#*i do think he's going to be more of a figurehead than anything else but he has to at least gain the PHYSICAL powers of being an Archangel

[topaziraphale]

Hi I still haven't gotten out of bed but I'm already fully armed and ready to shoot down anyone that tries to say Aziraphale doesn't care about Crowley anymore or WORSE, never loved him THAT much in the first place.

Crowley is quite literally his top priority, he made that very clear with how distraught he is when Crowley leaves. Why would he shout "Don't go!" "Crowley, come back!" and "I NEED YOU!" if Crowley wasn't always at the forefront of his mind? Why is he so visibly striken and upset when he gives him that last, longing look, begging for Crowley to come with him and be with him forever, before deciding to step into that elevator? When he gets in there, his entire purpose shifts. He IS going to make everything better, and he IS going to make Crowley see the error of his ways.

I can promise you all Aziraphale is going to stop at NOTHING to get Crowley to come be with him forever, as an angel. He is going to do WHATEVER it takes, now that he is the acting Supreme Archangel. It's Crowley he wants first, Heaven he wants second, and, sadly, due to the Mettatron making this offer, a life on Earth he wants last. And that sets up such a FANTASTIC conflict for S3!!!!!

Aziraphale, our beloved, fussy, STUBBORN Aziraphale, is now compromised. He is compromised with POWER. Power as the LITERAL, SUPREME ARCHANGEL. Is this NOT SUCH AN EXCITING AND HEARTBREAKING PROMISE FOR A WILD S3 EXPERIENCE??

Guys, we ALL know Aziraphale let Crowley down, but you have to see that Crowley let Aziraphale down in his eyes. Just as much. That's what makes this scene so tragic. We know Aziraphale isn't thinking the way we and Crowley thought he would, or HOPED he would despite how the world Didn't End. How despite everything in how S1 ended, he was still left with an uncontested sense of superiority that we were all too elated to see was something Left Behind within him.

This season brought all that stuff out:

"We will win of course. Obviously. Heaven will triumph over Hell. It's all going to be rather lovely."

"You were an angel once..."

"Why, yes, I am a great deal holier than thou, that's the whole point."

(after gabriel/beelzebub leave in s1) "See, Crowley, it's as I said--" (back to what he said in the Bentley in S1E2, how Evil always plants the seeds of its own destruction and Good will always win out in the end)

These types of thoughts, and him spending all of the 6,000 years he knew Crowley separating them as one inherently good and one inherently wicked.... guys, that won't just go away after only 4 years of being on their Own Side. We hoped it would. We wanted it to. But it doesn't make sense. Yes, even if the earthshattering realization Aziraphale had that Heaven never truly cared about what was Good did change his character and essentially complete his arc in S1... it didn't change everything.

His arc in S1 was completed when he learned that Heaven wasn't for him. That they never cared. That only he and Crowley could save this world. But this is where the show deviates from the book - Aziraphale in the book is angry. Bitter. Scorned. Aziraphale in the show is just heartbroken. He mourns for the only ever family he knew. He mourns what he always saw himself to be. That mourning isn't just going to go away after 4 years. What is 4 years to a creature that has lived for a possible billion before the Creation? 4 years on earth to 6,000? That terrible wound he suffered that day is still VERY much fresh. It's an open wound he didn't properly take care of. And the Mettatron noticed, didn't he? Yes, you can understand that someone or Something isn't FOR you, and know all the reasons why, yet still wish you could go back... it's how abusive relationships work. You confuse nostalgia with remorse. You confuse nostalgia for real love.

Of COURSE he would seize the opportunity to get what he felt he lost back. And HE could do it. HE has the power. He can make it ALL RIGHT again, everything he's ever wanted...

...and this is why he completely breaks down when Crowley doesn't want to be beside him to do it. Rewatch it. Look at him. Look in his eyes. The way he winces when Crowley kisses him. His internal conflict (Heaven/Crowley vs. Our Side/Crowley) is externalized through Sheen's brilliant acting. His arms coming up to embrace him, but they never fully commit, they just graze him and hover around his body. The way he launches himself backward, away from the kiss, but his body is still slightly leaning forward. When he brings up his shaky hand to touch his lips, and not crying. Never crying. Because he is an Angel, and Angels don't cry. Not like a Demon would. Crowley is all he wants, but now, Crowley doesn't want him. Not like this. Not anymore.

Because, well, Aziraphale said it, didn't he?

Nothing lasts forever.

