but if there was ever a good indicator it's that one

10

Someone in the notes of the last Leyendecker post I reblogged mentioned having difficulty telling his work and Rockwell’s apart, and I know from experience that many people get them confused, which is somewhat astonishing as, to my eyes, their styles are very distinct. Leyendecker was Rockwell’s idol and mentor, but they were very different people and were interested in portraying different aspects of humanity, even when the basic subject matter was the same.

Surface-level, here are some differences:

  • Leyendecker smoothed out faults and imperfections (in the young. he stylized them in the old); Rockwell exaggerated them to mild or moderate caricature
  • Leyendecker approached his paintings as sculpture- even the merest clothing folds are carved out of the paint; Rockwell approached his paintings as drawings- the underlying contour always shines through.
  • Leyendecker used broad hatching brushstrokes and areas of smooth shine; Rockwell used more naturalistic texture and lighting
  • Leyendecker created idolized, larger-than-life figures that feel Hellenistic in their perfection; Rockwell created intimate scenes populated by figures that feel familiar in their specificity
  • Leyendecker’s best and most comfortable work was as a fashion/lifestyle illustrator; Rockwell’s best and most comfortable work was as an editorial/humor illustrator 
  • Leyendecker created beautiful still lives with his figures; Rockwell told compelling stories
  • Leyendecker often created erotic tension in his paintings; Rockwell almost never did.

See below: Two paintings of soldiers with women, but in Rockwell’s there is a clear punchline, and while the poses are contrived for the sake of composition, they’re not self-conscious. The women are pretty- as demanded by the central joke- but not truly sexualized anywhere but in the mind of the young soldier who is being overloaded with cake and attention. 

Contrast Leyendecker’s soldiers with a young nurse. Everyone in this image is posing attractively- no one has their mouth full or ears sticking out. Each crease and fold is sharp and sculptural, and the light picks out their best features- in particular the shoulders and posterior of the soldier facing away from the viewer. There is neither joke nor story, merely a group of beautiful young people, portrayed with deft brushwork and graceful lines. (and check out that hatching! That’s indicator #1 that you’ve got a Leyendecker image)

Leyendecker was very comfortable with “hot young things wearing clothes”, and did them very VERY well, but his facility with idealization came at the cost of personalization, which was fine for fashion illustration, but shows in his domestic scenes: 

Beautiful, but… cold. (Also, that hand on the left- who holds a baby with their hand like that??? Good lord, J.C.) Compare a Rockwell illustration (for a baby food brand, I believe) of a mother and baby: this is clearly a real and individual young mother and baby, interacting exactly how parents and babies really interact.

Even when they did basically the same content, and putting aside posing or composition or anything other than objective visual analysis, it’s still obvious who is who:

  • Red: NR’s smoother rendering vs JCL’s super cool hatching
  • Green: NR’s naturalistic cloth folds vs JCL’s sculptural stylization
  • Blue: NR’s natural lighting vs JCL’s world where everything is shiny

Now go forth, confident in the knowledge that you’ll never confuse a Rockwell or a Leyendecker ever again, and can refute any claim that their styles are ‘virtually identical’. 

The 10 Elements of a MAIN CHARACTER

To all the writers who have ever been told “Your characters have to be three dimensional!” or “They should be well-rounded!” and just felt like saying: “What does that even MEAN?! What goes into a 3-dimensional character? Specifically? And how do you go about creating one?!”

Good news. There’s a way. 

Great main characters – heroes, protagonists, deuteragonist, whatever you want to call them – have ten things in common. Ten things that are easily developed, once you know what to create within your character. So no one will ever be able to tell you “needs to be more three dimensional!” ever again. Ha. 

1) Weaknesses: Main characters should be flawed, but I’m not saying this because it will make them more realistic (though it will) – I’m saying they need to be flawed because if they’re not, they shouldn’t be a main character. Story is another word for change, or more accurately, character growth. Not character as in “fictional person”, character meaning “heart and soul”. Story is someone’s character changing, for better or worse. Main characters at the beginning of the story are lacking something vital, some knowledge of themselves, some knowledge of how to live a better life, and this void is ruining their lives. They must overcome these weaknesses, if they’re going to become complete, and reach a happy ending. There are two types of weaknesses: Psychological and Moral. Psychological ones only hurt the main character. Moral ones cause the main character to hurt other people. Easy.  

2) Goal: Characters exist because they want something. Desiring something, and the fight against opposition for that desire, is the lifeblood of story; and because character is story, it’s also desire that can breathe life into words on a page, and begin the process of creating a real person in a reader’s mind. It’s this ‘desire for something’ that sparks that first connection between reader and character. It makes us think “Well, now I have to find out if this person gets what they want.” This is a powerful link. (How many mediocre movies do we suffer through, when we could easily stop watching, because we’re still trapped by that question of “what happens?”) So if this is powerful enough to keep people watching an annoying movie, imagine how powerful it can be in an excellent story. 

Like in Up, the goal is to get the house to Paradise Falls.

3) Want: If the main character wants something, they want it for a darn good reason. Usually, they think that attaining the goal will fill the void they can sense in their lives, the deficiency they can feel, but don’t know how to fix. And they’re almost always wrong. Getting the goal doesn’t help anything; which is why, while pursuing that goal, they discover a deeper need that will heal them. Which brings us to …

4) Need/Elixir: Main characters are missing something, a weakness in their innermost selves is causing them to live a less-than-wonderful life. Through story, these main characters can be healed. Once they discover what’s missing, and accept it, and change the way they live to include this truth they’ve uncovered … they’re healed. Learning this truth, whatever it is, forms the purpose of the story for the main character. The reader, and the character, think the story is about achieving that big tangible goal the premise talks about; really, underneath it all, the story is about someone achieving a big intangible truth, that will ultimately save their life and future. Often, this need is exactly what the character fears or professes to hate. 

Like Finding Nemo, where Dory states exactly what Marlin needs to learn. 

5) Ghosts: 

Not this kind of ghosts.

Ghosts are events in your character’s past which mark the source of their weaknesses and strengths. Because these happened, the character became who they are. All we need to know about backstory are these moments, because who the character became is all we care about. There’s really only one ghost you absolutely need: the source of their moral and psychological weakness. Something happened that knocked the character’s world off kilter, and everything from that moment onward has been tainted by what happened. This moment haunts them (hence the name), and holds them back from uncovering that need that will heal their weaknesses. Pixar are masters of this: the source of Carl being stuck in the past, curmudgeonly, unable of loving anyone new? Ellie dying; his ghost. In Finding Nemo, the source of Marlin being suffocating, protective to the point of being harmful, possessive, and fearful? His wife and 99% of his children being eaten in front of him; his ghost. 

6) True Character: These are the strengths, values, convictions, fears, faults, beliefs, worldview, and outlook on life that make the main character who they truly are. 

7) Characterization: This is everything on the surface of a main character. The way they look, talk, act, etc. All of this originates from those deeper elements of their being, the strengths, values, ghosts, weaknesses, needs, that make them who they truly are. So often, you can think of this as a facade they’re projecting, a way to shield the the truth about themselves, how they wish to be perceived. The story, and the other characters, are slowly going to see deeper than this characterization, revealing more and more of the reasons it is the way it is. 

8) Arc: If the character is going to change from “Incomplete Person” to “Complete Person” there’s going to be a journey they go on to make that possible. The external story, the pursuit of that big tangible goal the premise is about, is causing an inner journey to take place. What they have to do in pursuit of that external goal will apply pressure to those weaknesses, and pressure causes change. This process has seven steps, but if I write it all here this post is going to be obscenely long. So I might wait and give this its own post.

9) Changed Person: Who is the character going to be at the end of this story? They better be different, or else the story didn’t work. How do they show how different they’ve become? What is the moral choice they make, that spins their trajectory from “the future doesn’t look so great” to “happily ever after”? This should be known right away, maybe even before anything else is settled about the character. This gives a distinct end goal, a way to work backwards, a destination in mind that you can navigate towards.  

10) Fascination and Illumination: The surface characterization, and the brief glimpses of the true character underneath create curiosity in the reader/audience. What the character says, and the implied subtext beneath the dialogue, creates a puzzle the audience wants to solve. Actions they take work the same way; if the writer indicates there’s deeper motivation behind why a character behaves in the way they do, we buy into solving that mystery right away. We can’t help it. “Who are you really? Why are you the way you are? And how is that going to effect the story?” These are all the unspoken, almost not consciously acknowledged, questions that fascinating characters provoke. Searching out meaning, connecting the dots to find the truth – we can’t resist this. We’re not fascinated by tons of backstory and exposition about a character; we’re fascinated by story, by mystery, by the technique of withholding information and having to interpret and hunt out the truth on our own.  So gradually, the story and the characters will force that character to reveal a little more, and a little more, until we have a complete picture of who this person is. Crucial that this information isn’t told up front. Gradually illuminate it. It’s just like getting to know a real person. 

So how does this work in a real character? Let’s take a look at Flynn Rider/Eugene Fitzherbert, because almost everybody has seen that movie. 

Moral Weaknesses: He’s selfish. He’s a little greedy. He’s a little rude. He uses his charisma and bravado to keep people at a distance from the real him. 

Psychological Weaknesses: Insecurity, fear of vulnerability, feels like the real him (Eugene) would be unwanted, unlovable, and have nothing – just like when he was an orphaned kid. Also, he doesn’t know who he wants to be, what he wants to live for. 

Goal: Flynn wants to get that crown. So he has to get Blondie to see the floating lights, so she’ll give it back to him, and then they can part ways as unlikely friends.  

Want: Why does he want the crown? What does it mean for him? He actually states it (reluctantly) in song: “I have dreams like you, no really. Just much less touchy feely. They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny. On an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone. Surrounded by enormous piles of money.” He senses there’s something off in his life, something is missing. But he mistakenly believes this missing piece is money, which will allow him to buy a lonely island, where he can live out his days as Flynn and no one will ever know Eugene. 

Need: “All those days chasing down a daydream. All those years living in a blur. All that time never truly seeing, things the way they were. Now she’s here, shining in the starlight. Now she’s here, suddenly I know. If she’s here, it’s crystal clear, I’m where I’m meant to go.” He wants a crown … he needs to fall in love with Rapunzel. He needs to love something more than himself, and find out that love isn’t something to fear and push away. He needs to abandon the 'Tales of Flynnagin Rider’ ambition, and get a more worthwhile, new dream. 

Ghost: The source of all of his weaknesses can be linked to his “little bit of a downer” childhood as an orphan. Interestingly, he isn’t aware of another facet of that ghost, and Rapunzel points it out to him. “Was he a thief too?” she asks. He looks taken aback, before answering “Uh, no.” Something’s gone wrong. The choices he’s making are not living up to that original role model.  

Characterization: Flynn’s charming, funny, smart, charismatic, and arrogant (in a somehow charming sort of way). He’s also rude, contemptuous, and sarcastic. All traits that help him keep up that 'swashbuckling rogue’ facade, and push people away from the real him. 

True Character: Underneath all that, he’s a Disney prince. That pretty much sums it up.  

Changed Person: “Started going by Eugene again, stopped thieving, and basically turned it all around.” He started the story as the guarded and evasive Flynn, he ends as the selfless and thoroughly-in-love Eugene. 

Fascination and Illumination: Imagine if everything about Flynn had been told, right up front. We know he’s an orphan, we know he’s upheld a fake reputation, we know he’s a kind and loving guy underneath it all, we even know about his “tales of Flynnagin” childhood dream. You know what happens? We like him … but we’re not interested in him. There’s nothing we need to find out. There’s no curiosity. And if there’s no curiosity, and nothing being illuminated, your story’s not going anywhere. So instead, we find out – alongside Rapunzel – more about Flynn as the story progresses. And that is how it should be. 

So!

Developing characters in this way, I’ve found, really reduces worries about how “well-rounded” and three dimensional I’ve made them. They feel real to me. And besides helping me create characters, this ten element technique has also let me analyze characters I like, which is strangely fun. It’s a great way to figure out why a character works, what causes them to be so effective, and how you can go about creating them yourself. 

Yeah, I’m a bit of a nerd. 

But if you want, try it out. Develop a character. Analyze a character. You might find it as useful/fun as I do.

Nine Months - Harry Styles Imagine

No piece of mine has never had as much interest surrounding it as this one has, so thank you for expressing your excitement to me. I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait. (Protip: if you’re reading on mobile, ditch the app and read on Safari or Chrome instead, as the app is prone to close on longer pieces of text).

This one is dedicated to @permanentcross, simply because she’s the best. E has listened to me ramble on and on about this story for longer than anyone should have to. She’s the inspiration behind many things beneath the cut, all of which I will leave up to your own interpretation. 

