#//Just between mine; others don’t have to adhere

[dutybcrne]

One of the biggest indicators of how close Kaeya and Diluc were growing up is not only their matching jealousy streaks, but also in the way they will get territorial on each other’s behalves.

[oldsoul007]

don’t dream it’s over

nicholas chavez x reader

summary: nicholas and reader are sworn enemies, what happens when they end up being counselors as the same summer camp…

I had been a camp counselor at Camp Pinewood for the past two summers, and of course Nicholas too, but we couldn't stand each other. Nicholas, with his pollos, easygoing charm some would say and knack for breaking rules, clashed constantly with my strict adherence to the camp's guidelines and my no-nonsense attitude. Our arguments were legendary among the campers and staff, often ending with one of us storming off in frustration, usually me.

When I got there the first day, few days before campers showed up, of course he was late with a smug look on his face. This summer, however, something was different. The camp director had paired us together to lead the same group of campers, hoping we combined strengths would create a balanced team. From the start, it was clear we would have to find a way to work together, despite our differences.

After trying to fight our camp director on putting us together, I finally gave up and went to get stuff for my cabin. I was taking my luggage out of my car when someone clears their throat. I roll my eyes guessing who it was. “Not even gonna say hi to me princess” “what did I tell you about calling me that” “mmm I think you like it.”

Once I grabbed all my stuff I continued walking toward my cabin. Nicholas following behind. “Do you need something.” I ask irritated. “Well I thought since we’ll be working together all summer we might as well get along.” I stop in my tracks to twist around and look at him. “You gotta be fucking with me” I almost laugh.

“You know, whatever, i guess I thought maybe you’d grow up for once” I rolled my eyes as he said that. Turning on my heel, walking toward my cabin. I still hear him behind me. “Why are you still following me” I groan.

“My cabins right here too, guess we’re neighbors.” He said closing the door to the cabin across from mine. Great now I have to hear him all summer nonstop.

At camp, the tension between me and Nicholas was palpable. As camp counselors, we were forced to work together, despite our mutual dislike. Every morning started with us exchanging curt nods and avoiding eye contact.

A typical day at camp involved organizing activities for the kids. Me and Nicholas had to coordinate everything from arts and crafts to outdoor games. Our disagreements were frequent, and the campers could sense the friction between us.

One day, we were assigned to lead a team-building exercise. As we explained the rules to the campers, our bickering became more intense. "You're doing it wrong," Nicholas snapped. "This isn't how it's supposed to go."

I shot back, "Maybe if you actually listened for once, you'd understand the plan."

The campers looked on, wide-eyed, as the two continued to argue. Eventually, one of the kids timidly suggested, "Maybe you guys could work together like you're asking us to?"

The comment hit home, and both me and Nicholas paused. We realized that our behavior was setting a poor example. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Okay, let's try to get through this without fighting."

Nicholas nodded, and we managed to put aside our differences for the rest of the activity. By the end of the day, we were both exhausted but felt a small sense of accomplishment. We had managed to work together, even if it was just for a short while.

As the sun set, Nicholas found me by the campfire. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. We need to figure out a way to get along for the kids' sake."

I sighed, "Yeah, you're right. Let's try to make this work, at least for the rest of camp."

It wasn't a resolution, but it was a start. And as we sat by the fire, both of us couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, there was more to our animosity than we realized.

At the camp counselors' late-night party, the atmosphere was buzzing with laughter and music. Me and Nicholas arrived with our mutual friend Cooper, who was determined to get them to relax and have a good time. Despite our recent truce, the tension between me and Nicholas was still palpable.

As we mingled, Nicholas accidentally bumped into me, spilling his drink all over me. "Seriously, Nicholas?" I exclaimed, my frustration bubbling up once again.

"It was an accident, princess! You don't have to make such a big deal out of it," Nicholas retorted, his own irritation showing. The nickname pissing me off more.

Cooper, seeing the brewing argument, stepped in. "Hey, you two need to chill out. This party is supposed to be fun, not another battleground for you guys."

I sighed, trying to wipe the drink off my clothes. "It's just... we can't seem to go a day without fighting."

Cooper raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Maybe you two need to let off some steam together. How about you guys just hook up?" He said, half joking half not.

Nicholas looked at me, a reluctant smile forming. "You know what? That actually sounds like a good idea."

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright, you're such a dick. Fuck you" “You wish” he teases.

By the end of the night, the tension between me and Nicholas had raised significantly.

Our days were filled with activities and responsibilities, from leading nature hikes to organizing campfire sing-alongs. At first, our interactions were tense and filled with sarcastic remarks.

But as the days went by, they started to notice things about each other that they hadn't before. Nicholas saw how passionate y/n was about making sure the kids had a great time, and y/n couldn't help but admire Nicholas's ability to make everyone laugh and feel included.

One evening, after a particularly challenging day, we found ourselves alone by the lake. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the water. I was skipping stones, trying to unwind, when Nicholas approached me. "You know, you're not as bad as I thought," he said, breaking the silence. I looked up, surprised. "Coming from you, that's almost a compliment," I replied with a small smile.

We talked for hours, sharing stories and secrets we had never told anyone else. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we had in common. Our walls began to crumble, and the thin line between hate and love started to blur.

Over the past few days, something had shifted. we had been paired together for various activities, and slowly, I found myself warming up to Nicholas. I began to see a different side of him, one that was kind and considerate.

The next day, I was heading back to my cabin when I thought I heard Nicholas talking to someone. I paused, listening intently. My heart sank as I caught bits and pieces of the conversation, convinced he was revealing my secret. Hurt and betrayal washed over me.

When Nicholas noticed me standing there, he immediately saw the look on my face. "Y/n, what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"I heard you," I said, my voice trembling. "I heard you telling someone something I told you in confidence."

Nicholas's eyes widened in shock. "Y/n, I would never do that. I promise you, I didn't say anything to anyone."

But I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. "Why should I trust you?" I asked, my voice cold and distant. "You’ve always been against me."

Nicholas stepped closer, his voice earnest. "Because I care about you, y/n. I would never betray your trust. Please, believe me."

But I shook my head, anger and hurt clouding my judgment. "I can't believe I ever thought you could change," I said, turning away from him.

Nicholas watched her walk away, his heart heavy with regret. He knew he hadn't betrayed her, but convincing her of that now seemed impossible.

As I walked back to the cabin alone, I felt a familiar bitterness returning, the fragile trust we had built shattered in an instant. Ending up right back where we started at the beginning of the summer.

As captains for the camp games, we were supposed to lead by example, but our bickering overshadowed everything else. The campers, fed up with the tension, devised a plan to get us lost in the woods together, hoping it would force us to work things out.

It was Nicholas’s fault we ended up lost. He had insisted on taking a shortcut during one of our competitive scavenger hunts. I had argued against it, but Nicholas was stubborn. "Trust me, I know this forest like the back of my hand," he had said confidently.

But as the sun began to set and the familiar trails disappeared, it became clear that Nicholas had no idea where we were. "Great job, Captain," I muttered sarcastically, crossing my arms as we stood in the middle of nowhere.

Nicholas sighed, frustration evident on his face. "I thought this was the right way. Let's just keep moving; we’ll find our way back."

Hours passed, and the forest seemed to grow denser. We argued about which direction to take, each step leading us further into unfamiliar territory. The campers' plan was not working.

Our bickering is a constant source of tension. Our friends often joked about our rivalry, but neither of us found it amusing. One evening, the argument between us reached a boiling point in the middle of the woods. Where Nicholas got us lost during the camp games.

"You never listen to me!" I shouted, my frustration evident. Nicholas, equally exasperated, fired back, "And you always think you're right!"

My face flushed with anger, and in the heat of the moment, I blurted out, "I hate you, Nicholas!"

Nicholas stood there, stunned. The words hit him harder than any insult ever had. Instead of retaliating, he felt a deep pain in his chest. “Nice one” he says pushing past me continuing walking into the woods. I’m surprised, he usually would reply with some snarky comeback.

Then I realized I never actually said that to him before. Confused I follow after him. “Nic, wait why are you so mad?” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. "do you really mean that?" he asked quietly.

My anger began to waver as I saw the hurt in his eyes. I had expected him to yell back, not to look so wounded. "I... I don't know," I stammered, suddenly unsure of myself.

The tension between us was palpable, each word laced with frustration and unspoken emotions. I finally came back to reality remembering that’s he’s an asshole.

"Yes I do, I hate you, Nicholas! You drive me fucking insane!" I shouted, my eyes blazing with anger.

Nicholas took a step closer, his jaw clenched. "You think I don't feel the same way? You're always in my head, y/n. I can't get you out, and it's maddening!"

Our faces were inches apart, the intensity of our emotions creating a charged atmosphere. Suddenly, without thinking, Nicholas grabbed me and pulled me into a fierce kiss. All the anger, frustration, and hidden feelings poured into that moment, our lips crashing together in a passionate embrace.

My hands found their way to Nicholas's hair, pulling him closer as I kissed him back with equal fervor. The world around us seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of us, lost in the intensity of our connection.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, our eyes locked. "I hate how much I want you," Nicholas whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at him. "Me too," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But maybe we don't have to fight it anymore."

In that moment, everything changed. The walls we built between us came crashing down, leaving us vulnerable and open to the possibility of something more. The fight had revealed the truth we had both been hiding, and as we stood there, surrounded by trees, we realized that our relationship was about to change forever.

After many more minutes of wandering through the dense forest, me and Nicholas finally found our way out. The tension between us had been palpable throughout our ordeal, but now, as we emerged from the woods and saw my cabin in the distance, a sense of relief washed over us. Everyone seemed to have gone to bed after the games.

We hurried towards the cabin, our steps quickening as they got closer. Once inside, I closed the door behind them, and we both stood there, catching our breath. The adrenaline from our adventure still coursed through our veins.

Nicholas looked at me, his eyes intense. "We made it," he said softly, stepping closer to me.

I nodded, my heart racing for a different reason now. "Yeah, we did."

Without another word, Nicholas closed the distance between us, his lips capturing mine in a heated kiss. I responded eagerly, my hands tangling in his hair as I pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, filled with all the emotions we had been holding back.

Nicholas moved us towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. My hands roamed over Nicholas's back, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath his shirt. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap as we continued to kiss passionately.

The cabin was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the soft rustle of clothes as we lost ourselves in each other. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection we felt, the heat between us undeniable.

As we finally pulled back, both breathless and flushed, we looked into each other's eyes, knowing that this was just the beginning of something deeper.

[metranart]

Mikey x Reader x Draken (Tokyo Revengers)(Part 6)

⭕️ Visit my PATREON LINK for some spicy Tokyo Rev NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.

Warning tag: obsessed! Mikey, possessive! Draken, naive! reader, threesome, violation of trust, dubious consent, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, teenage craves, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, pussy eating, love confessions, cock-drunk, boys trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, sleeping! reader, gang stuff.

-

The water is already steamy, and both boys itch to fulfil their next fantasy. They know it would take time to have your full and undeniable consent and approval. 

The duo also knows this wasn’t the best path to win you over but now that it's done, there’s no way back and letting you go isn't even an option.

“N-No.” your defiance is intoxicating for some unknown reason. 

“No, huh?” 

“Yes, I said no.” You don’t let the shake in your voice manifest. 

Meanwhile, the heat emanating from the shower starts to create a cloud of steam and being the only one with clothes on, you can feel the fabric beginning to stick against your skin. 

You don’t know how to be shameless regarding nakedness like them. As if they didn't care if someone else saw them….  Even as if they've seen each other naked a million times, and then, it hits you. 

“—Since when are you together?” 

Mikey hums, pensively, “We know each other since we were just your height, little one.” The blond openly jokes, and you can hear Draken snickering. 

“You are like one inch taller than me—” 

“You’ll do good to remember that.” Mikey keeps teasing, sassy grin curving his lips. 

Fed up with his antics, you stop tip toing around them, and aim for a punch under the belt. 

“Your boyfriend is being an asshole, Draken.” You spat, venom dripping from your tongue, crossing your arms in front of your chest a tense silence floats for a second too long, and it pops like a soap bubble when, they burst out laughing. 

“She is at us, baby.” 

Draken says between laughter, and you can hear his equally annoying buddy, clap a hand at his knee while holding his stomach, letting the laughter slowly die down. 

“(Y/N)—you perspicacious little thing…” Mikey chuckles out, and cleaning the remnant of tears from his eyes, shakes his head, “of course, Draken and I are a thing.” The short blond unashamedly, admits. 

“…Lover?” you murmur and quickly correct, “—boyfriend!” 

“The first one…” Mikey replies, unconcerned “and the second one—” continues, your mouth opens but he keeps going, “and… the third one.” 

Confusion reflects on your features and is quick to add. 

“He is mine—” easily claims, “the same as you are.” Shrugs his shoulders, unworriedly looking through your shoulder at Draken who plainly grins. 

“You can’t own a person…” you hear yourself whisper. 

“Sure, you can!” he boasts, “as long as he owns you back—” Mikey explains, standing up from the toilet lid to take a couple of leisured steps towards you “… and I promise you…” the bastard towers over you, even when he’s just a bit taller, “Its. Fucking. Fulfilling.” Closes the distance with each word until is face to face with you. 

The whole room begins to feel cramped; you feel like an animal inside a cage and sensing your weariness, Draken pats your shoulder, lightly. 

“You must be suffocating in so many clothes—you’d better take them off.” He suggests, previous warning buried under layers of patience. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you were profusely sweating, Toman’s uniforms are not for hot weather … or, rather for steam baths.

The fabric adhered to your skin feels awfully uncomfortable and soon the discomfort is so much that you don’t see another option.  No doubt that damn Draken did this on purpose, smart little bastard.

“—Could you turn around?” 

The request leaves your mouth out of your control and to your surprise, both comply.

They turn around without saying a word, and you stay still for a moment before starting to undress.  You know it's silly because they're going to have to see you eventually, but being granted this small favor makes you feel a little more in control. 

“Ready?” 

Mikey asks, since the noises of clothes falling to the ground stopped being heard, and you sigh heavily before answering.

“I would feel more comfortable if you let me bath on my own—” 

“We understand…” the ghost of a smile hunts your face for a brief moment when Mikey seems to yield “—but then who would wash your back,” but then he adds, wiping all mirth from your features right away, fake concern tainting his sarcastic tone, “or clean behind your ears…?” Draken joins following his lead, and you can hear the smirk on their faces even when you can’t see it. 

“—Does messing up with me bring you guys any kind of twisted pleasure?” you ask, making sure they notice your contempt for them, “or is it part of your supposed unconditional LOVE for me?” Your blatant mock makes you feel pleased when they don’t reply immediately. 

Finally, some payback, you think, but you couldn’t be more wrong because you just gave them the excuse they’ve been looking for, since the three entered the bathroom.

“She still doesn’t believe us, Kenchin.”

