks and pressed a warm kiss against her lips. He could taste a saltiness on her dampened lips before his hands trailed down, wrapping them around her waist to cancel out any distance between them. He was fucking done being so far away from his baby, unable to touch her because they were too stubborn to say sorry. With a swift motion he picked her up and impatiently pressed her down against the fluffy rug.

Belle pulled at her scarf which was quickly pushed away and her cardigan lay as a blanket underneath. Fingers hooked on the hem of his cold T-shirt before pulling it over his head and discarding no one cared where. She felt his nails firmly graze up her thigh, hooking onto her panties and pulling it down only one of her thighs roughly. The thin piece of clothing dangling on her left ankle as Jungkook devoured her lips not wanting to unlock their tongues dancing.

His bulging shorts rubbed against her bare core making her moan against his lips. Jungkooks’ still wrapped hand pulled at her hair to press her further down on the floor. He watched her mouth part, small gasp passing through as his hips rubbed against her pooling core. “Look at me.” He spoke in a raspy voice, lust blown and glossy eyes piercing into her. “I want you to look at me.” He whispered, forehead pressing together as he carelessly pushed down his shorts to let his desperate cock free.

Belle felt his thick, wet tip rub up and down her sleek heat, walls already clenching to a get an aching taste of him inside her again. “Please—” A choked scream broke out of her when the man slammed into her. Her pussy swallowed up every inch of his cock, aching a little after being long-deprived from the stretch. She kept her gaze did not waiver however watching him contort his face in pleasure.

Jungkook could barely hear himself think after feeling his whole member hugged by that familiar heat. So deliciously tight and warm, he could stay like this forever if he could. “Fuck I missed you.” He whispered, hot breath hitting her face before he kissed her again, sighing in relief as he began thrusting into her. Every snap of his hips hit hard and deep wanting to make his movements embedded in their minds so they forget just how fucking good they felt together.

She grabbed onto his shoulders for dear life, legs spread out welcomingly for him to destroy her desperate heat. All her long hibernated nerves now jolted awake by the beautiful friction between them, electrifying her body.

He pulled apart the front of her dress, a few buttons flying off but Belle couldn’t care less. Neither of them could. This was the closest they had been in months. Nothing was going to stop them from spewing out all their bottled frustrations.

Belle felt his hot mouth press wet kisses on the curve of her breast, teeth grazing against the tender skin making her smile in bliss. Fingers gripped at the roots of his slightly damp hair reaching down to kiss his head. A gasp caught in her throat when he thrusted into her faster pushing to the limits of her release but she pushed him away.

“What’s wrong?” He breathed out staring at her confused but he quickly saw what she wanted.

Belle pushed on his chest to make him lie on his back before straddling him, the panties on her ankle slid away. She raised herself over his erect cock and slowly let her core devour him again causing a small groan under Jungkooks’ throat. His hands instinctively moved under the skirt of her dress, squeezing her bottom. Still her eyes fixated on him as her hips swayed, feeling his tip rub against her sweet spot making her legs melt.

She moved her hands to where his were and Jungkook immediately intertwined their fingers together. Belle carefully unwrapped the black cloth around his knuckles as the male sat up now, wanting to feel her closer.

Pressing a small kisses on his healing wounds, she quickened her pace.

Jungkook grabbed the back of her neck and intoxicated her with another kiss while his other hand guided her hips.

Belle held onto his shoulders now and bounced on his cock, the sheer pressure against her sweet spot could throw her over the edge in minutes. Arms wrapped around him as her teeth sunk into his skin, muffling her moans. Fingers ran through the hair on the back of his head, lips pressing messy kisses on his neck and cheek. “I love you.” She whispered in his ear.

The male grabbed the side of her neck again forcing her to meet his gaze. Thumb brushed the corner of her teary eyes, mascara smudging across her temple on his finger pad. Lips were barely hovering one another as Belle slowed her thrusts. “I love you too.” He sighed out the words, grabbing bits of her hair before pressing on her warm lips. “I love you so much.” His latter words were mumbled but Belle still heard them.

A small sob shook through her seeing that warmth again. One she hadn’t seen it in so long that it almost felt like dream but Jungkooks’ hands on her skin reminded her it wasn’t. This was all real.

Jungkook turned her around to lay on her stomach, legs straightened out and spread so he could sneak in between. His cock slid in on its own at this point with how fucked out her heat was and he didn’t waste a single second longer to continue the pace. He leaned into her, kisses lain on her shoulder and sweet words whispered in her ear.

He intertwined his fingers with a hand and Belle hugged it closer, his sweaty torso pressed firmly against her back as the onslaught of thrusts began. It was slow but it dug deep into her core and steadily patterned. Her belly pressed against the floor made it all the more easier to rub against her sweet spot and create some friction against her clit.

“Don’t stop.” She whispered giving Jungkook even more determination to torture her core with incessant pounding. Warmth gathered around her leaking heat and pleasure tickled under the skin of her thighs causing her moans to shake.

Jungkook drilled into her, his own moans melting with her as his climax now flooded his entire form, his hand gripping onto hers like it was a part of him.

Belle cried out, trying to muffle the pitch by pressing her lips against the back of his hand. The heated release making her legs shake under him uncontrollably. Cheek pressed against the rug now, she bit down her bottom lip, tears still flowing out of her from the force of her orgasm mixed with everything else.

He filled her up with his release uttering the most delicious whimpers and moan before kissing her cheek softly. “You okay, baby?” Jungkook whispered, caressing her tear stain cheek.

Belle smiled quickly, nodding even though fresh tears still fell turning to face him properly. “I’m glad you didn’t sign it.” She giggled through her light sobs.

Jungkook chuckled leaning in and lay a soft kiss on her salty lips. “I’d never leave you, baby.”

“Promise?” She asked in a whisper.

“Promise.”

Another thread now knitted with the one they had been dangling on, making them that tiny bit stronger than they were yesterday.

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #husband jungkook #marriage au #bts marriage au

[little-diable]

A Preacher's Punishment - Preacher James Barnes (smut)

Here we go again, another super filthy Preacher imagine. Hell's awaiting us. Remember that your feedback and your comments are very much appreciated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: She has always been rebellious and even months after first joining the convent the reader is still a trouble maker. Her case calls for Preacher James Barnes, hopefully his punishment will put her back in her place.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, oral (m), degrading, dom!Bucky, sex with a preacher, wrong use of a bible, religious connotations

Pairing: Preacher!James Barnes x nun!reader (around 3k)

„Don’t you dare look away from me now.” Sister Jane cried out as (y/n) rolled her eyes, trying to shift her weight back onto her toes, away from her aching knees. She had been forced to kneel in front of her, having to apologise for her reckless behaviour, her careless ways.

For months she had been part of the convent, dressed in black and white attires, with a big cross around her neck. (Y/n) detested each morning and evening, having to follow rules she couldn’t care less about, speaking prayers she felt burning on her tongue.

“What shall I do with you?” The sister circled the still kneeling girl, trying to fight against the urge to slap the young woman’s face. But just as her eyes found hers once again, a smile began to tug on her lips, arms falling to her sides.

“I will send you to Preacher Barnes, he will know how to put you back in line.” (Y/n)‘s breath hitched in her throat, saliva pooling in her mouth as she thought of the Preacher she was helplessly crushing on. If anything sister Jane was doing her a favour, allowing her to spend some time alone with him.