[pellucid-constellations]

The Construct of Loyalty

Pairing: Cassian x Rhys's Sister!Reader

Summary: After months of "disobedience" your father calls upon Cassian to be your personal guard. That leaves Cassian, a soldier in the Night Court army, your childhood friend, and a man deeply in love with you, to protect you from all fronts—including the arranged marriage you were born into.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage, panic attacks, dual pov ;)

a/n: This wasn't going to be so long initially but then whoops it developed its own life. Part two will be necessary I think ♡ For context and clarification, the reader grew up with the IC and everyone is around 50-70 rn. Rhys's other sister is alive still but not really important to the plot.

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“What if we just—” 

“No, y/n.” 

“But, Cassian, this is ridiculous. I’ve been stuck in here for three days.” 

“And you’ll be stuck a lot longer if you disobey your father again.” 

“You don’t even like the guy! Why are you so intent on kissing his ass?” 

Cassian bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes at the defeated posture you’d adopted. In truth, he didn’t like your father—hated him, actually. But Cassian knew the life you lived and what would come if you continued to act out against him. He knew things were becoming serious because Rhysand voiced his concerns over your circumstances when he was usually too protective to divulge anything, and he knew things were bad because the High Lord of the Night Court tasked him to watch over you. 

Him, a bastard-born Illyrian who was nothing more than dirt on the bottom of his shoe. 

But Cassian was dirt that you’d actually listen to. 

According to Rhys, your father had appointed six high fae to be your personal guard over the past six months. All six had been sent away rather abruptly when they failed to rein you in. But “rein you in” was a ridiculous sentiment, as you called it. All you wanted to do was to get out of the room your father kept you cloistered in and actually experience a life. 

You wanted to speak to people who weren’t your assigned propriety tutors or servants. You wanted to get out of the Moonstone Palace and be a person outside of the marital obligations your father placed on you. You wanted to shop in Verlaris with Mor and make Cassian take you flying and, above all, you wanted to understand your magic—to hone the combination of night and day that your father’s choice of mistress had carefully curated.

Because that union was the entire purpose of your birth, and the moment you turned 50 you were ripped from your family and hurled into the Moonstone Palace to live out your purpose. 

You were to be the figurehead of the alliance between Night and Day and you were to fulfill that duty through marriage. 

It didn’t matter that you were hardly seen as a person; you were a pawn, and as long as your father lived, you would continue to be used and maneuvered as the court saw fit. 

Rhysand had been trying his hardest to keep you from marriage for as long as he could, but the more you acted against your father’s wishes, the closer you got to your fate. 

You knew it was coming. You’d had far more freedom before you turned 50 but you’d still lived under your father’s thumb. Cassian always hated watching you get pulled from quiet nights in with your sister and would cast you sad looks when you were made to watch from the sidelines when everyone else was training. But that had always been your life, and there was never anything he could do about it. 

Cassian clenched his jaw in abject frustration. “Y/n… don’t do this.” 

You scoffed and harshly sat on your bed, the gauzy material of your dress splaying up before floating back down to rest on the blankets. Whatever hairstyle had been twisted upon your crown this morning was unraveling in a pretty mess around your face and Cassian itched to brush away the strands. 

You’d always been so pretty. 

He turned his fingers into his palm as you began to speak. “He wouldn’t even have to know. I wouldn’t leave your side once,” you mumbled. Your words felt more like a routine and less like an actual request. Because Cassian always said no when the other guards always gave in too easily. 

Or you had simply slipped past them too easily. 

“Look, Starfall is coming up. I’m sure your father would let you go out to be with everyone.” 

You twisted your mouth in a way Cassian knew meant you were trying not to cry. You blinked up to look at the ceiling and nodded your head with your teeth embedded in your bottom lip, and Cassian’s heart was dangerously close to breaking. 

When he’d gotten the station report—or rather, demand—to be your personal guard, Cassian had seen it as a good thing. He’d get a break from the grueling hours of being a soldier in the Night Court’s troops and he’d get to spend more time with you. He’d missed you terribly since you’d been sent to Hewn City. 

But then he’d gotten to your room and spent three weeks telling you no and watching you go stir crazy and he was three seconds away from caving. It wasn’t surprising that the other appointed guards had failed so quickly—you were too lovely to deny, especially when you looked so sad. 

Cassian breathed out a sigh and walked to your seat on the bed, his leathers groaning as he moved to crouch at your feet. You were still staring at the ceiling and Cassian was still aching to somehow fix all of this. 

“Hey,” he prompted. When you only tightened your grip on the piles of luxurious blankets on your bed, Cassian took your chin between his finger and thumb and brought your gaze down to him. “There she is,” he smiled, but the hazy gleam in your eye felt like a punch to the gut. 