Mikey groans, stretching his back soundly, like subtly reminding you how strong they are compared to you. 

“I heard—” the dragon tattoo owner replies, “and it breaks my heart.” Draken sighs, yet it sounds false and combing his blond hair back, stresses.

“Sounds to me like it’s our sacred duty as her irrevocable boyfriends…” makes a meaningful pause for you to witness him slowly turn around to look at you while spelling the next words, “—to remind her who she belongs to now.”

Fear melts your satisfied grin into pure despair and taking a step away from the intimidating tall blond and his dark promise, your naked back bumps against a solid chest.

“I agree, baby...” Mikey´s voice sounds closer to your ear, “now (y/n) … It’s your decision how this will happen…” the Toman leader explains, pressing his strong chest flush against your bare back, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder to spy your reactions, “… we can be gentle and sweet, or NONE…” putting a lock of hair behind your ear, pecks your cheek, gallantly and finishes, “your move.”

A loud breath tells them that you are getting awfully nervous, your gaze desperately searches for a way out, and they only follow your line of sight, yet don’t attempt to move. Until you try to take a step forward and as if in chain reaction, Mikey’s arm encircles your waist and Draken closes the distance, only leaving a centimeter of air that prevents your breast from colliding with his.

“I—…I believe you!” you lie, “there’s no need—” 

“Nop.” You feel Mikey´s lips glued to the shell of your ear, “Just decide.”

You hate being put in these scenarios, and you hate more that you are so afraid of them that you prefer a known devil, than a devil to know. So, disgusted by your next words, you shamefully reduce to play they little sick game of power. 

“Gentle.”

Both boys' smirk, wildly. Without a doubt, you are beginning to be trained to comply, and that pleases them very much, so much that they are going to gift you an extra special, session. 

“Smart move.” Draken praises, “of course, she´s our smart girl.” Mikey complements.

Is the last you hear before been push under the hot water jet, the sound of the water lapping at your skin drowns out every sinful moan you try so hard to bit back as their naughty hands and thirsty mouths, explore your curves without restraint. 

Trying to keep your legs closed is useless as teaming up, they spread them, effortlessly, losing all sense of composure and frantically both drag their fingers among your slick folds, enticing you to follow their euphoric pace. 

You can��t swallow the heavy moan that breaks your composure, and Draken presses his lips to the line of your jaw, you instantly go rigid at the gentle kiss, making you wonder how someone who looks so dangerous can be so mellow.  

“I know it´s only being a night since,” he whispers against your skin, fervently, maneuvering your palm to wrap around his warm, thick cock. “But don’t you ever stop us from touching you again, (y/n).” He groans and aids you to give him a good, rough squeeze, so he can slowly start to thrust his hips into your clenched fist.

“Fuck—that´s it.” He moans hoarsely, “keep going—Don´t s-stop...” your hand moves erratically, not sure how to please him and not sure if you want to keep going, when Mikey urges you to continue by wrapping his hand among your fingers, “Like this, Babygirl, Draken likes it when you pamper the head...” and following his instructions, you brush your thumb along the tip of his cock and Mikey hums approvingly when his bestie´s body jerks with it. “That´s a good girl.” The shorter blond praises, letting you keep going on your own.

Meanwhile, Mikey’s hands attack you gliding over your wet skin like a snake, caresses with a smooth continuous motion, insistently pursuing the curve of your breasts, squeezing hard enough for the plump flesh to spill among his fingers while his hard cock smears against your bottom, letting you nestle it between your butt cheeks, praises of how good your being falling from their mouths like water from the faucet. 

“Be honest with us, (Y/N),” Draken gasps, growing harder and harder in your hand, “at some point —Fuck....” his breathing stutters, “—this scenario had to cross your mind… at least once….”

“W-What—what scenario?” you murmur, overstimulation making your speech drag, for Mikey is unable to stop playing with your hardened nipples, “don´t stop—” Draken groans, and you begin to stroke his throbbing length up and down in time with his euphoric thrusts.  

“You guys are not my cup of tea...” you drag out, between pitiful whimpers and Mikey barks a humorless laugh before reply, “what's not to like, babe?... To me, you sound outstandingly pleased.”

“—Being fucked… without my-my consent—by two abusive gang members w-who won’t take no for… an answer?” how the fuck do you find the words to entice them even more is beyond them, but you do, “… and you ask—...what's not to like?”  

A crude chuckle quakes Draken’s chest with blessed amusement and he press soft, open-mouthed kisses along the heaving curve of your neck, letting his warm tongue come out to taste you and slowly disentangles your fingers off his length, for your attention to be solely on Mikey, who reaches one of his hands down to gently cup your cunt.

“It’s not ideal, of course,” Mikey admits, mindlessly and you gasp at his blatant honesty, hand in hand with his working fingers on you, “-we are not some stupid gang members who don't understand anything,” his words are being muffled by your skin when his lips trace your shoulder, “we also understand that what we did, has consequences—” he agrees, and you realize why he´s one of the most respected leaders among the gangs, “but everything has a solution... if you accept us as yours.” 

You groan deliriously when his digits scissor your sensitive cunt.  “We´ll give you anything, sweet girl.” A ragged gasp tears through your throat and his back straightens, proudly at hearing your melodic orgasm rip out through your convulsing frame. “Thats it —” he breaths against your ear, “... that orgasm was nothing compared to what awaits you, if you say YES.”

Collapsing against Mikey´s body, he all too pleased holds you, lifting you a little off the floor, patiently waiting for your legs to work again.

“There is nothing you can do—to make me say yes...” you strive for your voice to sound firm but fail miserably, even so, the message is sent... “—nothing.”

“Well, that was disappointing...” Mikey slumps down a little, “but hey! this was my first attempt to woo you—” Oh my God, they had to be kidding... “I'm sure the others will be successful, and soon you'll come back to your senses, ain't that right, Draken?”

Draken nods, “—but that doesn't mean we can't help her to cope, Mikey,” he adds, wickedly.

“Ain´t you smart, baby…” Mikey praises his lover.

“Just...this time... let ME set the tune—” Draken calls dibs.

“By all means, Commander.” Mikey concedes.

Your sarcastic comeback catches in your throat as the tall blond, invasively slides his palm between your buttocks, and his thick thumb breaches the sanctity of your ass.

You raggedly gasp, stunned by his audacity.  

“—Don´t...!”

“Shhh... just relax and let me work you.”

Your body fills with wildfire, ladling heat into your lower tummy. The sensation is genuinely mind shattering, no one has ever done something like that to you... not even yourself, the discomfort is too fleeting, only remaining a feeling that you cannot describe. 

Your eyes shut tight as your mouth forms an “o” shape, but no sound comes out, and Mikey takes advantage of the moment of blindness to slide his fingers inside your tired slit, thumb designated to your clit, making lazy circles over your vulnerable bundle of nerves.

“It feels—I feel...w-weird,” you gasp out, swallowing thickly and reaching your hand out to rest along the smoothness of Mikey´s neck.  He noticeably leans into your touch. “Relax, baby, just let him work.” He advices reassuringly, peeking down at Draken pumping his thumb, in and out of your virgin ass. 

Your fingers squeeze gently, ranking your nails among the wet skin you can find. “...I don´t think... I can handle—”

“Sure, you can—” Draken is swift to interrupt you, thick fingers abandoning your spasming asshole to brace you up into his arms, you manage to stay remarkably still for someone who is being forced to straddle and present its ass out.  

“I think she´s as ready as she will be.” Mikey suddenly says, speaking to Draken while ignoring your constant pleas for them to stop. “I guess, it´ll hurt,” Draken´s sigh presses against the side of your face, and glimpsing Mikey´s furrowed brows, hurries to add “—but just for a second before she stretches.”

The skin of Draken´s back feels feverishly warm under your fidgety palms as his toned muscles periodically flicker and shine under the slippery gush of water.

“Hold on tight to me, (y/n).” Draken instructs, sliding his palms from your thighs to your ass where he parts your butt cheeks for Mikey to dip the head of his cock inside your butthole.

You have to bite down on your lip, hard and harder, when Mikey suddenly impales you to the hilt in one swift roll of his hips, splitting you wide open in one single sharp thrust, which drags a pitched scream out of you and a highly pleasurable and long grunt, out of him.

“Oh my—….FUCK!” he blasts, out of breath “Oh my fucking god,” his head falls back, gasping deeply.  

“...That good?” Draken wonders, firmly holding the sides of your thighs to keep you sprawl, Mikey nods.  

“I´m gonna—make her milk me ´till she burst,” Mikey mutters raggedly, before setting a brutal pace, your moan piercingly loud, forcing Draken to cover your mouth. “Easy there, gorgeous, we don't want the whole brothel to wake up,” Draken says, and once he sees your brows starting to smooth again, he takes it as his cue to massage your ass before burying himself inside your cunt to the hilt. This is too fucking much. Your body is reaching a point of overstimulation you had never experienced before and noticing your slitted, crossed eyes, the sub-commander takes a long stilling moment for you to accommodate and enjoy the way you feel so asphyxiatingly tight around them, thanks to how well both are filling you. 

“Thi-This...This is definitely it, Babygirl, you are so... so PERFECT.”

“She´s doing so well,” Mikey´s eyes remain tightly shut to be able to last, the slapping of his grinding hips against your ass a constant sound among your pitiful whimpers. “I’m so fucking close,” his voice sounds annoyed, “this kitten´s reaaaaally squeezing down on me, good—Fuck.”

“I know—...Ngh! So, fucking cramped-…. this cunt is...—driving me nuts.” Draken’s long, and awfully thick, every thrust of his fat cock nudges against that spot inside you that makes you see stars. 

You feel them sync up, and suddenly each thrust is appropriately devastating to your inexperienced body, not a trace of pain left, just the feeling of being impossibly stuffed. Your mouth drops open, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when Mikey sinks his canines to your shoulder. “M cumming,” and, bites hard to prevent the loud growl when he spills his seed inside you so fucking violent, it makes his legs almost collapse under his weight. 

“´Yo still with us, Mikey?” Draken barks a laugh when his leader slumps down into the solid ground with a maniac grin stretching his lips like a wild man. His back continues to rise and fall with quiet, unsteady breaths, clearly passed out from overexertion. “Oh my god... oh my fucking God, Kenchin—...I'm going to burst into happy tears, man.”

“´Yo kidding, right?” Draken reaches up and takes one fistful of your hair to lean your face to his, but you are already half-way numb, and groaning a little, he keeps fucking you, steady and slow.

“Then, you call it a day.” Draken hurries to ask his fallen comrade, hips never faltering, your legs limp at each side of him.

“I, fucking, am—” Mikey grunts, too pleased with the experience to even care.

“So, do I have green light to: do whatever the fuck I want with our kitten?” he smirks, slowing down for a second to rub your back, affectional. 

“Sure, man, fuck her stupid... stupider, if that’s even possible.” 

Mikey enjoys the show from the wet floor. Draken gives your ass a hard slap which makes you wince out of your numbness, and throws his head back in ecstasy, allowing your gummy walls to embrace him at its fullest. 

“’M about to find out.” 

COMING SOON PART 7....

⭕️ In my PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this chapter and more spicy Tokyo Rev NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.... Plus 'Spicy Foreplay tier reward' like: voting poll privilege for the exclusively Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the couple pairing and kinky mood for the story and NSFW art, along with some naughty animation like THIS ONE ....and my eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

[kafkaoftherubble]

时鞭自我弊不轻，永宽他人宜为重

//The Intrigue Of Tokinaga Sachiyuki

In the first essay, I speculated about Ahu’az, Furuya Rin (a.k.a. Yako), and Chapter 58.

This one, meanwhile, is a character analysis of Tokinaga. It is the second of my After God essay series. Beware; it's a long read.

You don’t always get one of your favorite characters gone through my Lyndisian treatment, @orange-peel-candy, so I hope this has been a good way for you to pass the time.

Oh, you’re curious about what the Chinese title says?

“Always punishing himself for his profound sins; always forgiving others and prioritizing their virtues.”

It’s my crappy attempt at making a 对联, “duilian poetry.”

There are rules in making one. The same number of characters are used in both lines to form a couplet. There have to be counterpoints in tonal pattern between two lines, such that if they “counter” each other. Words from both lines have to be within the same category, and the meaning of the first line must correspond to the second line's meaning.

I did break one rule though: the first line’s last character has to be of an “oblique” tone while the second line’s last character has to be of a “leveled” tone. In my duilian title, the opposite is true.

There’s also just how lacking in beauty my poetry is. Not much can be done about my genuine absence of literary competency, I’m afraid!

Yes. You might also have noticed it. The first character of both lines makes up the word “时永/ 時永,” which is... “Tokinaga.”

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

Super Good Guy; Very Moral

The first time I read this manga, the one thing that stood out a lot to me, especially against the backdrop of After God’s society and every other character in this series—is how unambiguously moral Tokinaga is.

This is how Nayuu described the Bio-Tech department:

Chapter 4

Not even a minute passed and we got this scene:

Chapter 4

Tokinaga stood out a lot because he was the only one who opposed the unethical treatment of  “a child,” even though such a thing was standard of his colleagues. These people were known for being unscrupulous, yet Tokinaga was calling people out like he was a YouTuber dropping some bombs about his fellow creators.

There are many, many moments like these. In a world full of characters with grey morality, he stood out like a sore thumb just on the virtue of his unyielding, monkish self-discipline.

Chapter 4. Dude was seriously against this when no one else commented on it.

Chapter 9

One might, because of this, pass him over as uninteresting (at least, before the reveal of who he is). He’s straight-laced! He’s nice! He’s the good guy. He will do what’s ethically right; there’s no ambivalence. And yet, I’ve always found his strange fixation with ethics fascinating.

Yes, there’s a personal angle to this—a very close acquaintance (to my chagrin) is incredibly interested in ethics and often ponders about them, even if that situation or thought experiment is pragmatically insignificant. Another dear friend of mine also adheres to ethical principles with the same level of monkish discipline. In both cases, there are deeper reasons for their fixations.

Even before the reveal of Tokinaga’s other identity, this quality of him was already grounds for curiosity. With the benefit of hindsight, I’ll even argue that the mangaka has been teasing us about the full scope of his character with little psychological breadcrumbs.

There is a startling lack of flexibility in Tokinaga’s frame of ethics.

Tokinaga seemed dangerously close to holding a black-and-white morality. But there’s more to it.  

He’s perfectly capable of allocating leeway to most people whose ethics and morals are less than exemplary. After all, the department he cooperates with—due to Waka—is deadass staffed with moral-is-optional weirdos. Their amorality doesn’t make him see them as less, though. He values every single one of them—their safety sent him into a self-sacrificial panic, while their lost lives crushed him straight into depression.

It seems to me that, in Tokinaga’s mind, the only person who should adhere to this black-and-white morality is himself. He needs to be. He has to be.

-----

“Apologize! Apologize! Apologize!”