Without further adieu, I present you with Nine Months…

Keep reading

Harry's interview on Quotidien
  • I: Can you hear me?
  • H: Yes
  • I: Welcome to Paris!
  • H: Thank you
  • I: How are you? Can you answer in French?
  • H: Good! A little bit. A tiny bit. Très bien et toi ?(very good and you?)
  • I: Very good, thank you. We start our interviews with “can you give us your five favourites words in English or French. Or a French sentence”. Someone told me you knew a French sentence.
  • H: Comment vous faites un café si délicieux? (How do you make such a delicious coffee?)
  • I: OK, that’s good.
  • H: That’s all I have.
  • I: Do you say it very often?
  • H: No... Yes
  • I: What does France mean to you? Is it something, someone etc...?
  • H: Best people I’ve known... I think her, *shows a fan* I guess. Fabien Barthez.
  • I: Yes, Fabien Barthez. Harry, you’re 23 years old and you’re one of the best known pop-star in the world. Everybody has expectations with your new album and single Sign Of The Times. Why did you choose that song? This is not what people were expecting.
  • H: I think I wanted to.. I've always liked music that made me feel something. You know I think writing it I could feet something I wanted to bring it out. I think it's a good indicator for me of what the album is to me. That's why I wanted to go with that first.
  • I: Billboard wrote that the single was "one of the more ambitious opening statements in pop this decade". Not bad, isn't it?
  • H: Thanks!
  • I: Do you have friends working at Billboard?
  • H: I don't know anyone at Billboard.
  • I: When we listen to the song we think of David Bowie, Queen, who else did you think of?
  • H: I mean, I think everyone, anything, any song you've ever listened to growing up or throughout your life or you've enjoyed, inspired you. There are a lot of different things. I wanted to just write and see what came out. I didn't know what I sounded like to make an album. So this process was as interesting for me as I think it will be for people listening to the album for the first time.
  • I: Do you know French singers other than Serge Gainsbourg? That's a tricky question.
  • H: I know Woodkid. He directed my music video.
  • I: Why him?
  • H: I think his videos are amazing, he's a really talented guy and I love French people so I worked with him.
  • I: When you're in Spain, do you say that you love Spanish people?
  • H: No!
  • I: It seems like everything has been easy...
  • H: Great tie.
  • I: You think so? It's French.
  • H: It's not a Spanish tie, isn't it?
  • I: Can I see your loafer? Oh yes! What is the brand? That's not French, isn't it? It's Italian.
  • H: No.
  • I: That's from the European Union!
  • H: Probably yeah.
  • I: It seems like everything has been easy for you, is it true?
  • H: Was what simple?
  • I: Your life, everybody wants a life like yours, with One Direction...
  • H: I mean, I feel very lucky to be able to make music, I feel very lucky to be able to make this, I feel very lucky today being in France and performing my song. I love this song. I can't complain.
  • I: What were the unpleasant things?
  • H: *thinking*
  • I: I don't know, say only one thing.
  • H: I think when you care so much about something, it's hard to get to the point where you feel like it's finished and it feels like you're adding and it never ends and it adds up. So I think the hardest part was getting into that point and be like "ok that's finished."
  • I: You said to the Rolling Stone magazine that most of the album was inspired by a woman. Really?
  • H: No I think, honestly, the album is much more about me than it is about anyone else. I think if I said the album is about a woman it kind of feels like, I don't know, I put a lot of work into this. I don't feel like it revolves around woman. It's a lot about me and things I've never said before. It's more about me.
  • I: How did you start with a boy band and end with a solo career? Is it complicated?
  • H: It's been a lot of fun. You know we were very lucky to get to do some amazing things and at the moment in our lives, we're in a time where everyone is trying their own thing and have a good time. It's been amazing to see everyone doing their own thing as well. If I can do as well as the others, it'd be amazing.
  • I: Do you call them everyday or text them? Do you use What's app?
  • H: I don't have that.
  • I: Why?
  • H: Yes we talk, absolutely. And everyone is bringing stuff out. It's been a lot going on. It's been a good time.
  • I: This is the album cover! Can you describe it? Why did you choose this picture?
  • H: Yeah. So, I don't know. I worked with photographer Harley Weir, I'm a massive fan of her work. And that's amazing and I was lucky enough to work with her. I felt like this was what I wanted.
  • I: Why is it pink? Why the water? Why your back? Why? It's beautiful but why is it pink?
  • H: I don't know, man!
  • I: Really? You don't know?
  • H: I don't know. I don't think I want...
  • I: Apparently pink is Rock'n'roll's colour.
  • H: Apparently so. I don't know. I think it means something to me and if it means anything to anyone else, I wouldn't want to take away from that by explaining it. I think the cool thing about stuff like photos and art is you can just leave it. You don't have to explain it.
  • I: Everybody sees what they want to see.
  • H: Yes exactly.
  • I: Have you seen this?
  • *video of people reacting to Harry's single*
  • I: Your fans record themselves while listening to the song for the first time. You can hear relevant analysis and apparently they all really liked it. Do you read what people say about you on social media? On Youtube, Twitter, Instagram? Do you use Instagram?
  • H: Yes I use it a little bit.
  • *The public disagrees with Harry*
  • H: Yes I use it a little bit. I mean I wish everyone was having as good time as the girl who was like that with her hands. That's what I do when I listen to the song.
  • I: Are you the one using your Instagram? Do you use your own fingers or someone else does it for you?
  • H: Yes, I do mine.
  • I: Do you still vote in Redditch?
  • H: In?
  • I: Redditch!
  • H: That's where I was born?
  • I: Yes.
  • H: I don't live in Redditch.
  • I: So you don't vote there. Where did you vote?
  • H: London, yeah.
  • I: What do you think of the Brexit? Welcome to Europe!
  • H: Thank you very much, thanks. I mean, I don't really comment on politics. To me, anything that brings people together is better than things that pull people apart. That's ... yeah.
  • I: Yet, you are in favour of equality of rights, men, women, gay people, straight people... That's politics.
  • H: I don't know. It doesn't feel like politics. I think stuff like equality feels much more fundamental. I feel like everyone is equal. That doesn't feel like politics to me.
  • I: Your fans are fetishists. They know all of your tattoos, piece of jewellery, they have heart attacks when you cut your hair. Right now you're playing with their feelings. Do you know that?
  • H: Oh ok.
  • I: Yes! What is your favourite tattoo?
  • H: I think... I have a.. probably. I don't know, actually.
  • I: Which one is the latest?
  • H: The latest is this one there. *shows Arlo* And this one. *shows Jackson*
  • I: Jackson? All of them?
  • H: Yes.
  • I: What's the story behind your haircut? How much did you spend on hair products with One Direction?
  • H: Yeah, like a lot. I used a lot, yeah.
  • I: You're in Dunkirk, Christopher Nolan's new movie.
  • H: Yes.
  • I: How did you do?
  • H: I auditioned.
  • I: Look at you there.
  • H: I am, that's me.
  • I: Yes.
  • H: I auditioned and it was great. It's going to be a really cool movie.
  • I: Harry, it feels like we know you since you're a baby. The whole world discovered you in 2010 on X Factor.
  • *video of Harry's X Factor audition*
  • I: You auditioned alone but Simon Cowell had an idea... he put you in a band with Zayn, Louis, Liam and Niall. You became One Direction. You found the name One Direction and you sold millions of albums. One Direction are soon considered as the new Beattles and you filled the biggest stadiums. The whole world was talking about you. When you go out we prayed for your eardrums. You became UK's pride. David Cameron is in one of your music videos, your sang for the Queen. But in 2015... bang! Zayn left the band, fans couldn't get over it. But don't worry, their favourite is now on the cover of the Rolling Stone magazine, he's in Christopher Nolan's new movie, he's Mick Jagger on SNL... What you don't know is that we've met in 2012. You were in France to promote an album and now I have questions. First one! When you're in a car and fans are all around you, do you see that?
  • *video of fans around a car*
  • H: I think I've actually lost my shoe there. When I got in the car... I got in the car and I was like "how many shoes do I have?" Yes I lost my shoe.
  • I: I have another question! Do you still do that before going on stage?
  • *video of Harry and Lou*
  • I: Can we do it?
  • H: No.
  • *does it anyway*
  • I: What is the weirdest question someone asked you?
  • H: I think it was actually a French interview. I got asked if I would pee in a sink... Yeah.
  • I: Ok, that's weird!
  • H: It was the first question, the first question.
  • I: It puts you in the mood.
  • H: Yeah.
  • I: What is the question you never want to be asked ever again? Did I asked you that question?
  • *Harry asks the public*
  • H: Which one? Oh crush.
  • I: What?
  • H: Crush.
  • I: Oh ok. I didn't ask it! Did you know that a French author wrote a novel about you. It's called "Styles", it's about his obsession with you. It's in French. You can translate it.
  • H: Oh! Is that true?
  • I: Yes it's true. He dedicated to you. It's called "Styles" and it's a really good book. Read it!
  • H: Thank you.
  • I: Thank you very much Harry Styles for coming tonight. His first eponymous album comes out on the 12th May. Thank you Harry Styles.
  • H: Thank you.
  • I: Have a safe journey home.
2

hey hello here’s the car boys unifying theory, i made a fun corkboard with the thread everywhere just like them conspiracy theorists in the movies

spoilers for the finale of car boys & the stolen century arc of the adventure zone follow

the crutch of this theory rests on the the two endings being separate timelines: the boystos/separation timeline (the bad ending) [the ending shown before the credits, when griffin and nick are separated and set adrift in endless emptiness] and the candle in the wind timeline (the true ending) [the after-credits ending, griffin and nick stuck in the car together, perpetually fleeing from the blob through the time ring] {there is no good end}

the separation timeline / bad end

  • most of what happens in this timeline to the boys is based off this video by youtube user brockrin- which the boys have tweeted about so by my standards its canon plflfnfft
  • to sum it up- alone for an eternity in endless Nothingness, the boys become the bustos-  nick 1.0 and griffin 2.0- and attempt to go back and stop themselves in the past from fucking everything up, but fail
  • this timeline (im sorry for homestuck terminology but,) is a stable time loop, nothing ever changes- its them going around and around again trying and failing to stop themselves. its bad
  • but its important to note that griffin and nick were not the only ones in the time ring when they got separated- which brings me to Ball
  • Ball has qualities of both the ovo and the blob, as it has blob-like physics (even leading to the it hates water! revelation) and its roundness and fondness of rolling just like ovo
  • Ball becomes separated from itself. the white sections become the ovo, and the black sections the blob

the candle in the wind timeline / true end

  • now things get a little buckwild
  • the basic premise of this timeline is that nick and griffin stay in the waterproof pessima lx for , basically eternity, travelling through the time ring in an endless chase with the blob
  • the reason that they don’t break down like in the bad end is pretty much that being stuck in a perpetual expanse of time and space with a friend is infinitely better than being stuck there alone
  • this is where coolgames inc starts! essentially a way to pass time when youve quite literally got nothing but time. (and as nick said, there’s wifi in the void)
  • this is where the guest-o-matic in the cgi animations comes in! and, in addition, there is a “canon” connection with cb in the cook for cube cgi animation- perhaps the two timelines converging for just a second ? 
  • uncle buck from uncle buck
  • in the time ring we see countless galaxies pass by as they travel downwards- they travel through endless amounts of realities and planes as the blob pursues them
  • taking a moment here to explain something else integral to this- in car boys, nick has the power of creation, the ability to spawn and create objects in the game. griffin, conversely, has the power of manipulation, he’s much of the driving force behind important decisions and actions taken in the show. this becomes important
  • this is when touch the skyrim takes place- in a number of the universes they pass through down and down into the time ring, griffin takes advantage of these powers of manipulation to modify the word around them because like why not, its fun
  • what’s wrong with this dream, nick
  • as the boys + the blob pass through universe after universe in the time ring, the bob catalyzes the event in the original universe of Jon (taz) that originally creates the hunger- the blob merges with the inhabitants of that universe and the hunger is born 
    (note: this may be edited in the coming weeks as we learn more abt the hunger and its origin)
  • and the boys realize this- that the universes that theyre passing through are being consumed behind them- and they begin looking for a solution, which materializes in the form of the original taz universe, the homeworld of thb and ipre and all that. 
  • it’s also at this point that the light of creation really like, becomes the light of creation its- its nick? its nick. nick is the light of creation. this fact being proposed is what prompted me to make this theory in the first place
  • griffin shapes the world of taz and becomes the dm/narrator (note especially in recent episodes during the into to taz the narrator uses ‘we’ and ‘us’- as if he is part of this world and is involved in the story) and the two boys follow the ipre through the planes of existence in order to help them find a way to defeat the hunger/blob and save all of reality from the monster that they created
  • and i think its a canon thing that the light of creation is split into the relics? that happens. thats pretty sad i think
  • ..until we get to the present- the hunger descending upon what will likely be the multiverse’s final stand against the hunger in the main taz universe (the one with two moons and stuff). cant wait for the taz finale bros

other things & honorable mentions

  • thanks to everyone in the mcelstuck & car boys discord for help with this whole thing! 
  • @rikki-tikki-taako​‘s explanation of how the true timeline boys are saved from the bad timeline: “what i’m getting at is why didn’t true timeline nick and griffin get separated and warped
    the true saviors of true timeline nick and griffin
    emoji car and miku car
    embodiments of crucial aspects of nick and griffins beings, their integrity largely untampered with(i don’t believe either of them ever god trashed), and bow i think of it relatively unscathed compared to the horrors introduced to everything else because there were always more important matters to draw nick and griffin away, they came just when nick and griffin didn’t have time to make the same mistakes as all the other timelines
    so in the midst of god trashing, their pillars distorting, they combined with their respective aspects and regained their conceptual integrity, in a way like pause error respawning frequently merged objects in beamng, the pause indicated by their seeming lack of awareness of having to merge with them”
  • @cinnamon-marthmallows​ originally came up with “nick is the light of creation”, the fact that spawned this entire theory
  • @goodraandyy​‘s infograph on the split timelines and commentary on the ball/blob/hunger that you should check out & reblog here
    “ball turned into the blob which followed nick and griffin towards the taz universe - however, it is not john himself, it was simply drawn to his misery and suffering and mistook him for nick and griffin. john then harboured the power of the blob to create the hunger storm, which took over the universe“
  • @horticulturelesbian​ created the car boys discord thank u so much kar
  • @cheshiure​ compiled the cb unifying theory google doc
  • @coneboyofficial made this beautiful image
  • @magehand​ for this image: 
  • @babylonian @griffins-tumbo

tl;dr

  • the two endings of car boys are separate timelines
  • griffin and nick in the bad/pre-credits timeline became the bustos, Ball became the ovo & the blob
  • griffin and nick in the true/post-credits timeline continued travelling through the time ring, coming up with coolgames inc and touch the skyrim
  • the hunger is born from the blob interacting with jon’s whole deal
  • taz happens, griffin becomes the dm, nick becomes the light of creation, the boys follow the ipre gang through the universes to try and find a way to finally defeat it

thanks everybody 

2

Mind Reader

Characters: Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst adjacent, smut, dirty talk, LOTS of language

