#YOUR WHAT? HE'S YOUR WHAT MIST? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lonelyquail · 10 months

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ok so while my ds is getting sand poured into it at alarming rates I'm thinking about how jrpgs in specific have a really weird desync with How Important Death Is. like some address it better than others but it very frequently happens where if you take a step back youll go "am I wild or is everybody just like, Really down with murder in this game". and consequences for said murder, especially in a characterization sense but even just actual physical consequences, don't really happen? unless it's a vehicle for conflict but like. when it is a vehicle for conflict it feels weird because why are These Guys actually taking the fact we killed somebody in broad daylight seriously and coming after us for it while all the other npcs and even the main party took it like it was another saturday evening

see I Think where the issue lies is in the fact that everything is in its own little world when you're in a battle? like. when you fight an enemy and you get leather out of it it's seen as something the enemy Drops and not. their hide. when you defeat a character in a battle it does just feel like you Defeated them. unless there's dialogue afterwards that says otherwise you don't even mentally assume you killed em you just wounded them enough to make them flee or dissolve or whatever. and it's Weird to just. have that assumption there because for a lot of games it really isn't clear if you're killing them or defeating them !!

that last point is extra important when you have the specific brand of Skittish Hero / Noble Hero Who Doesn't Kill People / Rational Hero In Way Over Their Head or whatever where you really don't think they Would kill a guy just to get them out of the way. in that case it's REALLY weird because it's hardly brought up. even if it Is brought up that that guy Sure Did Die the mc doesn't tend to actually have a reaction ??? and I don't know why this is ???? like Any written reaction would be more interesting than nothing even if the guy doesn't have a full on crisis about taking another life having them go "oh shit, The Consequences" would be nice. really anything except (oh cool we can advance the plot now).

I will also mention that Some deaths do matter plot wise but very frequently what makes them matter is how much of it is linked to an in game battle I think. if your mc just finishes a fight and comes back to the overworld and the guy's Disappeared or Dissolved or whatever it means they don't matter. if the guy's still around after the fight it means it's more significant, especially if they're still alive but wounded or Really Shaken Up. because this clears up the indistinguishable line between if a battle is lethal or not and if a character decides to deal a finishing blow now it's Way more telling of their character. even though this is basically the same thing that happened in the (killed In A Battle) scenario. just with more dialogue. I will also mention that the person who deals the finishing blow is Rarely Ever that good hearted protagonist and often they'll even go :0 at somebody else committing a murder despite them instigating and helping murder quite a few people. just. In Battle. so it's less bad. I guess.

this is leaving out the fact that in party deaths are often a Major Major Blow because like. ok that's fair. that's A Guy You Knew that's understandable. anyway I don't really know where I'm going with this I just think it's interesting how in these types of games death can swap from not mattering at all to mattering a Lot and if u don't think about it too hard u don't even question it. I'll probably be putting some examples in the tags idk

#i will note that in this specific instance most of my party Is actually super down with murder like vocally #so its less weird but it Is weird that the mc does. Not Seem The Type.#i mean not to say he should have tried to spare everybody i think its kinda neat that he doesnt but #if the fact that he doesnt was brought up at all thatd be interesting. have him acknowledge he killed a dude #but no hes just kind of standing there like (ok what next) no leaning one way or another #these would all be interesting reactions if they were actually Brought Up in dialogue but no its just. oversight #anyway this is about sand but ive also felt this about live a live and even bits of twewy #like specifically in lal the fact that the edo chapter Exists and killing people is just Battling Them made me look at Every Other Chapter #thru a lens of (okay am. am i killing these dudes.) and the answer is I DUNNO #like the guy exploded into a cloud of mist theres no way hes Not dead but its STRANGE #this felt most noticeable in the imperial china and present day chapters because they had mcs who decidedly did not feel down with murder #specifically present day because masaru is fighting this guy for the crime of killing a guys. and woa. he killed a guys. with his Hands #i think theres only a handful of deaths in lal that actually mean anything and you can tell which they are because they dont explode #like in You Know The Part with The Character I Cant Say that guys i think the only time defeating an enemy Leaves A Corpse #ok actually thats a lie the Other Guy I Cant Say in The Chapter Before That also died like that and that was equally important #s also worth mentioning that said first guy can ? also die without leaving a corpse? just turn to ash??#depending on where u go with him. which is weird right. thats weird right.#maybe that just means (hey youre not supposed to feel bad about him dying this tiiiime)#anyway its 5 am ill post this in the morning #vee shut up

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incorrect-league-of-villains · 2 years

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Toga: Our client tried to kill us!