Chapter 33 is one of my favorite chapters in the manga so far. It’s raw as fuck and a great character study—and it features a very intriguing facet of Tokinaga’s psychology.

Now, dude had just experienced a heart-wrenching betrayal from a dear friend. Losing control of his emotions was only expected of anyone. But he had a very peculiar fixation. Despite the weight of Orokapi’s crimes (including the many people he had murdered as the Snake God), Tokinaga was hyper-focus on only two things: the injustice Orokapi had done to him—and the act of apology.

Previously, he spelled out why he didn’t believe Orokapi could apologize: “You can’t apologize, feel remorse, have a change of heart, or comprehend sadness.” And yet, subsequently, “apologize to me” was what he fixated on. He discarded the commands from his superior and colleague and went berserk in his personal demand for that apology:

Why is an apology somehow enough to forgive the things Orokapi has done? Lives were lost. Damages were done. Orokapi, as Tokinaga’s mentor had said, doesn’t live by human ethics and acts like an animal. And even Tokinaga himself had called Orokapi’s capacity for remorse into question.

So why the fixation with apology? Because, I’d argue, to Tokinaga, it’s the “right” ritual to do. Tokinaga’s stringent, black-and-white ethics demand a ritual.

It demands something that needs to be performed after crossing ethical wrongs, even if it no longer makes sense. Here, an apology is a ritual of absolution, even if it’s technically useless after all that had happened.

Tokinaga clings to it. Why?

Could it be because it’s a ritual Tokinaga himself undertakes?

As you continue the chapter, you might notice—with the benefit of hindsight—that the things Tokinaga was screaming almost sounded like things he would say to himself.

At some point, it could seem like he was projecting himself onto Orokapi—who, by being such a dear friend to him, who learned to be an ethical human from him—was like an extension of himself.

“Don’t run away, dumbass.” “Doesn’t it suck being scolded right now?” “Who would want to be friends with someone like that?”

—all of these could apply to Orokapi, but they can also be applied to Tokinaga himself. For example, Allula called him out on one specific accusation Tokinaga leveled at Orokapi: running away.

Chapter 55

-------

Quite the Literal Hate Boner

We later know one(there are plenty) of the biggest reasons Tokinaga hates himself: he gets aroused and hard from nothing but violence and hate. The more vile and violent, the harder his hormones run. And all this happens contrary to what his higher-ordered thinking believes and thinks.

Chapter 54

Side note: remember how Tokinaga shouted at Orokapi with “Doesn’t it suck being scolded right now?”  Yet, here, he was admitting to his body getting hard from being insulted. The one that felt pained when being scolded was his mind. The part of Tokinaga he believes is him, “the ethical, pure one.” The one he’s constantly reinforcing and tormenting, over and over, as his fitful penance.

Now, contrary to what Tokinaga believed, this isn’t as black-and-white as his thought process made it out to be. You can also just accept that this is who you are, and mitigate what you don’t like reasonably. You’re living in a crappy nigh-post-apocalyptic society with a bunch of amoral people who regularly skirt the edge of ethics, goddamn it. You’re hardly the only one with questionable morality.

In fact, it’s fine. You never act out on these desires. You don’t harbor the thought of wanting to kickstart a violent rampage to pleasure yourself. Tokinaga’s (literal) hate boner can even be safely relegated to the realm of kinks. There are plenty of doms who will happily take him as their cute puppy-dog sub.

But Tokinaga cannot accept it. He is determined to maintain his sense of purity. Even in the face of his sexual desire. Or the decisions he had made using his time-loop powers to ensure his “perfect death.”

He wants to believe he is “clean.” And that he can keep himself that way.

If you were a certain kind of person with a similar thought process as Tokinaga, you might go to punishing lengths to hold onto this quixotic sense of purity, while simultaneously tormented by the anxiety of it slipping away from you.

You might, perhaps, cling to every ritual of purification you can to scrub yourself clean of this constant onslaught of contamination. Apology is one of them. Eviscerating yourself and other forms of mental flagellation is another.

He even mentioned the latter. He described how much his heart ached and trembled at the sight of brutality while his body went ahead and got excited. And then, hinting at punishment, he admitted to torturing his mind with intense mental castigation every night.

Chapter 54

This matches the experience of my aforementioned friend and acquaintance—who, last I checked, are not godkillers who can turn back time (aww man).

Nonetheless, they suffer from a specific mental disorder that I find to be an interesting comparison to Tokinaga’s psychology.

---

Tokinaga Sachiyuki:  An Allegory of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

Chapter 50

Hey! If you’re like my acquaintance, who freezes up at OCD mentions sometimes, take care when reading this part!

Now, I’m not too terribly interested in headcanons. The mangaka has made no such proclamation, either, and so my personal principles come into play. I won’t claim he definitely has OCD.

What I would like to put forward, though, is that Tokinaga’s psychology mirrors much of a person suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. What he has isn’t an exact match to the real-world experience because, again, he’s a fictional character who can loop time and might be a dragon (oops, did I just drop a teaser for my next essay? Hmmmmmm).

---

“This isn’t what I want! This isn’t who I am!”

What separates OCD and Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder is that thoughts and compulsions in the former are egodystonic, while the latter is egosyntonic [1][2].

Egosyntonic: thoughts, behaviors, and feelings that are perceived by the self to be in harmony with their self-image, as well as their goals and needs. “There is nothing maladjusted with my behavior; this is  who I ‘really’ am.”

Egodystonic: thoughts, behaviors, desires, compulsions etc. that go against one’s perception of their self-image, “who they are,” and are dissonant to the needs and the goals of the ego. “There is something seriously fucked-up with my thoughts/behaviors.”

Chapter 55

Tokinaga exhibits egodystonic agony in droves. His sexual desire insults the self-image he holds about himself—the “Tokinaga” who’s disgusted by carnage, unforgivingly repulsed by brutality, as well as terrified of the frequency of such violence occurring in life. He hated all of it with his soul, and yet his penis is getting so fucking hard by seeing it.

---

Intrusive Thoughts and The Behaviors/Rituals To Fight Them

His sexual desire, as well as any thoughts of him being possibly unethical or immoral, are his version of intrusive thoughts. They aren’t just “negative thoughts” he can swat away without them corroding his sense of self. They are his obsessions[3][4]. He had managed to keep them at bay for the first bulk of the story—unless, of course, you notice his compulsive adherence to ethics and his overall behavior from Chapter 30 onward. The façade cracked as the story progressed to Orokapi’s betrayal; it dealt a blow to his mental stability. In Chapter 55, Allula even wonders if Tokinaga is suffering from a mental decline.

All of these distressing obsessions compelled Tokinaga to follow a very stringent set of ethics—which he mostly applies only to himself. To me, his rigid ritual of an apology is as good an allegorical insight as any. His nightly mental castigation, where he fervently visualizes himself dying with all the sins of the world on his shoulder, is an even wider window to such a psyche.

What sets him as a great allegory of OCD while distinguishing himself from OCPD is that he’s not doing this because he believes he’s a good, sinless person.

He’s doing it because he believes he’s the worst.

So shitty, in fact, that he thinks being killed by Allula—whose abuses would put him through the most excruciating, pleasureless pain while his body experiences blissful, painless pleasure—is the only fitting end he deserves and therefore works toward that goal. Before he gets there, though, he’d have to endure his many intrusive obsessions... and hopefully, along the way, eradicate the embodiments of violence the masses had called “gods.”

-----

Conclusion

Chapter 20. This expression tells you a lot about what Orokapi genuinely sees in his friend. One of my favorite faces yet.

Again, lemme reiterate: there is no canonical word on Tokinaga being a sufferer of OCD. I mean, if he were to perform compulsive behaviors, such as skin-peeling or hair-pulling, it might become more canonically implicative.

What I’m going off from here is his actions and psyche so far, as well as the empirical recognition—by my friend and acquaintance—of his experience. To me, OCD has become a fascinating and fitting framework for understanding some of the complexities of this character.

It speaks to the strength of After God’s character writing when Tokinaga turns out to be a great allegorical presentation for OCD in media.

Side note: I’m personally a big fan of writing about atypical experiences in an organic, humanizing way however possible, because it helps readers understand the experience without too much focus on “therapy speaks” and the rules in the DSM-V. Yes, I say this as someone who studies cognitive science, is familiar with that manual, and advocates more rigor and replicability in the fields of psychology.

In case the length of this essay did not show it clearly enough: I adore Tokinaga. As of now, I sincerely believe him when he says he’s genuinely a good person... because, as I witnessed from my friend, it takes a certain kind of good person to be able to get this tormented in the first place. More importantly, Tokinaga may have clung to a stringent sense of morality out of compulsion, but it still makes him a good person in action.

If you feel similarly to him—OCD or not—remember that one’s mind could often distort one’s vice into virtue, and virtue into vice.

Maybe you’re moral because you’re compelled to do so to battle your intrusive thoughts, and so it feels less “authentic" than being "genuinely moral."

But I disagree. As is the spirit of Buddhist Philosophy (which I personally adhere to; also lowkey study), I think you’re already pragmatically good, and through those actions, you already position yourself in an advantageous spot for moral progress. And that will always be a cause for optimism.

Thank you for reading my ramble—despite the length! I hope you've enjoyed it.

----

Citations:

“Egosyntonic and egodystonic” In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egosyntonic_and_egodystonic

“Obsessive–compulsive personality disorder. In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive%E2%80%93compulsive_personality_disorder

“Obsessive-compulsive disorder” In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive%E2%80%93compulsive_disorder

“Intrusive thought.” In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intrusive_thought

[godblooded]

i can’t believe i have to discuss communication for the thousandth time but i have to discuss communication for the thousandth time. if a person im’s you continuously when you write together, it’s them being engaged in your dynamic. which isn’t actually a sin, it’s pretty normal if you’re a neurodivergent individual who just has hobbies and enjoyments. taking every message you get insanely personally is… ridiculous. the amount of non communication that goes on around here, and i don’t mean when a genuine issue is in question, i mean shit like taking someone’s message and applying your own feelings to it. it’s perfectly cool to ignore someone’s message, but if you never respond to them, the person often thinks you don’t want to talk to them. i’m not saying it’s true of everyone — from my own personal experience, whether a person intends it or not, i automatically feel like someone doesn’t want to engage. am I wrong? absolutely. that’s my brain being my brain in its most dysfunctional way. but it’s an innate response — if you don’t engage, the other person will inevitably assume you’re either uninterested or being irritating, and this mentality spreads outward toxically to everyone else. it’s very, very easy to make a person feel like you don’t want to talk to them at all and mixed signals are just shitty to do to a person.

being overly sensitive is a bitch. source: i’m an overly sensitive human being, but some people forget the extent of what tumblr/chat is to some of us just isn’t that serious. some people don’t agonize over the reason somebody said something, or what their content is for saying it. some people are more likely to be talkative than others, which isn’t a bad thing and should stop being treated like it. everyone comes here to rp for different reasons, whether they be involved or loose. some people privatize their space and curate it accordingly, and others are very open and public and more than willing to associate with the community at large. the issue is that it’s become more or less popular to excessively privatize one’s own space, and it means if you happen to be a very social person you’re just ‘annoying’.

is this a me thing? absolutely. i cannot pretend it’s not a very personal pet peeve of mine when enthusiasm is mistaken for being ‘pushy’. engagement and interest isn’t ‘pushy’, even if there are degrees to which it can be (a person spamming you over and over within the same hour, a person actually lovebombing you and not the internet definition where someone’s just really nice to you and you don’t Like It). can neurodivergent people get a little over the top with their interests? yeah. it’s the nature of being nd. but it’s also the reason why i see so many apologies on ooc posts ‘talking about things that don’t have to do with their blog’. there’s no social mores to which you must adhere, this is the fucking internet. it’s genuinely awful to spam and bother someone for a reply or even for attention no matter the situation, but the definition of ‘spam’ has become pretty subjective in the community. don’t harass someone over and over, but there’s a difference between genuinely harassing a human being and just showing interest.

just be clear about communication and try to be open-minded about the way you’re approached. and for the love of god, stop projecting your own thoughts and feelings onto the people you interact with. or, to be more specific, don’t. no one can read your thoughts and you can’t read anyone else’s. it’s a perpetual cycle of making a lot of something out of a whole lot of nothing.

[that-sarcastic-optimist]

hey! really like the fics you write, and if you're still taking requests, domestic klaroline please? like they're settled and everything, could be human au or not, with or without babies, thx!

This is a gift for one of my favourite authors @galvanizedfriend--love love love your stories, especially The Wolf...so hope you like this!

(also this is my first time gifting an author on ao3/tumblr so I'm super nervous)

Combined this with another ask of the ask game: wedding+kc fluff. Hope you like it!

XXX

“Klaus, put me down!”

“It’s tradition to carry your bride over the threshold, love,” said Klaus, grinning as he ran towards the house, careful not to let Caroline’s veil drag on the ground.

“When you're near the steps of the house, not the entire way from the wedding venue,” said Caroline, her tone half-exasperated and half-amused.

“Not in my world,” said Klaus, swinging her around, and she laughed, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“Klaus, people are going to see. They're going to think we’ve gone mad.”

“We got married,” said Klaus, and he couldn’t help but relish the words. “We’re married, Caroline. You're my wife.”

“I’m aware,” she laughed, kissing his cheek. “I was there.”

“Alright, we’ve reached the house now, now you don’t even have an excuse to tell me to put you down.”

“I suppose not,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips. “Carry me over the threshold, husband of mine.”

“As you wish, my love,” he grinned, and swung open the door, kicking off his shoes and slipping Caroline’s off, setting her down. He quickly grabbed her waist and drew her closer, kissing her with a fervour.

“Klaus,” she said, between kisses, “Nik—mm—listen—we have to—Klaus—”

“Later,” he muttered, his hands working at the pins securing the veil to her hair.

“Niklaus,” Caroline said, her voice breathy, “listen to me.”

“Tradition dictates I have a right to kiss my new wife after I carry her over the threshold,” he murmured, kissing her neck, and Caroline let out a soft laugh.

“You're never been one to stick to tradition, Nik,” she said, her breath hot on his neck. “But if you obviously want to listen to tradition, then I think you should hear one of the other wedding customs there are.”

“Alright, fuck tradition,” Klaus growled, setting her on the couch, ripping off the veil.

“Then you obviously don’t want to take off my garter now? With your teeth?”

Klaus pulled back, a light dancing in his eyes. “Well, if it’s tradition…” he drawled, and Caroline rolled her eyes.

“You're an idiot.”

They had mutually decided not to do the garter toss at the wedding (it’s stupid, Klaus, and I don’t want to accidentally flash any of our friends), and had instead decided to do it in their new house (even better, since I’ll get to finish what I started, don’t you agree, love?...Klaus.)

“Skirt up, love,” Klaus smirked, sinking down to his knees. “Since we’re so traditional.”