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I was looking through some REALLY old requests and I came across an idea from @jennalyncarrigan1230 from who knows how long ago. She pitched an idea that I have twisted and LOVE the outcome. I doubt she even remembers sending the ask, but her initial idea sparked this smutty goodness. This took on a life of its own. I haven’t wrote Dean smut or ANY smut in quite some time. This is officially DIRTY. Or at least by my standards it is. Hope you enjoy. ;) Italics & Bold indicate reader’s thoughts.  This has very little plot. Just the poor reader thinking her secret dirty thoughts about Dean only to have them be not so secret anymore.

Feedback Appreciated

Tags at the bottom

Keep reading

I think I love you - Jughead Jones

Pairing : Jughead Jones x Reader

Word count : 1,484

Warnings : none

Requests are closed!

Originally posted by juptern

Your phone rang in the pocket of your jacket making you jump by surprise. You answered the call before showing your index to your friend Archie, meaning that it would only take a minute.

“Hi, this is (y/n) speaking.”

“Hey (y/n), how are you?” You instantly recognised the groggy voice behind the line.

“Jughead! I’m good! What about you?” From the corner of your eye, you would’ve swore you saw Archie rolling his eyes.

“Marvellous. So, what are you up to this evening? I thought we maybe could’ve hung out tonight. You know, me, you, at Pop’s?” You chuckled lightly.

“Sorry Juggie, I was planning on spending the night with Archie… You can tag along if you want? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” A small sigh made its way into your ear. You had to admit that you spent a lot of your recent time with your new red-haired friend. Jughead still occupied the position of best friend. He didn’t have to worry about it.

“I promise we’ll do something together tomorrow, alright?” It was silence for a while before you heard back,

“Yeah sure.” You pursed your lips, mentally cursing yourself. It wasn’t the first time that you had turned down your best of friend for Archie. Lately it had been happening more than before. It made you feel like the worst pal.

“See you.” With that, Jughead hung up. You understood how he felt. It wasn’t right that you weren’t spending as much time with him.

“Jughead, wasn’t it?” You looked up and saw Archie sprawled across the black beanbag in your bedroom. His hands were attached on the new acoustic guitar his dad had got him for his birthday. You nodded and played with the sleeves of you sweater. Your friend continued strumming the strings of his instrument.

“Hey- I wrote this song last week, and I wanted to know what you thought about it. I’ve been trying to talk to Josie about her playing some of my compositions, but she’s not that into it. You’re her friend, right? Maybe you could listen to it and try to talk to her?” He asked questioningly.

“Of course, go ahead.” His fingers moved to the tuners and accorded them as his other hand rested on the waist of the guitar. A few seconds later, a pleasant melody filled the room. Archie then started singing the lyrics he had written. The song wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was quite catchy. The redhead friend of yours had talent. Before Archie could go on, you blurted out something you soon would regret.

“I’ll probably spend the day with him tomorrow.” The small tune that Archie had started suddenly came to an end. Archie hadn’t spoken to Jughead since this summer. The tree of you and Betty we’re supposed to go on a road trip the fourth of July but Archie left you hanging at the last minute. Since then, the boys stopped talking completely. When you mentioned one of  them to the other, you saw the irritation and annoyance in their expression.

“I thought you were coming to my game tomorrow. I’m playing in the varsity football team this year, remember?” You bet your lip and fiddled your hair with your fingers.

“I’m sorry Arch. I haven’t seen Jughead in a while now and I don’t want him to feel like I stopped being his friend. I’m making a vow that I’ll show up to your next game, how about that?”

“Why does it always have to be about him? Everything constantly has to be about Jughead.” Your were caught off guard by the sudden raise in his voice.

“That’s not it… I’m just trying to do what’s best here.”

“By ditching me at the last minute, that’s how your making things better? I didn’t think of you as an inconsiderate and selfish person.” He replied bitterly. In all the time of you guy’s friendship, you had never seen this side of Archie. Usually, he would be sweet and just shrug off any problem that faced his way. But the words he had just told you, they hurt your heart. Your eyes were starting to fill up with tears and your bottom lip started quivering.

“I’ve spent all my time with you for the last month. You. Not Jughead. Why are you treating me like this?”

“You know what? I don’t want to spend any more of my time with you right now.” With that, Archie got up and left you alone in your room. Without even noticing, a trail of tears had made its way down your cheeks. A sob escaped your mouth and your hands covered your face as you poured your heart out. You laid in your bed and continued crying.

It was all your fault. Archie now hated you and would probably never talk to you again. Why did you had to be so stupid? If only you had kept your mouth shut. Maybe he still would have been on that beanbag, singing.

Maybe half an hour later, you heard the wooden creek of your door meaning that someone was coming in. You didn’t even move, your pillow pressed against your face. The mattress shifted to the side from the sudden weight that it now had on it. You felt a piece of your hair being put behind your ear. You smiled at the sweet gesture and assumed it was your mother. You slowly got up and saw Jughead sitting beside you. Automatically, you vaulted in his arms tearing up once again.

“Sssh. It’s going to be okay.” He rubbed your back comfortingly. Your forehead was against his chest, his two upper limbs protectively holding you. Your eyes were probably red from all the crying but you couldn’t care less. You continued sobbing in his chest until you eventually felt calmer.

“Why- Why are you here?” You asked with a small voice. Jughead gently whipped your cheek with his thumb.

“Your mom saw Archie leave in a rush and realized that you two probably had a fight. She heard you crying and thought that you would be more willing to speak about it with me than her.” You grinned at the boy.

“I ruined your shirt.” You noticed, and felt guilty.

“Nothing to worry about (y/n/n). I never liked that jersey anyway.” You giggle with your best friend. You sniffed and observed Jughead who his face was only about a foot away from you. You had to admit that he was good looking. His prefect blue eyes were mesmerising and his pink lips appeared so kissable. Forever you considered the boy as nothing more than a platonic relationship to you. Never had you ever felt anything for him. But in that moment, something clicked. Jughead wasn’t only a friend to you, not even a best friend.  A stronger feeling overwhelmed your body. You felt love. You loved Jughead Jones. 

He was the one who your mother called when you were sad. He was the one who came rushing to your house as soon as your mother hung up. He was the one who was holding you and comforting you, whispering sweet nothing to you as you were crying. He was the one who was there for you.

“Jughead.” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“(y/n)?” You asked yourself in your mind if it was the right time to confess your feelings towards him. Your breathing started quickening as the anxiety rose in your core.

“I think I-” He watched you with intending eyes, indicating to continue your phrase.

“I think I love you.” Jughead eyeballed you, astonished at your revelation. He quietly answered, almost inaudible for you to hear.

“I think I love you too.” He leaned towards you and slowly pressed his lips to yours. Fireworks were going off in your stomach. The heaviness on your shoulders disappeared. In this moment, nothing else mattered in the world. Both of your lips moved in sync as you played with his raven locks. His arms pulled you closer to him, leaving no space between you two. Jughead backed away and kissed every each of your face, including your cheeks, temple and chin.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He whispered in your ear. You gave him a last long peck on the lips before saying,

“Do you want to lay down and cuddle with me?” He moved his head up and down calmly and took a blanket that was already on the bed to cover you. Cuddling was not something new for the both of you. You had always cuddled together, and whenever. His hand ran through your hair bringing a comforting and fuzzy feeling. His body pressed behind your back and his hot breath was tingling your neck. Before you even knew it, you and Jughead had fallen in a deep slumber, both dreaming about each other.

*gif is not mine!!

anonymous asked:

THAT WAS THE BEST VIDEO PURE ORGANIC GOOD IM EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT SO FLIRTY AND PURE????

i cant believe we just witnessed one of the most iconic amazingphil videos ever to date?? this was literally one of the best videos and there were so many parts that stood out like..

for one, the tarot cards literally indicating the idea of dan basically coming to terms with his own identity and sexuality and being able to express himself more openly?? it was just interesting to see a cynical skeptic like dan be so in awe of these tarot cards actually hitting home. dan has been on a constant journey to self discovery and i’ve honestly never seen him more comfortable in his own skin, so the quote “you won’t always have to protect your personality with battle armor” couldn’t have been more appropriate, esp considering dan has lowered his barriers quite dramatically in comparison to his past self and has been letting his genuine self shine through. also with his decision to kill danisnotonfire and the sense of freedom he received as a result of that decision.. got dam

uh… yall… idk if you noticed… but phil deadass made a sex joke about phan on his main channel? it was an innuendo but it was also completely literal and it directly involved him and dan.. plus there was no weird behavior from either of them after phil made the joke, they didn’t do anything in an attempt to overshadow the joke, they just rolled with it? this is history in the making what the fuck

dan and phil and mocking “masculine creative energy” ?? name a more iconic trio

THE BANANA PRANK. the banana prank. the banana prank. this was the cutest shit i have ever seen. dans willingness to go along with whatever phil said even though he was starting to doubt it was so endearing?? phil was so proud of himself for successfully pranking dan and he was laughing so genuinely while dan was just smacking him with the banana peel trying to make it seem like he was mad but failing miserably because he was actually impressed by phils pranking skills and he only tolerates getting pranked if its by his wonderful boyfriend.. i have never experienced more intense third wheeling in my whole entire life! that scene was not meant for us at all, that scene was jus phil being a sly little shit and dans immediate reaction to phil being a sly little shit and they kept it in the video cuz they sappy as shit.. it was just dan howell and phil lester being gross and in love and jfgkdkjg@!1!! also funny how this is the second iconic scene involving a banana, yall mind if i remind you of the banana scene from the pinof 8 bloopers.. ya.. interesting..

conclusion: fuck

When Duty and Desire Meet Chapter 4

Art by @edendaphne , words by moi!

Summary: After their accidental kiss on Valentine’s day, both Marinette and Chat Noir have to deal with the emotional fallout of their actions.

Read on AO3
Read on tumblr

~

Valentine’s Day Part 2

“So, let me get this straight,” Alya said, leaning back against Marinette’s desk chair and steepling her fingers. Beside her, on a little table-cushion Marinette had made, Tikki slept soundly, having already heard the story a thousand times over. “You’re in love with Chat Noir.”

“You already knew that,” Marinette groaned from her chaise, hugging a cushion to her chest and leaning back like a Freudian patient. Lord knows she was about three sentences away from a therapy-inducing hissy fit regardless, so it was probably prudent of her to be lying down in such a way. She was preparing for her inevitable breakdown that’s all. It was the smart thing to do.

And she rarely did the smart thing nowadays it seemed, so she really needed this.

“You’ve been in love with Chat as Ladybug for like a bajillion years,” Alya continued, ignoring Marinette as she continued to rehash pointless details. Details which made Marinette want to bludgeon herself to death with her cushion.

It was most likely impossible to do such a thing but she was never one to back down from a challenge. Death by cushion- she’d find a way.

“Yes. We’ve already established that,” she replied through gritted teeth, said cushion slowly creeping up to cover her face.

“But last night you kissed him by accident,” Alya said.

“Uh-huh.”

“As Marinette.”

“That is correct sir,” Marinette wiggled a finger.

“And he gave you a rose and kissed you back.”

“Tru’ dat.”

It was indicative of Marinette’s deteriorating mental state that she’d said “Tru’ dat”. She’d never said “Tru’ dat” in her whole life.

“I see,” Alya nodded a few times. The fact her tone had remained neutral the whole time was doing nothing to help Marinette’s poor nerves, and so she swung her legs over the side of her chaise, sitting up to get a better view of Alya’s twinkling eyes. A sense of dread settled in Marinette’s stomach. Alya’s eye-twinkles were never a good thing, at least when they were directed towards her.

