#(“we have NO IDEA what's going on here. None at all. None of them have ever escaped. Ever. Nope. None. It's a complete mystery.”)

[fuck-customers]

We're starting up interviews for seasonals and the amount of people who have no idea how to handle job interviews is astonishing.

You know why it's important to make yourself likeable??? Because none of us here want to work with someone who is an asshole, arrogant, or bland as hell! This is a tiny store with a tiny team - we all got to get along to some degree. No one wants to be around someone who's always negative about everything either. It's not cool or edgy - it's just annoying. You don't have to be super bubbly and out going either.

We have a more casual dress code, but do you see any of us wearing sweatpants and oversized, stained hoodies??? No? Then why did you wear that to the interview?? There are plenty of places to find nice looking clothes for cheap. You don't have to get super fancy either or drop a lot of money on it???

Why didn't we call you to set up an interview? Because you called yourself anti-social and requested a stock room position - WHICH WE DON'T HAVE! The only position listed is sales associate! You also just showed you never walked into the store before because one visit will show this job isn't a good fit for you.

Why should we hire you when you flat out admitted to stealing?? Not just worried about the store products - we're supposed to trust you around our own personal belongings in the back?? Fuck no!

No we're not going to schedule another interview. You didn't even show up to the first one and didn't bother to call ahead to let us know why until a few days after. We already filled the positions because there were others who actually showed up and management liked them! If you would have called beforehand to say something came up they would have rescheduled!

My brother's and sister's in bear please look up some interview etiquette and tips if you really don't know what to do. I'm tired of seeing people complain that it's always the businesses fault when they don't get hired. Please reflect on your own behavior for interviews because chances are it's truly honestly actually you who's holding you back.

Posted by admin Rodney

[lovecla]

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, nico hischier x you:

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, phase one:

<last chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: none!!

➴ word count: 2.1k

💌 from me to you: i heard it’s thanksgiving in the us so happy thanksgiving to all of you!! thank u so much for all the love in part one, but here’s where the fun really begins. also, thank u for the 500 reblogs <3 i love u all so much and i’m thankful for all of u. 🤍

𖧷

emmaroberts

Newark, New Jersey

liked by nicohischier, dawson1417, ninahischier and 603 others

emmaroberts night out :)

View all 30 comments

user1 it’s so funny to me how the hischiers always like emma’s pics like they love her 😭

miaturner YOURE SO FINE HELP HELP HELP CALL THE COPS

emmaroberts miaturner mia you’re mentally challenged but i love you a lot

user2 it’s not even been five minutes since she’s posted and nico’s already in the likes

user3 user2 and so is nina so???? your point??

tmeier96 Why was I not invited 😢

emmaroberts tmeier96 next time we’ll call you promise

user4 ok. have u guys seen nico’s story

user5 user4 omg yes do you think they were dining together

user6 user5 user4 it wouldn’t be THAT much of a surprise bc they’ve been friends for AGES

user4 user6 you’re right i guess 🤷‍♂️

𖧷

nicohischier and emmaroberts added a new story!

𖧷

THE FLORAL perfume you had chosen for the night was bothering you, yet you had no one to blame but that one lady at Sephora who offered you a huge deal and made you buy it even if you didn’t like it that much.

Realistically speaking, you knew that the perfume wasn’t really the issue here. You were nervous about this whole fake-dating thing, even if you’d been your idea to begin with.

Lying and faking things weren’t really your deal. As a child, you’d always get in trouble because you could never lie properly. Growing up, you also faced your own problems because you can’t lie.

But you really want to help Nico.

Tonight’s Luke’s 21st birthday, and you had been invited to his little birthday dinner, a small celebration with people from his team and close friends, which included you. Although, you’re going more as a plus one than a friend, but Luke doesn’t need to know that.

A knock on your bedroom door has you turning your head around, facing Nico as he leans on the door frame and crosses his arms in front of you.

“You look nice,” he compliments you, and you smile, putting your arms behind you.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“So,” he claps his hands, sighing. “Are we ready? What’s the game plan for today?”

You take a deep breath, mentally repeating the “plan” you’ve been working on.

“Okay, this is what we’re going to do tonight, and Nico, you have to take this really seriously or else—”

“You sound really scary right now—”

“Nico.”

“Okay,” he pouts. “Go ahead.”

“All of your teammates are going to be there tonight and if anyone is going to help us fool Nora Ellis, it’s them,” you walk around the room, moving your hands as you explain your thoughts. “If we make ‘em believe that we are very much in love and together, then we’ll be safe.”

“That will be kind of hard,” he shrugs. “We’ve been friends for a while and we’re close but… I don’t know.”

“Nico,” you step closer, standing in front of him. “For this lie to work, you have to believe it. We have to believe it. It’s the only way we’ll be able to make this work.”

He whistles. “You know a lot for someone who can’t lie to save her life and started crying when I asked you if you had turned my jerseys pink when you decided that washing them with Nina’s pink shirt was a good idea.”

You roll your eyes and bite your lips, trying to hide your smile. “I just read tons of books.”

“When was the last time you—”

“This isn’t relevant right now!” you point your finger at him. “What’s relevant is: we need to make your teammates believe we’re together and in love. Think you can make it?”

Nico smirks, poking your cheek with his finger.

“When have I ever backed out of a challenge?”

“You’ve been around Jack for too much time, you’re getting too cocky,” you joke, crossing your arms. “So, the second part of your plan: PDA, pet names and touching.”

“Go on, little genius.”

“Lots of touching,” you say, feeling your cheeks get warm as you emphasize the word lots, making you want to look elsewhere. You don’t. “Lots of PDA and I guess we can squeeze some pet names in there too.”

“What?” he chuckles. “Want me to call you baby? Sweetheart?”

You spend the next five seconds forcing your face to remain red-less and your heart to stop beating so fucking fast— you were afraid Nico might hear it, considering how close you were and how fast it was going.

Gulping, you continue. “I don’t want anything,” you mumble. “I just think it’ll work.”

“Then we’re fine,” he claps again, moving his hair around. “Do we need to discuss something else?”

You look at the watch on your wrist and click your tongue.

“We don’t have time, we have to leave now,” you walk towards your bed and grab your purse, your phone and your wallet. “We can talk more in the car.”

“Lead the way, baby.”

Oh God, you think as you hear Nico’s laugh and comments about how fun this is all going to be, what have I done?

𖧷

“OKAY, AND remember, we started dating a month ago but we kept it super lowkey,” you remind Nico as you walk by his side towards the restaurant Luke chose for the night. “I hate lobster, you hate pop music.”

“I don’t hate it—”

“Strongly dislike,” you smile, before looking down, where Nico had just slipped his hand and intertwined both of your hands together.

Right. You’re dating.

Entering the fancy place, you felt Nico’s body close to yours, and you tried your hardest to keep your cool. You were used to being close to him but not in this way, not like this—

“Hischier!” Jack shouts across the room and you almost want to knock him out with your own two hands for yelling like this and drawing everyone’s attention to you and Nico. “And… Emma?”

It was almost comical how grown men looked interested in your hands together, and how many smiles you could see directed at both of you. Your grip on Nico’s hand tightened without you even realizing it did, and you smiled politely at Luke and the rest of the Devils.

Nico let go of your hand for a second before shaking hands with Luke, wishing him a happy birthday like an old grandpa.

“Hey, Emma, thanks for coming.” Luke hugs you briefly, barely touching you, and you grin.

“Happy birthday, Lukey.”

“Emma!” Mia, one of your best friends, shouts and gets up, running to you. She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, happy to see her again after weeks. “I didn’t know you were coming! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I forgot,” you lie, feeling your cheeks getting warm. Mia looks at you like a human lie detector and you can tell she sees right through your bullshit but, happily, she doesn’t say anything else. “Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Ella’s here, too.”

You look around and try to find Ella, smiling when you see her sitting beside Luke, quietly speaking to one of the wives sitting beside her.

“I’ll talk to her later.” You reply.

You and Nico spend the next five minutes greeting the other people there, the rest of the players and some of the girlfriends before finally sitting down by Jack’s side— per his request, you must say. Nico’s hands immediately found yours as you placed them on top of the table, before grabbing the menu and smiling at you, brown eyes full of mischief.

“What do you want to eat, baby?”

Before you could even think of what to say, Jack’s loud and annoying laugh filled the table. “I fucking knew it! Hamilton, you owe me a hundred bucks!”

“Oh, man,” Hamilton sighs as he picks up his phone. “Couldn’t you guys keep hiding your relationship for a little bit more?”

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, looking at him before looking at Jack again.

“Dougie and I made a bet: if you made your relationship public by the end of the year, I’d win,” Jack starts, and you can tell how proud he is. “But if you didn’t, he’d win. Thankfully, I know my man here always gets my back.” He cheers, slapping Nico’s shoulder.

“You’re such a fucking child, Hughes.” Mia hisses before looking at you, clearly asking you why you hadn’t told her before.

“Shut up, princess. Now,” he grins. “My money, Dougie.”

You stare at them in disbelief, while Nico puts on his best performance and squeezes your hands together, smiling like he had just been caught eating snacks before lunch.

“Sorry, guys. We were just waiting for the right time,” he explains, and he sounds so natural you have to remind yourself to keep your surprise hidden. “Didn’t want to be like you and rush things.”

“Oh, screw you,” Jack laughs. “We all knew. You’re not slick.”

They kept talking while you tried to hide the fact that the things they were saying made no sense. Because you and Nico have never been close, romantically speaking. Sure, you’re friends, best friends if you want to go that way, but dating?