“Premarital sex is not traditional,” Caroline said, letting out a small gasp as he placed a kiss on her thigh as he looked up at her with dark, lustful eyes.

“I don’t recall hearing any objections,” Klaus replied, lazily snapping the band of the garter against the sensitive skin of her thigh, making her moan. “Lace, love?”

“As if it could be anything else,” Caroline gasped, winding her fingers into his curls when he snagged his teeth onto the lace band. “Just take it off, Klaus.”

“Beautiful thing, this,” Klaus murmured, lazily sliding the garter down to her knees. “Judging by the varieties I've seen, however...black lace. Last summer. Brighton. Shame it didn't go with your dress.”

“If you don’t behave and take it off you'll never see anything like it again.”

Klaus emerged from under her skirt, his hair thoroughly rumpled, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, the white lace garter between his teeth. “Now, I do believe I have a few…traditions…to adhere to.”

“Take me to bed,” Caroline murmured. “Now.”

“As the lady wishes.”

XXX

Thanks for reading! Cheers!

[ms-nesbit]

empire records - chapter 4

summary: Jason is pestered by his family about y/n, and he finally addresses it; y/n meets someone new that causes tension between her and Jason.

rating: 18+ (no minors)

warnings: masturbation, implied content, mention of Dick Grayson and Koriand'r

ao3

previous chapter

“ Shit. ” Jason’s choked cry traveled from his shower to the rest of the apartment, muttering profanities under his breath as his cum shot from his cock. He looked down, the water from his hair dripping down his face, and saw the odd adherent liquid mixed with the water already on his hand.

He sighed, stopping the video on his phone. Jason didn’t leave the apartment for a couple of days, nor did he draw the curtains of his windows - he was so horny , fixated on the video y/n sent him days prior. Even after this being his second round, he felt the blood rush to his sore cock, thoughts of y/n’s hands between her legs flooding his tired mind.

Turning the shower dial to OFF , he ducked, chest to his thighs as he shook the excess water from his head, before standing straight. As he grabbed his towel, his phone vibrated, and he glanced to see the caller. Dick.

Fuck . He accepted the call, automatically placing his elder brother on speaker. “Hey, Jason!” the voice called to him, “How ya doing?”

“Just finished jacking off. How’s life being a pig?” Jason retorted, drying his stringy black hair with his towel before wrapping it around his torso.

“I’m not a cop anymore, Jay. We talked about this-”

Jason interrupted him. “Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Dick stopped for a second, before responding sternly, “Now, if we were gonna go down that route, your line of thinking would mean we wouldn’t accept you after what you did, right?” Silence. “That’s what I thought.” Dick cleared his throat and dropped the mom-tone, something he learned from Kori after they moved in together. “A friend of mine was watching your…livestream, and they said you’re seeing someone. Is that true, lil bro?”

Jason found it amusing how Dick referred to him as ‘lil bro’, despite the obvious size difference between the two; in a public setting, Jason was - on occasion, mistaken as Dick’s father, and the Gotham Gazette had the pleasure of mislabeling Jason and Dick in the Wayne family photos, something Dick considered a simple mistake , whereas Jason considered it fucking comedy gold. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Why you askin’ though?”

“Well, I was talking with Kori and Tim-” fuck, Jason thought, never a good thing. “-and they both asked if you would introduce us to her-or him, I mean! There’s nothing wrong if you’re exploring yourself. We’re all accepting here.”

Jason rolled his eyes. He knows the genuinity of Dick’s sentiment, but why did a man named after male genitalia have to be so awkward about it? Irony, Jason supposes. “Listen, Dick, I know the Wayne sponsored Titans would love to see who I’m dating, but we’re taking it slow right now.”

Incoherent murmurs followed Jason’s rejection, and a brief hush that gave away Kori’s eavesdropping on the phone conversation. Jason acclimated to it though - he knew Kori’s harmless, and was more thankful that someone could withstand Dick’s late night ramblings, gassiness, and overall annoying presence. She certainly is an alien. “Okay, well. Could you at least give us their name? Kori’s bugging me about this and-ow!” A whack cut off Dick mid-sentence, bringing a mischievous grin to Jason’s face while he walked, phone in hand, to his room to change into a pair of sweats. “We just…would like to know. In case some villain tries to kidnap this person, or use them as leverage against you.”

A dramatic sigh left Jason. “That’s not gonna happen, Dickhead.” he pulled the dark gray joggers to his hips, combing his hair back with his hand as he plopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I won’t let it come to that. Trust me.”

“I know you’re strong, Jason, but we’re a family. And families don’t keep things from each other. I know you have your problems with Bruce - and I won’t interfere with that - but at least don’t block me from your life.” Dick had a point: Jason couldn’t differentiate his brothers from his adoptive dad, and it led to moments like this, where they were begging to be let into Jason’s private life.

“Okay. Her name is y/n. Y/n, uh…” he took a look at his contacts, confirming his girlfriend’s name, “y/n y/l/n. Gonna stop pestering me now?”

“Y/n y/l/n…okay. Yep, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone.” Distantly, a loud noise rang, followed by what Jason would only describe as a crashing of pots and pans (they were in the kitchen, unfortunately for Alfred), and disgruntled exclamations from multiple people on the other end.

Jason laughed and pressed the red button, hanging up the call without a proper salutation; it wasn’t as if he needed one, though - that cacophony was enough entertainment for a week.

—

Lay, Lady, Lay played on the bluetooth speakers of Vanity Records , y/n thoughtlessly bobbing her head to the tune as she flipped through the inventory sheets. For a Tuesday morning, it was rather monotonous, pedestrians walking just outside the shop with bags and friends in tow. Y/n hoped the store remained empty, so she could continue playing her favorite discoveries without interruption or complaint, but alas, it was a job, no less, so disappointment was bound to emerge from the horizon.

Vibrating in her pocket, y/n reached for her phone and unlocked it, a notification from Jason shown. She and Jay were exchanging texts and, occasionally, calls - she preferred to call him when the store was slammed, just so that she had an excuse to evade the sometimes overbearing tourists that wandered into the shop in search of an outdated artist.

While responding, the bell of the entrance rang, alerting y/n to take her morning aspirin. “Vanity Records: if we don’t have it, they’re probably thrown in the back with the rest of the used tampons and condoms.” she didn’t bother to look up from her phone screen, despite feeling a figure waiting on the opposite side of the counter.

“Good morning.” Y/n ignored it. “Oh. I’m sorry, I was hoping I could find a y/n here?”

Y/n looked up, finally, blinking back at the person across the counter. It was a tall, tan man with long, black hair, and deep blue eyes. His stance was interrogative, contrasting his insecure tone. “You’re looking at her. What’s up?”

The man’s eyebrows quirked, scanning her body captiously. “Hmm. I was wondering if maybe you could help me find an album? I’ve lived in Gotham for a few years, but didn’t think to stop by. My brother comes here quite a bit though, and recommended you for music.”

“Uh-huh. That so.” y/n replied, unamused. “Who’s this brother?”

The man flattened his palms on the counter as if placing a secret there. “Jason Todd?”

Y/n clicked her tongue, glancing at her inappropriate conversation with the aforementioned brother before replacing her phone in her cargo pants pocket. “Yeah, I know him, but he didn’t mention sending his…younger brother? Tim, is it?”

She recalled the advice Jason gave her the night before:

“You do not have four siblings.”

“/ do, actually.” Jason replied, cockiness deep in his voice. It was usually a turn-off for y/n, but when Jason showed self-confidence, she found herself aroused. “It goes like this: Dick, Cass, me, Tim, and Damian. And we have others that aren’t officially adopted, but they live at Bruce’s…it’s complicated, really.”

“Sounds like it.” y/n paused. “Wait, so is Dick the circus boy?”

Jason nodded. “He’s like, what, seven years older than me? And homeboy is shorter, like way shorter than me. So it’s funny when we’re posing for pictures because always, there’s little Dickie! And he’s like 5’5”, and then there’s me.” Y/n erupts in laughter, phone still up to her ear. “And, best part? There’s a couple of articles in the Gazette confusing us, so he’s labeled as Jason, and I’m Dick.”

Y/n curled up on her bed, cackling hysterically. The level of chaos Jason invited into her life was well-welcomed - her reaction assured him so. “Is he insecure about his height then?”

“Not really, unless you confuse him for someone else like me or Tim or Dami.”

Attempting to blink away his offense, Dick grinned. “No, although that is flattering that I appear that young-”

“Not young, just short.” y/n chimed in.

“Oh, uh, yes. You certainly are Jason’s girlfriend then.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend? Y/n cocked her head, the title catching her off guard. “In the flesh. You into synth, birdie?”

Now it was Dick’s turn to be taken back, alias called out for anyone (yet no one) to hear. “Uh, yeah, I am. How did you know?”

“I know these things. Follow me.” y/n left her station and led Dick to a revolving rack displayed along one of the walls, fingering through a couple of CDs. She picked one and plucked it from the array, and shoved it in Dick’s hands. “Eurythmics. It includes some of Annie Lennox’s greatest hits, albeit certified bangers. Take a look if you want.” she walked back over to the cash register, the clacking of her loud, periwinkle platform boots distracting Dick.

“I think…do you accept card?” Dick asked, walking back behind y/n to the register. He pulled out a wallet with his free hand, opening it up to reveal a selection of cards and identifications.

Including his old badge from Gotham PD, which y/n eyed immediately. “What the fuck? Don’t you read?” she spat. “No animals allowed in here, Bud, and that includes pigs.”

She definitely was Jason’s girl. “Okay, I’ll pay, then I’ll make my way out.” Dick rushed, fumbling through the wallet to hand y/n his card.

She snatched it from his hand and completed the transaction, smacking the keys on the register in frustration, before tossing it in Dick’s direction, quickly crossing her arms. “The fuck outta here with ya.” and she began mock-oinking at the man, her nose scrunching and upper half leaning over the counter until Dick left the shop.

Once he was out of sight, y/n whipped out her phone, calling Jason.

“Dude, he’s a cop ?” for some reason, that was she was most upset about, despite Dick’s confirmation of y/n being Jason’s girlfriend.

“Yep. Bit of a squealer, that one. Not only because of the cop thing, but also because I slept in the hotel room next to him one time, and he was sharing with his wife, and I’ve gotta say: guy can scream. Almost made me feel things… not positive, of course - I nearly fucking puked - but y’know.”

Y/n chuckled. “He’s still dating that strong chick. Starfire, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Wow. She is so out of his league.” Y/n plopped herself back down on the mustard chair, lifting her feet to rest up on the counter. “But yeah, dickhead stopped by saying I’m your girlfriend. That shit true?”

Then, silence, followed by stumbling. “Well, I mean, uhm. Do you-I mean, do you think we’re together? Like I don’t want to rush things with you, but I’m-”

“I’m having a great time with you, Jason. As far as I know, we’re exclusive. You’re a special guy with some weird piggy brother.”

The comment broke the ice, and y/n felt Jason smiled through the phone, and the image made her smile, too.

[sophiasharp]

I think I might be the sole target audience for this but

The Papas during Lobster Mini-Season

Primo

Designated boat driver

Really good sense of direction, helps a lot when it comes to keeping track of old hot spots

Can also cheat and just magic his way into figuring out where all the lobster are hiding. Don’t tell the regulars, they’ll be pissed

Enjoys singing along to the radio while his brothers do most of the actual catching

Goes out again when the rest have their fill to his own secret spots. Enjoys some peace and quiet, taking his time catching his limit. He refuses to tell his brothers where he goes and it pisses them off to no end lol

Secondo

Beach! Bum! Secondo! My! Beloved!

More of a Vegas guy but still LOVES him some ocean time, especially in The Keys. Viva La Conch Republic babyyyyyy!

Gets day drunk while he’s on the boat but then has ruthless efficiency in the water. Soon as he’s out again, the buzz comes back. No one has any idea how the fuck that works.

Is the one that makes sure they adhere to the legal limit. “I refuse to get our asses arrested and have the Ministry deal with that PR issue just because we got greedy with some sea roaches. I’m on thin ice as is, that would just be embarrassing.”

Puts the lobsters he catches in his own personal cooler. This also happens to be where he keeps his drinks. He doesn’t seem to mind so no one questions it.

Insists on listening to Jimmy Buffett when he’s in charge of the boat and at any other opportunity.

Terzo

Weirdly competitive about it, has this inherent need to be The Best at lobster catching. Probably the Middle Sibling Instinct kicking in.

Him and Secondo go head to head every year over who can get more over the mini-season. They’re about evenly matched skill-wise so it tends to go back and forth every year.

Will sometimes start arguments in the water over a catch

“That one was mine! I chased it out of the hole when your bald ass got in the way and stole it!” “I found that lobster fair and square and you know it, fuck off” “Right sure, and Nihil loves us. I hope you sunburn your skull, stronzo.”

There have been slap fights between two grown men in 4 feet of water.

Was the one to figure out that the lobster are calmer and taste better when you keep them on ice. It took. An embarrassing amount of time for them to figure that out. They started this tradition before Google, alright? Give them a break.

Likes to sing along to the radio as well, but makes up new lyrics when Secondo gets on his nerves.

Copia

New to this whole thing cause he was scared of getting in the water and having to pick the lobsters up by hand. Mostly just slept on the boat in years prior

Now that he’s Papa though the others made him participate with them.

He is. Very nervous. First time he scared a lobster out of a hole he somehow scared out a second that was faced the other way and it swam directly at his face, scaring the absolute shit out of him.

His snorkel keeps falling over his ear :(

Lost his net and his tickle stick in water with 4 feet of visibility, managed beyond all odds to find them again, then lost his looper in the process of catching something.

Somehow still managed to get the biggest lobster of the day. Like cartoonishly so. It was his big trophy. They cooked it for him for dinner as a reward for his first outing.

Nihil

Just here so the brothers can increase their legal limit.

He’s become one with the sea grass

Sleeping with the fishies

Don’t worry he’ll wake up when a crab tries to bite his ass

[financeprincess]

any tips for dating an investment banker?

Can’t say I’ve dated one of those specifically but I have dated men from finance and tech industries. All I can say is, these men can be ruthless. You have to be extremely selfish with your time and energy and pour everything into yourself. Don’t be closed off but make him adhere to your schedule too. Your time is just as important as his. I’d say the most important aspect is to be highly intelligent, well read, focused on your education for your sake and otherwise. Don’t lead with it or your finances in a masculine way, masculine men do not care about your income as long as it isn’t a damsel in distress situation (when you’re a damsel in distress you will mainly attract predators). Men with lots of disposable income have a lot of options available to them, dating and otherwise. So I’d say lean in to your individuality and your intellect and don’t be afraid to speak your mind about things you’re passionate or well informed about. It doesn’t have to be the same interests as him either, he might enjoy a different perspective about various topics. I read a few tech and finance newsletters every morning because it interests me, but you can find many other publications for your interests. An acquaintance of mine who’s a tech entrepreneur, even though things didn’t work out between us, said he always really valued me for my insight and my intellect, even over my looks.