With aching knees (y/n) rose from the floor, tugging on her habit. Her mind raced, her palms were getting sweatier, heart jumping in accelerating beats. Would he punish her? Or would he just sit down with her and talk about her wrongdoings?

Her parents had always struggled to keep her in line, forcing her to stay at home, away from alcohol and young boys that could lure her in. But a locked door had never managed to stop her from sneaking out of her home. She had been a regular at parties of her friends, drinking till the morning would bleed red, telling her that it was time to go home.

Though the second police officers had dragged her home with her hands bound together, her parents had snapped. The next morning she had been forced to pack her bags, driving across the country to join a convent of nuns that lived in celibacy.

As (y/n) stepped back into the room she shared with sister May, her eyes fell upon her bag, the one she had tried to hide. Her fingers ached for her to unzip it, to thumb through the lacy panties and bras she had taken with her, not knowing where her parents were driving her to. How naive she had been, bringing her finest clothes to a home filled with women that only dressed in black and white.

Slowly she walked closer, studying the black fabric of her bag, the silvery zipper she wanted to tug on. Before she could stop herself she had opened her bag, smiling at the red lace panties her eyes fell upon. Maybe tonight she could finally wear them, maybe tonight would be her only chance to break free, turning back into the woman she once had been.

Hours later, after a shower and some tea to calm her stomach, she walked behind sister Jane. The red lace she wore stuck to her skin, wrapping itself around her like a warm embrace to keep her warm. She felt adventurous, a rebel nobody could stop from breaking out and running away.

“You will only speak if he allows it, you won’t look at him and you won’t roll your eyes at me. Do you understand?” The sister grasped (y/n)’s chin, waiting for the girl to nod her head, piercing her fingernails into her palm - a simple habit she lived with to stop herself from talking back.

“Please come in.” His soft voice ripped the two women out of their staring contest, eyes meeting his tall frame, the body hidden behind his black suit. Preacher Barnes was undeniably handsome, every nun would dream about him, even the ones that would punish the younger girls for crushing on a man twice their age.

(Y/n) stepped into his office with wobbly knees, she had never seen the room before, had only walked past his office once or twice, wondering what he was doing behind closed doors. She jumped as he placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her to the chair vis-a-vis his.

Sister Jane left the two after shooting another hateful glance (y/n)’s way, hoping that the girl wouldn’t embarrass her and the other nuns.

“Don’t worry about Jane, she has always been a bit harsh. Tea? Coffee?” The preacher turned away from her, giving (y/n) an opportunity to let her eyes wander down his frame, the long legs that carried his broad frame. On instinct her thighs pressed themselves tightly together, trying to stop herself from moaning out in pleasure as her mind began to paint a picture of her laying on his table, legs spread for him to nestle in between.

“Coffee, please.” Heat clashed through her, she would melt away like ice cream on a summer morning, like a burning candle in the heat of the desert. He placed their cups down on the table, settling next to her with a smile on his lips. For a few seconds he studied her with interlaced fingers placed in his lap.

“Tell me something about you, (y/n).” The way he spoke her name left her sweating, low and raspy, though soft and sweet, a written poem in the words only he knew.

“Uhm,” she had to clear her throat, eyes wandering around his room. “I joined the convent in August, I guess my parents couldn’t stay around me any longer.” A pained chuckle left her lips, eyes shamefully sticking to her hands, waiting for the Preacher to speak his mind.

“Do you believe in God?” He took a sip off his coffee, cleaning his lips with his tongue as his gaze burned into her soul. (Y/n) could only shake her head, her mouth felt dry, tongue not able to wet her lips.

“Let me tell you something, doll.” Preacher Barnes leaned back in his chair, combing one hand through his hair. “I have seen more prisons from inside than churches, my rebellious ways have pushed me into misery, just like you. But then I found God and I knew that something better was waiting for me, something worth fighting for.”

The moment felt like a déjà-vu, she had heard those words too many times before, and could swear that they had all studied them, knowing them by heart. Sister Jane’s words rang in her ears as she rolled her eyes in frustration, biting her lip to stop herself from talking back.

His chuckles filled the room, head thrown back. “Just as bratty as sister Jane has told me. Maybe words won’t do the job, stand up for me.”

She followed his command, standing on her feet with quivering limbs. Slowly he rose from his chair, fronts about to touch, (y/n) could smell his cologne, the musky scent that reminded her of the most sinful days she has lived through. His dark eyes ran up and down her body, leaving her waiting for his following order.

“Unbutton your habit.” She didn’t move, hands sticking to her sides, not daring to move even close to the buttons that kept her red underwear hidden. Now she cursed herself for being that stupid, not even a shirt had found its way beneath her habit, too confident and cocky for her own good.

“Do I need to do it for you? Are you that dumb, can’t even unbutton her own clothes.” His breath crashed against her lips, tingling on her skin. She felt her arousal dripping into her panties, wetting the skin with every word he spoke. Preacher Barnes placed a hand on her waist, pulling her even closer to reach the black buttons.

One button after another popped open, exposing more of her red lace, the tits she had pushed together with her tight bra. He clicked his tongue, eyes admiring the view. Since the day he had met her, there had been something simmering deep inside of him, threatening to spill, to fill his every vein and vessel. God was testing him, he was sending the most sinful woman his way, wondering if he would give into the devil’s calling.

“Onto your knees, open on page 225.” He placed the bible down in front of her, falling back in his chair once again. (Y/n), now dressed in only her bra and panties, dropped to her knees, opening the holy book with trembling fingers.

She couldn’t find the page, fingers too sweaty, eyes too glassy to concentrate on the bible. But the Preacher didn’t move, he waited and waited, a sadistic man that found pleasure in her struggling.

“First your habit and now the bible? I guess Jane was right, we need to find something else to shut you up with.” Her eyes followed his hand, down to his trousers, the silvery zip that twinkled in the faint light. It took three long breaths for him to undo his trousers, bulge clearly pressed against his underwear.

(Y/n) wasn’t sure whether to run away and hide or to open her mouth like the greedy girl she was. Her lips parted, exposing her tongue to the chuckling man, ready to swallow him all. But James wasn’t ready to give in just yet, he palmed his cock, stared at her face, the mouth she had opened for his heavy length.

Her eyes screamed at him to fuck her, to fuck her bratty ways right out of her, right on his table. Perhaps he could battle the devil in the dance he’d lure her into, how he would sway her with his cock sitting between her walls, perfectly ripping her in half. She was doing him a favour, was a figure in his play to find redemption.

“You know what you’re doing, that much I have to give you.” James panted, eyes fighting to stay open, holding onto the feeling of his calloused fingers pumping his velvety skin. (Y/n) used his short moment of distraction, pushing the bible closer to his frame, using it as a pillow for her aching knees.

Her hand met his, carefully pushing his fingers away to replace them with her own. For a second she felt lost with his hard length in her grasp, wondering what the hell she was doing on her knees for a preacher, but the moan that spilled from his lips pushed her back into her headspace, lowering her head to run her tongue across his tip.

James’ head rolled back, exposing his neck to her hungry eyes. Slowly she pushed herself down on his cock, trying not to choke around him. He twitched, she panted. (Y/n) hallowed her cheeks for him, pumping what she couldn’t reach with her trembling hands, using his thighs to keep her balance.

“You’re such a needy slut, choking on my dick while kneeling on a bible, there’s nothing I can do for you. You’re lost.” She didn’t pay any attention to his words, kept pushing herself to her limits, trying to swallow around him. Her tongue traced his veins, danced around his girth, trying to tease him for as long as humanly possible.