And, okay, you’re used to people thinking you’re together, because apparently a guy and a girl can’t be friends anymore, but this? The fact that they were sure of your “relationship” with Nico, sure enough to bet? This is surreal.

“Did you choose already?” Nico whispers to you, and you look at him with wide eyes. You don’t answer, trying to find the right things to say so you don’t screw up everything. “Baby? Are you okay?”

You nod, blinking a few times before staring at the menu in Nico’s hand again. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I’ll get the Caesar Burger, please.”

“Great choice.” He smiles at you, before telling your orders to the waiter.

You thought that your biggest concern here would be Nico, but in reality, it’s going to be you. You can’t really deal with too much attention on you, that’s why you’ve been keeping yourself in the shadows for this long— Hockey players can be loud and invasive sometimes, and you’d rather hang out with their kids or parents, because they won’t ask questions you don’t want to answer.

“So,” Timo starts, sipping on his beer and resting his chin on his hands, looking like a goddamn school girl. “What made you decide it was finally time? Sie ist ein hübsches Mädchen, Nico.”

Nico looks at you, smiling. “Ja, ist sie,” he nods, and even if you have no idea of what they’re talking about, you smile too, because Nico’s smile makes you want to smile. “And, I don’t know, man. If you had a girl who looked like this,” he points at you with his head. “Would you want to hide her?”

“Nico, he won’t ever get a girl like Emma,” Dougie laughs before getting shoved by Timo. “Ouch.”

“Well, I think it’s nice you guys are finally out.” Palat’s wife says, making you smile and rest your head on Nico’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” you say, sweetening your voice to the max. “I think we were just trying to understand where we stood before, y’know, letting everyone know.”

“How did the Hischiers take it?” Mia asks, looking extra curious. “I bet Nina was happy.” Like I would’ve been if you had told me sooner, she mouths, making you cringe. Sorry, you mouth back.

“They took it well,” you lie through your teeth, squeezing Nico’s arm more than you probably should. “And Nina is just glad her sister-in-law isn’t a Hockey obsessed girl.”

People laugh and you can’t help but feel you had just gotten your approval from Nico's friends.

Nico changes the topic of the conversation, moving back to Luke, the star of the night, and you’re glad for it. You eat side by side with him, you laugh at his jokes, you’re constantly touching him, as he’s constantly touching you.

“We should go out some time,” Mia says, casually, like she doesn’t mean anything by it. “Y’know, catch up.”

“Like anyone would willingly choose to spend a day with you.” Jack bickers, and Mia rolls her eyes at him.

“Go fuck yourself, Hughes.”

“Hey, guys,” Luke yells from the other corner of the table. “You promised you’d be nice to each other today. It’s my birthday.”

“I said no such thing—”

“You can’t even hear what we’re saying—” They both say at the same time.

“Jack and Mia. Shut. Up.” Luke says and they both pout while they shut up.

“It’s so funny because they’re much more alike than they think.” You whisper to Nico, smiling as he places his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly.

“They sure are, baby.”

It all seems so… natural. It’s weird and unsettling, but you’re fine with it as long as it helps people buy your lie. Also, the feeling of Nico’s heavy hand on your thigh isn’t really unpleasant.

The rest of the evening flies by and when you notice, it’s time for you to leave. You almost don’t want to, for the first time, happy to spend time with the players.

“D’you think they bought it?” You ask when you’re away from the guys and the restaurant. Your hands are still together but none of you notice it.

“I think they did,” he chuckles. “Actually, it was a lot easier than I was expecting.”

None of you address the fact that they already thought you were dating, though.

“Yeah,” you whisper, looking at your heels. “Phase one is complete, then.”

“I like how seriously you’re taking this,” he says, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to look down at you, dimples on display for the whole world to see. Yet, you were the only one watching them right now. “Thank you. Truly.”

You smile, standing on the tip of your toes and giving him a light, brief kiss on the cheek, as you’re used to doing.

“You’re welcome.”

<next chapter>

[m0rkl]

The People We Become || Reverse Portal AU || Stan Vs. The Multiverse

Back to talking about My Mans and this AU

Stan's Adventures Through The Multiverse

After tumbling through the exploding portal Stan ends up in this sort of between space, lost between dimensions where there are rifts steadily opening and closing around him. He has no idea really what they are or where they go, so he's lost and freaking out.

He's desperately calling out for Ford to come save him. For a while, he's determined to stay put in case the portal opens back up again, but his cynical side tells him Ford has already abandon him and he's stuck here forever. Stan fight back and forth with himself, both unwilling to believe that Ford would just let him stay here forever and uncertain that Ford doesn't think this is exactly what Stan deserves.

Bill senses the Dimension 46'\ Portal open and goes to the location only to find Stanley and no portal to be found. Seeing Stanley with the journal, Bill tries to manipulate Stan into giving him the journal, saying that he and Ford wrote it together long ago.

Bill says if Stan give him the journal, he'll send Stan home easy peasy. Of course, Stan knows a con when he sees one and tell him to go fuck himself. Bill is less than please, but keeps trying to manipulate Stan. It doesn't work.

Stan: You know, my brother might be the one with the brains, but I've got that other thing.

Bill: Oh? And what might that be?

Stan: PUNCHING!

[Stanley punches Bill in the eye and launches himself into a random rift.]

Luckily, Stan lands himself in a sort of interdimensional central hub where travelers can stop and rest for a time. Unluckily, this particular hub is dominated by a shitty totalitarian government and he gets stopped almost immediately by law enforcement. He doesn't have real ID on him, just one of his shitty fakes, which might have worked on random crappy traffic cops, but not dimension hopping violent super cops.

Stanley gets thrown in jail with some other petty criminals, which is truly his home element these days. He makes some quick friends and they break out, stealing some poor sap's a luxury ship mini cruiser along the way.

Now that he's made some criminal friends, he gets some totally absolutely completely legal ID and credentials and learns to pilot ships.

For a while, Stan travels around, taking sketchy jobs, running with various crime group and actually... having a somewhat good time? Turn out space crime is kind of more fun that normal crime, even if he feels like shit for doing some of it. It's just as dark and dangerous as the life he was living before.

Over the years he has a couple run ins with Bill and usually scrapes out of it more or less in one piece. None of it is pretty though. It is Bill, after all.

He runs with various crews, making money, losing money, racking up debt, going to prison, escaping prison, becoming a fugitive, becoming a hitman, a thief and all kinds of bad shit. But after twenty or so years, he gets tired of it.

He decides to settle on a quiet planet and lay low for a little bit with the small amount of money and connections he's made over the years. The planet he's on is like a small town. He's nervous around such 'normal' people, but does well with kids and ends up being the mysterious and gruff, but kind old man who feeds the kids who don't get enough to eat at home or don't have a safe place to stay. It's nice. But doesn't last very long.

He catches wind of a trans-dimensional locator that wouldn't necessarily get him home, but it would be a start. He'd have to find a way to hook it up to his Rift Hopper(the device he uses for dimensional travel) AND keep it untraceable to Bill. It won't be easy but it's closer to a way home than he's had since he got here.

He joins up with a rag-tag treasure hunting crew that might be a little morally gray, but they're better than a lot of the crime lords Stan has worked with. He travels with them for a while, being their main muscle and negotiator for jobs.

When there's trouble, he takes it upon himself to get them out of it and tends to be very self sacrificing. He is still Stanley Pines after all.

This crew LOVES their goofy violent self-loathing grandpa and are 100% on board with helping him find the translocator. Even if it means he'll leave them ):

But as Mabel and Dipper make progress on the portal back in their dimension, blips of Dimension 46'\ are sent into the multiverse. Which means Stanley can track a rift! ...But so can Bill.

Bill comes after Stan and his new crew, taking them hostage. Stan agrees to go with Bill if he lets the crew go. Bill tries to make a deal, but Stan tricks him, gives the crew the translocator and the crew narrowly escapes. Stan does not.

Bill holds Stan captive and tortures him, both to get the translocator and because he just fucking hates Stan after all this. Also, torture is FUN! (for Bill)

Stan can't escape and starts to think maybe this is just how he's going to spend the rest of eternity. He starts losing hope, thinking it's what he deserves for the life he's lead.

But then! His crew comes to the rescue! No way they were going to leave their weird violent human grandpa to Bill's wrath! They risk their lives to save Stan and escape Bill

... but bad news. The translocator device broke when they were making their initial escape. Stan is pretty okay with it, but then... the portal opens. It's definitely to his dimension, but it's locked onto his energy signal some how???

He's confused, because why would Stanford be looking for him after three decades of nothing? Could someone else be searching for him? What the hell is going on?

But the portal is right there and finally Stan gets to go home! But he knows Bill is still after him so he has to close this dumb reckless portal asap

....tbh now I just wanna write a bunch of shorts about Stanley's adventures through the multiverse

[arixella]

A Day Under the Sun

pairing: Luffy x reader

a/n: none

wc: 500

contains: fluff

The sun is warm on my skin, and the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the Going Merry fills the air. It’s a perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky, a gentle breeze rustling through the sails, and the crew is scattered about the deck, doing their usual thing. But I’m not paying much attention to them. My eyes are focused on one person, and that person is sitting on the edge of the ship, legs dangling off the side, gazing out at the horizon with that wide, carefree grin of his.

Luffy.

I can’t help but smile to myself. He’s always like this, always full of energy, always finding joy in the simplest things. Even on a lazy day like today, he manages to make everything feel like an adventure.

“Hey, Y/N!” Luffy’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see him waving me over, his smile growing even wider. I can tell he’s been waiting for me to come join him.