“I hate this,” you whispered, all shaky and upset.

Cassian tsked. “I know, sweetheart.” 

“I just want to go back home.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s so weird that you’re in charge of me.” 

Cassian snorted. “I’m not in charge of you. I’m the one that has to follow you around.” 

You narrowed your watery eyes. “If that were true you’d let me go back to Velaris. Or go anywhere other than this wretched place.” 

“Well, in that way I guess I’m more protecting you than in charge of you. That’s what a guard does, sweetheart.” 

“Protecting me,” you laughed, jaw clenching as Cassian kept it in his soft hold. “What would be so dangerous about going to Velaris, hm? Or… running away. Really, really far away.” 

“Can’t run away, y/n. We’d all miss you too much,” Cassian teased, but the hint of panic in his eyes was unmistakable.

You raised an unamused brow. “Because you all see me so much now.” 

Cassian offered you a bittersweet smile and gave your cheek a soft pat. “You know I’m not protecting you from the people out there. You know why I won’t let you leave.” 

You looked resigned, but that reality was becoming more commonplace. You sighed and reached up to place your touch on Cassian’s knuckles. “I know, Cass,” you hummed. “I know.” 

~~

You shifted in your seat for the countless time that evening, the stone throne at your back doing little for comfort. The heavy crown on your head was giving you a headache and your father kept yelling, exacerbating the pounding behind your eyes. 

You were made to attend official court business more often, your father assimilating you into the role he birthed you for with more urgency as you rebelled. Cassian stood behind you with a stiff posture and murder in his eye, playing the role of a guard to perfection. And you knew, with all certainty, that if anyone looked at you wrong they would be on the floor. 

That was one benefit of having a personal guard—even more so a guard that you grew up with. 

“—not accept this insolence,” you heard your father bite out. He jutted his hand back to the shorter throne you sat upon. “And you bring it in front of my daughter. I won’t have this. Not in my court.” 

You hid a flinch as the man before the dais was forced to the ground by a free-flowing darkness you could recognize anywhere. 

Your father’s show of power. 

The man screamed and pleaded and you couldn’t remember what had brought him to this, but you knew this was just a ploy by your father to assert his dominance over the court. You breathed through your nose as he continued to scream and plead, pressing your lips into a line and maintaining your mask of neutrality and boredom. 

You were never made out for the life your father expected from you. 

After the man was thoroughly incapacitated and groaning, your father let up and sent him away and you were left feeling sick to your stomach. 

Almost done, you reminded yourself, and then you could rot in your room with nothing to occupy you but the dread of your upcoming fate. You could feel Cassian’s presence at your back and it was somewhat reassuring that he would be rotting along with you. Maybe he would even play cards with you today or you could pass the time begging him to help you with your magic.

He always denied with an apologetic expression and you knew, deep down, that he would never agree to anything. The back and forth was simply a way to get through the day. 

The doors to the throne room burst open with a loud boom, startling you out of your roaming thoughts. You sat up in alarm when a small brigade of soldiers dressed in Day Court armor marched in, preceding a well-built, stoic-looking man with a grimace plastered on his face. 

You whipped around to look at Cassian in an uncharacteristic act of impropriety. Cassian looked just as lost as you were, but he blinked away the concern and sent you a reassuring nod as if he had everything under control. You watched his ruby siphons flicker and his fists clench as he clasped them together by his thighs, but you turned around. You had to turn around because you were not supposed to consult a guard about matters of your court. 

A quick glance at your father told you that he was surprised as well, but pleasantly. “Blaise,” your father greeted, clapping with the word. You hid another flinch. “I was not expecting you today.” 

“Clearly,” Blaise snarked, stopping before the thrones at the head of the room. “Your full court is not even here. Where is your heir?” 

Your father’s expression morphed into a glare. “Training,” he said. And then, “But that shouldn’t be what concerns you. Your bride is just beside me.” 

The world slowed, your thoughts and the movements of those around you sticky and heavy. You thought you might have opened your mouth but the action was delayed and it was hard to find the path to your muscles. Your chest caved. The light in the room became dim. 

Blaise smirked and trailed his gaze to your figure. He let his eyes rove from your feet up to your face, so unhurried, so lax. As if you were already something he owned and he could take all the time he wished. In a way, you guessed he could—it wasn’t as if you had anywhere else to be.

“Huh.” Blaise stuck his tongue against his cheek. “Come.” 

You blinked as the man stuck his hand out and waved his fingers in three harsh motions, beckoning you to him as if you were a dog. 