“And since you’re already lost, I won’t have any problems with doing this.” The tip of his shoe met her chest, pushing her onto her back with a cry falling from her lips. James grasped her hair, tugging on her roots to force her gaze upon his, grinning down on the shuddering girl.

He grasped his cock and kept on pumping his length, growling her name with sweat pearling on his forehead. She could tell that he was close, about to cum with her cowering away on the floor. No dignity was left in her body, not one single drop of confidence, just a puppet thrown away after its owner got bored with her.

His cum met her cheeks and the floor, making a mess on the holy ground, the office he would lock himself into as the devil was calling his name. She opened her mouth, desperate to catch some drops of his release, moaning at the taste.

“Clean the floor for me and then I want you out of my office, our time is over. I will see you next week.”

----

Each following day he would make sure that she would stumble across him, smiling at her with a dark look laced in his gaze. He was testing her, waiting for her to snap, but she didn’t.

(Y/n) kept to herself, not once did she dare talk back, wondering if the other girls had received a similar treatment from him. She even had called out the almighty father’s name, begging him for his guidance, a sign that would tell her what to do.

But the nights stayed dark and the days stayed calm, nothing that could push her onto the right path. She was lost and desperate to be found, no longer could she worry about sneaking out and finding places to explore, she was cowering away in her room, not daring to lift her gaze.

Seven days after their last meeting she found herself in front of him again. Naked without any fabrics hiding her skin from his eyes. James didn’t speak to her, not opening his mouth once as he watched her undress, placing herself on her knees.

He didn’t let go of her head as he pulled her towards his table, tugging her across the floor like a bag he didn’t care about. (Y/n) got pushed down on the table, watching him step out of his black trousers, pumping his already hard cock as he moved closer.

As she called out his name, hoping that he would snap into motion, James spat onto her exposed cunt, watching his saliva run down her folds, pooling on the wooden ground between her legs. Things you would only see in the movies the sisters would blush at naming seemed to be set in motion, primitive things you could only dream of.

“I-” she wanted to ask him for a second to breathe, her head was spinning, lungs burning from her rapid breathing. But the look he shot her seemed to shut (y/n) up, body tingling in anticipation, wondering how a man of God could be that dark and twisted.

“You won’t say a word, I promise if you go against me I won’t let you cum. Sluts like you don’t deserve to have their own will.” Her eyes rolled into her head, she gasped at the feeling of his cock stretching her walls, pounding into her like she was already used to his size.

She whimpered, she cried, she struggled to keep on breathing. James couldn’t help but admire her, looking fucked out, ready to drown in his embrace. With each stroke he managed to push deeper into her tightness, fucking her like she deserved to be fucked, ruthless and rough. (Y/n) wouldn't have a chance to stop him, could cry for help, though nobody would ever help her, they all knew better than to interrupt a preacher’s punishment.

“Only a sinner like you could take my cock, after tonight you will respect your sisters and you will thank God for each day he lets you live.” He pushed his fingers into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue, forcing her to swallow down the cry that threatened to claw through her.

Her back rubbed against the wooden table, skin scratched open, bleeding onto the surface. James cradled her head in his hands, softening each blow against the table, making sure that she’d stay conscious.

But (y/n) felt herself slipping into another dimension, away from the convent, from the preacher that fucked her like she was a regular coming to visit on a Friday afternoon. He was getting his fill, using her for his satanic pleasure and lust. And she didn’t mind.

“Tell me, how does it feel to be fucked by your Preacher?” Tears ran down her cheeks, swollen lips parted to let her words flow from them.

“So good, feels so good. I’m so close, can I cum? Please let me cum.” (Y/n) cried out, making sure that every nun could hear her begging. He replied with another ferocious thrust, tip meeting her swollen spot, pushing her further into the burning flames of hell.

“Cum on my cock, scream my name. God won’t help you this time.” And she came so powerful that the angels fell from their comfortable seats on the clouds above. Her cunt fluttered around his length, squeezing him tightly as if he would push her away any moment now.

James fucked her through her high, cupping her burning cheeks with his big hand. It took him three more thrusts to relieve himself into her tightness, forcing her to take every single drop of his cum.

“Tonight you will apologise to sister Jane and you will thank her for bringing you to me.” He pulled out of her with a groan rumbling through him, throwing her habit down onto her frame, making sure that she would dress herself. James didn’t give (y/n) any time to wipe away her smudged mascara nor could she untangle her hair.

Embarrassment flooded through her as she walked through the church with his cum dripping down her legs. But perhaps she still hadn’t learned her lesson yet, because with a smile on her face she ran her thumb up her thigh, licking her skin clean.

Follow my sideblog @little-diableswriting for taglist reblogs

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan

[melo-yello]

✨Self-Care Day✨w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku HeadCanons💥🪨

Off Day

💥🪨 You’re hanging upside down on the couch in your shared apartment with a boyfriend on either side of you. Kiri’s hand in yours while Baku’s had one hand on your thigh and the other scrolling on his phone as some cartoon drones on the tv

💥🪨 This is not how you envisioned your first free weekend into the last two weeks going



💥🪨 You sigh loudly before poking out your bottom lip “Suki? Eiji? I’m bored.” you pout dramatically as you throw a hand onto your forehead before you continue “Can we do a self-care day?”

💥🪨 Baku just grunts in affirmation as he stretches before standing. Kiri just smiles “Of course, Pebble. Whatever you want.”

💥🪨 You pop up pecking both guys on the cheek as you bounce off to the kitchen with Kiri’s hand still in yours “Thanks you two are the best!I’ll make tea!!!”

💥🪨 “And don’t you forget it!” Bakugou smiles popping your soft ass as he follows behind most likely to micromanage

💥🪨 You three chat about your week not having much time outside of courses to really talk. Between studying, training, and hero work you guys just didn’t have a lot going of free time.

💥🪨Per usual you and Kiri really carry the conversation Baku only chiming in ever so often to offer up things that he hates

💥🪨 You pop up remembering one of for favorite parts of a good ole fashioned treat yo self day. The cute headbands for you and Kiri to push your hair out of your faces. You return with a pink bunny one, a brown Teddy Bear one, and a plain black headband. Baku takes the black and Kiri takes the bunny.

💥🪨 “How do I look, Peb?” Kiri smirks flexing to show his broad ass built ass frame after putting on his bunny headband. “Ridiculous.” “-ly Hawt!” You laugh correcting Baku

💥🪨 You film in absolute awe as your Manly bf’s pierce Suki’s ear with ease after the off handed joke you made sipping tea. Cue Baku voguing it up with pride and a freshly pierced ear. Bakugou is slightly leaner and a couple inches shorter but just as toned

💥🪨 “Suki, Eiji, you are too manly!” You hype your man up as you post the video to your IG story

💥🪨 It’s your turn now!! Kiri easily pierces your ears with a red stud in your right and an orange in your left. Adding a second set of holes right above your first ones

💥🪨 Next comes high quality and novelty animal face masks Bakugou buys online to compliment his vigorous skin care routine. It rivals half of the YouTube Beauty community’s

💥🪨 Niether of you have any idea of where he buys them or where he hides them for that matter. He stores them away so you guys can’t steal them when he’s not around. Bakugou allows you and Kiri to use his masks on special occasions tho

💥🪨 “Mr. and Mrs. Dumbass.” He smirks handing you a frog and Kiri a tiger. Earning him a playful jab from you and “A Thanks, Babe.” from the red head

💥🪨 You suggest nail 💅🏾 polish next and Kiri is automatically on board. “Oooooo can you make them Red, Babygirl? Because they’d be so manly!” Kiri beams bouncing up and down. Baku will only allow his middle fingers painted. “I want white with bombs or just F U. Whichever is easier for you, Teddy Bear.” Bakugou nods scrunching up his nose from behind his own red panda face mask.