Without hesitating, I walk over and sit next to him, letting my legs swing over the edge of the ship too. The breeze feels good against my face, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of just being here with him.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask, glancing over at him.

“Nothing!” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Just looking at the ocean. It’s so big, Y/N. I wanna see all of it someday, all the way to the end of the Grand Line!” His eyes light up at the thought, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re always thinking about adventure, huh?”

“Of course!” he says, puffing out his chest with that proud, goofy expression. “That’s what pirates do! We go on adventures!”

I chuckle, nudging his shoulder lightly. “And what about right now? Don’t you want to enjoy the moment, too?”

Luffy tilts his head as if the idea of enjoying the moment is a bit foreign to him, but then he flashes that big, bright grin and shrugs. “Sure, why not? The moment is fun too! But it’d be better if I had meat,” he adds, looking around like he’s hoping a giant roast chicken will magically appear.

“You’re always thinking about food too.”

“Yep!” Luffy laughs, unfazed, and then his grin softens a little, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “But being here with you is good too.”

I blink, a little surprised by his words. For a second, he’s not the goofy, always-hungry pirate captain. He’s just Luffy, sitting beside me, and the warmth in his gaze makes my heart do this strange little flip. I try not to let it show too much, but I can feel my face turning a little pink.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” I say, my voice quiet.

Luffy doesn’t seem to notice the sudden change in my mood. He’s already back to grinning, jumping to his feet, and striking a dramatic pose. “So! Let’s go have a competition to see who can eat the most meat at dinner tonight! I’m gonna win!”

I laugh, shaking my head at his boundless energy. “You’re on. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re the one who’s stuffed.”

He sticks his tongue out at me, then grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. “C’mon! We’ve got a lot of meat to eat, and I’m not gonna let you beat me!”

I let him drag me across the deck, laughing all the way. Even if I didn’t know it at first, I realize now: being here with Luffy, in this moment, is an adventure in its own right.

[gaiuskamilah]

pleeeeeaaaase tell me more about aerin being groomed by the dreadlord !!! (analyses, headcanons, anything you want)

minor spoilers for b3 ahead! also cw for discussions of grooming and canon-typical abuse, a brief mention of rape, mentions of books where rape & grooming are big topics (lolita & my dark vanessa). this got really long lol

so it's pretty much established that aerin was already very much isolated from people at a young age due to a number of factors, his fear of and abuse by baldur (and arlan) being the primary reason for that. he was also a meek and shy child who wasn't as popular in court compared to baldur. aurinae also died early in aerin's life, leaving him without the one figure who actually cared about him.

all this contributes to aerin being extremely vulnerable to the dreadlord. (minor spoiler) in b3 aerin mentions that he was nine when the dreadlord first started speaking to him. when you're a young vulnerable child like him, it's easy to fall prey to someone who seems like they have your best interests at heart. his family was either dead or resented him, he's the spare who people don't care about - the dreadlord's promises sound really good! we only got little of the dreadlord himself throughout the books, but i like to think the dreadlord did not actually care about him, only using him as a means to an end as he was a vulnerable child in a position the dreadlord can exploit.

(spoiler) aerin also mentions that the nerada stone was given to him after an incident where he accidentally used shadow, and that most shadow magic was done with the dreadlord's help. to me, the giving of the nerada stone is like a predator going "don't tell anyone, it's our little secret, okay?" i like to think this little secret between the two of them makes aerin feel special, and wanting for more, even if keeping the secret very physically hurts him (as mentioned in b1). what a lot of people don't seem to understand is that a lot of the times groomers make their victims feel special, and that causes a lot of mixed feelings from the POV of the victim. they do genuinely start to love their abusers, and from that line of thinking i like to think that aerin similarly has complicated feelings for the dreadlord (as does nia have for the temple of light, kamilah & adrian for gaius, etc etc).

with all this done i also like to build more on the idea of aerin's isolation. another thing that tends to be ignored is how the structures around the victim actually assist in perpetuating and providing avenues for the abuse to happen. in lolita (i keep mentioning this book on my blog, lolitapilled forever i fear), humbert tells dolores that she has nowhere else to go, that if she reported it to authorities etc they would shame her and mark as rotten forever and insitutionalize her and she'd never have a normal life ever again -

“While I stand gripping the bars, you, happy neglected child, will be given a choice of various dwelling places, all more or less the same, the correctional school, the reformatory, the juvenile detention home, or one of those admirable girls’ protectories where you knit things, and sing hymns, and have rancid pancakes on Sundays. ... if we two are found out, you will be analyzed and institutionalized, my pet, c’est tout. You will dwell, my Lolita will dwell (come here, my brown flower) with thirty-nine other dopes in a dirty dormitory (no, allow me, please) under the supervision of hideous matrons. ... Don’t you think that under the circumstances Dolores Haze had better stick to her old man?”

which he isn't exactly wrong about! if aerin had opened up to the people around him about what was going on, what would they do? if he went to his family, they'd shun and hate him even more. if he went to the temple, they'd brand him a heretic and also shame him even more (minor spoiler again-in b3, this is what is implied to have happened to nia). none of these institutions, the family & the church, would have ever had his well being at heart. they are the same institutions which shunned (family) him in the first place and would have shunned (church) him anyway because he didn't and wouldn't have been able to live to their ideals. again, family and religion aren't ontologically pure things - they're institutions which often exist to perpetuate the status quo.

that's to say that i personally hc that aerin has a lot of mixed feelings for the dreadlord. taking this line from my dark vanessa (also a book i love so much) -

“It only accelerated after that, once he knew I was ok with it—and isn’t that what consent is, always being asked what you want? Did I want him to kiss me? Did I want him to touch me? Did I want him to fuck me? Slowly guided into the fire—why is everyone so scared to admit how good that can feel? To be groomed is to be loved and handled like a precious, delicate thing.”

the thing is, aerin did want the things the dreadlord seemed to promise. no one else was left to treat him nicely. he loved that the dreadlord could give him the power to change his circumstances. and it felt good! he admits in b2 that he didn't regret killing baldur! him wanting that doesn't make him any less of a victim, but i think a lot of discussions around this tend to overlook this feeling, because it's a lot less easier to swallow than the typical Huge Evil Perpetrator/100% Unwilling Victim narrative that tends to get pushed around a lot. (i also don't like how people seem to be assigning morality to grooming. anyone can be groomed, and acting like the victims always have to conform to this perfect standard does not help at all actually)

so. anyway. i'd love more things/discussions about aerin and an interpretation where his feelings for the dreadlord are more complicated. where he accepts that the dreadlord took advantage of him, but he also can't find it in himself to FULLY hate the dreadlord, that sometimes he misses the dreadlord, sometimes he can't stand to remember how the dreadlord physically hurt him for over a decade in order to keep their little secret (can be read as a rape, imo, though it's not as overt as the dreadlord literally taking nia's body, which @puredoesnotmeankind @livelaughlovecassie and i like to read it as). the dreadlord potentially holding the fact that he was the one who's helping and "caring for" aerin over aerin's head. complicated feelings!! messy interpretations that are more true to complex human feelings and whatnot. i'd love that.

[beef-brisket]

Adam looked around while Lucifer bounced Avery on his knee.

Adam: So. Redemption, huh? It's uh... interesting idea.

Charlie beamed: Really!? I mean- yes. Very interesting. There's a lot of planning that has gone into everything.

Adam glances over to the bar: Yeeah, I can tell.

He wanted to tell the princess that she's wasting her time, but he really didn't feel like getting into an argument.

The fuck is happening to him? He loves starting fights.

Fuck it.

Adam: You know it's bullshit, right?

Charlie: B-Bullshit?

Lucifer glances over to them.

Lucifer: You should hear her out, Adam. She's done a lot of work.

Adam: Oh sure. This place is huge and everything but how many guests do you have?

Charlie gulped: Two-. But that's okay! Their doing great! They have weekly sessions-.

Adam: That's cute. How many have you redeemed?

Everyone was silent, even Avery.

Adam: ...You don't know oooor none?

Charlie looks away: none.

Adam: Hm. Interesting but not impressive.

Vaggie: Look, fucker. She's worked hard on this place and these sinners that are here! You can just shit on her idea!

Adam: Oh, consider ot well shited on, Vagina~.

Charlie glanced at Vaggie, did Adam know her?

Adam: It's just- I mean fuck. Look at it! Do you really think Heaven is going to let in sinners just because they know how to not be a piece of shit 24/7?

Vaggie glared: They let you in.

Adam smiled: Yeah, they did.

Vaggie storms up to him: Listen here, first prick. You can't just come in here like you fucking own the place and tell the PRINCESS of Hell that her dream isn't going to work!

Adam smiled wider as Vaggie went off on him. Fuck he missed this.

Adam: Oh, I can't? Well, I am technically a representative of Heaven, I've been there for nearly 10,000 years, bitch. It's my fucking job to protect every soul up there from the scum down here. So, why would I just bend over and let your little princess ass fuck me into letting sinners upstairs, huh?

Vaggies eye twitched: thatsnotwhatshesdoing.

Adam: Isn't it? Yo, Chandler, do you know what you need to do to pass divine judgment?

Charlie: Uh- I-It's Charlie- hi! Actually... I do!

Adam: Really? Well, you'd be athe only one, toots~. So, wanna enlighten us?

Charlie: ...Wait- no one knows?

Adam smiled: One person knows!

Charlie: Oh- who?

Adam: You. You just said you knew. Unless you were lying-.

Adam gasps: Which is a big no-no! So. Either you know what a soul needs to pass divine judgment oooor you don't. Which is it?

Charlie: ...I don't know.

Adam: There we go.