And it’s really not about the looks. If you look at higher income individuals they do not go for the overdone Instagram escort look. As long as you are taking care of yourself with exercise, good diet, skin/teeth/nails/hair are healthy and glowing, light but flattering makeup (brows/concealer/blush/mascara/lipgloss type of look), and you dress in a flattering but not too casual or revealing way you’re off to a great start. And also, wear expensive smelling perfume or something unusual like middle eastern fragrance oils. I’m a total fragrance junkie and have very unusual and unique fragrances in my collection, and I always get complimented on my scents.

It’s also important to bring the fun energy, these men work grueling hours with meetings and bureaucratic rules and it can be a very intense and stressful environment. Bringing your fun energy, your feminine essence, your ability to express pleasure and excitement about things can be incredibly refreshing.

[navibluebees]

Someone to be Proud of (Recom Quaritch x Female Human Reader) Part 3

Please read before interacting.

Here is Part 3! So glad to see people enjoying it. :) There is a lil smut in this so minors, you know the drill. Avert your eyes between the gifs. Thank youuu. @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed For you

You stared at him, uncomprehending. “I’m sorry, you have a what?”

“Well… he’s not really mine. He’s his. I mean old me. So maybe that makes him mine. But not really, do you get it?”

Even more confused than you had been before, you slowly put the pieces together. “Okay.. but then why is he here?”

“He was a baby, so he never got sent back. He grew up here around the natives and acts like he’s one of them and he knows where Jake Sully is and I have to find out where or else he’ll get sent back to the lab and Y/N they were torturing him to get answers and I don’t wanna give him back and-“

You placed a hand on his arm to silence him. “Okay, okay, Miles. Calm. Calm, it’s going to be fine. Just go in and talk with him. He’s the son of your former self. Maybe you’ll have some sort of connection. Just go talk.”

Miles nodded firmly, adhering to an order like the soldier he’d been programmed to be.

He went in and spoke with the kid, trying to ease him into some sort of companionship. He eventually convinced him to go along with the team and try to help him understand the Na’vi better. He made it clear if the kid didn’t help that he’d have to go back to the lab. That seemed to be the most effective action. 

That night after he’d finished with the boy, called Spider, as you later found out, he’d needed time to process what had happened and asked that you meet him in his rooms later, showing you how to get there. You waited and watched Spider quietly through the windows. One person was monitoring nearby but was unbothered by your presence. When the food came, you offered to take it in and the worker eagerly agreed so they could get off a bit earlier. The door opened and Spider dove to the other side of the table. 

You held up the hand that wasn’t on the tray and smiled kindly. “Hey, I’ve got some food. Spider, is it? My name’s Y/N.”

He eyed you warily, backing to the corner, looking past you out the door. 

“Hey, I wouldn’t try it. They’ll take you down if you try to escape. Will you sit with me?”

Sullenly, he plopped into a chair at the table and you sat across from him. He eyed the food, cautiously picking at it.

“I don’t think they put anything in it. Wouldn’t be the best choice since they need your help.”

His stomach growled and you stifled a small laugh. He glared across the table before taking a few bites. When nothing happened, he kept eating. “So, what questions are you gonna ask me?”

“Me? Oh, I don’t have anything to ask you, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m a friend of your dad’s.. uh, well the blue version, anyway.”

“He’s not my father.”

You held your hands up in surrender. “Okay, that’s alright. We don’t have to call him that. If you need anything and can’t find him or just want another person to talk to, ask for Y/N. That’s me. I’m not too busy with work right now and I’ll come to see you and help if I can. See you, Spider.”