It felt like you’d been doused in ice water as onlookers watched you expectantly. Rhys had told you he was buying more time. Cassian had told you. Azriel sent shadows to your room and you took them as signs of something. But before you stood your betrothed and behind you stood Cassian and there was nothing to be done. 

You looked over to your father. 

“This is Blaise. He is a duke in Day. You shall be married. Go to him,” he commanded, nodding towards the stern brow in the center of the throne room.

“Father—” 

“Go to him.” 

You rose. Everything fell off its axis, a rush of lightheadedness making you lose your balance and lean back to grip the arm of the throne. A steady hand on your elbow grounded you. You didn’t even need to turn to know it was Cassian, but you did, anyway. 

Hazel eyes bore back into yours, devastation and determination mingling in the hues. Something dropped in your stomach and something else made you tear your gaze away and stare at your fate head-on. Cassian’s fingers lingered. They pulled away when you fully righted yourself. 

“Do you give me an ill bride, High Lord?” Blaise accused with a mean raise of his brow. 

“Of course not. Do not insult me.” No further explanation. 

You passed your tongue across your drying lips and took the steps down to meet Blaise, the man instantly snatching your hand and raising it above your head. He walked around you, inspecting you as if you were something to be appraised before buying, and nodded after completing the circle. Then, to set your stomach rolling, he swooped down and pressed his mouth to your ear. You heard a rushed step behind you, but the sound was drowned out by hot breath and whispers. 

“You’ll do nicely, given that you’re house-trained. Virgin?” 

You pushed back on his armored chest to gain some distance and Blaise cackled, knocking his head back in delight. 

“A bit skittish, but that’s fine. You said she’ll be used to Day? Definitely not staying here.” 

Your father hummed, taking a bored sip from his chalice. “She’s spent time in Day. Her mother hails from the court.” 

The rest of the conversation was lost to buzzing. 

~~

Cassian was wrought with panic. 

He had already opened his mind and shared the information with Rhys, but Rhys was still honing his daemati abilities and Cassian had no idea if his brother even got the information. 

He hid his panic behind a stone wall of neutrality and malice as he walked you back to your room, cataloging the way you took even steps and stared blankly at the walls in front of you. His facade was breaking down with each step you took; you seemed to be escaping into yourself and Cassian was becoming increasingly worried. 

Part of not being able to practice and control your magic came the dangers of it overtaking you. No one was sure if you harnessed daemati powers like your father and brother, but if you did and weren’t aware, you could get stuck. Cassian had witnessed Rhys’s struggles with that when he was first learning to control his magic and emotions were high. 

The moment your bedroom door clicked shut, Cassian’s hands were on your face. 

“Y/n? Hey, look at me,” he urged, tucking his wings into his back because maybe the light from your windows would help somehow.

When you didn’t look, a faraway haze to your eyes, he shook you, rattling your head in desperation. You should be screaming, crying, begging him to let you leave after what you just discovered. And, instead, you were blank. 

His next demands were stern. “Y/n, I can’t get Rhys here. You need to snap out of this. I don’t know how to help you.” 

You breathed a little deeper, but no change. 

“Fuck.” Cassian looked around the room, his head whipping back and forth as he searched for anything that could help. For Rhys, it was easier to develop skills to get him out of this state because he had been expecting it. For you, there was no prep, no warning.

Cassian turned back to you, his heart pounding out of his chest. If he couldn’t get you out of this before your father noticed—

He saw your eyes shift and something clicked. 

You were staring intently at the red siphon gleaming on Cassian’s chest, blinking quicker the longer you stared. 

“This helping?” Cassian murmured, yanking the siphon from his chest without care to hold it up to your eye level. “Okay, we’ll work with that.” You blinked even more with the tone of his voice and Cassian took that as motivation. “Keep working yourself out of this, sweetheart. You do this and I’ll teach you how to use a blade. Haven’t you been asking? Dumb question—you’ve been asking since we were twenty but—”

Cassian cut off his rambling when the first few tears fell down your cheeks. He watched each as they fell, wiping them away with his thumbs as he waited. And waited. And then you choked out a sob, and as much as he hated the sound, relief flooded through him at your state of consciousness. 

“You—you said there was more time,” you stressed, stumbling over your tears. “Rhys… he told me there was more time.” 

Cassian shook his head as he spoke. “I know. I know, sweetheart, but we’ll figure it out, okay? Me, Rhys, and Az. We can—” 

“You can’t do anything,” you cried. Your breath was picking up. “No one has been able to do anything my entire life. Not my brother or you or even myself. I—Cassian, I was only born to do this. No one cares about anything else. You’re only here because my father willed you to be. Because it serves his agenda to have you guarding me.”