Charlie: Look- everyone deserves a second chance, right? If this is a long-term solution for stopping the exterminations, then shouldn't we all be doing our part?

Adam: Ha! Fuck no!

Avery: no!

Adam: That's my girl~. How about this, if you can answer this question for me, I'll support your hotel.

Charlie beams again: Okay! What is it?

Adam: What sinners don't qualify for your hotel?

Charlie: ...They all qualify- everyone deserves a second chance.

Adam: Oh yeah? Do you know what some of these assholes down here have done? Do serial killers deserve to go to Heaven? Do their victims deserve to live out their afterlife in fear because the cunt that fucking butchered them are now in Heaven?

Charlie: I... e-everyone deserves a second-.

Adam: Want to say something else? Something that's meaningful? Not everyone deserves a second chance, Channing. Some deserve to rot down here, and if I'm lucky, I get to shove my axe into their chest once a year. So, I'll give you one last chance. What sinners don't qualify for your hotel?

What about an au where Adam goes to Hell for night trips, wher ehe just parties and fucks. He has a disguise (it's just a slightly different looking helmet).

Lucifer joins his daughter and her friends at a bar, where he sees "Adam". He instantly knows it's him, but he's curious as to what he's doing.

So Lucifer spends hours flitting with him and buying him drinks to get him drunk. But Lucifer actually finds himself having a great time.

Long story short- they fuck, Adam doesn't let Lucifer know he's Adam. He goes back to Heaven and after a few months, he finds out he's pregnant.

Which is fucking weird cause he's definitely a dude, and he's very dead. But Lucifer's the Devil 🤷.

He basically has to play it off as him getting fat. It's working until the next meeting with Lucifer happens during his ninth month, and he's goes into labor right in front of Lucifer.

Lucifer: Why didn't you tell me your were fucking pregnant!?

Adam: Because you didn't know it was me!!

Lucifer: Yes I did! You have the same face!

Adam: ..... Oh..

[moeblob]

Anyway they can change between being tiny and human sized. And when they're tinier they can only be seen by the other fae or their selected humans. So if you just passed Noll on the street while Shavuli was perched on his shoulder chatting away you wouldn't see or hear her.

[genekies]

tag vent

[nostalgia-tblr]

we're all agreed that the TVA "defend urself to a judge against the charge of breaking time itself" efforts are just show trials, yeah?

[allronix]

Well, I can go by their actions. Just rolling with TPM here (since everyone can agree on the films - I'm more of a Legends type and have minimal exposure to the Disney canon) First, they are the Chancellor's mouthpieces for negotiations, so acting as government agents. Then when things go south, they act as bodyguards and escorts for the Queen. So, still government agents. And then they go to Tatooine. Okay, they aren't in their jurisdiction, so they're focused on the ship and getting their VIP to Coruscant and not planning to do much of anything for the people there because it's not their job as agents of what is now a foreign government. Got it.

But then the resident Tinfoil Hat gets a look at Anakin and gets it in his head that this small kid could be their fabled ultimate anti-Sith living weapon. Okay, dead Sith - VERY good thing. Dead Sith means the Jedi and the Republic will never have to worry about their old enemies ever again. Pax Republica forever - yay!

We know with dramatic irony this isn't gonna end well.

So Tinfoil Hat wins the kid in a sports bet and hauls him away from everything he knew. Technically, Anakin is "free," but the kid has zero concept of legal freedom or means of autonomous living. This is not for the benefit of the kid, however, but the benefit of the powerful Jedi Order and the Republic they serve as government agents.

So this kid is all by himself being interrogated for hours by a dozen creepy old men (essentially his potential new owners) who want him for something but the kid has no idea what. But he is very determined to be whatever his new owners want because the alternative is being kicked back to that overgrown housefly. He's rather understandably homesick, overwhelmed, scared, and worried about his mom that's still in slavery and these government agents are interrogating him as to his suitability to be their ultimate living weapon to smite their enemies and ensure their eternal hegemony. (Dead Sith are a good thing...even if this whole "turn a kid into a living weapon" idea is getting into the question of ends justifying means) And we know with dramatic irony it's not gonna end well.

But they refuse him to his face because he's acting like a nine year old kid. I didn't see anything possessive or some desire to control everything. He was just a kid at that point. It looks like they only made an exception because an honest to Force Sith kills Tinfoil Hat, which makes them think "Well, shit. Guess we need a Sith killer." (And this happens while they are enforcing the law on behalf of the government to put the ruler they favor - Padme - back in power). None of this seems to be about Anakin's well being, but the Order's need for an effective weapon to maintain the crumbling Republic and smite their enemy.

So, the Jedi are essentially government agents who pass themselves off as monks and recruit infants because those can be shaped to make them perfect hands and eyes of the State, incapable of conflicting loyalties or potential compromise. (If you love something or someone, then an enemy could use that for leverage. If you love nothing but the State, there is nothing the enemy can use for leverage - ruthless, but effective) But the instant they recruit someone who is old enough to ask uncomfortable questions about the whole setup out of the need to make him into living weapon...well, the living weapon blows up in their faces - epic tragedy.

OK, I may have said this before, but I’m going to reiterate this point. Attachments aren’t what people seem to think they are.

Let me explain. In Star Wars, when the Jedi referred to attachment, they are referring to what Buddhism would refer to as in a literal translation an obsession. Attachments is the most closest western equivalent to the direct translation. And these attachments are basically the cause of suffering. Why? Because they prevent you from spiritual enlightenment. These aren’t things like family and friends. These are unhealthy obsessions that crippled you and make you unable to progress spiritually.

And the other inspiration for the Jedi Christianity has a similar explanation, although with a different theological implication, but the general principle is the same. In Christianity there is the idea that this world is transient. It’s not permanent nor are Christians supposed to get attached to it. The idea is is that they live in this world, but they are not of this world. That is not to say you can’t enjoy the things of this world like going out to the movies or having a good meal or spending time with friends and family. But it’s being aware that at any time it can go away. Either through misfortune, such as poverty or even death. Clinging onto the attachment of this world leads to spiritual ruin because you cease to focus on the supernatural such their relationship with God and how it affects their relationships with others and focusing on the superficial and harmful things. Again, it’s similar to Buddhism, but their solution is slightly different than Buddhism.

And that’s where Jedi get the principle of non-attachment. From the Buddhist idea of unhealthy obsessions lead to not spiritual enlightenment. And the Christian sense of focusing on the material world interferes with the relationship with the Creator. That’s why I don’t get why certain people seem to think that “attachments are good.” They’re basically saying, unnatural obsessions that lead you away from spiritual enlightenment, or a relationship with the creator of the universe, and the terms of the Jedi is somehow good. It’s not see Anakin Skywalker for how well that works out.

[mylittleredgirl]

there are many good reasons not to see avatar but if you DO see avatar definitely see the 3D version. the entire movie is effects. same movie as the first one just underwater now. also if you are wearing 3D glasses it is less obvious that you will cry like seven times.

[dbphantom]

I figured it out

You haven't done shit

I figured it out

[strawbuddy-luv]

Trans Tim off handedly mentioning random things that just confuse people more and more because he never told them he was trans (only Bruce and Alfred know)

Tim: "For the mission I'm thinking I'll go undercover, but it'll take some work to hide the bruises I got earlier. They're everywhere"

Dick: "Oh I think Steph is free right now!"

Tim: "...Ok?"

Dick: "Don't worry I'm sure she'll help you out with this! "

Tim: "That's awesome but I don't think I'll need help. I know how to use makeup."

Dick: "Really-? Ohhh, yeah your public image is like, way more public than ours. That must be tiring, having to hide the bruises all the time."

Tim: "Well yeah but I knew how to use makeup before that. For like, galas as a kid and stuff"

Dick: "...yeah..."

-----

Steph: -Complaining about a man- "And then he said "Oh you should smile more" like "you look like you don't want to be here" like what- what the fuck-??? Maybe I fucking don't dude."

Tim: "Oh yeah I hate when they do that. Like you've spent the entire time bitching about the consistency of snails, I can close my mouth for a few seconds."

Steph: "..."

Tim: "...What-?"

Steph: "Well- I mean yeah but- you know I have to deal with it like...way more, and it's just a bit weird that like, you as a guy are, I dunno, trying to relate? I mean you don't have to deal with it litreally everyday"

Tim: "Well yeah not anymore, but, you know...I still did."

Steph: :...What-"

-----

Tim: -Resting against one of the rooftop ledges-

Jason: "Woah, I can't believe it, Red Robin, slacking. What would Bruce do if he saw this!"

Tim: "Fuck off, it's just period cramps." -Jumps off the edge of the building-

Jason: "Yeah whatever Timblina...

Your fucking what-"

-----

Bruce: "And for this mission, we'll be needing someone for the Caroline disguise, but we already know who that is so-"

Dick: "Wait does Steph actually know how to fight in heels-??"

Bruce: "...N-"

Steph: "Yeah Bruce, I mean, you could at least actually ask me before volunteering me to go fight crime in that dress."

Bruce: "You-"

Jason: "I mean no offense, but literally who else would do it? Cass isn't here right now and I don't think any of us are willing to get a boob job for the mission"

Bruce: "No one's getting a boob job-"

Steph: "Yeah! This is bat tech, Bruce probably has ultra realistic titties in everyone's color and size! Jason you wouldn't even need an attachment."

Jason: "I don't think Caroline Hills has fifty gun shot wounds and muscles the size of most those guys heads."

Steph: "Yeah bu-"

Bruce: "None of that will be necessary because none of you" -Pointing at the right side of the table- "Will be going. No one at this table will be needing any prosthetics...Or boob jobs."