I see?! Is that all you have to say? Seriously?! I thought you’d be freaking out right now, I mean I’m freaking out but then I ALWAYS freak out. You not freaking out is making me freak out harder! Can you please freak out with me? Join me in the freak out zone already!” Marinette blabbed, waving her arms and promptly dropping the cushion to the ground.

Alya said nothing, instead choosing to raise an eyebrow at her and cross her legs. At least she’d stopped steepling her fingers, Marinette thought gruffly.

After a short pause, Alya finally spoke, but her voice wobbled and strained unnaturally, her lips thinned in a way that was entirely too suspicious. “Firstly, stop saying freak out, secondly I’m not freaking out because this is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She barely made it to the end of her sentence before she doubled over and descended into giggles.

It was in that moment that Marinette realised Alya’s peculiar behaviour had been due to her hiding her amusement, and she felt fully justified in yanking the cushion from its position on the floor and hurling it towards her supposed ‘best friend forever.’

Unfortunately, Alya dodged the fluffy projectile with ease.

“Come on, this is serious! I’m in hot water here!” Marinette cried, crossing her arms across her chest.

“When are you not though? Let’s be real,” the redhead shot back with a wry grin, twirling in the chair and kicking backwards to check her hair in the small vanity mirror on Marinette’s desk. The sight made Marinette relax a little. Alya only checked her hair with such scrutiny when she was seriously contemplating something.

Suddenly missing the comforting embrace of the cushion, Marinette flopped down once more. As her back hit the large pillows adorning her chaise, she let out a long sigh and all the fear, the panic, the fight, left her in one fell swoop. Only tiredness and uncertainty remained.

“How am I going to face him?” she whispered. Her head tilted towards her small, round window, to the afternoon sun beaming down in a total antithesis to her feelings. She wondered where Chat Noir was at that moment.

Did she cross his mind?

Over the years Marinette had asked herself that question more times than she could count. But it was different now. Now she wondered if Chat thought of her, of Marinette, not of Ladybug. Did he dwell on it- how they’d kissed? She had. She’d thought about it all night, until exhaustion had finally overcome her and she’d woken up late, cold, wanting something she could barely comprehend.

For years, she’d thought about what it would mean to kiss Chat Noir, Dark Cupid incident aside considering she couldn’t even remember it.

A small, involuntary whimper left her when she recalled the night before. The kiss had been an accident… at first. But the second she felt Chat’s lips press into hers was burned into her memory, playing over and over again. The moment he returned her kiss had ignited something dormant inside her and she felt raw, emotions exposed and unlocked, with nowhere to hide.

She considered her question again. How on earth could she face him as Ladybug, knowing what she did, knowing him the way he didn’t know he knew her (and god wasn’t that sentence confusing in and of itself)?

For God’s sake Marinette, it was a peck of a kiss at the most, pull yourself together!

“You’ll figure it out.”

Alya’s voice sounded lightyears away, so stuck was Marinette in her own musings. She jumped, a little sheepishly, and realised she hadn’t noticed Alya coming over to her until the spinning desk chair was pressed right by the chaise. The next moment, Alya’s hands were in her hair. Having thoroughly fixed her own short curls, she now concentrated on the silky strands of Marinette’s loose locks, braiding little plaits as if they were children at a sleepover.

Marinette let her. Two perfectly groomed heads were better than one.

“You think you can talk to him about it? As you I mean, not Ladybug,” Alya suggested, quickly clarifying her meaning whilst tugging the red ribbons loose from Marinette’s dark hair.

Snorting in response, Marinette couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Talk? To Chat? The very idea…

“Yeah sure, let me just tweet at him Ayla. Hashtag balcony make-outs,” she giggled, feeling a little better as her hair fell around her shoulders.

Foregoing the braids, Alya reached up and began tying something new into Marinette’s hair, tutting in disapproval. “Slide into the DM’s at least girl, I raised you better than that.”

They shared a laugh, settling into a comfortable silence as Alya worked on both sides of her hair. Marinette sat back and mulled over her options. Truth be told she didn’t have many. She couldn’t talk to Chat, after all it wasn’t likely he’d be back and she had no idea who he was in real life. The notion that she could talk to him as Ladybug, thus revealing herself, made her rapidly descend into a panic so sharp that she quickly pushed that thought to the side.

Really there was nothing else to do but call it what it was. A blip. A crazy alignment of stars which had given her a taste of everything she’d wanted for the past four years, a reminder that it was probably all she was going to get.

She tried not to let the disappointment settle in her bones, yet it was fruitless. Her chest ached as though a hole had been carved there.

Suffice to say it was a familiar ache where Chat was concerned, but it was bigger now.

“There. Done,” Alya pulled back, pleased with her work, and Marinette stood. Stepping over to the vanity mirror, she leaned down to check her reflection. “Matching colours for you and the bae,” she teased, eyebrows wiggling from underneath her rounded glasses.

Marinette threw the cushion at her again, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction as it smacked her right in the face.

At the very least, she had the Gaming Club that night, that would provide a very welcome distraction.

***

Adrien was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Which was ironic, considering he’d joined the Gaming Club to avoid that exact thing from happening.

“I can’t do this, I’m going to cancel,” he whimpered, hiding out in the bathroom a floor above their usual meeting place like the coward he was.

“So cancel,” Plagg shrugged, busy amusing himself with unfurling a roll of toilet paper- as per his usual hobby.

“I can’t cancel!” Adrien replied, horror struck as he gazed at himself in the mirror. His fingers gripped the sides of the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Are you insane?!”

“So don’t cancel,” Plagg’s disinterested monotone was really starting to grate on him. “Honestly kiddo what do you want me to say and will it get me food faster?”

The resounding groan from Adrien’s throat was so despairing in nature that he was afraid he’s start rumours of a ghost haunting the building. He leaned on his elbows, burying his face into his hands.

Stupid. He’d been so, so, stupid. And reckless! Totally reckless. What had he been thinking?!

It was worth it though, a small, unchecked part of him thought. Adrien squashed it flat in an instant. After all there was no time to consider the fluttering in his chest, the pleasant swoop of his stomach. Now was the time to face the consequences of his actions. His incredibly foolish, totally moronic actions.

Because, although a part of him ignited, burned in the best possible way, at the memory of Marinette’s lips against his own, another part felt thoroughly ashamed. It felt like he was tricking her in some way. Granted that had never been his intention. His plan had been simple. Leave the rose on her balcony for her to discover. She’d never know it was him and be happy at the gift from a secret admirer. Obviously, things hadn’t worked out the way he planned, though he should have anticipated that.

When had things ever gone the way he planned?

He needed to apologise to her, as Chat, and he was going to do so that night in fact. But before that Adrien needed to pretend, he needed to lie, to Marinette. To the girl he loved. He needed to act like he hadn’t heard her soft sigh, felt the warmth of her skin and the taste of her cherry-blossom lips. He had to fake it, act like it had never happened.

He had to pretend he didn’t desperately want it to happen again.

The idea of being so fake made him ill, and so he placed his hands under the cold water tap to splash his face, allowing the iciness of the water to penetrate his senses and offer him some much-needed clarity.

It didn’t really work but it was the best he could do.

When he entered the Gaming Club, Plagg tucked securely inside his jacket pocket, he was relieved to see Marinette talking to other people. He could barely look at her, the meagre glimpse he’d gotten from across the room had sent his heart cartwheeling down the corridor and somewhere into the next arrondissement.

Not wanting to look suspicious, and fully admitting that he was stalling for time, Adrien wandered over to the desk where Nino was hooking up an old Nintendo console for one of their signature Mario Kart nights.

Mario Kart…Marinette…partners… sitting close together… oh no.

“Hey bro!” Nino chirped, offering Adrien a fist to bump, clearly not noticing how the blood had completely drained from his friend’s face. “Everything ok?”

“H-hey! Everything’s good!” The first lie of the evening. How could Adrien have forgotten it was a Mario Kart night? More importantly, how was he going to survive the evening now? Sitting next to Marinette, shoulders pressed together, watching her tongue poke out in concentration like it normally did? How could he concentrate on anything knowing how close he’d been to said tongue the night before?

Grow up Adrien! You aren’t some horny teenager and Marinette isn’t a prize to be objectified. Show her some respect already!

If Nino had thought Adrien’s reaction was strange, he didn’t show it. Together they settled into an easy conversation, Adrien helping his friend set up the old console. Focusing on such a menial task did wonders for his nerves. He was almost starting to feel normal. Almost.

Of course, just as he was beginning to relax, Marinette had to tap him lightly on the shoulder.

She might as well have given him a 1.21 gigawatt electric shock, given his reaction to both was about the same. If he’d been Chat Noir at the time, his superpowers might have actually propelled him through the ceiling.

“A-Adrien?” Marinette tilted her head, taken aback by his startled shriek. “Are you ok?”

Subconsciously, Adrien’s hand reached up and he clutched his chest, fingers burying into his jumper as if it would cure the frantic beating of his wild heart.

Because she was there, right in front of him. Marinette. The girl he’d kissed last night.

His eyes flicked down to her lips before he could help himself.

“Adrien?”

The second time her voice permeated through his cloudy mind, something snapped inside of him. It was as if he were a character in a film, once played in slow motion, now fast-forwarding.

“Hey!” he cried, louder than he intended, and the people around him turned to stare. He looked at her eyes instead, with far more intensity than normal, mainly because he was so intent on not looking at her lips any more. “Marinette! It’s my friend- Marinette! My good friend, I’m good! How are you? You good- good? Yeah, I’m good, friend. How are you? Did you have a good Valentine’s day?”

WHAT?! Adrien’s brain-filter kicked in far too late, but began screaming at him nonetheless. Why would you ask her that? WHY?! You know how it went! YOU WERE THERE!

Marinette blinked, and it proved just how far gone he was that he found her blinking adorable.

Her blinking.

“Umm,” she blushed, unsure of what to say and, honestly, Adrien couldn’t blame her. He sounded insane even to his own ears, and he’d just asked her something quite private. Actually, he was surprised she wasn’t berating him for it. Then again, she thought he didn’t know about her encounter with Chat Noir.  His words may have seemed innocent to her ears.

What a mess Adrien had gotten himself into, and it only seemed to grow worse with every bit of word-vomit he expelled.

(Was it bad that he felt a tiny bit of pride at her blushing? Probably. But he was going to hell anyway so he might as well enjoy the slow descent at least a little bit.)

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Marinette glanced baffled at Nino, whom Adrien could see shrugging from his peripheral vision.

But he couldn’t care less.

Because he’d just noticed her hair. Or, more specifically, how she was wearing it.

In place of the red ribbons usually tied into her loose black locks, were two green ones instead. Vivid green. Chat Noir green.

His brain collapsed in on itself.

“I’m good-good too.”

Marinette was teasing him. She was grinning and she had green ribbons in her hair and Adrien was going to DIE.

“Good! That’s good!”

Great. He’d always wanted to die sounding like a partially strangled mongoose.

Marinette, mercifully, took pity on him and waved a controller in his face, offering him a place in the first race of the evening. He sighed, relaxing a little, but only a little. Gaming was fine. It was a welcome distraction, as long as he didn’t sit too close to her he’d be fine (who was he kidding? Of course he was going to sit close to her). At least, when he was focused on blue shells and Bullet Bills his brain couldn’t fixate on the meaning behind Marinette’s ribbons, if there was any hidden symbolism he was missing.

Suddenly the thought of seeing her that night, of apologising, seemed that much more dangerous- forbidden almost. But he had to do it. He owed it to her as her friend. Even if that’s all he could ever hope to be.

Nino still hadn’t finished setting up, and a few other members began helping him in their eagerness to get started. As a result, Adrien found himself more alone with Marinette than ever.

They sat down on the floor, controllers in hands, side by side. Their shoulders brushed, like they always did.

Adrien swallowed, wishing he’d worn a t-shirt instead of the woollen monstrosity currently overheating him.

He was fairly sure he was going to lose the game spectacularly.

His fears were proved right when, later that evening, Marinette’s knee brushed against his own and he ended up sending Donkey Kong careening off the end of Rainbow Road.

It was going to be a long night.

***

For the fifteenth time that evening, Marinette called herself an idiot.

Because she was an idiot. An idiot for standing on her balcony, an idiot for hoping lightning would strike twice in the same spot, an idiot for following her heart…

Tightly wrapping her cardigan around her, she gazed out into the mocking skyline. The bitterness of the cold February air was nothing compared to the bitterness she felt building up like sludge in her chest. Bitterness in her fortunes, bitterness in her decisions, bitterness in her own feelings.

Distantly, Marinette thanked the stars that at least it wasn’t as cold as it usually was. She was thankful she had a tiny shred of dignity left at least- that she wasn’t freezing to death in the vain hope that Chat Noir would show up again.

She reached up, fingers brushing against her lips, and remembered.

Furious with herself, Marinette shook her head, as if the rough gesture would expel all the unwanted memories from her mind. Honestly what was she doing acting like a silly sixteen-year-old with a crush? Again?! It was desperate, obsessive, ridiculous-

And totally in character if she was being honest with herself.

She needed a break. A breather. A respite from her own whirlwind emotions regarding the man in the black mask, the man who’d held her heart for longer than she cared to admit to anyone- not even Alya.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Marinette let out one last frustrated sigh before turning on her heels and making her way back to her room. Maybe her room would be less of a reminder, would save her from her torment.