💥🪨 Kirishima’s nails are a simple sparkly red that say 🤍BITE MANLY in white while Bakugou’s middle fingers are white with black bombs with an orange F U on each one respectively

💥🪨 After you peel off your masks, you and Kirishima squeal in nearly perfect sync “Oooooooooooo! Sooooo Soft! Aren’t we hawt, Bakubro! Seeeeeeeeeee!” Both of you placing his hand on your faces

💥🪨Bakugou will just roll his red eyes into the back of his head as you two wrap him in a tight embrace “I’ve told you idiots a thousand times the importance of regular skin care with quality products.” He shrugs nonchalantly even thought he loves when you two are touchie with him. He hates to admit it

💥🪨 As you begin to search you nail kit for your preferred color, Kiri grabs your hand and presses it to his cheek “Can we do yours, Pebble?” He pouts. Bakugou follows suit grabbing your other hand “Pretty please, Teddy?” He whines firmly pressing your hand to his heart.

💥🪨 You buckle so fast it’s not even funny. “Bbbbbbbut...😤😖😞fine.” You concede

💥🪨These two really know how to put on the charm. Especially if Bakugou Kasuki is calling you Teddy instead of Dumbass.

💥🪨 “Great! Y/n, pick out a show to watch before we start.” Baku barks handing you the remote. “Why?” You question snatching it and putting on Criminal Minds. Simply thrilled you were getting to pick (Typically there were mini competitions for such a privilege)

💥🪨 “You’re judging, Bighead. You can’t look til we’re done.” Kiri hums thoughtfully trying to pick a good color combination. Baku already had his colors hidden in his lap before scouting so his hip was against yours sure to obscure your view of your own hand from you.

💥🪨 “Yea, no bias. When I win it’ll because I’m the best! Isn’t that right, Shitty Hair!” The ash blonde smiles cockily at the red head across from him. “In your fucking dreams, Spark plug!” Kiri spits backs just taking all the colors and copying Bakugou’s positioning

💥🪨 “If either of you fuckers, get those polishes on my favorite jeans there’ll be hell to pay.” You warn with a sinister tone to rival even Katsuki’s and the widest smile. The boys shiver at the seriousness behind your smile. Your threat is far from empty

💥🪨 You pretty much figured your nails would probably look terrible with each of your vividly different boyfriends competing with each other. “What do you, dorks, even get for winning?” You muse leaning into Kiri’s broad ass shoulder

💥🪨 “The next date plans and solo cuddles with Teddy Bear for the rest of the night seems fair to me. Huh, Eijirou?” Baku looks up from his work with a self assured grin blowing one of your nails. Vermilion irises float from you to Kiri.

💥🪨 Knowing damn well niether of them could keep you their hands off you. “Deal.” Kiri nods without giving Baku the satisfaction of meeting his gaze.

💥🪨 “Oh and I get shitly painted nails.” You sigh rolling your eyes. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it kinda hawt when they got like this

💥🪨 “There.” Halfway through the 2nd episode Kiri says and finally caps his last polish. Blowing gently across the surface of your nails.

💥🪨 By this time Baku has placed your arm on his lower back and his head in your lap. A firm grip on your wrist so you couldn’t checkout his work until Kiri finished. Your fingers make light circles there despite being held hostage. “Bout time, slow poke.” Baku huffs releasing your arm as you brought both hands side by side.

💥🪨 They had somehow managed to pick colors that didn’t totally clash. Kiri’s hand were mix match rose gold and pink with the teeniest (not to mention even) little white hearts in the middle of each nail.

💥🪨 Baku’s hand was very simple and clean. Black French tips with one red to orange nail with a black X on top as an accent.

💥🪨 You weren’t expecting anything this good. You could barely speak. You hadn’t been this lost for words since they had asked you out. You sniffle a lil bit. Your eyes glass up a little too.

💥🪨 God your partners are so great sometimes. The fact that they genuinely gave a fuck still manages to catch you off guard at times. After so many terrible relationships, effort, in and of itself, is kinda baffling

💥🪨 “Damn Pebs, it’s not that bad if you squint.” Kiri laughs nervously squeezing your shoulders. “Woah there, Teddy Bear, I’ll get the remover.” Baku stands ruffling your curls before you grab his wrist stopping him in his tracks.

💥🪨 “Suki. Eiji. Don’t be mad but I can’t pick! You guys both did really good! Fuck! I couldn’t ask for better lovers. You assholes are so much better than I deserve!” You gush before hiding your face in your hands. A little ashamed you let your boyfriends doing something as simple as your nails make you emotional.

💥🪨 “But Baby you deserve the world.” Kirishima immediately scoops you into a bear hug as he stands spinning you with ease and peppering you in kisses. Kiri places you back down even more gently than picked you up

💥🪨 “Princess, you’re a bad bitch! Don’t you dare forget it!” The shorter ash blonde says unwaveringly lifting your chin so you’d meet his eyes. He softly bops your forehead before kissing it and both cheeks. He pulls you close right as he yanks you up to straddle his waist

💥🪨 “Eijirou, I think our Babygirl needs a reminder of who she is and who she’s with.” His already deep ruby eyes darken lustfully. With no hesitation Kiri is right behind you in seconds

💥🪨 “I know just thing to jog our Pebble’s memory, Katsuki.” He whispers licking the side of your neck just as moves to capture Katsuki’s lips with his own

💥🪨 “Promise?” You moan softly lacing fingers into Kiri’s loose kitchens and trailing a cool hand across Baku’s abdomen stopping only at his joggers waist band

💥🪨 With that the three head to the bed room for some much needed group physical therapy

#kiribaku #bakukiri #kiribaku headcanons #polyamory #kiribaku x reader #self care #self care day #y/n #poly headcanon #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro headcanons #mha kirishima #bakushima #mha bakugou #y/n x bnha #cute #soft bakugou #kirishima x bakugou #black reader #kiribaku x black reader #bakugou katsuki headcanons #fem reader #kiribaku x fem reader #kirishima eijirou

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

erotica iii, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi has been wanting this all this time. Him. His female roommate. The shower. Water everywhere. Time to play.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, smut (fem reader, shower sex, fingering, handjob, m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU; pretty damn fluffy; Yoongi’s POV

indeed, I heard the song and I needed to write this immediately. don’t have to read the previous chapters, but they explain why this smut is significant. yes. I just called this significant smut.

–

part i | part ii

-

now playing - drown by baekhyun

Min Yoongi was pretty sure he had never been so hard in his entire life. 

He was quite satisfied with masturbating. Him and his right hand? Well acquainted. No introductions needed. Some mental simulation by reading some smut and he was good to go. Words got him off better than waiting for a video to buffer. Also, nothing was worse than watching something that instantly turned him off. Don’t even get him started on involving other people. Yoongi did not really like other people. No, no, better to stick to the written stuff. 

Yeah. Well. 

What if said writer of the written stuff was right next to him all along?

What if said writer of written stuff was with him in the shower right now, head tipped back, water cascading down her naked body, curving into rivets as it slid down her breasts, dripping off her large nipples, slipping between the curve of her legs?

Yeah. 

His female roommate. 