Steph: "...Ok but who the fuck is going then-"

Bruce: "Tim."

The entire table: "..."

Steph: "Tim are you really willing to put on boobs for this-"

Dick: "I don't think that's the best idea-"

Jason: "You just said no prosthetics- Oh this'll be fucking rich"

Tim: "...

I...wouldn't need a boob job?? Or prosthetics?"

Jason: "Timbo, that dress is a pretty low cut, and, no offense, your training hasn't given you that many enhancements."

Tim: "...Thank you for the binding compliment?"

Dick: "The what-"

Tim: "Guys I- I already have boobs-"

The Table: "..."

Steph: "WHAT-"

Dick: "You do-?!"

Jason: "Bruce if you made Tim get boobs for some weird mission-"

Tim: "What- No! No one made me get boobs??? Besides, I don't know, biology I guess??? Genetics maybe???"

Dick: "...I'm extremely confused"

Steph: "WHO GAVE YOU BOOBS-???"

Tim: "I'm not really sure seeing as I was born with them"

Dick: "...

OHHHHHH-"

Steph: "What- is this like a birth defect or something???"

Dick: "Tim- Tim I think you're just gonna have to-"

Tim: "I'm trans."

Jason: "...That's-

Yeah

Ok yeah no that- that explains...a lot."

Steph: "..." -Head in hands- "I am such a fucking idiot"

[one-sleepy-dragon]

okay, so, this isn't a dig at @thatgentlewife, who seems like a lovely person overall, but i do want to use her post to dissect something that's been itching at the back of my head for a while now.

it really feels to me like a lot of women have a fundamental misunderstanding of what modern feminism actually entails. i see a lot of (especially) young women online equating feminism with the "girlboss" image, the cutthroat executive climbing the corporate ladder, getting the corner office and earning the big bucks. that was a popular image in the 80's, back when neoliberal capitalism was booming and trying to win the female workforce over by presenting "empowered women" as successful CEO's.

it's also an ideal that modern day feminism has largely tried to distance itself from because it's inherently anti-feminist. the girlboss isn't interested in female solidarity; she isn't interested in bridging the gender gaps across the board or in addressing the problems created by them. the girlboss doesn't care about dismantling a male-dominated system; she only cares about winning at it. girlbosses don't lift anyone up with them; as long as they get to break the glass ceiling, they don't care if no other woman (or minority for that matter) can.

modern-day feminism places so much emphasis on the importance of community as an antidote to the obsessively individualistic age we live in. it encourages women to support and defend one another, to build communities and support networks amongst themselves -- to interact and intersect with other communities, whether that be poc, lgbtq, or the countless men who suffer the consequences of gender gaps as well. it encourages people to treat one another with empathy and understanding, and to integrate as many causes as necessary into their fight, because modern-day feminism is painfully conscious that none of us will be truly free until we are all free.

this is precisely why there's such an emphasis on sustainability as opposed to consumer culture within the feminist movement nowadays. there's a growing awareness to the fact that investing in industries which a) disregard fundamental human rights to meet a quota and b) catastrophically threaten the planet our children and grandchildren will inherit, is inherently anti-feminist. it's a slap in the face to the image of the girlboss driven and measured by material success; many modern-day feminists embrace securing freedom, safety and joy for their communities as the most successful legacy they could aspire to.

so why does the image of the girlboss persist? why do so many young women understand "feminism" to mean "selling your soul to a company and trading in your humanity for a paycheck"? personally -- and i may be wrong here -- i have a feeling that the reason is twofold: one, a consumerist-driven economy only benefits if it can convince as many people as possible that true success lies in how much you can afford to buy; two, a conservative movement that fundamentally relies on keeping women confined to the domestic sphere will go out of its way to make any other alternative seem extremely unappealing.

so, on the one hand, you have an entire advertising industry selling the idea that having and spending as much money as possible is actually empowering, and on the other, you have an entire sociocultural movement capitalizing on the soullessness of such an idea in order to push their own agenda -- in other words, so they can appeal to young women who (very understandably) reject the notion of wasting away behind a desk for the rest of their lives. much like an advertising powerhouse of their own, conservatives are selling the "traditional, stay-at-home wife who gets to spend her days gardening, cooking, cleaning, and devoting her time to her beloved family as God intended" as the ONLY alternative to the lonely, bitter, dehumanized girlboss -- who, by their logic, embodies feminism as a whole.

but this could not be further from the truth. real feminism seeks to broaden women's choices, not limit them. it's why feminism encourages women to enter the workforce -- not because you're a failed woman if you're not a company hotshot -- but because you're so much freer and safer that way. having your own income -- and i cannot stress this enough -- is the safest and most free you will ever be. managing your own finances means you'll have a safety net for whatever comes along, whether that's an unexpected child, an illness, an accident, etc. it means you'll have the capacity to leave an abusive situation instead of staying trapped there. earning your own income is not a measure of success because you're making money -- it's a guarantee of independence no matter what.

and here's the other big secret: earning your own income does not have to mean selling your soul to a company. my aunt, who was a stay-at-home mother during most of her life, has now established herself as a professional potter, because ceramics has always been her passion and, with her children all grown up, she has the time and energy to invest in a career she loves. you do not have to make money at the expense of your humanity or your family -- the whole point is just to be able to have something that's yours, something you own entirely. maybe that's selling baked goods, or teaching sewing workshops every friday, or doing hair and makeup for local bridesmaids on the weekends. if you can afford to survive on a single income, and you have the luxury of having your basic needs taken care of by your husband, then that's all the more reason to seek out a job where making a living wage is not your main concern, where you can establish your own schedule and follow your own passions.

one last thought; i've seen one too many posts for my liking along the lines of "why would you work for a boss who doesn't care about you when you could have a boss that truly loves you." and the thing is, your spouse should never be your boss. you know why? because that immediately invokes a power dynamic that does not belong in the domestic sphere. your boss has power over you because they determine whether you get paid or not. BUT your boss is also legally restricted from establishing any inappropriate relationship with you; they cannot demand anything from you besides what's strictly in your contract -- no sexual favors or intimacies of any kind. and they cannot withold your pay for any reason other than stated in your contract -- in other words, they cannot use their power to deprive you of your means to survive without risking the consequences. you are legally protected from your boss at work.

your spouse, on the other hand? your spouse can exercise their financial power over you with very little consequence. if they manage the household finances -- if the bank account, the house, and/or any other assets are in their name and their name only, then legally, they can do with that money whatever they fucking please. if they want to starve you, they can; if they want to refuse you access to healthcare, they can; if they want to decide how you dress, how you act, the way you cut your hair, what personal items you can and cannot have, they can; if they want to control you, they can. if they eant to withold your basic needs from you until you satisfy their demands, whatever those may be, THEY CAN. and, legally, that's one hell of a mess to try to get out of, because unlike with your boss at work, there's an emotional dimension to your relationship with your spouse, and that always makes everything more complicated. so no, your spouse is not simply "a boss that actually loves you and cares about you." an employer-employee relationship is always strictly professional because when an emotional dimension is introduced to a power dynamic where one person has financial control over another, it becomes inherently unethical and prone to abuse.

to sum up: it saddens me to see so many young women who have been made to believe that feminism is inherently dehumanizing and romanticizing "the grind" as opposed to real human connection, and it scares me for the situations that so many of them might end up in because of that belief.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Prima Nocta

Marcus Acacius x Virgin!F!Reader oneshot

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

Notes: I'm a bit rusty for sure, but I had the absolute best time writing this oneshot. It's a departure from my usual themes to say the least, but once this idea took hold of me it never let go. I know prima nocta is meant to be invoked on the wedding night, but I like the idea of it being the night before so I made it so 🤷🏻‍♀️ Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics as always.

He thought he had gotten away with it. Having lived more than fifty winters in the capital and outlasting eight emperors, he regrets to confess that he is still none the wiser. 

It would have been such a clever manoeuvre. Palming off a generous but very much unwanted gift from the emperors, and marrying off his son in one fell swoop. 

He should have been suspicious of their swift assent to his proposal. In his eagerness to bow out of their audience, it had been convenient to dismiss the flash of malice in their eyes.

And in the snake pits of Roman court, no misstep goes unexploited.

He is not proud that he is caught off guard by the emperor’s closest advisor who intercepts his walk home from the armoury, even less so of his ineloquent response to the missive handed to him.

‘What is this?’

‘Urgent word from the emperors, sir.’

Cold sweat prickles the back of his neck as he stares unseeingly at what is scrawled on the parchment.

‘I cannot,’ he blurts out, indignance rising fast and hot in his chest. ‘I will not.’

‘You think it wise to twice refuse the emperors’ generosity, general?’

General. To him, the culmination of a lifetime of service and sacrifice. To them, an instrument of bloodshed in war, a plaything in peacetime.

Desperate, he tries a different tact. ‘The right of the first night belongs to the emperors. I dare not commit sacrilege.’

‘It is not sacrilege if it is freely bequeathed upon you, general.’

There is no mistaking the warning lilt in the last word, and he has no answer.

‘The hour grows late. You had better not keep the bride waiting,’ says the advisor with an air of finality before retreating into the shadows.

Marcus shudders at the cold that settles into the empty space, fingers stained with ink from the now crumpled dispatch. 

He remembers nothing of the remainder of his short journey to his quarters. As the front door swings open, he realises there is something in the night air that is out of place.

Sea salt.

You are here. 

Would you be demure? Frightened? You are of royal lineage, a lady of the small but proud coastal kingdom strong-armed by Rome into an unequal treaty for its profitable trading posts, in return for the mercy of not being razed to its fertile grounds.