Cassian’s fingers buzzed as he wiped more and more tears from your face. He kept opening his mouth to say something, anything, but it didn’t matter. Nothing would make up for this. 

“I—I can’t. I can’t be married to that man. Being locked in here was bad enough. Being coddled and prepped for my entire life was enough. I’m not a princess, Cassian. I’ve never wanted to… and now I…” 

You were hyperventilating now, raucous inhales colliding with heavy, painful exhales. You dropped to your hands and knees and Cassian followed suit but with the sole purpose of propping you up and placing a steady hand on your stomach. You fought him, desperate to claw at the ground and escape the world, but Cassian wouldn’t have it. 

“I need you to breathe,” Cassian requested, his words firm but soft. “I need you to focus on how I’m touching you and I need you to breathe into my hand.” 

He’d done this before, it was familiar. 

You used to get panic attacks anytime your father forced you to stay at the Palace for a weekend to view one of the many horrors at the Court of Nightmares. Rhys helped, but it was Cassian who noticed the tells—the uneven breaths, the panic in your gaze. It was Cassian who felt pain himself each time your throat closed. 

You shook your head at Cassian’s demand, clawing at your chest. 

“Yes, y/n. Try. For me, please.” 

He could tell you were trying, even as you continued to shake your head until that ridiculous crown toppled onto the floor. You tugged at the shimmering black material on your chest and never broke eye contact with Cassian and you tried. 

Slowly, eventually, Cassian saw your chest stutter and your breath begin to even out. 

“That’s it,” he praised, rubbing his thumb along the boning of your dress. Your lashes fluttered until your eyes closed. “That’s it, baby,” he muttered, the endearment slipping past and getting lost in the air. 

You reached down and gripped Cassian’s wrist. “I’m okay now. I think I’m okay.” 

“You sure?” 

You nodded. “I mean, I’m not okay. But I can breathe and think.” 

“Those are accomplishments I guess.” 

“I don’t think this is part of your job description,” you joked, the small laugh that followed half-hearted and weak. 

Cassian smiled. “Did the other guards do it?” 

“I can’t say they did.” 

Cassian readjusted his position on the floor and shifted you to no longer sit on your knees. He brushed your hair back and fixed the neckline of your dress. 

“You scared me,” he admitted, still focused on adjusting the mess you’d made of yourself. 

“I’ve had panic attacks before.” 

“No, not that. You got stuck, I think. Like how Rhys would when he was first learning to use his daemati abilities.”

“Don’t tell my father.” The words were so quick from your mouth that Cassian shot up to look at you. “Don’t. I already have a difficult time with the court abilities and I don’t need him to—” 

“Y/n, I would never tell him,” Cassian interrupted, a furrow in his brow. “Why would you ever think I would do that to you.” 

You cast your gaze down. “Well, I don’t know. You’re in his employ—you have to report to him and be loyal. The other guards—” 

“I am not another guard.” 

“Well, I obviously know that. But I just wasn’t sure where that part of you started and my friend ended.” 

Cassian closed his eyes for a long, disappointed beat. 

It was pretty obvious that Cassian was in love with you—at least, it was pretty obvious to himself as of three weeks ago. The moment he saw you again after months away, all pretty and sequestered away and so happy to see him you were glowing, he knew he was a goner. There had been hints of it when he was growing up, but seeing you again made it hit him full force. 

Of course, you could never know, because as much as you said you weren’t and were adamantly against the title, you were a princess, and Cassian didn’t want to add more stress to the plethora of horrors in your life. 

Still, the realization of his feelings only made your questioning tone hurt that much more. 

“Y/n, look at me.” Eyes met in your bedroom. Cassian kept his hands in his lap and you had your fingers pressed to the ground. “My only goal is to keep you alive and happy. I frankly don’t give a shit about your father. Everything I do or have done has been to keep you safe. He isn’t safe, so I make sure to follow his orders because not doing so is dangerous for you. Rhys… Rhys has been keeping close tabs on the situation from the outside and informs me what I need to divulge or keep secret. Nothing has ever been done out of loyalty to your father.” 

You released your bottom lip from your teeth and Cassian watched your shoulders sag in relief. He was about to say more, but then you launched yourself into his chest and his arms were wrapping around you without him willing them to. He had to stop the two of you from lying flat on the floor, jutting an arm out to stabilize the hug before bringing it back around to rest in your hair.