You got up and the door opened for you. You made your way down the hall toward Miles’ room.

~~~

His room here was near the bay that the team slept in, but due to him being the leader, he was able to get a room similar to his that was on the ship. The bed was in the same exact spot. No bathroom in the Avatar rooms because of the giant beds, but there were some right outside the bay. He was laying back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, still in the same clothes as he had been earlier. You walked over and gently rubbed his arm, squeezing his bicep.

“What am I supposed to do, Y/N? I wasn’t a good father when I was here the first time. How am I supposed to be a dad to this kid?”

You sit down on the edge of the bed, pulling his arm across your lap and he grips your hip. “Well, what does he want? He seems to be terrified. He’s been pulled from the only life he’s ever known. He’s in a holding cell right now. Maybe start by taking care of his needs and worry about being a father later, in the official sense at least. If he isn’t a priority for you, he will see it. Kids are smarter than you might realize, old man.”

His head snapped to you, gaping at your choice of words. “I am not old. My mind is sharp as a whip.”

You raised an eyebrow to him, cocking your head. “Go take care of Spider. We can talk when you’re finished.”

He sighed deeply and sat up. “I’ve known you for such a small amount of time and you’re already bossing me around.” He pulled you into his lap and rocked slowly, holding you. “It’s not so bad though,” he said with a smirk. He put you down gently near the pillows. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

You nodded eagerly, glad he was taking your advice and he went to make sure Spider had what he needed for the night. He got a cot and some bedding put in the room and a bit of extra food in case he got hungry later. He came back within the hour and saw you curled up against the pillows. You had stripped your clothing from the day and his tail flicked when he saw your bare shoulder peeking out. He quickly took off his uniform and lifted up the blankets, scooting in behind you. He tried not to bother you, slowly sliding his arm around your waist and pressing against you gently. His skin warmed where it touched yours and he purred, a low rumble in his chest.

“Miles?” 

“Shit, sorry. I wasn’t trying to wake you up.”

“It’s alright,” you said with a sleepy smile. “I missed you.”

His heart warmed and he curled around you, leaning to press his cheek to yours. “Missed you too, Y/N.”

He tried to ignore the stirring below his waist, but it was only so long before you noticed it, too. Waking up a bit more, you said, “I’m happy to see you too, Miles.”

He flushed and gently bit your shoulder, pleased by the teeth marks he saw for a moment after. He gently thrust his hips against you, breathing hard near your ear. He rubbed your side tenderly and squeezed your thigh, lifting it up and resting your ankle on his leg. He reached between the two of you, moving a bit lower below your hips. He moved his cock between your legs, teasing you with it, loving your little moans. He thrusted playfully, chuckling at your whines. His tail flicked, swishing behind him. He held your leg up, just using his hips to tease you.

You rolled your hips back against him and reached down to touch yourself. He dropped your leg, trapping his cock between your thighs and smacked your hand away. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

You blinked for a moment. “But you wanted me to last time?”

“This isn’t last time. And I want to do it for you.”

Your eyes grew wide and you felt his breath hot on your neck. He leaned down, using his cheek to tilt your head and expose your neck. He kissed lightly and sucked close to your shoulder. He thrusted his cock between your thighs, giddy with the friction. It rubbed against your clit and you arched, smearing your wetness on him. He groaned loudly and thrusted harder, dragging back so slowly. You pulled his arm over your body and he spanned his hand across your torso, pulling you tightly to him. 

His tongue flicked over your earlobe and you shuddered. “That’s it, Y/N. Can you do something for me, doll?”

“Mmm. Anything, Miles.”

“Ride me.”

You turned slowly, adjusting his cock against his stomach. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do more of anything tonight if you don’t feel up to it.”

His eyes were imploring. “Please, Y/N. I need you. I need to be close to you. Everything is so scrambled right now and you’re the only thing that makes sense.” 

Even in the short time you’d known each other, you cared so deeply and nodded. You pushed him to his back and he smiled at your impatience. You crawled on top of him as he was slightly propped up on the pillows. You leaned forward on his chest, raising up a bit so he could adjust his cock to your entrance. He teased you with again, flashing fangs at your irritation. He centered it under you and grabbed your hips, pushing you down easily. The first part was most difficult, but you took his head in with a grunt. You breathed heavily, and his strong arms accepted your grip, tiny nail marks on his forearms. His nostrils flared seeing himself inside you and smelling your arousal.

Miles controlled most of the movement. He pushed your hips down and thrusted his up until he was fully in. You dropped forward onto his chest, breathing heavily. He ran kind hands up and down your back, massaging lightly, moving your hair from the back of your neck and rubbing your scalp. Your face tilted up and he smiled at your expression of ecstasy. Just him being surrounded by you was pleasure enough, but tonight he needed more. He ground his hips up into yours, bringing you back to him. Your hands came up to rest on his chest, rolling your hips down on his. He grunted and gripped you, driving up again and calling out your name.

You reached up to his face with one hand and brushed the sweat off his forehead, cupping his cheek as you brought your hand down. He leaned into it and pulled you close, his eyes finding yours. Torment. It was all you could see. He was so confused in this new body with old memories. So confused about what the true mission was. His only solace was your hands on him and your pussy gripped tightly around him. You moved your hand down, cupping him around the side of his neck, keeping him looking at you. He watched your eyes crinkle in a soft smile as you rode him. 

He wanted his pleasure and yours, but his mind was filled with too much. Remorse, anger, betrayal, confusion. Hadn’t he always followed orders? Hadn’t he always been the best soldier? Why couldn’t Jake Sully do the same? Why did his mind hate the Na’vi so much? Why, when this body was like theirs and it made the woman moving on top of him feel so good? Too many thoughts.

You saw his his eyes glaze over, mind completely gone. You moved away, smiling sadly at him when he was pulled back to himself. “What? Where are you going? We’re supposed to-“

“Miles, sweet man, there is nothing that we have to do. Your mind is overflowing with so many responsibilities and plans. I’m okay just spending time with you even if physical things aren’t involved.”

His eyes teared up in frustration. Embarrassed, he turned over, away from you. Your heart swelled with sympathy for the man before you. You moved closer and spooned him, sliding one of your legs between his, adjusting for comfort. Your arm slid around his waist and pulled him tight to you.

He propped himself up, trying to look back at you. “Y/N. What are you doing?”

“Cuddling you, Miles Quaritch. Lay down and shut up.”

Your harsh command shocked him into silence and he laid back down. He shifted his queue over his shoulder and felt your small cheek press to his back. He squeezed your arm softly and burrowed down into the comfort of the bed. Surprisingly, his thoughts were only of you. Your gentle nature with him. Your willingness to see more and give him guidance in this unfamiliar situation. A partner. He relaxed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[bestworstcase]

if salem and ozma are the gods of choice and knowledge, do you have any thoughts for what that means for cinder and raven, the maidens of their domains?

TO START,

we have to lay out some more general Thoughts and Concepts because this whole. can of worms has been simmering in my brain for more than a year and there’s just. A Lot. i can’t find and link every previous post of mine that has brushed up against it before because there’s too many but i’ve also not done a proper rundown of the whole thing before so we’re going to do that now.

what’s a god?

to lead into this i want to first set the baseline of the typical fandom-wide reading of the brother gods so that we can then talk about 1. what a deity is in the polytheistic sense, 2. why salem and ozma are not in fact “false” gods, and 3. why popular readings of lost fable are largely nonsense

the standard reading of the brother gods is that light is generally benevolent and dark generally malevolent, with some flex on either side to account for light’s rigidity and dark’s fickle nature; dark is implicitly understood to be subordinate and light the de facto supreme creator of everything, with dark’s participation reduced (incorrectly, per the text) to making the grimm and the destructive side of human nature. in essence, the majority of the fandom reads the god of light as the christian god and the god of darkness as the christian satan in fantasy costumes. this is what i meant by monotheistic lens—in popular fanon the god of darkness is effectively demoted to subordinate divine agent of the capital-g Supreme God. likewise, salem and ozma are understood as “false” gods for no reason at all other than circular “well they’re not real gods” logic.

so what is a god?

in the broadest, most simple terms, a god is a being revered as divine.

that’s it.

now if you want to get into the weeds there is a bewildering variety of definitions and meanings because concepts like “deity” and “divinity” have hugely different meanings across cultures and history, but for a loose general definition, we might get a little more granular and say that a god is a being with some degree of supernatural control or influence or power over some part of reality or existence, who interacts with humans in some emotionally or spiritually significant way. <- note the sheer amount of equivocation baked into this definition, because it isn’t possible to concisely and precisely define what a god is without drawing lines that exclude some entities who absolutely were or are gods. this includes attempting to narrow the definition by specifying that the being in question must not be human, because deification of ancestors and culture heroes are both widespread practices throughout history.

indeed outside of a monotheistic framework the notion of a “false” god is frankly meaningless; if a being is more powerful than ordinary humans and worshipped as divine then ipso facto it IS a god. divinity is a social construct.

as it pertains to rwby, the narrative has very helpfully provided some explicit definitions of divinity as it is understood by some of remnant’s cultures:

- a god is a being who uses magic and comes back from the dead (infinite man)

- a god is a higher power guiding people’s actions (after the fall)

- a god is a magical being who offers freedom and change (shallow sea)

- a god is a supernatural being who adjudicates conflicts between mortals (judgment of faunus)

- a god is a phenomenally powerful, but still finite, being who creates and destroys the world (two brothers)

- a god is a being that performs wonders far beyond the capability of any one human (gift of the moon)

some of these ideas overlap with each other and some don’t and some implicitly contradict each other, which is very realistic, but if we look at them all collectively it is perfectly clear that with the possible exception of adherents to the monolatrous brother-cult, most people on remnant would consider not only salem and ozma but also the maidens and the relic spirits to be gods—and the same holds true if we judge by the standards of the real world and polytheistic religions both today and historically.

(this is one of many reasons why the mantra pyrrha recites when she awakens jaune’s aura interests me so much; whatever religious tradition pyrrha subscribes to conceives of death as an apotheosis and that is an intriguing cultural belief to lead with in a story about religious war between two immortal people and their respective cults.)

now of course it goes without saying that the brothers are more powerful than the relics or ozma or salem, who themselves are more powerful than the maidens; but that doesn’t matter because godhood is not a measurement of raw power. divinity is a social construct. these characters are culturally defined as gods, ipso facto they are gods.

worship in the lost fable

the most critical thing to understand about the brothers is that they’re bad gods. i do not mean this in the sense of them being morally wrong (although they are that, too) but rather, they’re bad gods in the way that a bus driver who refused to pick up passengers would be a bad bus driver; the brother gods do not perform the basic functions of the societal role they occupy. this again is something the fandom at large gets abjectly wrong as a consequence of reading the god of light as the supreme-creator God and the god of darkness as the subordinate Devil, firstly because that reading presumes a christian-esque unidirectional relationship between God and humanity and secondly because it demands the assumption that light has the standing to forbid worship of his brother.

and that is um. not how polytheistic religions work. again there is a phenomenal amount of variety here across different cultures and time periods so i’m speaking in broad generalizations but 1. in polytheistic contexts worship of any given deity tends to be a matter of proximity, in the sense that if you go out into the woods to hunt you’ll want to be in good with whatever forest and hunting god(s) you might have in the area; it isn’t about belief so much as it’s about peaceful coexistence with the powers that be, and 2. the expectation is that the gods will make it worth your while. longtime followers and anyone who happened to see the post-9.5 brainmelt incident may recall me throwing the phrase ‘do ut des’ around and this is what that means—a literalish translation would be “i give that you might give”—it’s specifically a roman concept (<- roman polytheism was particularly contractual in nature) but the basic idea is very common. you do things to please the gods with the expectation that they will give something in return, or otherwise you repay divine favors with favor of your own.

thus a god who not only fails to deliver but punishes you for asking is violating their side of the arrangement and, practically speaking, is not going to be worshipped for very long, or at all. if a god who behaves in this manner is too powerful to ignore—as the brothers are—then at best they might be appeased from a distance, but nobody with the slightest bit of self-preservation or common sense is going to keep praying to a god who curses people for praying to them.

and although we see very little of the culture of ancient humans, what we do see suggests quite strongly that careful, arm’s-length appeasement is exactly the dynamic that existed between the brothers and humankind; both have modest shrines on the outskirts of their domains and apparently no formal religious systems whatsoever beyond that, as salem meets with no theological resistance in the course of inciting three kingdoms to rebellion against the brother gods. the incomprehensibly powerful creators of the cosmos were real and materially present alongside their creations, and a single person united multiple nations to go to war with them without so much as a whisper of protest from their cults because THERE WERE NO CULTS!

the brothers were such abject failures as deities that they were not widely worshipped on remnant until hundreds of millions of years after they left, and ancient humans existed in a state of such profound spiritual deprivation that all it took to provoke a rebellion was one woman with nothing left to lose.

—i could go down a rabbit hole here about the god of darkness but i HAVE talked about him quite a bit before so i will do my best to restrain myself. suffice it to say that there are some interesting layers to this where he’s concerned because he clearly does want to be worshipped in this reciprocal way and nearly comes to blows with his brother over light’s determination to prevent that.

the salient point as far as your actual question (we’ll get there!) is that when i say “salem did nothing wrong” i do not just mean that a traumatized grieving woman who grew up imprisoned in a tower deserved compassion instead of exorbitant punishment, i mean that the gods cursed her with eternal torture because she worshipped them. she makes an appropriate offering to both of them and tells them exactly what she wants—that’s not arrogant or entitled, that is straight up just how polytheistic religion works.

the god of choice

i want to stress up front that i’m not arguing that this is a deliberate allusion (because the similarity is archetypal) but rather using the real-world mythology as an illustration of the archetypes salem evokes; with that disclaimer in mind, let’s talk about the popol vuh!

in the interest of brevity i am going to give a very abridged summary; michael bazzett’s translation is lovely though :)

so, basically: the hero twins hunahpu and xbalanque, bastard children of hun hunahpu (whom the lords of xilbalba murdered) and xquic (daughter of a xilbalban lord), grow up in the dubious care of their grandmother and their two viciously cruel (and murderous) elder half-brothers, they’re made to work all day while their brothers play and then surrender the fruits of their labors over to their brothers, and so forth. they overcome every challenge they face through a combination of cunning, resourcefulness, and close connection with nature. when the vain god vucub caquix claims to be the sun and adorns himself with precious jewels, the hero twins are called upon to undo his falsehoods. first encounter with him, they break his jaw and he tears off hunahpu’s arm before escaping; undeterred, the twins trick him into returning the arm (which is then reattached) in exchange for the removal of his bejeweled teeth from his broken jaw by a pair of “doctors.” later they kill his equally arrogant and foolish sons, zipacna and cabrakan, through similarly deceptive means. later still, the twins begin to play in their father’s long-abandoned ballcourt and make so much noise that the lords of xibalba decide to invite them over for murder (as one does) and the twins stretch to the limits of their cleverness and creativity to survive various trials until they’re made to spend the night in bat house and hunahpu’s head is bitten off by one of the bats. (he’s fine) (xbalanque pulls off an elaborate sleight of hand to steal his head back and puts it back on and he’s literally fine). the lords of xibalba at this point are pissed so they build a big oven with the intention of forcing the twins into it; the twins are like, uh-oh, i don’t think we can’t trickster hero our way out of this one, so they instead jump willingly into the oven and get incinerated; the lords scatter the ashes in the river aaand the hero twins come right back to life. disguised, the twins return to xibalba and act as dancers and miracle-workers, burning and unburning houses, ritually sacrificing each other and then rising from the dead again, so forth, until the lords get so jazzed about the miracles that they demand to be killed and brought back too—and that is how the hero twins slay the lords of xibalba, avenging their father and breaking xibalba’s dominance over the land above, after which they depart from xibalba and ascend into the sky as the sun and the moon. time begins, and the final creation of humankind is completed at last. (<- the gods of the popol vuh make several attempts to create humans and destroy each failed attempt; the exact nature of the hero twins is ambiguously divine-human-adjacent.)

again, we are concerned with archetype here, not direct allusion. the essential building blocks of the popol vuh narrative—katabasis, confrontation with the divine, the cyclical creation and destruction of failed attempts by the gods to create humankind, apotheosis through death and resurrection, defeat of an older divine regime as the final act in the creation of the world—occur in a huge variety of different forms across a huge variety of cultures, and i’m referring to the popol vuh because it conveniently combines all of them into a single narrative. what i’m coming to is that a key strength of the lost fable is that it is an entirely plausible creation myth, and given the general nature of rwby’s narrative and its significant and overt intertextuality, there is no doubt in my mind that this plausibility is intentional; the lost fable is not based on any one myth but is rather a fictional myth crafted by combination of many mythical themes and motifs that exist commonly across many different traditions.

from this perspective, the lost fable is fairly unambiguously a story about the apotheosis of a mortal culture hero through a series of deaths and resurrections: she sees the injustices and cruelty of the gods laid bare and challenges their rule, as punishment she is cast into the fountain of creation and drowns and becomes immortal, she takes their curse and remakes it into her greatest weapon against them; the gods, displeased by the defiance of the humans they created, attempt to destroy them, and salem too is obliterated before she regenerates from the ashes; finding themselves unable to to kill her, the gods simply leave and consign her to eternal isolation, but salem casts herself into the pool of grimm and is torn apart and remade and climbs back out into a living new world. whether there is a direct causal relationship between salem’s transformation and the resurrection of humankind is not yet certain, but 1. the structure of the myth positions salem’s transformation as symbolically equivalent to the recreation of humanity itself, in that she wanders the dead ruin of the world alone until her transformation and the next we see of remnant it’s bursting with civilization, and 2. the first humans were created by union of the brothers’ natures, and salem’s transformation explicitly recreates that union (“it created a being of infinite life with a desire for pure destruction”), so mechanically speaking there is good reason to interpret her transformation as the act that gave rise to modern humans: identical to the brothers’ design in every way save for lacking the brothers’ blessings and having instead a kind of magic drawn from their own souls.