The one he thought was nothing but a nerdy grad student studying Clinical Psychology. The one who was also the author of the erotica blog he had been reading for, er, far too long. Then she found out. Long story. 

She wrote it, in fact. 

She lowered her head, hair glossed to her scalp, lips parted, lashes covered in droplets, wet, delicious, beautiful.

Yoongi was very sure he'd never been so hard in his entire life. 

Did he maybe have some kind of weird water kink because he witnessed her masturbating with the bath faucet? Literally right here, in this very bathroom?

Er.

Long story. 

See above. 

She licked her lips, pretty pink tongue twirling in the air. They were close. So close. Her hands slid up his naked chest, tracing his skin. He gasped as her fingers spread out. The water was warm, falling around them, steam rising in soft wafts.

"You..."

Why couldn't he breathe? Every fucking time. How did she do this to him every time?

"You look so good in the shower..."

He lashes lifted, peering up at him. 

"Why, thank you, Yoongi-ssi."

Ugh, even the way she said his name, like it was her favorite song on repeat, like it was her favorite meal to order, like it was as good as sex itself. 

"I suspected that's why you asked to shower together."

His ears burned, but her hands snaked around him, pushing his body up against hers. He moaned her name softly, pressed against her wetness, her large nipples rubbing into his chest, his rock-hard cock sliding in between her wet thighs. So good. Oh, so fucking good. 

"Look at me."

His eyes opened halfway, blinking away the water as he watched the showerhead pour down on her back and shoulders, small smirk on her lips, chin tipping up so she could bring her face close to his. He loved this. This closeness. Yoongi did not like people, but this… to him, she was her stories themselves, alive, every fantasy and dream he ever had, from words to reality.

"You ready?"

She wasn’t some random person trying to get something out of him.

She was erotica.

"Y-Yes..." Pause. She didn't ask, but the word came out. "Please..."

She reached up and pushed his wet black hair back, flattening it against his scalp. 

"I... I don't look good like that..."

"Shh."

She took one of his hands and slipped it between her legs. Gasped with him as his fingers touched her core, so hot, the wetness different there, thicker, more viscous. 

"You look good all the time," she breathed, cupping his hand with hers. "To me, you are so, so sexy, Yoongi."

She pushed one of his fingers into her folds, moaning against his lips as he sank into her slickness, his cock rubbing against their joined hands and her soft thighs. Her lips pressed against his, kissing him deeply. Sensual and unreal, pumping his finger inside her as she kissed him, taking another and sliding it in as well, tightening around them, fuck, he could feel everything, so wet and warm. Her walls closing in around his joints, pulsating and intense. He took over the pace, pushing in and out of her. Sweet cries into his mouth, mingling with her kisses, so many kisses, her free hand holding his waist, nails digging in. Her hand wrapped around his cock and stroked him, pressing the sensitive head against her smooth thigh, lubricated by the constant water raining down, down.

Yoongi was drowning.

Drowning in her body.

He did not think it was possible to want to please another body so much, even more than his. She moved so perfectly, rolling her hips into his hand, kissing him almost sloppily because of how much he was making her moan, her hand matching his pace, jacking him off as he got her off. Her sounds were addictive, the way she panted his name, needy and intoxicating, lifting her leg so he could thrust in deeper, feeling her clench around him, so tight, so hot, her juices sliding down his hand. The sound of her pussy squelching with every plunge, so dirty and yet so sexy at the same time. The sound of her hand furiously stroking his cock, pleasure shooting up his core, the head further stimulated by her thigh, pre-cum smearing on her skin and mixing with water.

Yoongi didn’t even care if he came or not.

He just wanted her to cum on his hand.

“Cum for me,” he breathed against her lips. “Please… need you to cum for me.”

Her lashes lifted, droplets falling onto her cheeks, mouth open and panting. Staring into his eyes, hers glazed over with lust, pupils dilated, wet hair sticking to her face, humping his hand, pumping him at the same time, warm water drizzling down on them.

“Yoongi, fuck…”

The first time she had been able to say his name as she came.

Yoongi would remember it forever.

She tipped her head back, eyes closing, moaning deeply, pussy throbbing around his fingers, gushes of thick liquid pouring out. Even though the water was washing it away, he could still smell it, sweet-sour and lovely, still rolling her hips all the way to his knuckles to ride out her orgasm, letting him feel her walls pulsating and massaging his fingers.

The image was so sexy that Yoongi gasped, his cock twitching in her hand as she kept pumping him, increasing the speed now, the hand on his waist holding her steady as she brought her fucked-out gaze back to him.

He did that.

Him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when your body is wet.”

Yoongi didn’t know if he was delusional or what, saying things like that, but he did anyway, because she made him feel so fucking good, so fucking sexy, and all she did was look at him.

“Want to watch your face when you cum,” she purred, pressing her forehead to his. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Yoongi shook his head. If he was braver, he would have said, watch me, but he wasn’t and he was too fucking close to talk. It wasn’t his hand and it wasn’t his pace, but pleasure radiated everywhere, mixing with the warm steam, all his muscles tensing as he stared into her eyes, focused on him and only him.

“A-ah…”

His teeth sunk into his lower lip, whining as he came, shooting onto her leg, thick white strings dribbling on her skin for only a second before the water washed it away, a single second that burned into his memory, the perfect picture of his cum painted on her thigh. He could feel it all over, the moment of euphoria, taking over him, his legs shaking. She leaned in, kissing him lightly, before she slid down, dropping to her knees. Took him in her perfect mouth, hot and wet, the sensitive head draping onto her tongue, soft lips closing in. He moaned, lost in the small licks and gentle swirls that shot sparks up his spine.

“H-Holy fuck…”

She stayed like that, delicately licking his softening cock all over, probably for a good few minutes. Yoongi looked down, gasping at the sight of her wet hair and spread thighs. She popped her mouth off his cock and kissed his balls, light pecks. For some reason, that felt good too. Everything she did felt good.

She stood back up, pulling him to her by the waist, kissing his jaw, nuzzling his cheek with her nose.

“You want to make this a regular thing?” she whispered against his neck.

“Hah…” Her kisses made it so hard to think straight. “What?”

“The shower,” she chuckled, catching his earlobe with her teeth. Yoongi moaned, hands resting on her waist. “Showering together.”

Fuck, yes. “S-Sure.”

She smiled against his skin. Pressed her lips to his ear.

“That’s good.”

Yoongi couldn’t wait to read what she wrote next.

He would definitely jack off to it.

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi smut

[robininthelabyrinth]

Nie Huaisang's reaction to the events in quiet room-verse

Chapter 3 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2)

-

Nie Huaisang’s day began, as always, with noise.

The Unclean Realm was like that – there wasn’t a single shichen of the day when there wasn’t at least some racket going on in the background, whether the sound of sabers whistling through the air and the grunting of men at the thrice-daily trainings on the fields, the din of hammering rising up from the forges alongside the smoke, the squeals and squawks of the various types of animals being harried to and fro, the shouting and haggling and people sounds that filled the bustling markets (both day and night) that had sprung up within the Unclean Realm’s fortress as a wartime tradition some generations back and which had never gone out of fashion.

Guests sometimes complained about it, saying that people walked through the halls at night (what did they think halls were for) or that there were too many birds outside (that didn’t sound like a problem) or the cats were yowling again (okay, the feral cat thing was a bit of a problem but at least they didn’t have a rat problem) or about all the loud noises of living people. Those who were born and raised there scarcely noticed it, and those that stayed acclimated eventually.