And now, you are lowered to marry a general’s son. 

Worse, lowered to have your virginity taken by his father.

Candlelight spills from the crack underneath the door to his bedchamber. Marcus takes a deep breath, and pushes it open.

You hear him. The swish of fabric, the slide of leather soles on marble.

The general is here.

Your hand in marriage is part of the terms of the treaty, and the missive that sent for you announced your match as the widowed hero general. You had him cast on the wretched journey from your home as one of the domineering, brutish soldiers now garrisoned at your family’s kingdom - only to be told on your arrival that you will be marrying his son instead.

Relief at the news that your future husband would not be decades older than you is instantly snatched away by furtive whispers of prima nocta.

Your future father-in-law will take you first.

The humiliation is bitter on your tongue. You are Rome’s to marry off, hers to give to whomever she pleases -

But she won’t break you.

The door creaks. You stand tall and hold your ground.

He sweeps into the room with an air of well-worn authority, the cloak on his back dark as the shadows that nip at his heels.

The candles flicker when he sheds the heavy robes with a smooth sweep of his arm.

You stare, in a manner that would have had your lady-in-waiting tutting. But you are alone, very much so, with this man not ten paces from you.

General Marcus Acacius. 

He is older, certainly old enough to have a son your age. But you had not imagined him so - strong, for the lack of a more imaginative word. His shoulders are broad under his wine red tunic, and you can see the muscles in his arms flex as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. From where you stand, you can hardly see any silver in his dark curls.

Marcus unflinchingly assesses you right back. 

No, you are decidedly not demure. Or frightened. Far from it. 

You are defiant, even as you observe him with evident curiosity. Your head held high, a telltale sign of your noble breeding, mouth set in a stern line while your eyes burn bright with a proud fire. 

Judging the silence has gone on long enough, he breaks it with a formal, ‘My lady.’

‘General,’ you answer steadily.

The door slams shut belatedly behind him, and you flinch - the first glimpse of weakness you concede. 

Marcus breathes in, delivering his next sentence with as much composure as he can muster. ‘I expect you have been informed of the - formalities that we are to perform tonight.’

You grind your teeth so hard you are astonished that your jaw doesn’t crack.

Your virtue is just a formality.

Refusing to dignify his question with an answer, you nod once. 

He watches you wordlessly, and you meet his gaze. You thought you would find something else there, not the regret that you see.

Turning away from you, he reaches for the amphora on the table. 

‘Wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

The wine is drunk in silence and moderation. Him at his desk, you perched on the end of the bed.

As you sip, pacing yourself, you observe the general discreetly from across the small distance between you. 

To say that you are disconcerted by his behaviour would be an understatement.

You assumed that he asked for this - for the perverse pursuit of deflowering his son’s bride-to-be while eschewing the unwanted responsibility of a wife. 

Yet, watching him stare pensively into his goblet, lips pursed in a pout that is almost sullen, you are not so certain anymore. 

When you bring your drink to your mouth to find it empty, you clear your throat. ‘I have to wake up early tomorrow morning - for the wedding.’

The general starts before collecting himself, drawing himself up to his full height as he sets down his cup with a heavy clunk. ‘Understandably, my lady.’

Then he moves, charting a course across the room, licking his thumb and index finger to douse the candles dotted around the space.

The thought comes to you unbidden - he has thick fingers. And big hands. 

Your cheeks tingle with heat.

Soon the chamber is cloaked in darkness, save for the candles next to the bed, the warm light pooling in the most inviting manner on the soft surface despite your trepidation. You long to rest your aching feet. 

He comes to a standstill on the other side of the bed, as if waiting for you to take the lead. You cannot decide whether you are thankful for him not imposing on you, or frustrated at him for not taking the lead in what is very much unfamiliar territory.

In the end, the desire to get off your feet wins out, and you gesture at the bed. ‘Shall we…?’

‘Certainly.’ He bends down, you assume to take off his sandals. You do the same, toeing off the soft leather slides the maids had you change into when they dressed you.

Once barefoot, you climb in with as much grace as you can summon, acutely aware that you have an audience. Your knees sink into the mattress, and you’re relieved that it is stuffed with feathers, luxuriously giving under your weight. Shifting primly, you find your back against the headboard, cushioned by equally soft pillows.

The general follows suit, the frame creaking as he eases onto the suddenly too small bed, strong shoulders brushing yours as he settles next to you.

You stare hard at the back of your hands, the only way to stop your gaze from wandering to the span of his fingers splayed wide on sturdy thighs, or lower to the bony ridge of his knees - gods, you must be unwell, since when have you been drawn to knees?

You are still questioning the state of your sanity when the general, who has been nothing but unperturbed and composed since he stepped into the room, stumbles over his words in a manner that is neither, as if he had held the question behind his teeth for too long.

‘Are you - are you absolutely certain - in no doubt - that you are… untouched?’

His question stings like salt in a festering wound. Indignant doesn’t even begin to describe the retort you spit at him. ‘Yes, I am. Are you?’

Peering at you sideways, his eyes widen at your outburst, and fear briefly flits across your heart that you have overstepped.

 But then, he surprises you with a smile. ‘You bite, don’t you?’ 

You let your shoulders sag, too far gone to hold onto your facade. 

‘It’s been a long day, sir,’ you admit. ‘To be frank, I just want to get this over with and forget it ever happened.’

He pauses at your confession, as if weighing his options. Then he shifts, and says, ‘The reason I ask if you were untouched is because, if you were not - we could have just pretended we did this.’

You frown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I did not invoke prima nocta, it was imposed upon me. The emperors are displeased that I turned down the betrothal, this is their way of punishing me for my ungratefulness.’ 

Oh.

As much as you didn’t want this either, your pride suffers to hear him describe it as a punishment.

‘I know…’ you stumble, halting to steel yourself. ‘I know I am nothing like the women here in Rome. I spend too much time in the sun, and my hands are rough from working with horses -’

‘Why do you say that?’ he interrupts you.

You look away. ‘That is why you do not wish to marry me, is it not? And why you do not want this - why you do not want me.’

The general sits up, palms on the mattress to support his weight, the lines on his forehead deepening with a frown. ‘No, that is not the reason. You are young, you deserve a husband who can build a life with you in the years to come. Not a washed-up widower.’

The bitterness in his voice turns your head. 

‘You’re not washed up, from what I hear.’ Somehow, you find the courage to add boldly, ‘Or from what I see.’

Letting your eyes trail unabashedly over his broad frame, a thrill chases through your blood when you notice his Adam’s apple bob with a tight swallow. He’s so close that you know you’re not imagining the heat seeping into your bones.

Silence stretches between you, charged with a consciousness that creeps in and spreads. Two souls from different worlds and stations put in a situation in which neither of you had a hand. This may not be how you imagined giving away your virtue - far from it - yet your stomach twists in anticipation.

You glance upwards, only to find him already watching you.

Something has shifted when you so bravely reached out and tipped the balance with your words. He can tell that you are not one for flippant flattery, and it takes him a moment to collect himself, harder said than done with the blood roaring in his ears.

When he speaks, it comes out in a much lower register than he intends, so much so it sounds like a secret. 

‘You say you just want to get this over with. But I can - I can make it good for you. It doesn’t have to be something you want to forget.’

Your eyes widen and your lips part, and heat blooms almost uncomfortably in his chest. ‘You would do that for me?’

‘I will serve you in whatever way you ask of me tonight, my lady.’

Never have mere words, albeit delivered in such a delicious baritone, moved you so. You came in expecting to have your virtue stripped from you, the same way Rome callously stole you away. Where you thought humiliation and dishonour awaited, this man is offering deliverance and devotion - if only for one night.

Your throat tight with emotion, you nod in lieu of a spoken answer.

Marcus is deliberately slow in his movements, wanting you to feel safe in his presence. ‘How much do you know? So I know what I need to teach you.’

Despite yourself, shyness rears its head and you mumble, ‘I’ve - I’ve heard stories. I know what… happens… between a man and a woman in the bed chamber.’

He nods reassuringly, making you feel less of a fool for the juvenile answer you gave. ‘And has anyone touched you before?’

There’s no mistaking the lurch in your stomach as your heart hammers violently. ‘No. No one. Never.’

The protector in him stirs, summoned to duty, warring with the desire that seethes under his skin like the unholy flames of Vesuvius. He fears it is a quickly losing battle. 

Reading the desire in your endearingly open face, Marcus reaches over you to settle one hand on your hip as he leans close, his breath warm on your cheek.

‘Have you ever kissed a man?’ he rasps. 

You shake your head, eyes fixated on his mouth, framed by a tidy moustache. He is so close that you can see his beard is flecked with silver.

You swear the general is leaning into you, and every inch of you is on tenterhooks, enraptured by his proximity -

‘You should save it for your husband.’

You barely forestall the whine of protest that teeters on the tip of your tongue, pinching your lips together, but his lopsided smile tells you that he knows. 

‘I can kiss you elsewhere though.’

‘Oh,’ you inhale shakily when he dips to mouth at the side of your neck, landing on your pulse point in a suckle. Your whole body arches off the bed, hands gripping the sheets, head spinning at all the sensations that are new to you - the burn of his stubble, the cool trail his lips leave behind -

Then the palm on your hip pulls you into him, sprawling you against the wide cage of his body, your breasts pressed against his broad chest. The dress they put you in is thin, and the fabric rubs against your pebbling nipples as his kisses travel daringly low.

‘Am I going too fast?’ he pauses, voice strained.

Breathlessly, you shake your head.

‘If you want me to stop, or wait, you say the word. Understood?’