“I thought I'd lost you for a little while there,” you admitted, your face buried in Cassian’s shoulder. 

Guilt ate at his heart. “I thought you said you understood why I was making you stay?” 

“I did,” you mumbled. “Or, I thought I did. I knew you wanted to keep me safe, but I thought you also wanted to please my father.” 

Cassian dragged you back from his chest, hands resting along your head and back. “I’m sorry it felt that way. I have only wanted to please your father for your benefit. I’m—we’re family, y/n—” and I love you, he wanted to add “—you’re my family.” 

You stared back at Cassian, tears still fresh in your eyes and on your face. “Can we leave now?” 

Another piece of Cassian crumbled, shattered. “We can’t. You can’t. Rhys is working on another way out of this but if you try to run right now you know your father will only come after you.” 

“What about the human lands?” you rushed out, hands on Cassian’s chest and so close to his heart. “Or I could go off-continent. I could learn to glamour myself and try. Cassian, I could try.” 

“Y/n, you just got lost in your own head and you have no idea what kind of powers you have beyond that. You have no fighting skills, no way to defend yourself. I know you’re capable, but you’ve had your every need catered since you were born. And your father would be after you. I don’t know if you’d survive.” 

Cassian watched you deflate as he spoke. He brushed his hand up from your back to run a soft touch along your jaw. “And I would come with you—if you ran. But your brother has his head up his ass and he’s going to need help when he becomes High Lord.”

You smiled some—a sad, dejected smile.

“We’re gonna figure this out, sweetheart, just like I told you.” He leaned forward until your foreheads touched. “You’re not going anywhere I can’t go.” 

“And what if none of you can do anything about it?” you whispered.

Cassian ignored the fear that threatened to cease him at the prospect. “Then I’m going to fight like hell until I can.”

[hey-august]

Negotiating with pirates | NSFW (Cross Guild x afab!reader)

Description: After accidentally ending up as a bargaining chip during Cross Guild negotiations, you eagerly accept the chance to protect your captain and end up between Mihawk and Crocodile.

Word count: ~2.6k

A/N: One shot smut. Reader has an established relationship with Buggy. Let me know if you see any errors or typos. ♡

Warnings: Not beta read. NC-17. → MDNI ← sub!reader, cuck!buggy, dom!mihawk, dom!crocodile. Threesome, PIV, oral m receiving, vaginal fingering, creampie. afab!reader, no use of Y/N. All parties are consenting adults.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A Cross Guild meeting was getting heated, more so than usual. A contract that failed under Buggy’s involvement was construed as debt the figurehead clown owed. An increasingly panicked Buggy offered anything to assuage the anger of his furious “companions” and to reduce any debt that they imposed on him.

“What do you have that we can’t get ourselves?” Sir Crocodile asked disdainfully. Buggy floundered. His mouth was faster than his mind, but there must be something he could offer. Propose. Promise.

“I can think of something he has…or should I say someone,” Mihawk remarked. This was an uncomfortable observation. 

The trio rarely spoke about personal matters, and definitely never intentionally, however it wasn’t a secret that Buggy had a hook-up. A dedicated partner. This was a fact that the other two would say they didn’t care about. Truthfully, Mihawk had some thoughts. More like a passing interest in why - out of anyone else you could pick - were you with the clown. Maybe you didn’t know what else the world had to offer and this was his chance to show you.

The rest of the discussion, if you could call it that, happened in a blur. Buggy’s wavering voice was overpowered by the two former warlords negotiating on his behalf. When Buggy realized that he had become an accessory once again, he bounced in his seat, trying to alleviate the nervous energy flooding his body. The two commanding pirates set the place and time, which was not far from this moment. As the clown hurried out of the room, Crocodile called out a demand in a puff of smoke, telling Buggy to pick out your outfit. 

“When we undress her, I want to be pulling off clothes that you picked out for us.”

Buggy’s panic took on a different tone as he seeked you out. You both had spoken about his cuckold fantasies, but never did anything to make them reality. And now…well it was a classic Buggy mistake. When he finally told you what happened, he had tears in his eyes. Even he doesn’t know if they’re from worry about how you’ll react or fear of what Mihawk and Crocodile will do if you disagree. Or maybe the tears held hopeful anxiety that you might go along with the plan.

Relief washed over Buggy when you agreed. It wasn’t his tears or trembling grasp that convinced you, but your adoration for the pirate clown. For once, you had power that could help him. Not only could this garner favor for your captain, but the heat in his shaky hands told you that he had a personal interest in this idea. You could benefit your captain and fulfill your partner’s fantasy, all while getting intimately familiar with some of the most powerful pirates around.