Those who really couldn’t handle it built themselves thicker walls.

Nie Huaisang was woken up that day with an especially loud bang that he suspected was something important tipping over somewhere, never a fortuitous start, but the day itself went pleasantly enough after that. He lazed around in the morning, snuck in a belated breakfast from an indulgent kitchen, begged out of saber training in the middle of the day with an excuse so transparent that Nie Zonghui looked like he was considering constructing a window with it, and finally settled quite happily on the balcony with a few of his favorite birds to paint.

It was not, strictly speaking, his balcony – it connected to the sect leader’s suite of rooms, not his own, and his brother used it fairly often when he was flying in and out of the Unclean Realm on business.

Nie Mingjue was currently away at the Cloud Recesses, not on business. Visiting his handsome lover again, and Nie Huaisang found it amusing all over again that his misanthrope of a brother, of all people, had somehow managed to snag the most eligible young master of their generation – that he had what everyone else wanted and couldn’t get.

His brother. Good for him!

Still, his brother being gone meant that the balcony was free, and it was one of Nie Huaisang’s favorite places to lurk: he had an excellent view of so many parts of the Unclean Realm, wonderful light, and no one would dare to intrude on his brother’s domain just to bother him.

It was a good day, bright and noisy in the best of ways, right up until it wasn’t.

Nie Huaisang felt more than saw Baxia approaching, the thrum of his own saber – casually propping up his easel – immediately recognizable, and he couldn’t help but smile in delight at the thought of seeing his brother even if it meant he was probably not getting out of saber practice today.

It was only odd, he thought, that the smear on the horizon that would be his brother approaching seemed larger than usual –

And then, all of a sudden, it was very much not a good day.

His brother was covered in blood, clearly his own, and his eyes were vacant and dull – shock, perhaps? – and he was leaning on Lan Wangji, who looked equally awful. There was fresh blood staining the back of his neck and creeping up his shoulders, ugly shadows on white robes, and his face was stricken, savaged by pain that was not merely external.

Nie Huaisang was frozen for a moment, watching them come, unable to believe it, and yet –

“Doctor!” he screamed, his voice dropping into a register he’d never used before, loud and bellowing and straight from the belly. A battlefield voice, like his brother’s, and he could see out of the corner of his eye all the disciples in the training field jumping, startled, as if they’d been shocked by lightning. “Someone get a doctor!”

The next bit was chaos, of course: the thunder of dozens of feet on stone, servants running to get anyone with medical skill, running to get water and bandages and acupuncture needles, anything that would help, and everyone talking all at the same time even as a dozen hands reached out to pluck the two tired cultivators down from the sky.

Not two, Nie Huaisang corrected himself as he took the small child out of his brother’s arms – said child was yawning and frowning, clearly displeased at being taken away from Nie Mingjue’s arms, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t blame him one bit; it was undoubtedly the best place in the world to be. There was another child in Lan Wangji’s trembling hands as well.

“Any more you’ve got hidden away?” he asked Lan Wangji, drawing him away from the disciples who had eyes only for their sect leader. “Under your clothing, maybe?”

Nie Huaisang would rather be there, with them, with his brother, but he’d studied medicine with about as much fervor as he’d studied any other serious subject – which was to say, none at all – and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help. For the first time he bitterly regretted his laziness.

Not even during the war had his brother ended up – like this.

“No,” Lan Wangji said. His voice was small and sad, and he was shaking. “Just…just them.”

“Good to know,” Nie Huaisang said. “How badly are you injured? You’re still standing, but I don’t like your color…”

“I want to report,” Lan Wangji said. His lips were pressed tightly together, and he was looking at something in the distance; it was as if he’d lost his soul.

“You’re hurt,” Nie Huaisang said patiently. “Is it anything that can’t wait…?”

“I want to report,” Lan Wangji said again, more insistently, and – well, he was Lan sect. They thrived on rules; it was their baseline, the foundation of their mental world, and whatever had happened to the two of them, Lan Wangji was clearly fragile right now.

“You can report to me,” Nie Huaisang said, a snap decision. “I’m the heir; in my brother’s absence, I have authority to take whatever actions are necessary once I understand the situation.”

And his brother was absent, or as good as: he’d collapsed the second they’d landed, eyes rolling up into his skull – he’d clearly been clinging to consciousness by the barest thread of willpower by the end of it.

“Before anything else, though, is there anything we need to know about my brother’s condition?” he asked. “Anything that will help, or hurt –”

Is it a qi deviation, he wanted to ask but didn’t, couldn’t. It couldn’t be that, it couldn’t, not his brother – not his father, not again –

(His brother’s fingers were bloody, nails broken, as if he’d been tearing at something with them, and Nie Huaisang didn’t like the way they matched up in size to some of the marks on his brother’s face.)

“He needs sound,” Lan Wangji said. “He can’t be left alone…he was in the jingshi.��

“The – wait, the quiet room?” Nie Huaisang gaped at Lan Wangji. “That horrible, awful pit of hell that you crazy people threw into your décor – that jingshi?”

He paused, grimaced. “Uh, no offense –”

“You’re right,” Lan Wangji said, and buried his face into his hands. “You’re right.”

Nie Huaisang did a quick calculation, handed the children off to some servants, and then dragged the other man out of the room and towards his brother’s study.

“Sit,” he commanded, and seated himself in the sect leader’s place unconsciously. “Don’t worry about quiet; after he showed up like that, there’s no way anyone will leave him alone – he’ll be begging for some peace soon enough. Now report.”

Lan Wangji straightened his back – with a wince, Nie Huaisang noted, and that meant whatever injury he had was on his back – and reported.

Nie Huaisang took notes at the beginning, but then stopped after he broke the brush between his fingers, something that had never happened to him before.

“Keep going,” he said when Lan Wangji paused. “Don’t stop.”

Lan Wangji continued his recitation, his voice dull and monotone, but the words…

“Thank you for telling me,” Nie Huaisang squeezed out, feeling strangely light-headed. He stood up and went to the door, catching the first servant he saw. “I want the defensive arrays closed to all visiting cultivators, and all visitor tokens revoked until I say otherwise – especially any from the Jin or Lan sects. Go tell whoever needs to be told to accomplish that.”

The servant stared at him. “Second Young Master –”

“That was not,” Nie Huaisang said, “a request.”

The servant saluted.

“You’re bleeding,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang turned his head and frowned at him. “I think you’ll find that you’re the one that’s bleeding.”

“No, you –” He touched his nose.

Nie Huaisang didn’t understand until he echoed the action on his own face and realized his nose was bleeding. A bit strange; he hadn’t suffered from nosebleeds since the time his father died.

He pressed a handkerchief to his face and went back to his brother’s desk. “All right,” he said. “That will get us a bit more time, I think, though they’ll probably waste forever going to get Zonghui’s sign-off on the orders –”

But no, he was wrong – wrong again – because he could see the distant shimmer that was the Unclean Realm’s shielding array flickering into existence in the distance, could hear the sound of drums alerting the common people that they should withdraw back to their homes to avoid the possibility of interfering with a battle.

Perhaps alone of the Great Sects, Qinghe still held regular drills on what to do in the event of an invasion, and even through the thick walls of the study he could hear the casual grumbles of all the people forced to cut their day short – not too much grumbling, of course, since they knew that the Nie sect would send money to each household to compensate them for their trouble as long as they cleared the way fast enough. Doing something like that meant that they would always move, and quickly, too; it was ridiculously expensive, of course, but it meant that the streets would be clear and that no spy or troublemaker would be able to make their way into the Unclean Realm by blending in with the crowd.