Dabi: More importantly, he didn’t pay us.

Toga: How is that more important?

Dabi: I take that personally.

#incorrect lov #toga: he probably thought there were too many holes in your pockets so you'd lose the money #dabi: well you don't have pockets and kids these days spend all their money on. like. anime figurines and shit #toga: you're so out of touch dabi smh we spend all our money on drugs and pig's blood donuts #dabi: i think that last one is just you #toga: no no ive seen kurogiri eating one #dabi: you what #dabi: i mean kurogiri isnt a teenager but like. you what #dabi: how does he even eat??#toga: i'm not sure actually he just kinda put it inside his head and i assumed he ate it #dabi: maybe it's to make up for the lack of blood in his body #toga: or maybe he's just trying to go for a new look! it could make his mist red instead of purple #toga: i should get him some red heels to match. his feet cant hurt if he doesnt have any #dabi: your logic astounds me #dabi: anyway who wants to tell tomura that we didnt get the money #toga: not it #dabi: i shouldnt have asked #himiko toga #dabi

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niccoguedes · 1 year

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Studies.

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thedeadthree · 2 years

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SÉRËDHIEL AFIRIN (lotr) / UNA NATHAIRA ULLER (hotd)

VALAENYA TARGARYEN (got) / IOVANNA DAYNE (hotd)

ELAENAERA TARGARYEN (hotd) / YOREN SNOW (hotd)

TAGGED BY the darlings @chuckhansen, @risingsh0t, @confidentandgood and @dihardys to do this cutest picrew for the loves! ty sm!

TAGGING: @griffin-wood, @queennymeria, @aartyom, @florbelles, @belorage, @jackiesarch, @stormveils, @marivenah, @roofgeese, @shadowglens, @themysteriouslou, @pearlcscent, @aceghosts, @multiverse-of-themind, @yennas, @roberthouses, @lavinet, @swordcoasts, @shellibisshe, @arklay, @unholymilf and you!

#only if you want to! 🥀❣️#oc: sérëdhiel alfirin #oc: una nathaira uller #oc: valaenya targaryen #oc: iovanna dayne #valaenya is iovannas descendant! known as visenya born again! wields dark sister! and daemons descendant as well! coolest girl!#THE WAYYY this nailed ella and yoren to the LETTER ✨😵‍💫 oh my god oh my god #i changed yorens fc! his fc is a*nar k*halilov 🖤😌 i think he fits him better i think!#ella at the last supper whenever o*tto started talking ajsjjxjx her and rhae were like that to eachother the whole night skzjjxjx besties!#or her at the last supper whenever she heard otto speak akzjhxhxhx #yoren is broody! he’s cocky! he’s got range and i appreciate him for that!#enya @ the night king SKSHZHXH from dragonback on starspire ✨😌 she was THRIVING fighting white walkers #so the ends of unas hair are dyed like a DARK green after the bonds with the cannibal but this is close enough 🌿☺️! baby girlie!#i definitely should do what sera looked like as almarea before she got her memory back but it’s her as the lady of Mordor 🥀❣️😌#vanna in her mistress of mists era 🖤😌 spymaster and a dragonrider YOURE TOO COOL VANNA 🖤🥺#leg.ocs #leg.tagged #t: picrews #TY TY SO MUCH this was the loveliest to do! 🥀❣️

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4giorno · 6 months

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if tadpole powers bad, why animations so cool?