When the appointed time arrived, Buggy walked you to Mihawk’s quarters. He didn’t guide the way so much as herd you. The clown’s jittery nerves had him flitting around, caught in your orbit. Buggy was a one-man surround sound system - apologizing for putting you in this position, professing his love,  telling you to not be nervous or scared, reminding you to say “lighthouse” if you needed to stop, calling you gorgeous, and whining about how hard he was already.

Buggy pulled open the door and let you step into the eagle’s nest first. Partly because you were the visitor they were waiting for, but also to watch how the skirt he chose flounced around your ass while you walked. Crocodile sat back on an ornate sofa, a hazy cloud of smoke circling his head. Mihawk stood nearby, closing whatever discussion they were having before you two arrived. The swordsman held out a hand, beckoning you to come closer. The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Intense. But the attention Mihawk sent your way felt lighter and inviting. When you placed your hand on his, it was the final piece of your confirmation to participate in this arrangement.

A pointed look from Mihawk and a dismissive wave from Crocodile sent Buggy slinking away to a seat on the far side of the room. You turned to watch your captain, but a slender finger on your chin stopped your movement. Mihawk turned your gaze back towards him as his golden eyes looked you up and down.

“Crocodile…” His companion grunted an acknowledgement, already aware of Mihawk’s thoughts.

“Clown, this is really the outfit you picked for us?” Crocodile said, clearly displeased with your attire. 

To be fair, it wasn’t particularly sexy or revealing. It was one of your normal outfits, maybe a little more composed than others. It fit well and flattered your figure. You chimed in before Buggy could speak, wanting to divert negative attention away from him.

“What’s wrong with it?” 

Following Mihawk’s hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand under your top, letting him graze your bare breast. He squeezed firmly, his touch cool against the heat you were radiating and sent chills through your body. Mihawk felt your nipple harden in response to his touch and gave it a gentle tweak, drinking in the sound of your feather-soft sigh and the intoxicating expression he extracted. Your eyes fluttered under your crinkled brows as you tried to maintain eye contact.

Your hand was still on his wrist and you wanted to show him the other positive benefit of this outfit. Mihawk tensed for a brief moment, reluctant to let you control his body before giving in. You moved his hand under your short skirt, slowly drifting it up the skin of your hip. Teasing both yourself and the pirate in front of you.

“I see,” he murmured while grabbing a handful of your ass, your skin soft and supple against his touch, “it’s not about what you’re wearing, but what you don’t have on. Is that right?”

“Hawkeye gets it! Now you’ll always wonder if there’s anything underneath,” Buggy called out proudly, pleased with his contribution. From this moment on, Mihawk and Crocodile will question what you are, or aren’t, wearing. And if this outfit survives, it will remind you and Buggy of how you were shared between the fierce pirates. It’s a win-win-win.

Ignoring Buggy’s remark, Mihawk kept his attention on you. He pulled away his hand and replaced it on the small of your back, guiding you closer to Crocodile.

“Tell us, did your captain adequately inform you about this agreement?” Mihawk questioned, wanting to be sure you were aware of your involvement here. You nodded and acknowledged that your role was to offset any debt Buggy owed the two men in front of you. Mihawk appeared satisfied with your run-down, giving you courage to share an additional thought floating in your head.

“I’d like to add an amendment.” You felt your small flame of courage flicker under the change in atmosphere as you finished this sentence. Crocodile, who seemed to have been looking through you, was now paying rapt attention. There was an uncomfortable stillness from the area of the room where Buggy was sitting - a bad sign, since he usually had trouble sitting still and containing his nerves. With one foot in the door, you pushed on.

“I don’t like seeing Bu- Captain Buggy get hurt. Whatever frustrations you were going to take out on him, I want you to use me instead.”

If you thought the quiet in the room a moment ago was oppressive, this was a new level. If it wasn’t from the smoke still drifting from Croc, you wouldn’t be sure if anyone was breathing. Despite having Mihawk’s hand resting on your back and Crocodile close enough to touch, you felt as though you isolated yourself. Alone and adrift in a dangerous sea, surrounded by danger.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking,” Sir Crocodile’s deep voice finally broke the spell in the room. In the corner of your eye, Mihawk nodded in agreement. “I don’t think you can take it.” The Desert King spoke his piece as if it was the end of your bargaining. You were not ready to give up, even with his dominating aura threatening to snuff the remainder of bravery in your body.

“I’d like to try.” Four simple words brought a smile to Crocodile’s face. A dangerous look.