It meant that they would be able to see their enemies coming.

“Was that necessary?” Lan Wangji asked. “They will not invade.”

“No?” Nie Huaisang said, and laughed. It hurt his throat. “You’re surer of that than I am. After all, you just told me that my er-ge and san-ge just conspired to murder my da-ge.”

Lan Wangji flinched. “I do not think it was…”

“It might not have been intentional on your brother’s part,” Nie Huaisang conceded. “Meng Yao, though? He was my brother’s deputy; there is no way he didn’t know what my brother thinks about that place. Piece of shit.”

They’d grown distant, Nie Huaisang remembered; his brother, who never abandoned anyone and guarded his people closer than gold, had turned his back on Meng Yao, and had needed to be coaxed back into accepting him. He’d assumed his brother was being petty over something or another, but that was petty of him, short-sighted, thinking only of himself and how much he’d missed his friend.

He resolved to find out exactly what had happened between them as soon as his brother was capable of telling him. He thought that it might be important.

“Your brother, though,” he added. “I always thought he was sincere towards my brother. That he really loved him.”

“He does. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, sincerity doesn’t mean shit,” Nie Huaisang said. “If he didn’t intend on murder, he did something that would have ended up that way. Even accidental killings call for justice, and this is – this isn’t okay, Lan-xiong.”

“I agree.” Lan Wangji closed his eyes. “I have asked Chifeng-zun for permission to stay.”

At first Nie Huaisang was confused – why would Lan Wangji need permission to hang out in the Unclean Realm? – and then he realized Lan Wangji meant for good.

The first thing he thought was oh, wow, that’s going to have some serious political implications and the next thing, somewhat more reasonably, was, I’m really angry about this and so is he.

“You are correct. Even if my brother’s feelings are sincere, it is no excuse,” Lan Wangji said. “In his desire to help your brother, in his refusal to listen to him and trust him, he nearly killed him. He is sect leader; no matter the reason, in the end, all things that happen within the Cloud Recesses are his decision.”

Just like what happend to me.

“We’ll deal with it,” Nie Huaisang promised. Even if his brother might be inclined to forgive after a while, overly generous as he always was with those he loved, he himself would not; Lan Wangji nodded, looking relieved. “Now can we please get you some medical assistance? Thirty-three hits with the discipline whip – I’d be dead. If I were you, I’d be dead. I can’t believe your brother agreed to it.”

Mine never would.

Nie Huaisang had never gotten along with Lan Wangji before, their personalities too distant, but their eyes met and there was a moment of perfect understanding.

He helped Lan Wangji up and let him lean on him as they went towards to the medical room.

When they were most of the way there, Lan Wangji spoke again. “Nie-gongzi…”

“Huaisang, please. Nie Huaisang if you must. If you’re going to be staying here, we can’t be formal with each other. Unclean Realm rule!”

“…Nie Huaisang.”

“Yes?”

“Your brother…”

Nie Huaisang stopped and looked at Lan Wangji, who was struggling for words more than he struggled to step forward. “What about him?”

“He was…once lovers with Lianfeng-zun?”

“What?” Nie Huaisang asked, surprised into a laugh. “No, of course not. He’d never betray er-ge like that; he’s been mad for him ever since they were children. Even if he was the sort of person who would do something like that, which he’s most assuredly not, he’s also not the sort of person who would ever enter into a relationship with a subordinate, and Meng Yao was his subordinate for most of the time they knew each other. They were friends at best.”

He paused, then, the laughter fading quickly. “Why do you ask?”

“Lianfeng-zun told my brother they were.” Lan Wangji was staring dully ahead again, and swallowed hard. “That they’d been lovers before.”

“And what, that their fight was some lover’s tiff?” Lan Wangji’s silence was eloquent. “That’s ridiculous. Why in the world would he concoct such an absurd and pointless lie, so easily disproven? What does it even get him?”

Lan Wangji averted his eyes.

A moment of thought later, and Nie Huaisang had his answer, his spine growing cold.

“Your brother wanted to have them both,” he said, and felt his nails drive into the center of his palms. “He wanted it so much that he didn’t bother questioning it when Meng Yao told him that he was also lovers with my brother, because if my brother was with him, then it wouldn’t be a betrayal for him to be with him, too. He thought…what? That they were some happy triad?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“My brother doesn’t know.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, but shook his head. “I do not think so.”

“Fuck.”

Nie Huaisang did not want to have to break his brother’s heart all over again.

“Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again. “Okay. Fine. This is – terrible, yes, absolutely but at least it tells us that whatever your brother’s motives, Meng Yao, at minimum, must be malicious.”

Lan Wangji frowned, then followed his thought and nodded. “He deliberately utilized a falsehood to convince my brother to enter into a relationship with him. He may have used others to convince him to trap your brother in the jingshi.”

“Assuming your brother isn’t in on the plan to kill da-ge, and I’m sorry, we really do have to keep that option open. Even Meng Yao…it’s a surprise, you know? He was my brother’s deputy, they got on really well – even though they had their differences, that big fight, it seemed like they were getting over it. They swore brotherhood, and you know how seriously my brother takes that sort of thing.”

Lan Wangji nodded again.

“Also, it’s just – mystifying,” Nie Huaisang continued, slipping easily into the tone of complaint as he shouldered Lan Wangji’s weight again and continued on their way to the doctors’ wing. “Meng Yao’s so smart! Even if he wanted to kill my brother to get your brother all to himself, which he very well might, he’s also been breaking his back to come here on a weekly basis to help my brother, playing him that Clarity song that your brother found –”

“I thought he had stopped that?”

“Well, yes, temporarily, but that’s just because da-ge was getting worried about how bad things were getting and wanted to get things in order…” Nie Huaisang came to a sudden halt once again. “Lan-xiong, I’ve been assuming – we’ve all been assuming – all the while that my brother’s deteriorating health is because of the war, and that the songs er-ge and san-ge were playing for him were helping slow it down. But what if…”

He didn’t want to say it.

“If there was one murder attempt, there may be another,” Lan Wangji said, his voice heavy. “Musical cultivation can harm as well as heal – it is possible.”

Nie Huaisang scrubbed his face with his sleeve. “But…doesn’t that mean your brother has to be part of it? He’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place.”

“He may have originated it, and Lianfeng-zun alterted it without his knowing. Your brother…might not have noticed such a substitution.”

“He’s very nearly tone-deaf,” Nie Huaisang agreed, not without fondness. “It’s amazing he understands human speech, really. It’s possible, I guess.”

“Brother’s involvement is…also possible,” Lan Wangji said, and closed his eyes. “I do not wish to believe it, but – if there truly have been two attempts, and he has not only failed to notice, but is in each one a key part…”

“We’ll work it out,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now come along. We need to get you back into something resembling mobility and health and fast.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, and Nie Huaisang knew why: do you need me better in order to fight against my brother?

“We have disciples for that,” he reminded him. “No, it’s just, you see, I’m terrible with children, and someone is going to need to chase after the two you brought with you – they’ll be laughing and screaming and crying and snotting all over the place before you know it, mark my words, and there goes any chance of getting a decent night’s sleep for the next few years. I’m telling you, Lan-xiong, you have no idea about how children are – they’re going to make so much noise!”

Lan Wangji smiled.

It was such an unusual sight that Nie Huaisang almost forgot to take his next step.