#omg i got the power that makes a blast if youre currently using a spell that uses concentration #and it looks so cool your character like starts levitating and dark purple/red mist comes from them to the whole room #and their pose is rlly menacing and theres all the monster bits that appear........#ive consumed like 5 of them now. but i think i have to stop bc even tho i think its what he would do im rlly afraid i truly fucked up #the whole story LMAO like in the brain interface the areas you unlock like turn colorless and dead #and kar1ach said that im now 'more mindflayer than [something]' so im gonna hope my guys not completely lost yet ⚰️#anyway im stuck i cant find the silent library 💀#(im gonna have to* hope my guys not completely lost. im so tired im forgetting so many words from my sentences 😩)

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dimiclaudeblaigan · 1 year

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now that dumb ways to die is finally making a comeback, i need a compilation of rly stupid fire emblem gameplay deaths

#DCB Comments #my dumbest way i've ever had a unit die was in por chapter 27 when ike had damage on my turn already #from the previous enemy phase but i was getting desperate bc i didn't wanna redo the chapter #bc like if i don't get nasir i will literally redo the chapter fuck ena idk what intsys was even thinking #making her unit as worthless as it is. no nasir no victory. so in my desperation i attacked #with damage taken. bc my brilliant idea was to attack and get hit again so that mist could heal all the damage taken #but wah wah i had to redo the whole chapter anyway bc SOMEONE activated luna on me #i was relying on either aether going off or luna NOT going off but i had a massive wah wah #this wasn't recent but it did happen and i absolutely learned my fucking lesson LOL #titania: i think ike has grown enough to judge if he can win #soren: i don't like it. in fact i disagree. in fact this is a terrible idea. in fact what if he's impatient bc he only has five turns #also the other dumbest way to lose a unit is to have them standing in front of the house in chapter 11 #when you kill the boss bc bk walks out when the boss dies. i always make sure mordecai is #already past that area while im getting zihark before killing the boss #but yes i do absolutely agree with the lyric ''so many dumb ways to die'' for fe and that's why i need a compilation #y'all needa tell me your dumbest fe ways you've lost a unit and had to reset #if you played on casual it still counts bc they had to retreat lol #edit: actually no i remember that happened twice. there was a time when i attacked on my turn with full hp #but that was after mist healed so i had damage then she healed then i attacked on my turn #and then luna activated on the enemy phase so no that shit actually happened to me TWICE #and i am not sure which one of those times i learned my fckn lesson but i absolutely did #edit again: also npc and enemy phase deaths that are rly dumb are also valid i need those too

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mermaidsirennikita · 1 year

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Usually when I'm reading my brain doesn't assign characters any permanent, significant attributes and just kinda has them exist as blobs with names that it labels "hot" and "not hot." This makes fancasting super difficult, but for whatever reason the moment my brain read about Bourne it was like "oh that's Theo James." I honestly don't remember any visual description of him as a character cause my brain just goes "you don't need this information, you already know he's Theo James." This has never happened to me with any other character, idk why Bourne has me by the throat.

Dude are you in my brain because HARD SAME. During this re-read, I keep thinking of Theo. My perception of characters is similar to yours. When I do fancast, I'm often less about how much an actor is like the character's physical and more about how they fit the character's Vibe, but I think Theo happens to both fit the description of Bourne (tall, dark, handsome in a very classical way, but with a kind of arrogant, chip on his shoulder sense--not that Theo is necessarily that guy lmao, but he definitely plays that guy often) and the Vibe.

MacLean is never SUPER specific about her heroes physically, which I appreciate, save some defining features. (I often hate it when authors are overly specific in a way that makes it clear who they had in mind--and nothing makes me drop a book faster than a contemporary that outright compares a hero to a famous person, I will LOSE. MY MIND.) With Bourne, I think the main takeaway is: super hot in a conventional way that people in society notice without him having to make an effort (compared to Cross, who I think is supposed to be less immediately BAM in your face hot, but is super charismatic and slick as hell--Bourne doesn't have to be charismatic, what I'm saying is Bourne Has Pretty Privilege, he ain't slick, he thinks he is but he profoundly is nOT). Dark-haired... I think? (I don't think MacLean writes many blond heroes, tbh.) And when Penelope sees him in the beginning of the book, she basically says that he'd be beautiful if he didn't clearly have a darkness about him, aka his shitty attitude lmao.