‘Yes, general.’

Two words he hears daily from his men, and yet from your lips, they unleash a dangerously feral side of him.

More. Is the only coherent thought that remains. 

Impatient hands reposition you so that you are astride him, and he groans when you slot flush in his lap. He watches your eyes widen at what you feel between your legs. Your dress rides up, and his blood rushes south at the bare expanse of your inner thighs on his skin. 

‘I want to see you,’ he speaks plainly, palms squeezing the dip of your waist. ‘May I undress you? Please?’

All decorum flees you, and you might have chanted yes, yes, yes to his question.

Dropping your chin, you watch his thick fingers nimbly undo the knot holding the front of your dress together. The silk capitulates like water, tumbling down in delicate drapes around your waist, baring you to his heated gaze.

‘You are beautiful,’ he declares with a solemnity that steals your breath.

And it is easy to believe him, the way his dazed eyes trail over your breasts, before his hands follow. Calloused palms, which you are sure have held many a sword in triumph, now cup your tender flesh in reverence. 

Your head lolls to the side as he teases you, but when he rolls his hips upwards, your eyes snap to the pained expression on his face. You’ve heard ladies in court whispering over wine about length and girth, but nothing could prepare you for the thrill of feeling a man’s undeniable desire for you.

Instinct guides you, moving your hips so that you are grinding against his length, seeking relief from what is building deep within you.

‘Do what feels good,’ the general murmurs encouragingly, palms on the small of your back to let you take control.

And just like that, you are thrown back to one summer’s day in your youth. You were bathing in a rock pool, under the spray of a waterfall in perfect solitude when you accidentally slipped forwards on the smooth stone surface. The unexpected sensation between your legs ripped through you like lightning on a clear day. And you chased that feeling, hips undulating until you shuddered and cried out. Knees trembling in the aftermath, you never dared to seek it out again, but neither did you forget.

And now, years later, you finally know what had transpired. Pleasure. And this time, under the general’s hooded gaze, you pursue it with single-minded determination.

Marcus wishes you knew how beautiful you are in this very moment. Breasts swaying in tandem while you rock back and forth on his clothed length, eyes glazed, every whimper from your swollen lips making him throb harder for you.

‘Good girl,’ he rasps, throat tight. ‘Take your pleasure. Take what you need.’

And when he sucks your nipple into his mouth, you wail, tipping forward at an angle that unexpectedly takes you apart.

The waves that wash over you are more intense than you remember, and you are sure that has to do with the man holding your hips to his as you buck, and the warm swirl of his tongue against your breasts, sucking and nipping as you come down from your high.

‘That was not your first time,’ he states as a matter of fact when the white noise in your ears finally fades.

‘It happened once, a long time ago, and I didn’t understand then -’

‘And now you do.’

‘Yes, general.’

This time, he lets loose a moan at your words. ‘I can feel your wetness through your dress.’

Confused, you look down, and your cheeks burn when you spot the dark patch on the delicate fabric. ‘Oh, I -’

‘It’s natural,’ he assures you. ‘The wetness makes it easier for -’

It dawns on you when you feel his hardness twitch under you. Oh. 

‘It - you feel -’ you stutter, struggling to comprehend how the girth of what you are sitting on could possibly fit inside you.

Taking your hand, Marcus presses a chaste kiss to your palm, eyes warm and open. 

‘We will take it slow. I will use my fingers first, to prepare you for me,’ he explains patiently. ‘I promised I would make it good for you, did I not?’

‘You did.’ 

And you have complete faith in him.

Your knees knock into each other hopelessly when he slides you off his lap, and he has to bodily prop you up against the pillows. Sinking into the soft feathers, you watch him kneel between your parted legs, and you feel so safe even as he towers over you. 

‘May I disrobe you?’

You bite your bottom lip, and nod. 

Except it’s not a disrobing, it’s nothing near as civil as that. The general rips the rest of your dress clean down the middle, rendering you completely bare beneath him.

Marcus knows should be ashamed of his brash behaviour. But how could he when you react so viscerally, jaw slack as your chest heaves in unmitigated desire? 

His gaze shamelessly trail over every curve and dimple, from the breasts he has tasted to where your knees are demurely closed, and knowing that he is the first - the only - to have laid eyes on you makes him impossibly hard. 

It matters not that you are not his to keep. This will always be his. 

‘You are exquisite,’ he professes, voice tight. 

You duck your head, more shy of his compliments than being nude before him. ‘You don’t have to.’

Sliding a finger under your chin and tilting your head until you meet his gaze, he assures you, ‘I mean every word.’

Then he moves down the bed until he can rest his weight on his elbows, and you startle when rough palms glide over the outside of your thighs, stopping at your knees. 

He pauses to give you time. ‘Are you certain you wish to continue?’

Your answer is a confident yes.

Then, as if opening the shell of Venus, he delicately pries your knees apart, and his breath hitches as you are revealed to him.

He is aware that he’s staring like an imbecile, words failing him. As the silence stretches on, you become self-conscious.

‘General,’ you demur, moving to cover yourself.

Shaking his head, he finally says, ‘Forgive me, but you are perfect.’

Then he looks up at you with such intensity that has you struggling to catch your breath, and without breaking eye contact, he bows his head - 

And closes his lips over you there. 

You are wholly unprepared - no one has ever gossiped about this in court. Your hips buck violently off the bed, but Marcus holds you down with reassuring hands, suckling on the pearl between your thighs with gentle laps of his tongue.

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ you stuttter, torn between watching the man wreak the most devastating pleasure on you and averting your gaze.

You’ve only ever known worship to be pious, and yet, this most vulgar adulation is the closest you’ve been to the gods.

His beautiful curls brush the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, catching the candle light as he moves, and the crook of his nose - so proud even with the scar on its bridge - draws patterns on your skin as he stakes his claim where no one has ever touched you. 

You quickly realise that what you felt just now in the general’s lap was insignificant and thin in comparison. This pleasure is all-consuming, something divine that has you weak and trembling all over. All you hear are slick, wet sounds of tongues and lips, and your own whimpers between garbled groans.

Marcus feasts on you, unapologetically. Flattening his tongue, he tastes you in broad sweeps, moaning into your sweet cunt as you writhe above him, your needy mewls driving him to the edge of madness. You taste like fig - the earthiness of the purple peel, ripe sweetness of the pink flesh.

Then your hands wind into his hair, pulling him closer, ankles hooking over his shoulders. He groans harder, the sound rattling in his ribs as you soak his beard. Surrendering any last vestiges of shyness, you rock against his tongue, nails scratching his scalp as you whine louder into the night air. 

Moans that will echo long after you’re gone.

The thought alone hardens his resolve to mark you unequivocally. You’re close, your pliant body quivering and breaths coming in shallow gasps now. He peers up at you, but your eyes are sealed shut and upturned at the gods, your breasts heaving.

Gently, he eases one finger inside you, and he grunts at how easily he slides in. You barely react, and so he pushes back in with two, coaxing a cry from you. Your cunt clenches as he gently thrusts his digits in and out, stretching your tight walls. 

‘Oh gods. Oh gods,’ you pant violently.

You’re close, so close. He wants to warn you of what is to come, but it feels like sacrilege to tarnish the moment with words. When he feels you begin to quiver, he laves at your clit harder, burying his fingers inside you to the knuckle, until he feels you crest and break. 

‘Gods, oh gods - Marcus!’

The cry of his name catches him off guard. He nearly loses control right there and then, as you ride out your high on his fingers, but by some miracle he holds out through gritted teeth. He devotes his attention to kissing his way up your body, from the slick inside of your thighs, to the side of your hip, making you jump when he sucks on your sensitive breasts.

You stare at his mouth with wild, dark eyes, and him at yours, but he vowed to leave your first kiss to your husband. Girding his self-restraint, he asks, ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, Marcus.’

His cock twitches at the sound of his name on your lips. He wants to hear you say it in all manners of ways - whisper it, gasp it, scream it. And by the cheekiness in your smile, it’s clear that you know what he’s thinking.

Your eyes drop to where his hardness is pressed against you. ‘Will you teach me how to please you, general?’

He swallows a groan, the animal in him rattling the bars of its cage. He replies diplomatically, ‘I will teach you how to teach your husband.’

In one smooth tug, he shucks off his tunic, then his loincloth, and he tries not to be self-conscious under your watchful gaze. Pulling you against him, skin on naked skin, he smears kisses along the side of your neck, smiling at your answering shudder. In return, you run your lips and scrape your teeth over his collarbone. 

Taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, he slides it all the way down his chest and wraps your fingers firmly around his throbbing cock, his pained moan in your ear.

Eyes wide, you marvel at the size of him in your grip. ‘You are so big.’

Marcus curses through clenched teeth. ‘You are an insolent girl.’

With a wicked glint in your eyes, you correct yourself, ‘You are so big, general.’

If he wasn’t so aroused, he would have chuckled at your cheek. Instead, he growls, ‘Such insubordination.’

Tilting your head to one side, you grin. ‘And how would you discipline me, sir?’

He lets the silence linger for a beat, allowing anticipation to build as one big hand splays over your ass, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. ‘I would deny you my cock, my lady. Let your sweet cunt weep for me, empty, not knowing how good it would feel to have me deep inside you.’

You are unsure if you are more shocked at the explicitness of his words, or at the gush of wetness that has you pressing your thighs together. If you had to wager a guess, he is just as affected as you by the way his length pulses in your grasp.

Marcus smiles as he takes in the way your body reacts to him. ‘But how can I deny such a lovely, desperate creature such as yourself?’