But, as usual, fate had other plans for her.

Because, of course, Chat Noir happened to be standing there as if he’d suddenly popped into existence.

The shock of seeing him sent Marinette stumbling backwards with a cry, tripping over a flowerpot and tumbling to the ground.

“Whoa!” Chat called, rushing forward to catch her just in time. One hand gripped her flailing wrist, the other pressed against the small of her back as he pulled her towards him.

For a moment, both of them froze in place. Chat’s fingers splayed across her back, and she briefly felt the edges of his clawed-gloves scratching gently against the fabric of her cardigan. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine before she could control it.

Chat’s eyes widened and he stepped out of their half-embrace with awkward, jittery movements, casting his face away from hers. “Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry I shouldn’t have startled you. I guess I have a bad habit.”

Bad habit huh? Marinette had one of those too.

The silence which settled on them both was heavy, uncomfortable, and borderline unbearable. It was laden with memories of the night before, swirling around them, echoing in their minds as though they were standing in an empty theatre, watching their mistakes projected on a screen with no means of escape.

Because it was a mistake… wasn’t it? She hadn’t meant to kiss him, he probably regretted kissing her back. That was why he was here- of that she was sure. To think he was here for any other reason was just asking for a broken heart.

But, oh god, it hadn’t been a mistake. Not to her. She couldn’t ever consider it to be such.

Finally, Marinette could take the silence no longer. Taking a deep breath, she fixed a smile onto her face, painted a picture of a girl who had herself together at least a little, and placed a hand on her hip.

“No rose tonight?”

Chat’s cat-ears twitched. He peered over at her with a puzzled frown before he realised she was teasing. Something dark crossed his eyes and Marinette forgot how to breathe. The look was gone before she could concentrate on it fully, and she found that he was smiling back at her.

“Err, n-no. No. That is- I mean- unfortunately not,” he replied with his signature bow. “But I do have something far more important.”

“Oh really?” Marinette squeaked, inwardly cringing at how lame she sounded. She’d wanted her voice to be sensual and teasing, but instead it sounded like she’d inhaled a ton of helium instead. Clearing her throat, she tried again, arching her eyebrow for good measure and all the while thrilled at the fact that he was simply there. Chat Noir was there. He’d come back to her. “What’s that?”

“An apology.”

Marinette’s blood ran cold.

“About last night,” Chat continued, shuffling from foot to foot, completely unaware of how Marinette’s body, mind, and heart had seized up all at once. “I feel like I made a terrible impression. I- well- I’m not the type of guy to do… what I did.”

From the depths of despair and panic, Marinette felt the faintest hints of confusion. She latched onto it. Confusion was better than rejection.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice small and vulnerable, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Well I’m not really a playboy or anything, despite what the media likes to speculate about me. I don’t kiss strangers on balconies. I guess, I didn’t want you to have the wrong impression about me.”

When Marinette hung her head, Chat felt a wave of regret wash over him. He’d practiced what he wanted to say, over and over again but it never seemed enough to fully explain himself- not without revealing to her that he was Adrien Agreste and he’d been lying to her this entire time. He was too afraid of the ramifications of that- so he needed to end this now- before he hurt her.

Damn it, he’d gotten so close though. So close to knowing what they could have- what they could be.

But it was a fantasy. Chat Noir was a large part of him, but it wasn’t all of him. The person he was behind the mask was locked away from Marinette, was a separate entity in her eyes.

Who was he fooling? They couldn’t be together. Not like this.

He had to try harder as Adrien and if she rejected him he would simply pick up the pieces of his broken heart. He would respect her, be her friend, move on, and certainly not use Chat Noir’s hero status as a means to trick her into loving him. She deserved better, deserved the world, even if he wasn’t the one to give it to her.

That’s why he had to leave. Right now. Being here, being this close to her, was crumbling his resolve. Every cute gesture she made was another step closer to his damnation. He had to leave before he said or did something he’d regret, before his principles were lost to the wind.

“It was Valentine’s day. I guess… it’s easy to get swept up in the romance of the day, right?” Marinette said. She was smiling, but the sparkle in her eyes was dulled somehow. Once again Chat’s attention was drawn to the green ribbons in her hair, as she quickly tucked a few strands behind her ears. He couldn’t bring herself to speak as she grew distant, deep in her own thoughts, and her shoulders raised. “But if we’re being honest Chat, I was worried you’d see me in a bad light too. Like- I mean- I’m not the kind of girl who kisses random celebrities and I’m certainly not the type to blab to the press about it either.”

“I didn’t ever think you were,” he uttered, swallowing thickly, and a little bit of sparkle returned to Marinette’s eyes. Her cheeks turned pink again.

Chat felt his claws digging painfully into his palms.

“Well… that’s a relief. I mean I always admired you,” Marinette stammered out the confession before she meant to, quickly covering her blunder with half-truths. “You know you saved me once- from an akuma. You didn’t notice me at the time, and it was years ago, but I never forgot.”

Chat felt as though he’d been physically struck by her words.

He’d saved her? He’d saved Marinette? And he hadn’t noticed her?!

“I wish I’d seen you,” he said before he could help himself. The rest of his desires remained unsaid, as new possibilities, new what ifs, formed in his mind- like an alternate reality.

Chat inwardly cringed. No way in hell was he going to get any sleep that night.

“I wish you’d seen me too,” Marinette admitted.

Chat’s hand was halfway to hers before he yanked it back, his heart beating wildly, his mind screaming at him to leave. The pull was almost tangible, magnetic, drawing him closer to her. It was dangerous, and he needed to leave.

“I hate to be a sundae, but I have to split!” he laughed, high and fake, all the while cringing at what was perhaps the worst pun he’d ever made. And that was saying something.

Marinette didn’t say anything, but laughed once.

Ok, she thought, maybe she was ridiculous, but he was equally so. Maybe that’s why she loved him so much.

She watched him make his way to the edge of the balcony and something stirred inside her, the raw feelings which had sparked when their lips had met woke from their slumber, and she reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Chat?” her voice matched the soft tremors echoing through her body, and she tried to remember to breathe. She couldn’t let him leave like this, she’d been so close. “How about…one last kiss?”

Chat stilled, statue-like. His lips parted, and Marinette panicked.

“I mean!” she corrected, face turning to flames, “I mean sorry that was dumb- so dumb. It’s just that I- I liked that kiss and I thought- I don’t know what I thought- but I wanted to-”

His lips crashed into hers, and the rest of Marinette’s sentence was lost forever.

Chat kissed her, kissed her with a resolve thoroughly destroyed and a heart so indescribably owned; owned by her, possessed by her, consumed by her. His hands were frantic, and Marinette matched him in every way as they pressed into each other. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, tangled in his hair, and pulled him closer.

Like he needed an excuse to get closer to her.

The pair of them moved apart to breathe, great shuddering breaths, and then their lips were together again- as neither of them could stand to be apart for a moment. Chat’s fingers slid from her hands to grip her hips, a primal, dark part of him triumphant as he heard a moan slip from Marinette’s mouth.

They stumbled backwards, towards the wall, and Chat pressed her against it, hands roaming her sides- never going too far- always listening to her reactions. Desire coursed through him, a need to please her, to make her moan again, without pushing too far.

She must have sensed him falter, sensed his caution, as a frustrated hum rose from the back of her throat, almost like a purr of her own. Her hands moved from his hair, gripping the bell around his throat, and she tugged him down towards her, kissing his neck.

Chat was having a hard time not passing out from that alone, but then she rolled her hips, making it so there wasn’t a sliver of streetlight between them, and he was fairly certain he died and was reborn on the spot.

Dangerous was the word whispering in his mind, the word he was ignoring as his hands cupped the sides of Marinette’s face, tilting her head back. She arched into him again, countering his movements like a dance, and he gasped.

It felt too natural, too perfect… almost…familiar.

Dangerous he thought as his tongue flicked against her lips.

Dangerous- he thought as her mouth opened and he was rewarded with another moan.

Stop. Stop before you can’t, he pleaded with himself as Marinette’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, her fingernails scratching against his neck.

He didn’t stop.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, passion moving from an explosive force to one of slow-burning sensuality, settling into a rhythm that was far too natural, but neither of them could bring themselves to mind.

It was a long time before Chat could bring himself to leave her, to stop kissing her. It was addictive, intoxicating, and filled with promise. For months his heart had been starved, yearning and wishing, and now it was real. Their kisses were real, her affections were real.

And so was her voice, ringing out in the coldness of the night, in answer to his question, “May I see you tomorrow night, Princess?”

There was a pause, both of them treading on thin ice, ice which slowly creaked and groaned beneath their feet.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the ice shattered, plunging them both into unknown depths.

(art to follow)

special delivery

“How much time until your next delivery, Jeon?”

“Unfortunately only ten minutes, Miss,” the boy murmurs, almost sorrowfully, and you watch as his eyes flicker down to glance at his watch.

“Great—” your hands fly down to his polyester jumper and hurriedly pull at the zipper, “—that’s ten minutes for you to fuck me.”


In which your husband is never home and the evening delivery boy is just oh-so convenient.

tags: delivery boy!jungkook, husband!taehyung, adultery, oral sex

word count: 3,444

Originally posted by jeonsshi

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“Baby Stark”

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: After returning to New York, Tony is greeted with surprising news that has potential to change his life.

A/N: another one from draft-purgatory. lol i’ve never written for tony stark, and i i struggle to capture his swaggering tone. however, but i thought it would be fun to write for a slightly softer tony stark.

His elbows resting on the metal railing surrounding the large helicopter landing pad, Tony Stark skims his eyes over the beautiful aerial view of Manhattan. A relaxed smile perks onto his lips as the familiar clamor of the concrete jungle sinks in. “It’s good to be back,” he hums to himself, taking in the majestic view carved around the Avengers Tower.

After rapping his knuckles against the metal railing, Tony saunters down the glass walkway leading into the tower, the eery silence reminding him that everyone is on a mission. He’s about to greet F.R.I.D.A.Y. when a smile enters his view, one that he isn’t expecting.

She sits on the counter of the bar, her legs elegantly crossed despite the restrictive nature of her pencil skirt. The sunlight streams into the room through the glass windows, creating a natural glow about her. A coy smile perks onto her lips as Tony’s drinks her in, his lower lip getting caught between his teeth as his eyes dance up her legs and body. She’s the most alluring girl he’d ever seen -he’d thought so two years ago when they first met, and he still thinks so now- and it’s one of the many reasons why he’s infatuated with her.

“I thought I told you not to wait for me,” He grins, glad that she ignored his request.

“I couldn’t wait until dinner, and I wanted to be here when you arrived. Is that such a crime?” (Y/N) hops off the counter and saunters towards him. She cups his cheek in a way that makes Tony feel like he’s the only person in the world.

“Well, counselor, I recommend -” His words are cut off as (Y/N) yanks the lapels of his jacket to bring his face towards her for a kiss. Tony laughs against her lips, but the laugh quickly gets drowned out by a rough growl as she lightly bites his lower lip. A smile creeps in around the edges of her kiss as she slides her hands down his muscular back. A nip of teeth, a glide of tongue, and she easily has him under her spell.

It’s only a matter of time when the need for oxygen brings the kiss to an end. Tony gently knocks his forehead against (Y/N)’s. “Remind me to always bring up a counterargument, because baby, I could get used to that,” he drawls.

(Y/N) laughs, a devilish glint lighting up her eyes. “Welcome back to New York, Mr. Stark. It’s been a while.” Her hand dangerously inch south as she brings his ear to her lips. “That was a little preview of what’s going to happen tonight.”

He feigns exasperation as (Y/N) playfully smacks his ass but twirls out of his arms before he can do anything. A low noise escapes his throat as she shoots him a sexy smile over her shoulder while kicking off her “ball-busting stilettos”, as she calls them.

Tony leans against the wall and watches (Y/N)’s shadow dance in the glow of the sun. Two years into the relationship, and he still gets butterflies. His fun, beautiful girlfriend, the skyline of the most magical city in America, wonderful weather - his life is perfect and Tony wishes it would stay this way for a long time.

“As much as I love pencil skirts, I need to change,” (Y/N) announces. “I have workout pants in my bag, but could I borrow a shirt or sweater?”

“Baby, at this point, you’ve stolen over half of my comfortable clothes. Why do you even bother asking?”

(Y/N) smirks and plants a kiss on his cheek before sashaying towards the door of Tony’s private apartment. Before she opens the door, she turns to him. “T, I have something to tell you.“

"Mmhmm,” Tony hums, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

“I probably should have told you, but I was kind of scared of how you would react. I thought it would be wise to tell you when you were back in New York.” She hesitates for a bit, her fingertips drumming against the doorframe. “Promise not to freak?” she asks, a slightly icy look glazing her eyes.

A small alarm rings in his head, but Tony maintains a calm expression. “I promise. Did you max out my credit card?” he jokes.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes but relaxes a bit, which pleases Tony. “No, and I never will.”

“My wallet thanks you, baby. But what’s up?”

“Tony.” She swallows. “How do you feel about becoming a dad?”

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anonymous asked:

Can i request for a bad boy serpent jughead jones and the sweet girl next door betty cooper fiction and maybe with a steamy make out session scene? Thank you!