Bourne also has me by the throat. He's honestly even better than I remembered. Has a gambling addiction--owns a gambling hell. In love with his childhood sweetheart--marries her and says it isn't about love at all. Finally realizes he's been an asshole and just sits there with a slab of beef on his eye because his friend just beat him up and is like "well what do I do NOW to be released from a prison ENTIRELY OF MY OWN MAKING!!!"

Also, the way he clearly has all these welled up memories of Penelope and like. So much affection. The way he's able to guess what she's trying to say during charades when nobody else can. The way she accidentally puts her tits on full display and he's like, leaning forward to get a better look (in front of her family, the SCANDAL). The way she praises him for getting the very obvious charades thing right and he like. Preens about it. He's like a junkyard dog that gets taken in and domesticated extremely easily and loves to sleep on your feet and do tricks for treats but when he sees a plastic bag he snarls at it because he needs you to remember he's a NASTY BIG BRAVE DOG.

Edit: just re-opened the book on to Bourne fantasizing about a row of little blond daughters and practically sighing with how much he wants to have Penelope's babies. As a note, one of the things I remember from a later book (I wanna say from her next series?) is the scandal sheets being like "local loser the Marquess of Bourne was seen climbing through a window to give his gaggle of daughters presents, is sad and pathetic now".

#romance novel blogging #anyway i would kill for him and penelope #she's also such a good heroine #she's like 'YOU AREN'T GETTIN ANY OF THIS BOURNE THE CANDY SHOP IS CLOSED'#and half an hour later is all 'drat. what a situation i've put myself in.'#the ice skating scene where he still has a black eye #and all the society ladies are like good god he's hot as shit even w giant black eye #that's how you know he's fine as hell #LOL!!!!!! Penelope's dad being like yeah so i put your house in her dowry bc i knew it would SUMMON YOU #like he's a MYTHICAL CREATURE #needham knew she wanted him and did like a conch shell bugle moment to summon bourne from the mist #actually a great dad

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dravidious · 9 months

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You're emealing

Pic of me finding this lovely ask in my inbox:

Also I was playing path of champions and got to a point where it wants me to beat a 3-star adventure with one champion from each region, and I didn't have a shadow isles champion but I had 20/30 shards needed to unlock a champion called Gwen who has a really cool mechanic called hallowed so I decided that if I didn't get a shadow isles champion I'd spend my wild shards on Gwen but then I got Thresh who's a shadow isles champion so I didn't need to buy Gwen and I was like "oh well I'll get Gwen eventually" but Thresh honestly kinda sucks because he's really mean flavor-wise and his deck is really slow so instead of playing him I worked my way up to the 3-star adventure with a shurima champion called Nasus (also not the shurima champion I wanted but he's at least good) and beat it and I got 20 random shards AND THEY WERE GWEN SHARDS :D! And now I'm playing Gwen and she's so cool and hallowed is so cool and everything is perfect!

#asks #ironically gwen and thresh have similar gimmicks #they both love killing off their own units #but Hallowed is a keyword that means “after this unit dies for the rest of the game when you attack your leftmost attacker gets +1/+0”#meanwhile thresh just has a bunch of sac fodder and cards that need sacrifice #thresh can't finish a game to save his life which is a flavor-win because he tortures people for eternity but it's also super boring #meanwhile gwen is progressively stacking up hallowed deaths to attack with more and more power #i love hallowed because if my units die then i get buffs and if my units survive then i have units so either i win or i win #and i also get to actually push for lethal instead of agonizingly grinding out the game #like yeah thresh wins EVENTUALLY but god it's so slow #meanwhile gwen just chops the enemy in half with her gargantuan sewing scissors #AND ALSO SHE'S FUCKING NICE AND NOT A TORTURER #the hallowed units are a bunch of ghost musicians that are hosting a party and they're all nice and good and fighting the Black Mist #and when they die they just hallow and are like “haha let the show go on!” as they help you kill your enemies from beyond the grave #and they're just like “ah the guest of honor has arrived” and gwen is like “oh wow i've never been the guest of honor!” and it's so sweet!#meanwhile thresh's units are like “oh god i hope thresh doesn't find me” and thresh is like “muwahaha i'm gonna torture you”#overall gwen is a massive improvement in every way #now if only i had any idea what the heck the Black Mist is

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contact-guy · 4 months

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I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...

content warning for drug use!