and this is what makes salem the god of choice, right. in the mythological sense her rebellion succeeded through its defeat: the gods annihilate humanity and salem is renewed from the ashes and they leave; she drowns herself in the pool of grimm and restores the balance of her soul and the world comes back to life, humanity rises again liberated from the exacting tyranny of the brothers. she is a god not only by the cultural definition given in the infinite man but also the one suggested by the shallow sea, a magical being of transformation and change and liberation.

our souls transcend death

with all of this laid out i want to return to pyrrha’s mantra, because it’s the keystone holding everything else together.

“for it is in passing that we achieve immortality. through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. i release your soul and by my shoulder protect thee.” <- the method pyrrha uses to awaken jaune’s aura is ritualized death and resurrection. aura, she tells him, is about knowing, understanding both light and darkness, within the self and in the world beyond. death is an act of transcendence. note that this mantra is echoed in the lyrics of rising, and the coincidence of this repetition with the lost fable is almost certainly not an accident; pyrrha draws upon a religious tradition that harkens back to the death and resurrection of humankind through the death and resurrection of salem herself. this is the first salvo of rwby’s cosmological worldbuilding and it’s about the triumph of salem’s rebellion, the rebirth of humanity from the ashes of defeat and unbound by death from the will of the brother gods.

the god of knowledge

strictly speaking i think it would be more accurate to describe ozma as a god of fate, but as we’re working within the fourfold metaphysics of the narrative here we’ll call it knowledge. the god of light brings him out of the afterlife and burdens him with an eschatological quest, telling him that humanity is gone but destined to rise again and must be redeemed before the brother gods or else be annihilated once again. he returns and finds salem and it is this unreconcilable tension between ozma’s knowledge of humanity’s fate and salem’s absolute defiance of the authors of that fate that ultimately tears them apart; if salem embodies humanity’s liberation from the brothers, then ozma is the threat of their eventual subjugation or obliteration. their conflict is a conflict between apostate and disciple but also thematically a conflict between choice and knowledge, freedom and fate.

in the more granular sense ozma also prosecutes the cold holy war through control and manipulation of knowledge; he refrains from telling salem the truth until she makes an unambiguous declaration rejecting the god he serves, whereupon he commits to the lie in an effort to guide her back into the fold—which goes predictably and catastrophically wrong; afterwards he devotes himself to eliminating all knowledge of her existence from public knowledge and spends lifetimes nurturing the monolatrous ditheistic brother-cult using careful arrangements of half-truths and lies to coax humanity back into obedient submission, with negligible success. by his own standards of divinity—“a higher power guiding our actions”—he’s a god, whether he cares to admit it or not.

but the most critical piece here is silver eyes, whose origin has been definitively confirmed but not yet explained: they are not, as maria assumes, a gift from the god of light, but rather a trait found in bloodlines stretching back to ozma. they come from him—and the quality the silver-eye magic belongs to is not creation but knowledge. after the first time ruby glares, she experiences echoes of pyrrha’s last moments in her dreams, remembering dialogue she herself did not get to hear; when maria teaches her how to use this power, she instructs ruby to think of the people who love her and how that makes her feel—to know what it feels like to be loved, so to speak. the first time ruby glares deliberately she has to call out to the avatar of knowledge for help, symbolically associating the glare’s magic with the presence of knowledge. and of course rwby has been very clear from the beginning that the sphere of knowledge encompasses emotion; grimm, creations of darkness, are drawn to emotion, the god of darkness himself is driven by emotion, and true human magic—aura—arises from knowledge of light and darkness, life and death. thus the glare, fueled as it is by love and grief, is at its core a power derived from knowledge.

(note that silver eyes are powerfully associated with light—and the relic of knowledge is a lamp.)

cinder and raven and broken fairytales

okay so with the preamble out of the way, both cinder and raven are to salem and ozma respectively as salem and ozma were to the brother gods; that is, cinder wants something from salem that salem is not willing to give and she is willing to disobey and defy salem in order to get it, and raven was entrusted with knowledge and power with the intention that she would use both in service of ozma’s will. the key difference with cinder is that salem met defiance with concession and compromise, and the key difference with raven is that upon realizing that her mandate was far worse than she had been lead to believe, she changed her mind and walked away from it.

in this sense both of them reveal the correct way forward; the brother gods must be made to uphold their side of the religious contract and ozma must find the courage to lay down his mandate and walk away. that salem gets it right when she’s put into the divine position is interesting mainly for what it might suggest about the way she conceives of herself in relation to the brothers—at a minimum she has correctly identified their tyranny not as their refusal to give her what she wanted but rather in punishing her for asking, hence why she takes responsibility for both cinder’s disobedience and her failure while still maneuvering cinder away from direct confrontation with the winter maiden. this also means salem is now in uncharted territory, in that she chose not to repeat the cycle of divine punishment and what cinder will do next is an open question.

similarly raven is due for a return and i expect that to loosely coincide with the reveal that summer rose is working for salem and team rwby’s return from the ever after, and for all of these things to incite change in ozma through their combined indictment of his conviction that there is no greater shame than “retreat.” raven in particular has already offered a direct counterargument to ozma’s philosophy on choice; he says “there is no shame or disgrace in abstaining, only in retreat” and condemns raven for choosing to “abandon her duties in favor of her own self interest,” she says the only sane thing to do is “look at all the information […] assess the situation, and make a choice”—and while raven has made plenty of bad choices, broadly the narrative agrees with her stance, not with ozma’s. the kids have been assessing the information in front of them and adjusting their choices in response to new information ever since the lost fable, and V9 so far is very much about questioning and looking at things from different perspectives in order to find better answers. so whereas the god of choice is changing herself by choosing to compromise, the god of knowledge has lost his absolute control over knowledge and is on the brink of a serious challenge to his philosophical understanding of choice and knowledge; a nascent third repetition of human rebellion against divine authority that must be answered before the story can end. and resolving these confrontations, negotiating reciprocal compromises with both salem and ozma, sets the pattern for final resolution of the ongoing conflict with the brother gods.

[faithintaiwan]

july 23 - taipei to yilan

Today we took the party bus to Yilan! I don’t know what I would do without the bus. On the way we went to the Baimi Wooden Clog Village (museum) and the Kili Bay Pearl Milk Tea before we went to our hotel.

Our first stop, the wooden clog village, had us begin with a game. Three clogs were fused together and people in our group had to work in teams of three to walk in the clogs back and forth in the front lawn of the building. The goal was to beat the other team of three! Then we went inside and got demonstrations of what the clogs felt like and how they are used. The one with diagonal cuts and set at a 45 degree angle really hurt my feet and the stretches with it were so painful but it felt good after.

Upstairs, they then took us through how to make little clog keychains! We got to stamp patterns into leather using these metal sticks and then color it with some kind of leather stain and paint. I put an elephant with a heart and water being sprayed on mine and colored it green and gold. I wanted to use the white paint more but it was so hard to work with and I almost ruined part of my pattern.

After our tour through the history of clogs we went to the Kili Bay Pearl Milk Tea place to create our own boba! Once we were done, we made our final trip to the hotel where we found out that the rooms were not created equal. Floor 3 was about half the size of the rooms on floor 7 and didn’t have a shower. Instead it had the traditional two bathtubs for an onsen experience. The entire bathroom was also covered in glass on two sides with a curtain providing privacy between the room and it. Unfortunately, the curtain did not cover the whole glass wall resulting in a vertical slit right where the toilet is where someone outside can see inside.

The bathtub was honestly pretty nice but having to hold the shower head to take a pseudo shower beforehand was definitely not fun.

Academic Reflection

Before I came to Taiwan, many people encouraged me to drink as much boba as possible while I was here. Abroad, I think one of Taiwan’s defining features is their invention of the drink. According to our National Geographic readings, it was first created in the 1980s out of the traditional tea houses Chun Shiu Tang and the Hamlin Tea Room. The true inventor of the drink is controversial because neither side can prove they were the actual first. Their court case was never decided on who invented it because the judge concluded in 2019 that it was “irrelevant” due to it not being patented. Back home, I love getting boba from Tan Cha in Gainesville and various shops in Washington so it’s been so nice having inexpensive boba for once! Usually I would be paying 8 to 10 dollars for just one drink, but here it ranged from less than a dollar to 3 which is so much more affordable.

Clogs also have a long and rich history. Baimi, the village, boasted a local clog industry but disappeared after the craft began to lose popularity. What’s left of it has been preserved in the Baimi Clogs Museum. Unlike in Europe, clogs in China and other Asian countries don’t cover the whole foot, rather they are made of wooden bases with a leather strap to adhere the foot to the base. According to the museum tour guide, the first clog was made to scale a mountain. It had two vertical blocks of wood that could slide in and out of the wooden base. The front would be taken out to climb the mountain while the back would be removed to descend. This would help with fatigue by keeping the foot at a tangent position to the body despite the steep terrain. My mom gifted me a three set of little decorative clogs from the Netherlands (?) after her trip there! Seeing the difference in shape between the Taiwanese ones and the European ones was so interesting and I now have another little clog from our keychain making experience to add to my collection!

[devilishdescent]

you're not a pervert for being conditioned to be the way you are — but also if you are one, maybe, a little bit, on a bad (or good! i don't know you) day... it's not a crime? everyone is a freak and a pervert. hold my hand and let's think about similarities between vivisection and sex

oh yeah no much love to perversion and its adherents, that’s just Jokes. certainly i still have some entrenched puritanism im working to get rid of but that’s how it is being american. this morning’s freakout isn’t about that.

this is about the servitude thing, the way it seems to have infected every part of my life, every relationship, every character i play, everything i think about myself and others. i don’t want to be the way i was conditioned to be! it sucks! a friend told me once that i was like a child soldier for house parties and they were fucking right! why am i, at 28, only just now realizing that i can’t see myself as anything but a servant? why haven’t my other six therapists noticed before now? why haven’t *i* noticed before now? are other people seeing this?? hello???

i had never thought about it in my life and suddenly its everywhere i look. it’s horrifying! the complete opposite of the freedom and validity i feel looking back and seeing all the transgender foreshadowing in my past.

honestly the only reason i said pervert at all was because im *not* horny about servitude. and that’s honestly worse - if it were something i got hot about then at least i would have a reason to indulge in it, would have the opportunity to recontextualize it and make it mine. and i could cum good about it!

but i don’t. i just have this busted ass power dynamic that im apparently obsessed with recreating to a self destructive degree. and i didnt even get a kink out of it.

[dcbbw]

Second Born

This story was one of my offerings for #Kiara Theron Appreciation Week 2023, Day 4: Family/Friends/Relationships. It is later than usual (even by my standards), and I have no expectations for it to be added to any Masterlist other than mine.

The original idea was a collection of drabbles based upon a canon incident involving the Lady of House Theron that just has to affect /impact her, or at least I think it would. As is typical with my writing, the stories would be crafted with more head canon than actual canon.

I’m sticking with that premise, with one exception: instead of drabbles contained within one fic, I am breaking it out into five separate stories for two reasons: Instead of rushing through five stories, I can take my time with each one, hopefully providing more depth and context;  and it provides Kiara content at various times throughout the year (why should MC and main LIs have all the fun?).

Starting off with Second Born, a Liara story exploring Kiara’s initial reactions and responses to her brother Ezekiel renouncing the Castelsarreillan Dukeship.

Huge thanks to @lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes for hosting this event and THANK YOU to all who will read this story. Your likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated more than you know!

Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. MS Editor rates this fic as 99% error-free.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspo: House Song, Searows

Word Count: 1,321

Pairings: Liam x Kiara

Rating T for Teen

House Theron, Duchy of Castelsarreillan

Kiara Theron stalked across her Great House’s grand foyer, her stiletto heels tapping sharply against silver-veined black marble. Her arms were held tightly to her side, her hands clenched into fists. Her lips were pressed into a thin line; her hair bounced in the space between her shoulder blades.

“Lady Kiara!”

The hushed shout echoed softly throughout the large space; Kiara ignored it as she disappeared into one of several formal dining rooms. As she stalked through the room, her eyes critically surveyed the dining table, properly set with Wedgewood china and Waterford crystal while it awaited occupants and lunch.

When her follower arrived, he pushed the door partly shut; it allowed them a semblance of privacy while still adhering to propriety. The room was incredibly large, rivaling that of any in the Palace; he found himself seeking Kiara out, finding her staring out a curtained French window, her eyes trained on the group still chatting on the front steps.

“Kiara,” King Liam murmured in her ear. “Love, what’s wrong?”

The Lady of House Theron stamped her foot against the cherrywood floor as she whirled to face her lover.

“YOU KNOW what’s wrong! You were there!”

She placed her palms flat against his shirt-covered chest, lightly pushing him. Liam didn’t move.

“How … how Ezekiel could announce in front of the ENTIRE royal entourage that he’s abdicating the Dukeship before telling me and our parents? And then my parents APPROVING of it!”

Liam stepped back slightly, studying his lover attentively. “I would think being named Duchess of Castelsarreillan would be cause for celebration and congratulations, not wrath and consternation.”

Kiara took a few steps away before slowly sitting in a dining chair, her lips pushed to the side as she exhaled a frustrated breath. She tilted her head up to meet the monarch’s gaze.

“I don’t want to be Duchess. I am the second-born, which means … or meant I was free to pursue my own path. Ownership of a duchy and ruling over its citizens was not a part of that!”

Liam sat in the chair next to her, the palm of his hand covering the top of hers.

“As trite and overused as the phrase is, you were bred for this. You’ve always been House Theron’s representative. At Council meetings, at galas and charity functions. Frankly, I believe all of Court had forgotten Ezekiel was next in the line of succession.”

“I was the ambassador for my house! NOT the heir apparent,” Kiara huffed, snatching her hand away before dropping her face into her palms. “I don’t want to be permanently tied to Cordonia! There’s entire world beyond our borders, and I want to see it. The only reason I’m here right now is because I agreed to an arrangement with you.”

She glanced quickly at Liam, but his expression was neutral. “That sounds horrible, but you know my heart is in travel, negotiations, and languages. Eventually, a UN ambassadorship! It always has been, and now that I have the opportunity to put my education and training to good use … I can’t because Ezekiel wants to be a VETERINARIAN!”

Tears of frustration welled in the corners of her eyes.

“Veterinary medicine is an honorable profession,” Liam replied slowly, unsure if he were adding gasoline to the fire.

“HE DOESN’T WANT TO BE A VETERINARIAN!” Kiara yelled. Her fist pounded the table. “A lifelong dream that NO ONE KNEW ABOUT, he just blurts out in front of EVERYONE?” She shook her head vigorously. “No, that was just to impress Penelope. He simply doesn’t want to be Duke!”

Liam nods slowly. “Much like Leo didn’t want to be King.”

“But why?” Kiara’s question was strangled, as if her frustration and anger were lodged in her throat, choking her. “Why do they get to do as they please? How do they get to shirk responsibility? And why is it automatically presumed that the second-born child will just be held accountable for someone else’s duty?”

Quiet as Liam pondered an answer. He cleared his throat after a few moments before speaking.

“We’re called spares for a reason. In our circles, birth order determines who is the chosen one; it doesn’t always mean that they are the correct one for the responsibility that comes with governance. The entire purpose of leadership is to push forward in a positive direction with a propensity towards betterment. For all. That requires a level of service that not many have, a selflessness that must be constantly cultivated, an objectivity.

“I wasn’t happy when Leo abdicated, but I knew I would step up. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. Same as you, I was taught and groomed to be the representative, and much like you … I enjoyed it for the fact that it was a temporary thing. And when it became permanent, I still enjoyed it. Unlike you, I didn’t have any plans towards a future endeavor. I found myself, my purpose when Leo stepped down.”

Kiara’s eyes searched Liam’s; they were calm, clear, accepting of his situation.

“What if I don’t want to do it?” she asks softly, plaintively.

“You don’t have to. You can refuse, and upon your parents’ deaths, the duchy reverts to the Crown’s ownership, to be bestowed or sold at the ruling monarch’s discretion.”

Kiara processed Liam’s statement. Castelsarreillan had belonged to Theron lineage for centuries, multiple centuries. Back to a time there was no Cordonia, and the primitive land was filled with magic and legends. That fact raised her ire even more: It wasn’t on her to ensure that the family line retain it a century more.

And yet, now it was.

“What if … what if there are children? Future heirs to the duchy?”

Liam shakes his head. “You know as well as I do that a renunciation or refusal to assume the position offered is absolute. Of course, provisions can be made for the last of a bloodline; in this scenario, that would apply to Ezekiel only. “

“Because I’m a woman, and any children I would bear would only carry my blood and not the Theron name.” Kiara finished Liam’s thought in a tone laced with both annoyance and resignation.

Her lover shrugged his broad shoulders; the Lady lightly licked her lips at seeing how his frame perfectly fit his suit jacket. “I don’t make the rules.”

This elicited a small chuckle from Kiara. “You’re the KING! Of course you do!” She lightly swatted his upper arm; her fingertips lingered at the feel of defined muscle.

Liam flashed her a small smile before chewing on his lower lip, a tell that he was contemplating something.

“You do realize that the ascension would not be immediate. Your parents are both fairly young and in good health. The paperwork is merely a formality, securing the line of succession. You would have many years to pursue your goals and ambitions. And being a Duchess wouldn’t restrict you from having a career.”

The slam of the front entry doors alerted the pair that the others were preparing to join them. Kiara stared silently at the ivory-colored soup bowl, its edges rimmed with a 24-carat gold band.

“I know that; it’s just that it makes me feel as if I’ve run out of time. That my hopes, dreams, goals are now on some accelerated schedule, and I have to rush through my life to live with another’s life choice. And for what? If something does develop between Zeke and Penelope, he becomes a Duke regardless.”

She swallowed heavily as her fingertip idly traced the bowl’s golden ring.  

“I just can’t help but wonder if Leo and Ezekiel realize that their actions, aside from being the largest dereliction of duty, alters the trajectory of history.”

Liam leaned in closer to Kiara, smelling her hair and inhaling her scent for the briefest of moments before drawing away as chatter and footsteps drew closer.

“Or they’ve given us a chance to make history.”