So the story is slightly AU. Jughead never attended school in Riverdale, never was friends with Betty and Archie, as a matter of fact they didn’t even know each other. No murder ever happened, Betty was never pinning over Archie. I also made some other small changes that you’ll notice upon reading. Plus, I made Reggie a Serpent too, for no reason really, I just wanted him to be Jughead’s childhood best friend in this universe. :p Last but not least, Betty turned out to be extremely feisty while I was writing this; she is still a sweetheart in pastel colors but her character is a tad more Betty Cooper in episodes 12 &13. I hope that’s ok! Thank you for requesting, dear anon! Enjoy, lovelies! ❤️
(Okay, this is 34 pages long. I don’t even know why, I don’t even know what I have written in so many pages. I apologize in advance for that mammoth length. Warning: turns mildly smutty but definately hot and heavy at the end.)

P.S. Because this is too long, I have put it under a “read more” so if you are on mobile the story gets cut halfway through. Here’s an AO3 link if the tumblr app doesn’t work for you. :)


Fruit Punch Lips & Leather Jacket Dreams

  • Chapter 1: But Mama, I Want a Bad Boy

Southside Elementary School was a rare example of fine architecture in the small town of Riverdale. Rebuilt at the outskirts of town, after a disastrous fire caused by a minor during a prank gone wrong a couple of years ago, and squeezed between Southside Kindergarten and Southside High, it looked nothing like the two crumbling, cement colored buildings on its sides that lacked any learning motivation. It was modern, pure white with splashes of green and purple and it brought a fresh air of change, a promise that maybe the next generation of Southside kids would not have the ominous fate of their ancestors.

The Serpents had outdone themselves with the construction of the of the building, hiring Fred Andrews and his crew – one of the few people that wasn’t driven by discrimination and always agreed in doing business at the south side of town – and wasting a large amount of money from their infamous Serpent vault to create a place appropriate for shaping young minds. Maybe that’s why sweet and always optimistic Betty Cooper smiled every day at three o’clock sharp when her sneakers would hop up the marble stairs of the buzzing with life building. Because it was proving her right; Serpents would do anything for their children, just like any other parent on a prestigious office job. Serpents weren’t the monsters everyone thought they were.

Her excuse for walking all the way from their quaint north paradise to the disreputable south district five days per week was something that Betty always found fascinating; volunteering. Nurturing and caring by nature, she was constantly filling her free time with activities that offered assistance to those needed; taking care of stray cats and dogs down at the animal center, gathering food supplies and clothing for the homeless at their local church, being an annual blood donor, being proud cofounder along with her best friend, Veronica Lodge, of the two years now successful female empowerment club, Girls Speak Louder, at Riverdale High. And when senior year came and she needed a bigger challenge, something to bring her out of her good girl comfort zone, a tiny announcement had caught her eye, stuck on the bulletin board at the center of her high school corridor; Volunteers needed at Southside Elementary School.

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Sweet Tooth- A Remus Lupin Imagine

A/N: Another two posts in one night! This is a little tribute to the fact that I already have reached over 100 followers on here, which is baffling?? Thank you all so much for supporting me so much in the very short time I have been on here. I’m so very glad that I have done this and I hope to be getting to some requests that I have received recently, as well! I digress. I hope you enjoy this Remus smut in celebration. This is my very first attempt at writing anything of the sort so sorry if it is no good! Enjoy~

Warning: SMUT 

Originally posted by perfectfeelings

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thegirlwhocriesice  asked:

Au where Lance really can't stand his real last name. So he faked paper for the grasion with last name McLain?

I’m so sorry for the lateness of this! This prompt was given to me a long, long time ago and I just only got the um…inspiration to write this? I’m so sorry!

A little bit crossover to KHR since I made this into a MafiaAU of sorts. Note that most or all the things mentioned here (aside from the names they are not mine) are purely from my imagination and should not be taken with any ounce of seriousness.


Lance loved his family with all his heart, never question him about this or you will find yourself with a bullet stuck to any part of your body. What he didn’t appreciate was the part of the society he was born in. more specifically, the dark part of the society he was born in.

The Salazar Family was one of the best known Mafia family in the underworld. Who would not heard of them when they were one of the allies of the strongest Mafia, the Vongola? Being allied with the Vongola also meant that they were associates with the Chiavarone, Simon, Giglio Nero, and Millefiore just to name some of the big names. There was never a peaceful day for Lance for everyday was either spent on training or learning the ways of the world and how to survive in it.

The only lucky thing that Lance could consider was that he was not the eldest, thus exempting him from being the next heir for the family. It was unfair to be happy about this, especially that it was his reluctant older brother who got stuck in that position, but the part that wanted to be free weighed more in Lance’s heart. So at the age of 16th, Lance made a proposition and have the full support of the Vongola Decimo. The Salazar’s Don was a bit reluctant to agree in erasing Lance’s existence in the Mafia world (and that Lance was one of their best strategists) but just one look in his son’s eyes, one full of hope and passion in achieving his dreams, the Don gave his blessings also.

So Lance Salazar, third son of Don Salazar, became Lance McClain, an ordinary boy living with an ordinary family.

Forging documents and family background was just a piece of cake in the underworld and in no time, Lance was already attending the Garrison where he hoped his dreams to be a pilot as an ordinary guy would come true.

Of course there were times where his Mafia side got to the surface and times where he wished he could just contact the family and disposed someone for him. But because he ‘cut all his ties’ with the Mafia it also meant that he had no right to contact them anymore (though sometimes one or two men of his father will come to check up on him.). Why did he want to hire a hitman to eliminate someone? Well, there was this guy called Iverson who seemed to make it his life goal to make Lance’s life as miserable as possible. Always pointing out his flaws and implying that all the documents proving his intelligence were all fake/forge.

He could easily kill Iverson now that he thought about it. He was trained to do such things after all ever since he learned how to do complex Math and covering up the evidences was like slicing an apple with a sharp knife. But then the reason he left the world he was initially born in was to escape all the bloodshed. Only heaven knows how much of those bloods were caused by him even if most of them were all in the act of self-defense.

So he tried his best not to let those words of depreciation got stuck in his head (but most time he believed some of it.)

Then the next impulse to hire a hitman was when Lance started to get compared to a genius student named Keith.

Out of curiosity, Lance checked out this Keith guy. Yeah, he was an awesome pilot and combat but that was the only things that Keith was good at, at least that was how Lance saw it. He was never good at socializing and could not really hide his intention despite having a poker face. Keith would be a dead guy if left alone in the underworld.

Lance wanted to show how smart he was but Iverson already put a lot of bad words in his name resulting for no one to take him seriously. If he did something jaw dropping then majority would just accuse him of cheating because ‘hey, this is Lance! No way he did all of that in his own!’.  Being called as Keith’s replacement was not the most flattering words his ears could hear also.

Being caught in an intergalactic war and stuck in a castle with three and a half humans (Keith was half-Galra after all), two Alteans, space mice, and five sentient robotic lions was just like being trapped inside the Mafia world all over again.

Physical training, strategy making, forming alliances, Lance was tempted to call Voltron as space Mafia. He didn’t know if it already registered in the mind of others but they now have blood in their hands. It didn’t matter if it was an enemy they were killing. Life was life and they were not different to other soldiers of war.

Great, now Lance has human blood and alien blood staining his hands.

He thought about this every day.

Until one day, a sudden fact entered Lance’s mind that ended up with him laughing hysterically during breakfast. Everyone was looking at him like he had lost his mind (he probably had a long time ago).

“Lance, buddy, are you okay?” Hunk was about half way from standing up before Lance waved at him to indicate that he was fine.

“Don’t worry, Hunk. I just…pft! Ahahaha!”

Now Shiro was the one with worry creeping on his face. Was Lance having a breakdown? Was the war they were suddenly thrust in now taking its toll in their Blue Paladin’s mind?

“Lance, I need you to take deep breathes and talk to us.” It was hard but Shiro needed to ensure the health of his teammates even if he was being a hypocrite right now.

“Nah, I’m fine, Shiro. I just remembered something.”

“And that is…?” Lance didn’t know who asked that but he happily answered.

“Iverson is dead meat. Actually, he will be lucky if they will allow him to have a quick death. But knowing my family, I am sure they will torture him first.” Lance resumed eating his breakfast with a bright smile and as if he didn’t said something deeply disturbing.

“Wait, what?” Keith narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean by that.”

“Mullet boy, never cross my family.” That was the only answer Lance gave and it did not satisfy the curiosity of his teammates.

Sure, Lance was not a Salazar anymore and that his surname was now McClain. It didn’t mean though that he was already cast out by those he shared with the same flesh and blood.

After all, blood was thicker than water most of the time.


I don’t really know if I did the prompt some justice (>_<)

Langst Mini Fics

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anonymous asked:

Hi, what do you mean by "the opening of 2x14 was a deliberate negative parallel to Alex and Maggie’s scene from 2x09 in every respect" I'm not sure the writers are trying to be negative on purpose. I genuinely think they are oblivious.

I’m going to address that last sentence before I answer: being frustrated with a storyline because you don’t like it or don’t understand its purpose does not mean the person who created it is bad at their job. It just means you disagree.

That said, let me expand upon what I meant:

Kara’s morning-after scene with Mon-El in 2x14 intentionally juxtaposes Alex’s morning-after scene with Maggie from 2x09.

Similarities: both scenes start with similar background music and we can tell that it’s morning. The first person we see enter the frame is each girl’s respective love interest, but the girls themselves are somewhere offscreen. Both scenes also contain similar establishing shots of the bedrooms in disarray – at Alex’s we see the empty bed with pillows scattered on the floor and the blankets a mess; at Kara’s we see clothing scattered on the floor leading to the bed.

Now, differences:

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anonymous asked:

You've talked before about how katana's weren't that great due to the low quality of the metal used way back when. But what if someone made one today? If you primarily used titanium instead of low-quality steel, plus modern forging techniques, could you develop a much better sword that a real person could use in a fight?

The poor quality iron that Japanese smiths had access to is part of the problem, but it’s not the only issue. The design was (in part) a result of that limitation. You can work around those, using high quality steel forged directly from a billet, with a grip you can actually use in a variety of situations, but you wouldn’t have a katana, you’d have a saber.

Those design flaws are intrinsically what defines the katana. Folding the blade is extremely fetishized in defining the quality of a katana. It’s not just a defining characteristic, you will see people using the number of folds as an indicator of how skilled the sword smith was. This is probably a large part of why they continued using the technique, while other cultures, like the Vikings, abandoned folded blades once they had access to better smelting technologies.

In fact, a lot of modern, “katanas,” you can buy, aren’t. They’re not produced with the proper metal, and they’re using machine forged blades. They’re just sabers. Ironically, even the junk ones are superior weapons to traditional katanas. (For one thing, you can actually parry with the blade.)

Using titanium as your base material for a sword isn’t a good option. It’s light weight, strong, and won’t hold an edge without becoming incredibly brittle. Heat treating it is either functionally impossible or prohibitively expensive (maybe a little of both). It’s a fantastic option for a lot of applications, but combat blades don’t make that list.

I don’t really have a lot to say on the subject of titanium, because I don’t do metalworking directly, but (nearly) everything I’ve read on the subject says, “don’t.” There are titanium alloys you use, but the metal, in general, just doesn’t have the characteristics you’d want in a sword (or machete). It is an excellent choice for items that need to survive excessive thermal shock and constant wear, which is probably why you will find aftermarket titanium parts for firearms, it just doesn’t work well for swords.

If you’re really dead set on getting a titanium blade, you can buy titanium kitchen knives. Though, holding an edge while slicing carrots and slabs of meat isn’t quite the same as doing so while slicing through screaming slabs of meat who are trying to return the favor.

You can make excellent blades from high quality steel. No folding required. Actually, please, don’t fold high quality steel. The entire folding process was originally an act of necessity, to get functional steel out of the iron the Japanese had access to.

You’d also probably want to add a functional hand guard to the thing, and contour the hilt. These aren’t mandatory, but they would help. The thing is, none of this is really necessary.

Real people did use actual katanas forged from tamahagane (pig iron), and killed each other in the real world. Humans are very inventive about making sure they have a way to kill each other, and the katana is an excellent example of this.

Limited by their available resources, Japanese swordsmiths found a way to turn the iron they had into something they could use in weapons. Japanese swordsmen developed and refined techniques that allowed them to take the resulting blades into combat while working around their inherent fragility, and they used the things for centuries. They turned the blade into a symbol of their identity.

To be honest, I don’t even hold this against the Japanese, the katana is a symbol of their ingenuity. It’s not a particularly good sword, but that’s kind of missing the point. It is, their sword. It is a symbol. Hell, it is literally a holy icon.

What you can’t do is take a katana out of its natural environment and expect it to flourish. Weapons are designed and adapted to deal with the environment they’re used in. On the global scale, the katana was about four centuries obsolete when it was first developed. Which, really doesn’t matter, because the Japanese weren’t using them against anyone who had a decisive technological advantage.

The problem is, a lot of people, look at how the katana functioned in its native environment, and how the people from that culture regarded it, and then assume that a civilization which had never engaged in long range exploration and had no frame of reference, were able to accurately assess that they had created, “the best swords,” in the world.