I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird

Text under the cut:

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"

#it's another love confession #sherlock holmes #john watson #acd holmes #acd canon #long post #my art

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moechies · 30 days

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asking the jjk boys to hold your hand ꒱₊˚⊹ nsfw

trying something different , more head cannon-like because i find i’m more motivated to write smaller pieces . . am cooking in my drafts rn . please bare with me !

♡｡ﾟ｡

gojo satoru ꒱

sooo much teasing . makes you ask for his hand over and over , until you admit his cock is just too much, and too deep, and you need something to wrap your hand around. he’s so cocky, but will definitely give it to you. presses gentle kisses on your knuckles when his huge hand envelops yours, and holds it down below, into the fluff of your sheets.

“ha— hand, please, satoru—“

“what’s that sweet girl ? w’na hold my hand ?”

“yes ! p-please !”

“why, what’s wrong?” he simpers, gentle fingers pushing your stray hairs away.

you huff, inpatient now. “j-jus’ wanna feel you, satoru.! please!”

“aww , sweet girl. course i’ll hold my baby’s hand.”

getou suguru ꒱

so tender with his baby. will give in the second you ask for it, he actually wanted it first. but in the mist of your perfect cunny gripping him so well , he forgot to :( once he gets ahold of your hand he brings it down to your tummy, and glides your fingers where his cock bulges. grins and presses soft kisses all over you when you’re unable to answer his dirty questions , but his pretty baby will always answer if she knows what’s good for her. <3

“feel my cock here, honey?” a sly grin spreads across his face when you’re only capable of replying with a wanton moan, slowing his thrusts.

“w-wait , no..! i— feel it , please, want more s-sugu!”

it’s so dirty , and suguru loves it.

“yeah ? askin’ f’me to hold your hand so sweetly but you’re being so filthy little girl ..”

“m s-sorry.! ju— love it .. love it s’ much.!”

“know you do princess. be good now, lay still.”

toji fushiguro ꒱

thinks it’s funny at first, but really he wanted it just as much as you do. you cannot tell me otherwise , toji is such a lover. really , he’s sort of shocked that you asked for something so intimate, so small, only realizing that he hadn’t been holding your hand in the first place. teases you only sometimes, because he wants to feel you just as bad as you do. such a sweet man ♡

you reach down, intertwining your fingers into his bigger ones; a light squeeze to your hand when he understands your intention;

“hmm, what’s this princess?” he gloats ,

“wan’ hold your h-hand, toji . m-missed you s’much t-today.” you admit, followed with a sweet moan.

“s’cute.” he chuckles, pressing a kiss on the back of your hand before continuing with his heavy thrusts.

“missed you too princess. missed your perfect face ‘nd sweet cunt . s-shittt.. love you darling .”

sukuna ryomen ꒱

isn’t doing it unless you ask for it. will be like ??? because he’s like , you hold hands during sex too ? and you’re like ??? you’ve never done that before? so clueless but a bit flustered , really tries to act like he hates it but really, he think he likes it; he likes when you hold his hand. only never done it because he’s only been with concubines before you, and would never think of doing something so intimate himself.

“what’re you doin’ brat?”

“i just— w’na hold your hand ryo..”

“during sex ?”

“ do you think that’s w-weird ?”

he scoffs, not wanting to admit that he liked it. his hand slithers above yours, thumb pressing into the apple of your palm.

nanamin kento ꒱

already holding your hand . ♡

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shotmrmiller · 9 days

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Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

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