Tagging: @jared2612 @ao719 @marietrinmimi @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @queenrileyrose @alj4890 @yourfavaquarius111 @motorcitymademadame @queenmiarys @choicesficwriterscreations @lizzybeth1986 @sazanes​

[modernmanblues]

chances

CH 2: VOGUE PT. I

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: playfulness, hothead Stewart, insinuating rivalry between group members, flirting, some fluff

a/n: I am dividing this chapter in two parts, with the latter being where most of the action happens. I've decided to do this because honestly, I've been going through severe writer's block and running out of tasty ideas. Not to worry, they'll come to me in part two.

“Hi..you alright, beautiful?”

“Should we get on with it, then?” Eric poses the question to the group, exchanging dazed looks with his mates fishing  for a response. 

“What’s that?” Lol sounds oblivious, furrowing his brows at Eric.

“Are you daft, Laurence?! The photoshoot, man!” Eric responds matter-of-factly, sounding slightly irritable. 

“Just asking a simple question, Stewart. No need to be ornery..Christ. And stop calling me Laurence! You know I don’t like being called that!” Lol exclaims in an aggravated tone. He rolls his eyes in dismay at Eric’s sarcastic remark.      

Eric glares at Lol, his face turning a slight serosanguineous color. “You know what, I’ve got a good mind to thum-” 

There is increased tension in Eric’s tone. I find myself growing slightly aggravated at this somewhat hostile interaction. I decide to interject. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” My command is solid and firm, “why don’t we just get this over with? We’re wasting valuable time and I’d hate to keep you all here longer than you need to. You can reconcile your differences once we’re through here.” 

The four men crane their heads toward me, gaping at me and seemingly flabbergasted by my audacity. We all stand in momentary silence, exchanging dumbfounded looks. I glare at each of them, feeling some convection of heat in my face.  I’m feeling irritable at the moment. I will NOT be babysitting a bunch of grown men.       

Eric takes a stride towards me with swagger, something I have been keenly observing. He smirks at me, his eyes adhered to mine. A little deviant. This one’s going to be trouble, I can tell already.    

I stand with my arms crossed and head turned to the side, avoiding his gaze to my aggravation. Eric is standing just inches away from my face. I take in his body heat as he firmly clasps his hands on my shoulders. He places a finger under my chin, gently shifting my head to face him. He searches my eyes with his and succeeds. 

“Hi..you alright, beautiful?” His boyish smile instantly remedies my temper. A lump travels down my throat as I shudder under his gaze. 

Beautiful? Oh he’s funny..he thinks he can just sweet talk his way out of this. However, I’d be lying if I said this term of endearment coming from him didn’t have an effect on me. 

“Yes. I’m fine, Eric. Now can we please get started?” My voice cracks as I attempt to control the mild fluttering in my stomach. Tension leaves my face as I meet his gaze. 

“There, there now..this is just how the lads and I talk to each other sometimes. Sorry, did we frighten you?” His tone is reassuring. Like a clairvoyant with a keen ability to tap into human emotion, it seems as though he can read this tense feeling I’m having at the moment. He remedies my affliction by gently rubbing my upper arms, and as he does this I feel tension gradually exiting every inch of my body. His touch is soothing, and I’m finding it difficult to resist sinking into his arms yet I somehow manage to maintain integrity.       

I peel away from Eric’s hold. I strive to maintain composure. I shut my eyes momentarily, running my fingers through my hair. I inhale deeply and exhale–one slowed, controlled, meaningful breath. I bring my hands together and smile broadly at the men as I collect my thoughts.

“Now, are we ready for some nice pictures, fellas?” I glance at Eric. He smiles at me timidly, like a school-aged child who’s just received a wholehearted compliment from his teacher for the first time. 

“Absolutely!” 

“I was born ready!” 

“I didn’t dress to kill today for no reason now, did I?

“I have been looking forward to this all day.” 

They strike me with their commentaries in a rapid-fire fashion. Listening to them rave about the photoshoot with such enthusiasm overwhelms me with joy. My mood is uplifted, considering how irritable I was just moments ago. I smile at the men gleefully as I listen to their banter about how one is perhaps the best dressed for the occasion–an amusing interaction to say the least. 

“Oi, lads! Before we get started, I suppose we should get better acquainted with our lovely photographer. After all, she still is very much a stranger to us.” Lol says this matter-of-factly, darting his head towards me. His face brightens as he grins at me widely.  

“An interrogation.” Eric shoots a glance at me from the corner of his eye, smirking. 

An interrogation?! Well I certainly did not sign up for this..

“Lol’s right you know. I think it’s only fair that we get to know a bit more about..you. If that’s alright with you, of course.” Eric places emphasis on the word you.  I feel as though he’s prodding me on purpose, and he’s found the perfect opportunity for me to be vulnerable and be an open book to them..to him. I certainly could be overanalyzing his intentions, and my thought process may even be a bit delusional, but a girl can only speculate. What baffles me most is why these men seem invested in scrutinizing my rather uneventful life story. Whatever the reason is beyond me, but I feel obligated to feed their curiosity now that they’ve opened up this portal. 

“Very well then. Shall we take this discussion somewhere more..private, if you will? I prefer that my personal business be discussed just amongst us and not with the rest of the world.” I demand an accommodation since they’ve so graciously requested to know the details about my parody of a life. 

“Of course, of course! Anything for you, love.” Eric glances at me, he is beaming with boyish allure that’s gradually growing on me. Charming. 

“Right this way, come with me.” He leads the way into a small, secluded section in the rehearsal room. The rest of us follow him like a parade of baby geese following their mother. 

I quickly study the area. From first glance, the area looks neat, organized and free of clutter–surprising, considering this is practically a playground for young musicians that presumably indulge in some raucous behavior in their spare time. Oddly enough, I feel proud of them for keeping this place in pristine condition. Minimal furniture present–I note the bright red, horseshoe-shaped sectional and the large black round coffee table stationed in the middle. I turn my attention to the two clear ashtrays, a couple half empty bottles of scotch, the open box of Winstons and four diamond-cut whiskey glasses sitting on top. Rockstars by trade. 

“Please have a seat.” Eric pulls up the hem of his denim jeans before sinking into the sofa. The three others follow suit and sit to his right. 

I want to maintain professional boundaries. They sit on one end of the sofa while I settle myself on the opposite end. With the coffee table separating me and the men, I feel that this is a comfortable distance. For some odd reason, I feel like I’m at a job interview–this is almost reminiscent to the day I sat to interview with Dan for this job 5 years ago. Only difference was we were seated in the two suede love seats he had in his office–I should say has because he still has them things in there. 

“Lovely studio, by the way. It’s nice to know you crazy kids are able to keep this place up despite all your antics.” I say this jokingly of course. The American in me all too often resorts to sarcasm as a way to break tension–at times a strength, other times a weakness. 

Graham chuckles, glancing at me with sleepy eyes. A tiny smile interrupts his blunted expression. I am just now noticing his lengthy eyelashes. They complement those dreamy, dark brown eyes of his. Oh he’s gorgeous. His dreamy eyes, his slick, black curls, his slim figure, his nonchalant demeanor–he is every photographer’s dream, I think he’d do well as a fashion model in my honest opinion. 

“Mm..yes. Eric and I are keen on orderliness and unfortunately, we’ve had to constantly keep up with the mess that these two lunatics make.” Graham is matter-of-fact, glaring at Kevin and Lol. 

“Right. And we’re not going to repeat the story of how they left this place in shambles last week after play fighting with string cheese and meat pies. Looked like a tornado tore this place apart..empty beer bottles, meat pie remnants, traces of cheese and shaving cream all over the damn floor. Man was it a sight! You just had to be there.” Eric tuts. He narrows his eyes at Kevin and Lol, shaking his head in dismay, “Graham and I are always babysitting these two fools.” 

“Oi! We did too clean up after ourselves, Eric!” Lol sounds like an exasperated young child who’s just been scolded by his mother for misbehaving. 

“We were tired and we were bored out of our minds so we wanted to have a bit of fun. Lol and I had our thrill, but I can assure everyone here that we enjoyed responsibly by cleaning up our own mess, otherwise we wouldn’t have heard the end of it from Susie Day over here.” Kevin rolls his eyes at Eric. 

“Sod off, Godley! You’re not any better than Lol and you know it! In fact, you’re far worse sometimes!” Eric scoffs at Kevin’s tongue-in-cheek remark. 

Eric swipes the box of Winstons from the coffee table. He slides a cigarette out from the box and a lighter from his jean pocket, then anchors the cigarettes between his lips. He quickly produces a tiny flame with one effortless flick of the sparkwheel with his expert thumb. He leans his head into the flame to burn the tobacco. He takes a puff from the cigarette, then exhales a steady stream of smoke into the studio air. 

Eric leans his cigarette against an ash tray and presents me the small carton, smirking at me. “Would you like one?”

He rises from the sofa and takes a stroll towards me and introduces the small carton of pure nicotine to me. I stare into the box mindlessly. Cancer sticks. I have never had a single cigarette in my life, but today I’m feeling bold.

“I would love one, thank you Mr. Eric.” 

I withdraw a cigarette from the box and he ignites a flame with his lighter once again. I lean my cigarette into it, locking eyes with him. He smiles at me timidly. I study his eyes–they’re a gorgeous light brown color. I take note of how they glisten when the light hits them from the perfect angle. His partially disheveled hair suits him well–it enhances his attractiveness. His curtain bangs fall perfectly over the corners of his eyes, just enough that I can still catch a glimpse of them. The subtle rose color that blush his cheeks is becoming more prominent as he takes in the mild heat from my cigarette. He is breathtakingly gorgeous and undeniably photogenic. He is a model client, and one that photographers would absolutely rave about. Rare beauty as we like to call it. 

As a photographer, the skill of ascertaining beauty in certain individuals makes me sound superficial and perhaps even biased, but indeed it is a skill that is core to the profession and one that requires a lot of time and patience to master. Of note, there’s a kind of beauty that appeals to me. The ability to identify this type of beauty is a skill I’ve acquired as a novice photographer–most consider me seasoned at this point in my career, but frankly speaking, I consider myself a novice. I have much to learn still. 

I take a hit off my cigarette then crane my head up to face Eric. I expel a cloud of smoke into his face, smirking at him. I feel like playing a little game with you, Mr. Stewart. His face grows more smug as the traveling smolder gently collides into his face. 

“Rookie.” He raises an eyebrow at me, maintaining his smug expression. He looks rather sultry. 

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Mr. Stewart?” I gaze up at him, smiling broadly,  “you may choose to answer that only after everyone else is through with their questions. Now, would you please be seated? I believe you and your mates had some inquiries about me?” My tone is direct. Of course, this is not my first rodeo and providing redirection is an art that I seem to have acquired naturally as a photographer.  

Giving direction is a constant struggle for us photographers, especially when working with unhinged rockstars. I’m still trying to gauge these ones, however. I can’t quite tell just yet whether or not they’ll be trouble, the lot of them. 

“So bossy..” Eric playfully rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He turns around to tread back over to the sofa and sinks into the cushioned furnishing. 

Eric takes his partially burned cigarette then anchors it between his fingers. He takes a hit off it then leans it back against the ashtray. He leans over the coffee table, sliding over one of the whiskey glasses closer to him. He proceeds to swipe the bottle of scotch and unscrews the top then pours some of the liquor into his glass, about a shot’s worth so it appears. After pouring his desired amount of beverage, he glances at me from the corner of his eye. The look he keeps giving me is rather alluring, if I didn’t have any self-control I’d be swooning. 

“Care for some scotch, hm?” Eric raises an eyebrow at me, his tone seemingly coaxing me to agree to the offer. 

“Oh that sounds lovely. I would love some, please.” My smile is demure. He and the rest of the group have been more than accommodating to me thus far, it’s overwhelming to say the least. 

Eric pours a shot’s worth of liquor into a whiskey glass and delivers the glass to me. 

I look up at him with an infectious smile. 

“A gentleman and a scholar.” I lean my cigarette against the ashtray and proceed to steal the glass from him, then raise it as if making a congratulatory toast. I take a sip of the alcohol. 

He slides back into the sofa. Raising his glass, he smiles broadly at me.

“And a woman with class.” he winks at me as he takes a sip of his beverage. 

That fluttering sensation in my stomach is back. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I feel the temperature in my cheeks rise gradually. 

“Well, lads? Questions? For the lady?” Lol inquires the group, raising his brows as he glances at his peers. 

“Where in America are you from, exactly?” Graham bravely initiates the query. 

“Brooklyn. New York.”

“Is that right? I heard only the best tasting pizza in the world comes from New York.” Eric is quick with his remark. 

“Why’s it always about food with you, Stewart?” Kevin scoffs, rolling his eyes at Eric. 

“Do you always have to be so-” 

“Next question, please!” I interject before any bickering ensues. 

“Oh yes, do you have a favor-” 

“What makes you happy?” Eric interjects Lol, locking eyes with me. 

A lump travels down my throat. I drag my hand across the sofa deliberately, feeling its soft, velvety texture to ease my nerves. I take another sip of liquor. I smile at him genially. 

“My family. My work family. My friends. Photography..my clients. They make me happy. I get to capture people’s most candid moments. And what I see in them..I see passion, devotion and at times even frustration. But that right there is the very thing that lured me into photography. People allow me to capture their most vulnerable moments. That’s what I love most about my profession and to see that side of people is what makes me happy.” That was perhaps a little more than what needed to be said but it was a well thought out response, in my opinion. 

“That sounds lovely.” Eric gives me a boyish smile. He has not peeled his gaze off me. 

“And what about you, Mr. Stewart? What makes you happy?” 

He sits in silence for a moment while he takes a sip of liquor. 

“Well I do fancy what I do around here in the studio and being in the company of these three hooligans. There’s never a dull moment.” Eric playfully nudges Lol. 

I chuckle at Eric’s response. He maintains a fixed gaze on me as he takes another sip of liquor. It seems as though this entire interaction has grossly been about us, with the other three men being our fervent audience. 

“Now, what’s all this about?” Jonathan appears unexpectedly. His tone is scornful. 

“Jonathan darlin’, we were just wanting to get to know the girl! She’s been such a delight to have around.” Lol grins brightly at Jonathan. 

“Fraternizing with the photographer, eh?” Jonathan shoots his eyes at me, giving me a smoldering look, “might I suggest that you youngsters continue this little hubbub after you’re through with the shoot? It’s getting a bit late, lads.” Jonathan shifts to a more father-like tone. 

The men collectively sigh and grumble indistinctly, seemingly disapproving of Jonathan’s suggestion. 

Eric cranes his head towards me, ogling me from head to toe, “I suppose.” 

“Alright fellas, who’s ready for some candid shots?” 

“Me! Me! Me!” Kevin and Lol frantically wave an arm up in the air like school-aged children desperate to answer the teacher’s question. 

“Ma’am, I am ready for my beauty shots.” Eric proclaims, striking multiple ridiculous poses. 

I giggle at his playfulness. “Fine. Let’s get on with this finally, shall we?” 

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[lazysublimeengineer]

fractured wings

Summary: Hiori was intoxicated by the dazzling light of Isagi out in the field and he wanted to get closer. Even surpassed his glittering lights of passion towards soccer. Too bad he was just a mere dying star circling around his orbit.

Characters: Isagi Y. & Hiori Y.

(A/N: Inspired by the latest events in the manga. Also, I have mixed emotions about the latest chapter of the manga. My baby Hiori is finally shining in this arc but at what cost? Anyway, there are heavy spoilers for this one shot as some of the scenes and dialogues are excerpts from the manga panels themselves. So, if you haven’t read the manga yet and don’t want to be spoiled ahead of time, hit the back button. But if all is good then proceed reading downwards. I don’t own anything from this franchise except for this fic of mine. Respective ownership belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura for this wonderful manga.)

“Thanks for picking me.”

“I didn’t do it for you... It’s just that I need your abilities to score. That’s all there is to it.”

Right.

Isagi’s words earlier had tethered him on the reality of their situation in Blue Lock. They needed to score against the Ubers. Isagi needed to score a goal against Kaiser to make him the hero of this match and better striker in their team.

Isagi needed him.

No.

Isagi needed his skills to his own advantage.

It was like with his parents and their expectations of him.

Nevertheless, Hiori found himself never minding it if Isagi was the one having an expectation of him.

Maybe because in that moment he saw a beacon of hope in front of him. A shining light out in the field amid the oppressive space of the environment and their opponents.

Isagi’s eyes were a a pair of dazzling hues of ocean that he could drown himself in.

And he couldn’t help but to reach out for him. Reach out for him up in the sky even if the gap between the two of them were a million miles away.

He wanted him to shine brighter.

He wanted to be the one who would make his light better than everyone else.

He wanted him to become the king of the field.

“Hiori! Over here! Pass it here!” Isagi yelled desperately from the other side of the field.

Hiori held the ball under his control.

He wanted to pass.

He needed to pass.

He needed to do what’s the most logical thing in this situation and to adhere to the code of the Bastard Munchen.

Cold logic and rationality should always persevere over the whims of their hearts and fickle emotions.

But in that moment Hiori hesitated.

A shadow loomed over his heart and gripped it tightly that made him bewildered and second guess himself.

‘That’s it! Shoot Yo! We expect great things from you!’

‘Become No. 1 ya hear me! No. 1! We believe in you!’

Hiori wanted to silence his parents’ voice inside his head.

He hated how they pushed their expectations on him.

But he didn’t hate Isagi’s expectations of him.

And yet...

…

“Pass it! Hiori! Look at me!” Isagi’s loud voice became a white noise in front of him.

The shadows’ voices grew louder and louder.

‘Shoot. Isn’t that what a striker is all about?’

What’s the right choice?

‘Believe in yourself. Find something that truly gets your blood pumping. If you don’t start there, you’ll keep running in circles, idiot.’

Karasu’s voice permeated his senses and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

He kept hiding behind other people’s expectations and pretended that everything was okay when in reality he was a coward who kept running away and didn’t believe in himself.

He was done with that phase in his life.

“I’m gonna believe in myself! This shot will be my answer!” Hiori’s emerald irises blazed with a raging determination and ferocity as he finally took a shot and hit the ball fiercely going to the net.

“He shot it?!” Aiku watched in disbelief and horror as the ball started to fly towards the net.

“Oh my. Didn’t see that comin’...” Lorenzo looked utterly surprised by the cyan haired’s shot.

Hiori could feel all the stares on him and the ball flying through the sky with their expressions ranging from awe, disbelief, horror and shock.

Even Isagi was momentarily taken aback by his actions.

However, the feeling of brief respite and hope thrumming inside of him was immediately squashed away by Sendou’s block and sent the ball rolling back into the field.

“Nice Sendou!” Aiku yelled victoriously.

The glimmer around Hiori’s eyes died and was replaced by a trajectory of combined misery and disappointment written all over his face.

“Ah... I knew it... I wasn’t meant to play soccer after all...” Hiori whispered to himself like a dying man in the middle of a dessert.

What was he thinking?

Being a striker himself?

Risking it all and not even passing to Isagi?

Laughable.

Hiori was intoxicated by the dazzling light of Isagi out in the field and he wanted to get closer. Even surpassed his glittering lights of passion towards soccer. Too bad he was just a mere dying star circling around his orbit.

He could now see himself kissing goodbye to the opportunity of being included in the starting lineup in the future match against another opponent.

There was a gaping hole of wretchedness inside his chest and Hiori wanted to curl around his bed and let the pillow drown the impending sorrow that threatened to escape itself from his entire being.

Unbeknownst to him, Isagi stared at him with those gleaming blue eyes and pupils marred with a stark realization of everything.

(A/N: Reviews are amusing so let me hear them from you.)