A sob escapes you. ‘Please, Marcus - I’m yours to take.’

With that, all self-restraint abandons him, and his lips crash into yours. At the back of his mind, he knows you deserve a better first kiss, something gentle and sweet. But to your credit, you seem to take it in stride, winding your arms around his neck with a deep groan as he deepens the kiss. Opening up your mouth, he sweeps his tongue against yours, making sure you taste yourself and the pleasure that he had wrung from you.

When he reluctantly pulls back for air, you hum, ‘I thought you said I should save that for my husband.’

He all but snarls, ‘Damn your husband.’

The possessiveness in his tone sends you reeling, and his resolve wears even thinner when your cunt brushes against him, so wet and soft, begging for him. 

‘I cannot wait any longer,’ he declares.

You bite your lip beseechingly. ‘Please, Marcus, I cannot either.’

He braces himself above you on strong arms, until all you can see is him, backlit by the soft candlelight. Beholding his beauty - the wisps of gray at his temples, the scar lining his cheekbone - your breath catches at the tenderness in his eyes as he stares down at you.

Holding the base of his cock, Marcus notches himself at the entrance of your cunt, trembling as he holds himself back. 

‘I will go slow,’ he assures you. ‘If it hurts, you tell me to stop. Understood?’

Your mouth dry, you can only nod. 

Holding your gaze, Marcus rolls his hips ever so slowly, jaw slack when he breaches you, inch by tortuous inch.

He is barely inside you and you already feel so unfathomably full.

‘Marcus,’ you gasp when it gets impossibly tight, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He stops, and whispers encouragingly, ‘You are doing so well for me, taking me so beautifully. Just breathe.’

In between his patient, languid kisses, you unfurl, and Marcus gently pulls back, before pushing into you, deeper this time.

When you cry out, he shushes you, brushing the wet corners of your eyes with his lips. ‘Does it hurt?’

You shake your head. ‘No, it’s just - so much.’ 

‘I know, I can feel how tight you are gripping me,’ he mumbles into your neck, throbbing inside you while he holds himself still as you adjust. ‘Brave, sweet girl.’

When you find your voice again, you give him cheek. ‘I am a woman now, general.’

He smiles at you - a warm curl that crinkles the corners of his eyes endearingly - and claims your lips again. Feeling the tension seep out of your body, he thrusts shallowly so you can learn the movement of his hips. When he hits a spot that makes your jaw drop and your hips buck, he pulls all the way back, and drives himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

And with that, you become a part of his soul, and his yours. His chest swells with the fiercest possessiveness and the greatest honour all at once, despite knowing that the circumstances that brought you together will inevitably tear you asunder at the break of dawn.

‘Marcus!’ you choke on a sob, throwing your head back, your walls clutching his cock in a merciless grip.

‘There she is,’ he grunts, mouth scraping the shell of your ear. ‘Say my name like that.’

And you do, over and over again, as he fucks into you. His pants land harshly in the crook of your neck with every thrust, hands greedily squeezing all the skin he can find - the curve of your ass, the dimple in your waist, your thigh to hitch it over his hip.

Looking down at you, eyes drunk and unfocused as you stare back at him, each squeeze of your wet cunt around him, every breath from your lips feels sacred.

He is seized by a sudden need to know. ‘How does it feel?’

Your eyes soften, and he shudders when you cup the side of his face to bring his nose to yours. ‘Divine.’

Marcus loses himself in you, in the wet squelch of your cunt around his length, the way your tightness takes every thrust. Words of praise that he doesn’t even hear tumble from his lips and onto every inch of skin he can reach as you cling to him, scraping your nails down his back and digging into the meat of his ass.

Pitching forward to press a hard kiss to you, he says, ‘I want you to fall apart for me again.’

‘Please, Marcus, please.’

Pushing himself up to his knees, still buried deep inside you, he spreads your thighs obscenely wide over his hips, and he moans at the sight of your cunt so full of him. With hooded eyes, he sucks on two of his thick fingers and brings them between your legs, carefully drawing circles on your clit, knowing that you are already sensitive from cumming twice for him before.

Your face twists in agony as he builds you towards another climax, patiently weaving the web of pleasure that wounds you tighter and tighter until your spine feels like it will snap in two. ‘Marcus, oh - don’t stop, don’t stop, oh gods -’

He bares his teeth as he feels you start to clench around him. ‘That’s it, that’s it. Cum on my cock, let me feel you, give it to me.’ 

Your peak crashes into you relentlessly, and as you are swept away, you can only wail and thrash, while Marcus curses and stutters unintelligibly above you as he spins out of control.

He had every intention to pull out, but it is as if some higher power is determined to foil his plans. With a guttural roar, his hips snap flush against yours, big palms grasp you so hard by the waist that you squeal, and he spills into you in hot gushes, once - twice - and again until he is spent.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He doesn’t know if he said that aloud or if it was a trick of the mind. All he knows is that he eventually collapses bonelessly onto you, skin fused together with sweat and cum as your breaths become one in the crisp night air.

It is him who breaks the stillness, his old bones creaking when he stirs to relieve an ache in his back. His softened cock slides out of you, prompting you to whine in protest. He grunts when he looks down to see his cum dribble out of your cunt, leaving a pearly trail on the inside of your thighs.

When he meets your eyes, there is no awkwardness in the silence. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to spill my seed inside you. That was reckless.’

Your heart skips a beat at his admission, and you can’t hide the pride in your voice. ‘Do I make you reckless, general?’

He tries and fails to be stern in his answer, the tenderness with which he brushes his nose on your cheek giving him away. ‘I know better than to encourage your insolence with an answer.’

You are far from discouraged though, quite the opposite. Knowing you have this man - who commands armies of thousands - at your mercy is a siren’s call.

Peering at him from under your eyelashes, you curl one leg around his waist. ‘Do you want to be reckless again?’

He huffs, but a smile breaks through. ‘Have you ever been told that you are a cocktease?’

You hum teasingly. ‘I have never heard that word before, but I like it.’

‘You do?’ he breathes against your lips. ‘You like being my cocktease?’

‘Yours, general.’

Marcus is astounded when he feels himself harden again, and he moans as you press open-mouthed kisses down his neck. ‘What spell have you cast on this old man, my little cocktease?’

You grin, letting him ease you onto your back so he can settle between your thighs again. ‘The kind that lasts until dawn.’

Eventually, morning must break, sure as the moon turns and the sun rises. In the golden rays of day, you will wed his son in ironic, virginal white, showered in rose petals. He will look on from the side in his finest ceremonial robes of red, as you walk away from him and into your new life as someone else’s wife.

But in the velvety folds of this night and many more to come, safely ensconced in the deepest corners of his memories, in lands far away, in war and in peace, there he keeps you - where you are not.

More notes: Thank you for reading! As usual, comments/reblogs/asks would be very much appreciated 🥰 I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I loved writing it!

[frowerssx2]

I agree Star is utterly pointless. Adorable yes, but pointless. In fact, it literally almost gets Asha court (twice?) during the song: "is this the thanks I Get?!". I hate how it didn't lead Asha, like why couldn't it have it own thoughts and feelings beside being sad, confused and happy? Why didn't take control up in the wish chamber and be all like "nah, I'm going to float ALL these wishes out of these windowless arches and free them all and not only the two you selfishly told me to get".

I personally think that Disney should have kept star as a Magical shape-shifting being. Or kept it as Asha's grandfather coming down to help her free the wishes from her evil parents (can you imagine Sabino/Star floating in a window ot at the final battle and being all like "Oh, Magnifico, my son what have you turned into?" (None of this romantic stuff, I personally can't ship star with asha after leaning that one of the original ideas was to make it her Grandfather)

But, doing whatever Asha wants is a flaw every character has in the film. No one questions her or tries to take over the situation. Not even Amaya (who is a reasonable adult who has spent YEARS supporting Magnifico's wish system) maybe Daliha does it a little when she's all like "Wait, you questioned the king???" And "you want to steal your grandfather's wish?" But she is very easily dismissed by Asha and I hate it. Why can't anyone just tell Asha that what she is doing is wrong? That the people of Rosas literally already agreed to let Magnifico protect their wishes and decide whether or not they get granted and it was a decision they were perfectly fine with until Asha twisted things.

Also, also future note here. But, just like you said we are told that Star can't grant wishes. But it can free then? Which was technically Asha's wish so it's literally granting her wish even though we were told it couldn't do that (because unlike what other people might say, it wasn't Asha who returned and freed the wishes from their orb forms, Star did)

I didn't realise that Asha also broke the rule about not wishing until 18. But now you mention it, I hate it. It shows exactly why Magnifico wanted to wait until people were that age as they would be an adult and not a hormonal teenager who couldn't take a very reasonable no as an answer. Asha is so selfish and naive it's ridiculous.

This movie has so much potential to be so much better than what it is. But now it feels too rushed and Asha seems too selfish and arrogant (in my opinion) everything had to be done her way and nothing else.

One of the problems I personally have with Asha is that she asks Magnifico to return ALL the ungranted wishes and gets angry/upset when he refuses. But yet, at the first opportunity she had to do that herself (which is what she kinda wished to do) she only asks Star to free her Saba's and mother's wishes. She only thinks about freeing the other wishes when Magnifico gets corrupted by the evil book and begins to destroy them. So, why couldn't she and Star free all the wishes when they broke into the Wish Chamber? Why did she say she was only going back for her mother's at her house and not all of them now she knows she can free them? She even says that Star won't go back to the sky until all the wishes are free so why didn't she do it in the first place?? She had all that time Star was looking for the two wishes she specifically wanted, to free them all. So why didn't she?