It’s a sword. You can make vastly superior ones by changing the design, at which point it’s still a sword, but it’s not the same sword. The katana was an excellent weapon for Feudal Japan, not because it was somehow the best blade design ever envisioned, or because it had some superlative quality, but because it was a symbol of who they were as a people.

Take it out of that environment, drop it into a world that has moved beyond swords entirely, and you’re left with an object that can still have cultural meaning, and personal importance, but trying to cling to it is to deny the changing world.

Icons like that are still important to point to and say, “this is where we came from; this is a part of who we are,” but, that’s not the same as saying, “progress is irrelevant, this will always be the best solution.” And, yes, that second part is an element when discussing the katana. Folded steel was not, strictly, a Japanese invention, other civilizations did use that method to produce early steel weapons. They faced the same issues with fragile blades, and continued searching for better smelting methods and higher quality materials. The Japanese didn’t, and instead fetishized the blades. Make of that what you will.

I’ll still say, actual katanas are beautiful pieces of art. It’s the entelechy of how a civilization viewed conflict. They’re an example of serious ingenuity and craftsmanship. If you take it out of context, it’s not a particularly good weapon, but that’s missing the point.

-Starke

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The Rebound

It was supposed to be shorter (; ̄д ̄)

(Also posted on AO3)


Draco ran his finger along the rim of his empty glass absently. The edges of his vision swam as he looked up at the bartender who raised a single perfectly groomed eyebrow at him.

“Another?” she asked.

Draco closed his eyes briefly, squeezing them until they ached, “Bring me… whatever’s next on the menu.”

“Yeah, alright,” she smirked, taking his empty glass, “What did you think about the French 75 then?”

“Nice, lovely,” Draco said absently, not entirely sure he could remember precisely what the last drink had tasted like.

“One Dark n’ Stormy, comin’ up,” she said brightly.

Draco sighed he fished a few more muggle notes from his pocket and shoved it on the other side of the bar. She had been very friendly all night not that he was surprised. There weren’t many people in the bar on a tuesday evening, much less a sad drunk wizard who was likely overpaying a great deal because he honestly couldn’t be arsed to check the numbers on his flimsy paper money.

He ignored her attempts at conversation when she returned and took the tall glass of what tasted like rum and ginger beer. Draco was prepared to stumble through something approximating a conversation when someone sat beside him, ordering a rum and coke and sending her off.

Draco blinked, his brow furrowing, the voice beside him had sounded familiar. Draco turned slowly so his head wouldn’t fall off and found the other bloke watching him curiously. The other bloke that looked remarkably, disturbingly, identical to Harry Potter.

Potter tried on a hesitant smile, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Keep reading

Scream

credit to original owner for gif

Vampire! Yoongi

words: 2,981

genre: pure smut and some fluff if you squint

warnings: some degrading, explicit content (but isn’t that why you’re here?)

summary: you were supposed to get married off to a prince, not be sacrificed to Lord that just so happens to be the ruler of the Demonic World.

Waking up to the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen wasn’t exactly the best thing, but then again, it wasn’t the worst. Letting out a deep sigh, you got out of bed and made your way towards the kitchen, preparing for the worst. Upon stepping into view, your eyes widened at the sight. 

“Where is she?”

Pure bloods. One of the absolute worst kinds of being: they’re vile, ruthless. complete savages. They care for no one but themselves. Being the most feared, they walk the grounds as if they own it. It was only natural to obey them, either that, or die. Dressed in black from head to toe, you could help but pathetically let out a whimper in fear. Your father had blood dripping from his head, staining the marbled floors that he had worked so hard to put together, despite not bathing in riches like the other men in the village. Your sisters had already been married off to wealthy young men, unlike you who verbally and physically showed defiance to marrying a man who you did not know anything about. You would get beaten relentlessly, saying that you’re selfish for not sacrificing yourself for the sake of your parents. But you didn’t care. They treated you like shit so that’s all they were going to get. They never loved you, only the two women that came before you. Even though you were polite and obedient, they took advantage of your kindness and forced you to do everything they were able to do themselves. Soon enough, you grew out of the habit of being a sweet little girl. Now, you were deemed as a rebellious, wild, young woman who can’t be tamed. 

“She’s not ready for the Lord! We are still preparing her.” your father gasped for air as he let out a string of curses.

Dropping to the ground, you hid behind the wall, holding your breath as you watched the scene play before you. 

“He wants her. Now.” 

A hand clasped over your mouth, dragging you out from your corner. Thrashing relentlessly, you bit the hand and was harshly pushed to the ground in return.

“Found the little bitch hiding.” the man spat, glaring at you who was near tears as you stared them in the eyes.

“What do you want with me?” you said through gritted teeth.

“Your dear father didn’t tell you?” he looked over at your pathetic excuse of a guardian. “He signed you off to the Lord in return for a large sum of money. Exciting, isn’t it?”

A flash of fear swept over your features as you backed up, only to bump into another one of the Pure bloods.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’ll finish you off very quickly.” he flashed his fangs before fisting your hair, slamming your head against the ground which knocked you unconscious. 


The throbbing in your head caused you to eventually wake up only to find out that you were no longer at home, but in the home of a demon. You grabbed the sheets in anger. 

How dare they sell me off?

You were fuming with anger and sadness, but more importantly, you were starving. The room was dark, the only source of brightness being the moonlight that ever so gently shone from behind the sheer curtains. Not only had you been passed out the entire day, but you had never been so unproductive in your entire life. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t nice to be living like this. Once again, you fearlessly crawled out of bed, groping the walls in hopes of finding a light switch. The room was big enough for at least two people, yet here you were, all alone. Finally, your hands found its way and flicked the switch, causing your eyes to be blinded by the bright light that consumed the darkness. 

 You gasped in shock. The room was beautiful, astonishing, everything you never had. It was what you dreamed about and more. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing before your very own eyes, but you knew that you were nothing more than a pawn in the devil’s game. Scanning the room, your eyes fell upon the victorian dress that hung gracefully over a chair, matched with glossy black heels and a large variety of jewelry. Crests of gold mixed with burgundy lured you closer and closer. The material was silky smooth, specks of lace here and there. Looking in the mirror at your dirty, ripped clothing, you sighed in defeat as you got ready to shower and so forth.

If I’m going to die at the hands of a demon, I might as well look good while at it

Henceforth after getting cleansed from all the dirt residue that lied beneath your fingernails and in the creases of your hair, you carefully dressed yourself in the dress as well as the heels. Splattering a small mist of perfume, you disregarded the jewelry, believing it was a bit too extravagant for someone as poor as you. You wanted to look beautiful, but you didn’t want to fake it all for the sake of someone who was going to kill you by the end of the night. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you let out a deep breath as you swung the door open only to be met with a seemingly never ending hallway full of large paintings on the walls. Observing each and every one as you made your way down, you overheard someone talking and felt eager to follow through. Turning the corridor, you saw two men standing around, talking to one another. Smiling, you began to approach them, eagerly waving as you had done so. 

“Last time I checked, she was asleep.”

“Is she as pretty as everyone’s been saying she is?”

“Of course. The Lord always chooses the best, it just sucks that she’s gonna die soon.”

“It happens all the time.”

You stopped in your tracks, looking down at your feet. Of course they were talking about you, but you didn’t want to hear those words fall out of their mouth. By the time you glanced back up, they were gone. Once again, you were all alone. A hand snaked its way around your waist, lips only a centimeter away from your ear as the figure spoke.

“Come with me.”

A chill traveled down your spine as you hastily agreed, despite not knowing what was to follow. He gently grabbed your hand, leading you down an unfamiliar hallway. You walked slowly behind him, observing everything that surrounded you. Sure, you were going to die, but you wanted to at least take your time and live the moment. You stepped into a room, mouth agape as you looked around. It was at least twice the size of your so called room. You didn’t have much time to play scavenger as you were softly plopped onto the bed. Your eyes finally met with his.

Lord Yoongi. 

People would shake at his very name. He was feared by all and of course you knew that. You felt that fear, but at the same time, you were so intrigued by him. His pale skin that contrasted against his dark hair made his features stand out even more.  Your breath hitched in your throat as he caressed your cheek. The thought of being killed by his hands was enticing. His scent was ever so addicting and god forbid the smirk that fell upon his face.

“I’m sure you know what you’re here for.”

You nodded before responding in a voice no louder than a whisper, “I am to be sacrificed to you in return for money. I am going to die by your hands.”

He gave you a blank stare before erupting in laughter and as much as you loved the melody of it, you couldn’t help but visibly show your confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“W-What?”

“You’re not supposed to die, silly. It defeats the whole purpose of bribing your father just for you to be here. I wanted you.”

“I-I heard people talking in the hallways about how I was just like every other girl.. I’m supposed to be killed like them.”

A flash of anger replaced his gummy smile, his eyes darkening at your comment. “They only died because they were weak. I tried marking them, but they were not the one.”

The one?

“I’ve been searching for my soulmate.” He bluntly admitted, staring into your shaky eyes. 

Of course.

Everyone was so obsessed about finding their soulmate. There was no marking or whatsoever to indicate who belonged to who. You’re supposed to just feel it. Your heart is supposed to jump out of your chest the moment you found the one. Every moment with them is supposed to be pure bliss, a feeling that can never be substituted by anything else is this god forsaken world. 

“Why do you care about soulmates?” You asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

“It was my mother’s dying wish and I am to grant it.” 

“Then do what you have to.”

A sudden determination consumed your fear as you looked him dead in the eyes. 

“I can’t just bite you for goodness sake.” Yoongi chucked. “I have to deflower you first, are you okay with that? I don’t want to hur-”

“Okay.” You interrupted, wanting nothing more than to be even closer to him.

“Okay?” Yoongi looked at you as if you were some kind of alienated beast sitting before him.

“Do it.” 

“It’s going to hurt.” He warned.

“That’s okay.”

“You might die.”

“I’m fine with that.”

Yoongi laughed, clearly amused by your sudden responses, “Why do you want to die so bad? You’re at the peak of your youth, you should consider yourself lucky.”

Frowning, you fiddled with your hands as you averted your gaze, “I have nothing else to live for.” 

With that, Yoongi’s lips came crashing down on yours. His sweet taste overwhelmed your senses, leaving you wanting for more. You cautiously wrapped your arms around his neck, unsure if you were allowed to. His touch sent tingles down your body and god it loved you so much. His raspy, shaky breath turned you on. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

“This,” He pointed to your dress, “is getting in the way.”

In the blink of an eye, he had ripped it off, causing you to whine, “I really liked the design!”

“If you live, I’ll give you more than just that.”

At this point, you were dripping wet. Just his voice alone makes you moan. Yoongi stopped touching you, taking the time to observe your godly figure. His hands ran over the small creases in your palms. He looked at the way your lips were shaped, how you had done your hair, the way your boobs were spilling out of your bra. Feeling as though you needed some sweet relief, he unclipped your bra without a moment of hesitation and watched as they bounced in slow motion. Gasping as your skin came in contact with the cold air, your felt yourself getting more aroused within each touch. 

“Please, Lord Yoongi. Don’t make me wait too long.” You begged, giving a small pout which made Yoongi look at you in amusement.

“Patience, my love. I want to savor every moment with you.” His words melted your heart. You wanted nothing more than to be touched by his long, slender fingers. “Call me Yoongi.”

With one hand fondling your breast, his lips connected with yours once more as his free hand found its way in your underwear. Arching your back in pleasure, Yoongi smiled at the thought of pleasing you, wanting to do more and more just for you.

“You like that, baby?” Yoongi whispered, nibbling on your earlobe, “You like the way my fingers pump in and out of your tight pussy, hm?”

You were overwhelmed with all the pleasure he was giving you and only moaned loudly in response. He made his way down until his face was infront of your sex. Blowing softly, you jolted at the sudden action and whined.

“P-Please, Yoongi. I need you.”

“I’m right here, baby.” He teased, licking your clit as he continuously fingered you.

“I need you inside of me!” You nearly screamed as he added another finger. 

You don’t know how long he was doing this, but all you knew was that you were going to come very soon.

“Almost there, baby. Come for me.” He said, sucking on your clit as you clenched around his digits. 

Moaning loudly, you finally gave in. Chuckling at your response, Yoongi licked his fingers clean before undressing himself. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge, gently grasping it in your tiny hands.

“May I?”

Your words made him groan. “Be my guest.”

With that, you slowly tugged down at his boxers, allowing his member to break free. Your eyes widened at the sight, you knew he was big, but he didn’t know he was this big.

“I-I don’t really know what to do.” You admitted, slowly twisting as you stroked his length.

“F-Fuck, you know what you’re doing.” He threw his head back and shut his eyes in pleasure.

Satisfied with his response, you carefully licked the tip before taking him by surprise as you shoved his entire shaft in your mouth. Yoongi sucked in a breath as he let out a sound of pure bliss.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

You chuckled in return, the vibrations from your mouth only making him more aroused. 

“I can’t take it anymore!” Yoongi claimed, pushing your back on the bed, aligning himself at your entrance. “Baby, this is gonna hurt, but be a good girl and take it all in for me, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You looked into his eyes and shook your head, “Please, Yoongi. Make love to me.” 