“Yes,” he said, and his words had the feeling of a vow. “They will.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #okay technically this is me jumping ahead into the next round of prompts in advance #but I wanted to write more of this #breadlovinggay

[year2000electronics]

Tumblr's being weird and won't let me find the Dark Moon rewrite post. I think there was one where you explained the story behind it, at least?

I JUST HAVENT MADE A FULL POST ON IT IM SORRYYYY but i can do bullet points of what’s going down

- so basically this kinda comes from a place of me like. liking dark moon but wishing it had more Characters. so it started with making boss ghosts and then kinda escalated

- so the plot is luigi is looking for e gadd after he went missing in a place near the mansion called evershade valley, unfortunately along the way we see a flash of lightning, a scream, and then cut to darkness

- it fades back in and it’s revealed that luigi is now... a GHOST!! oh no! (this would be the main ‘gimmick’ of the game like how mansion 3 had gooigi as a big selling point)

- he realizes he’s in a lab and he’s been captured by a ghost researcher named professor evershade who said his ghostly dna seemed different somehow so he wanted to see more

- luigi explains the situation and asks if he can help him contact e gadd but all lines to him are dead- evershade theorizes that he must have been taken by the same spectre that turned luigi into a ghost, and luigi immediately goes ‘KING BOO....’ bc who else does he have beef with.

- evershade suggests that if they defeat the four rulers of the nearby mansions they can assemble the dark moon, an artifact that will make sure no ghost will be able to cause their own mischief again

- luigi agrees, and in the meantime evershade says he can try to work on a way to see if he can change luigi back from a ghost

- he uses the same teleportation device e gadd does in dark moon to get luigi in and out of evershades lab, and luigi usually winds up in the small garden which leads to the four mansions

- (meta talk here- the multiple mansion exploring and evershades appearance are meant to kinda trick the player into thinking that it’s a ‘different character same purpose’ scenario, like how both goombario and goombella are tattling goombas)

- (you also get access to regular luigi after clearing one or two rooms in the first mansion- this serves as a bit of a tutorial segment for ghost luigis abilities and how youll be able to switch between ghost luigi and regular luigi to accomplish different tasks)

- ghost luigi probably has the power of a portrait ghost himself, so would have abilities such as the ability to scare other ghosts into fleeing a room or scaring them into doing stuff for him (which would serve as both a puzzle solution and a short-term solution for any segments where you may be stuck as ghost luigi), there are also other abilities like passing through walls (but most new rooms will be VERY dark so it would be hard to suss out details), spectral wind, etc. regular luigi is the one able to catch ghosts though, and regular and ghost forms will often interact in puzzles like a slightly less co-op based luigi and gooigi system

- the first mansion, gloomy manor, is a pretty standard mansion, it’s very old and filled w cobwebs. the boss is a spider-themed ghost, madame moufette. she says the mansions been lost to time and now only the spiders and ghosts live there

- the second mansion, haunted towers, is... actually only a one floor lobby. it’s only when you take the elevator that you realize the entire building is underground and it leads you to a literal icy bunker where an arctic ghost, macready, has spent ages under the bunker and is convinced that a light wielding beast is hunting him down

- the third mansion, treacherous mansion, is a house of illusion, led by a chess-playing ghost named rook. there are stuff like portals, tv static, living suits of armour, the like. rook’s message to luigi is that not everything is as it seems in evershade valley

- luigi comes back from treacherous mansion and gives evershade the third piece of the dark moon, which is when evershade reveals he had the fourth piece of the dark moon all along- and. here’s where things get fucky wucky i’m so sorry

- evershade lifts his goggles and takes off his hat and reveals that HE’S luigi from the future. after the events of mansion 1, luigi eventually decided to become an apprentice to e gadd and became a full time ghost researcher. things don’t seem so different at first but unfortunately e gadd game-overs and so luigi is left all on his own. which is a bummer. with his mentor gone luigi throws himself into his work, neglecting going on adventures with mario to a point that he just stops getting invited... (took mario a VERY long time to stop asking though. make no mistake) over time he becomes a bit of a recluse and his curious and observant nature kinda becomes a hunger for knowledge... he wants to know just what the strange and unusual is and what makes it tick. he also starts using professor evershade as a pen name bc ‘dr mario’ gets people asking about his research for the wrong reasons. though not only does he become more curious but he gets very very bored. ghosts are just poltergeists, tricksters... they’re nothing without a leader. luigi tries to bring back king boo, he invents all sorts of things to try- but the one thing the professor did that he didn’t was invent that damn portrait machine (which has rusted and broken with time- it’s been like, 20-25 years at this point).

- basically, what starts out as ‘i need to bring king boo back so i can have a proper rogues gallery of ghosts to study’ turns into ‘i need to bring king boo back but why would i even defeat him? this is great for paranormal studies’ so yeah. now evershade would like to see the ghost world at its fullest power

- he time travelled back to the past to try and convince e gadd to free king boo (yes he made a time machine hashtag smart) but e gadd fights back, destroying the portrait machine he built. evershade is Angry about this and decides if he won’t help him... perhaps someone else will. his ‘time machine’ is actually a large building that affects all of evershade valley, so it, how it was 20 years into the future, was brought into the past. his backup plan was to trap luigi in evershade valley by turning him into a ghost and making him collect the dark moon shards that he had always wanted but couldn’t get (his ghost researching skills are fine but his ghost hunting skills are out of shape. he could have done that in the first place but he kinda wanted to see his old mentor again.)

- the dark moon itself is an artifact split into four parts bc its effect on ghosts is too much to stand, even for ghosts- it’d give whoever owns it absolute power over the paranormal world and its residents, so the four mansion ghosts have taken it upon themselves to protect them (evershades original plan also involved teaming up with king boo to defeat the ghosts and take the dark moon for themselves)

- (actually, the fourth mansion ghost is polterpup! the dark moon piece WAS in his collar but a certain evershade stole it after the doggy lets his guard down around luigi

- evershade, using the dark moons power, casts a blacklight into king boos painting and finally frees him, offering him ultimate power and ruling over ghosts if they work together as a team. king boo finds this hashtag funny so he’s like ok

- then, luigi gets teleported out of the lab before he can try and stop them. polterpup points him towards where evershades lab has been all along- the fourth and final mansion, old clockworks

- in there luigi finds e gadd being held hostage, where he reveals evershade was trying to threaten him into freeing king boo

- as ghost luigi you also experience side effects of the dark moon in this final dungeon, like controller inputs not working or luigi needing to stop and wrestle off a headache

- so yea... final boss is basically king boo fighting you and evershade cheering him on and you need to counter king boos attacks so that they hit the dark moon and destroy it

- luigi sucks up king boo.... LOL

- evershade is defeated and he doesn’t even have an evil monologue he just kinda stares at luigi unimpressed like ‘really? this is the route you’re taking’ and luigi silently just kinda grabs onto e gadd and whatever toads are in this game. and neither of them say anything

- somewhere in old clockworks a clock goes off, and all the rest of them do too (the one time you hear every clock in sync). fade to white and e gadd and luigi wake up in an empty field where a construction worker asks if they’re ok. pan out to reveal evershade is gone and there’s apparently a construction crew hoping to build four brand new buildings here in this valley

UM THATS IT LOL.... it’s rly overcomplicated i know. i’m sorry.

#mothra answers #yea it’s like 2am so the explanation still sucks but basically it’s like. #everything IS on evershades grocery list. he just wasn’t expecting that order #like his thought was get king boo then team up to get dark moon #but dark moon then king boo is ok too. #long post