Yoongi leaned down, kissing you as he shoved his shaft inside of you causing you to gently bite his lip. It was excruciatingly painful, but you endured it for Yoongi. You wanted to please him and if this was one way to do it, then so be it. You don’t know why, but all you wanted to do was make him feel good. From the moment you locked gazes, he was all you wanted.

Starting off with slow thrusts, Yoongi let out a string of curses before quickly apologizing, “I’m going to go faster, so let me know if it’s too much for you.” 

You gripped the sheets as he pumped in and out of you at the speed of lightning. The pain disappeared and now, you were left on cloud nine. His dick filled you whole, but it wasn’t enough. Pulling out, he placed one of your legs on your shoulder and shoved himself back in, causing you to scream in delight. You weren’t even aware that it was possible to go so deep.

“Scream my name, baby. I want to hear you scream.” Yoongi practically moaned into your ears.

“Fuck,Yoongi!” You began chanting his name as if it were some ritual, unable to get enough of him, despite being deep in your pussy.

“Don’t clench around me. I don’t want to cum so fast.” Yoongi whined.

“I’m going to come soon, so might as well, baby.” 

Upon hearing your nickname for him, Yoongi sped up. You were so close and you could tell he was too by the look on his face and grip around your waist. If you were to survive, you swore that you would wake up with bruises around your hips. 

“Almost there, baby. Come on!” Yoongi thrusted even harder, the sound of his dick slapping against your ass echoed in the room.

You were sure people could hear the sound of you two having sex, but you didn’t care. If you were going to die, then you wanted to go down in history. Mustering all the strength in your body, you took Yoongi by surprise as you flipped him around and momentarily straddling before you began riding him.  Reaching up to fondle your boobs, you moaned as you roughly grinded your hips against his. 

“Fuck, baby.” Yoongi thrusted once more, causing you to yelp as you arched your back in pure pleasure. 

Yoongi sat up and pounded into you, the sound of your wetness splashing all over his thighs as he relentlessly made love to you. With one last powerful thrust, you simultaneously came. Panting in exhaustion, you moved the hair away from your neck, allowing Yoongi to finish the process.

“Bite me.” 

With his shaft still buried deep inside of you, he connected his forehead with yours and smiled before saying, “Even if you turn out to not be my soulmate, I want to you to know that I love you, despite not knowing you for that long.”

You laughed at his remark before reciprocating his affection, “As romantic as it is, if I had really met you like I had now, I would have prayed to the heavens that you were my soulmate.”

Yoongi leaned in and gave you one last kiss, the feeling of his lips still lingering on your lips as he pulled away. You closed your eyes shut as he softly pecked your neck, gripping on your waist as your fisted his hair. Then, he sunk his fangs into your delicate flesh, allowing the blood to drip down your naked body. 

heaven is a place on earth (m)

↳ crossroads demon au

pairing: shin hoseok | reader
genre: fluff, slight crack, smut.
word count: 10,669
description: “Hey there sweetheart, you called? How may I help you today?” Calling upon a crossroads demon might’ve been the best decision you’ve ever made in life. At least until it involves pizza.
author’s note: this was too tempting to write… thank @jiminscreaming​ for convincing me to do it.

Originally posted by bunnywonho

Waiting for the pizza to arrive wanes on your patience, and much to your immense displeasure, you can’t help but pout on the floor, hoping that the damn pizza will arrive soon. Not that you would ever complain about Changkyun, but you were certainly considering it from the amount of time he’s been taking to arrive to your place. It isn’t even like he should get lost he’s actually been to your place to deliver pizzas more times than you’d ever admit.

But before you can dial the number to the pizza place just to ask about the status of your pizza, there’s a knock and doorbell at your door which you excitedly rise for and rush toward the door.

Unfortunately, the sight behind it is not Changkyun with your beloved pizza, but a silver and blue-haired demon that you can’t help but glower at despite the confusion you have at seeing him donning a red and white cap with the pizza logo on it or the fact that he’s holding a box of pizza in his hand.

“Wonho, what the hell? Where’s my pizza? If you do not quit your shit, I swear I will find a way to cut your tail off. I don’t even care if you don’t have one either. Grow one or some shit.” You growl the moment he appears in your doorway.

With that goddamn smirk curving on his lips, he replies, “Try it, sweetheart. I like it kinky.”

He’s a demon from your own personal hell, and this is literally speaking.

Keep reading

My headcanon of how the reylo cliff scene will play out.

Ahch-to, sixth months after the destruction of Starkiller base…

“You’ve been busy,” Rey shouts over the violent sea wind that swirls in the space between them. “Did you find what you’ve been looking for?”

“You know I have, Scavenger.” Kylo Ren ignites his lightsaber at his side and its unstable crackle seems to drown everything out. Rey doesn’t reach for her own lightsaber, which is still secured to her belt. She stands her ground, waiting for him to come at her. She appraises the jagged scar that bisects his face, feeling a quick burst of pride at finally seeing her handiwork.

“I’m here for your master,” even though he speaks quietly, his words swirl through her head across the distance between them.

“I have no master.” Rey juts her chin out defiantly, knowing he won’t expect this.

He arches a single eyebrow, his head almost imperceptibly twitches towards the temple at the top of the island as his hair whips around his face from a massive gust of wind. He knows they can both feel Luke’s force signature up there, tucked away. Hiding like the coward he is.

“How did you find us?” She shouts at him, fists clenched at her side, itching for a fight and waiting for him to make the first move.

‘You know how.’ His lips don’t move but his words fill her head nonetheless. Her jaw clenches tightly, teeth grinding together at the invasion of her mind. At this close proximity, it is impossible to keep him out. Just as it is impossible for him to keep her out of his own mind.

‘You call out for me every night. It is all I can hear, all I can feel. You consume my entire being, your longing drives me to the brink of insanity.’ His thoughts are again forcibly pushed into her mind. The invasion of his words is excruciatingly warm and soft as his presence ripples along the edge of her mind.

“Enough!” She yells, hand finally going to her lightsaber. She draws it and lights it in one swift arcing motion, the cool blue glow pooling around her. ‘You know it isn’t me that’s calling for you.’ She adds as an afterthought, almost not meaning to send the thought to him. Only when his expression darkens does she realize he heard it too.

“So you think it is our bond alone that calls to me?” He is talking out loud now, approaching her at a steady pace. His upsilon class shuttle left empty behind him, awaiting the return of its pilot. “You think it’s the bond that whispers my name feverishly in its sleep?” His lightsaber is still dangling in a lazy grip at his side.

They are closer now, only a few aching meters between them. Rey stands her ground, gripping her lightsaber in a fighting stance despite the fact that he has yet to raise his.

“The bond that is practically singing now that we are finally together again?” He almost sounds hopeful. The hard affection in his voice makes her stomach turn over. She thinks of Han tumbling from the walkway on Starkiller. She thinks of the last time she saw Finn, unconscious and kept alive by machines. She thinks of Poe slumped in a chair at Finn’s bedside, whimpering in his sleep, nightmares of having his mind torn to shreds keeping him from getting any rest.

“The bond that is just another in a long list of atrocities committed by you,” she hisses at him, palms sweating against the warm metal of her lightsaber. She adjusts her grip.

“Oh, my dear Scavenger,” his lips peel back from his teeth in a grim smile, he shakes his head as if he regrets it, “you are so, so mistaken. This bond is your doing.” He sounds so confident and sure that it causes her to hesitate. He feels the doubt sinking into her and latches on to it. “You’ve known all along, you just don’t want to admit it to yourself. You pushed back into my mind.” He reaches up with his free hand and taps his left temple. “You created this connection with your clumsy and amateur fumbling into my head.”

“Liar!” She regrets the word as soon as she shouts it at him, he can see her weakness now. Her anger.

Her accusation seems to encourage him even more, his grim smile transforming into a more genuine one, which is the scariest she has ever seen him look. He looks as if he is a predator sensing an opening, ready to pounce on its prey.

“This is why you need me to teach you, you are too powerful for your own good.”

“I have a teacher,” she responds sharply, trying to school the tone of her voice into something calmer and more even.

He raises an eyebrow at this.

“A teacher,” she clarifies, “not a master.” Luke’s words to her when she had first arrived on Ahch-to float through her mind and she knows that Kylo can hear it as well. ‘It’s time for the Jedi to end.’

“Whatever you call him,” Kylo shakes his head as if to forcibly remove the voice from his mind, “I am here to destroy him.”

“You will have to go through me,” she straightens her back, preparing for him to come at her with that red abomination of a blade. He narrows his eyes. He can’t understand why Luke isn’t here, why would he send his student out to face Kylo alone? Surely he knows that there is no way she could best him in a fight when he is at his full strength as he is now.

“No, I need you alive,” he responds in a tightly controlled voice, still not making a move with his ignited lightsaber. The saber spits and hisses like it is dying for its chance to maim and destroy.

“You need me alive or your master does?” Rey knows it probably isn’t wise to taunt him.

“I do. I need you alive,” Kylo brings his fist up to slam against his own chest, she isn’t sure if she is indicating himself or his heart when he hits his left side. “Snoke wants you dead.” The treason falls from his lips and he is quaking with the release of it. The traitorous thoughts that have been broiling inside of him all this time are finally voiced.

“Then why not kill me?” She is whispering, she knows he can hear her perfectly fine even though the wind eats up her words as they spill out of her mouth.

‘You know why.’ His expression softens.

White-hot anger burns through her, at first she thinks it is coming from his end of the bond, but then she realizes it is from within her. An untapped well of anger is overflowing and tearing through her entire body, threatening to engulf her. Anger at him. Anger at herself.

She makes the first move, charging towards him with her saber in a two handed grip. He barely has time to wipe the startled look from his face and bring his own saber up into a defensive position. Their blades crackle viciously as they come together and she pulls back again to hack at him. She has practiced lightsaber forms tirelessly since Starkiller, she can be graceful and precise. Right now, she is a violent and angry creature trying with single-minded determination to cut him down. In the back of his mind he acknowledges this is the most beautiful she has ever looked to him.

It is all he can do to block her attacks without going on the offensive. She is backing him towards a cliff that drops off into the tumultuous sea below. He thinks about reaching into her mind and stealing her consciousness as he has done before, but he can’t muster the concentration necessary as she rains strike after strike down on him at a relentless pace.

His heels scrabble against the edge of the cliff and he dodges her last blow, sidestepping her and hoping she catches herself before she tumbles over the edge. She doesn’t. He reaches out with the force to try and stop her fall but it is too late, she has already disappeared over the edge.

He leans over the cliff, stomach twisted into a knot. He knows she didn’t die on impact because he can feel her life force still connected to his. A dark figure is sinking beneath the waves below.

Without another thought, he drops his disengaged lightsaber in the grass and dives after her.

The water is ice cold and the current is unforgiving as he tries to locate her. He unclasps his cloak and kicks it away, the heavy fabric is dragging him down and only helping the water as it tugs him in every direction other than towards Rey. He sucks in one last breath and dives.

The silence beneath the waves is terrifying. He has grown so used to catching glimpses of Rey’s random thoughts and emotions since they forged their bond that the lack of her incessant inner monologue is deafening. He finally catches sight of her, she is slowly drifting downwards. His grandfather’s lightsaber is sinking like a rock beneath her almost as if it sacrificed the heavy weight it bore to allow her to hang suspended in the murky water.

Her hair has been jostled loose from the tight buns and is fanned around her. He calls out to her mind, not with words but instead with a sense of urgency and panic. There is no answering feeling from her end of their connection.

He kicks towards her and wraps an arm around her waist. Her body is limp and arches backwards as he drags her to the surface. His pulse is pounding in his ears so loudly that it feels like it is the heartbeat of the ocean itself.

When they finally breach the surface he smooths her tangled hair back and pats her face with his sopping leather gloved hand. He pulls her head up, cupping her cheek.

“Scavenger,” he murmurs, “Rey, wake up.” He lets his forehead fall onto hers, trying to delve into her mind. It is silent, so terrifyingly silent. He can’t take it. Even when she sleeps he can hear her, or at least get an impression of her feelings. The nothingness is all consuming and far too cold.

The waves are still swirling around them and tossing them like a wayward piece of flotsam but Kylo clings to her as if she is the one keeping them afloat.

After too many painful moments, she splutters and the violent coughing fit is the best sound he has ever heard. He grips her waist tighter and slides her up his chest, making sure she is above the water and can gulp down the precious air she has been lacking. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist and her grip is like iron on his shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” he soothes a hand down her lower back and she is still gasping desperately, a dead weight in his arms. Of course she wouldn’t know how to swim. It’s only by the grace of the force lending him strength that he is able to tread water for so long and hard enough to keep them both alive.

She looks down at him, startled, realizing finally where she is. She yanks back from him and he tightens his grip on her, not willing to let her fall back beneath the water. Not willing to admit how complete he feels holding her after so much time spent skimming along her mind, capturing the pathetic scraps of thought and emotion she would drop for him.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats in the same soothing voice, but this time it isn’t a reassurance for her and is instead a declaration of victory. She finally sags into his arms, the tension leaving her body, trusting him to keep them afloat. She buries her face into his drenched hair.

“I know,” she whispers.