“You’re going to regret this,” Mihawk said quietly, with a sliver of hungry anticipation. For the first time since stepping into the room, you felt small. Fragile under the intensity required to become a former warlord of the sea. 

Sir Crocodile extended his large hand. Before you could consider changing your mind - not that they would allow that - you shook, sealing the deal. Before you could release his hand, Crocodile pulled you closer. The way his hand enveloped yours and the rough pull had heat pooling in your core.

“Mihawk’s right. You’re going to regret this deal. Unlike the others, I don’t care about you one way or another. I’m only here for my own pleasure.”

Spurred by false-confidence from your successful bartering, you firmly met Crocodile’s stare.

“If that’s the case, then why are you still talking to me instead of fucking me?”

Your boldness wavered as Crocodile leaned forward and grabbed your chin. Mihawk’s hands on your shoulders sent chills down your spine and made your knees weak. However, it was Crocodile’s cold hook pressing against your slick heat that broke you. A docile lamb at the mercy of two hungry predators.

Time passed in a blur. Hands, mouths, cocks, countless orgasms, kisses, bites, bruises, all of which left your mind spinning. Dirty commands and sweet praises went in one ear and out the other. Heavy moans, groans and whimpers, even periodic commentary from your kind captain filled the room.

“Don’t hold back, she likes it that way.” “Pretty girl, you look so good riding my cock.” “Squeeze your tits for me, dear.” “Cumming on my hand like that makes you look desperate.” “Tell me, does your captain fuck you like this?” “She loves the taste of cum, make her swallow it all.”

Only flashes stuck in your hazy memory. You recall one particular moment stuck between the pirates. Despite being on your hands and knees, you were barely able to keep yourself steady. Instead, you chose to lean into Mihawk’s hold on your hips as his eager cock bullied your dripping cunt. Your mouth ached as Crocodile languidly slid in and out, caressing your jaw and enjoying the vibrations from your endless moaning.

One poorly positioned thrust from Mihawk had him slam into you uncomfortably - nearly painfully. Your body rocked forwards, almost instinctively, trying to move away from the discomfort. Unfortunately, this pushed Crocodile further down your throat, which constricted around him as your gag reflex kicked in.

“Aw poor thing, you’d rather choke on my cock?” Crocodile rumbled as he wiped the tears from the corner of your eyes. “You know I won’t hurt you accidentally, hm? Unlike Mihawk, I know what I’m doing.”

His comments only served to spur on the swordsman, who directed all his attention to making you feel good. An accomplishment he felt satisfied with when you cried his name the loudest during your orgasms.

Eventually, you could tell that Crocodile and Mihawk were becoming worn out. Their movements were sloppy, far less intentional or calculated. They had trouble keeping their strength restrained as they grabbed you and maneuvered your weary body, leaving bruises that formed quickly. Each load they left in or on you felt less heavy than the last. The click of Crocodile’s lighter and the scent of tobacco filling the room were the white flags that signaled the end. Your body relaxed, sinking into the sticky sheets underneath you.

“You should tell your captain thank you,” Mihawk murmured against your ear in between soft kisses. 

He pulled his body away from yours as you tilted your head to face Buggy, who was already standing at the edge of the bed. Mihawk hooked a hand around your knee and tugged, easing your sore legs apart. The gesture pulled Buggy’s attention to your beautiful cunt. Cum trickled from your overused hole with each breath and heartbeat, a pool collecting under your body.

Buggy’s hand was furiously pumping his own deprived cock, which was weeping for you. His attention snapped between the glistening treasure between your legs and your face, which was flushed with lust and pride. Words poured from Buggy’s mouth as he poised himself to decorate your heaving chest.

“You did s-so good, you’re such a good little slut.” “I watched the whole time, my little star.” “Just lay there, beautiful, m’so c-close…”

His cum felt hot against your cooling skin, carrying the warmth of his passion and care for you. Buggy leaned in and captured your mouth in a kiss full of emotion. Adoration, appreciation, and a slightly bittersweet hint of an apology for spurring on these events, even though you both clearly enjoyed things.

Buggy expected Mihawk to be upset about the state of his personal belongings. His obviously expensive sheets were beyond saving and it’s very likely that some fluids leaked through to the mattress below. But there was a softness in Mihawk’s eyes as he surveyed your exposed body draped across his bed - a sensual, albeit lewd, work of art. Buggy let Mihawk commit this vision to memory before mentioning that you’d need help cleaning up.

Before Mihawk could tend to you, Crocodile’s hook stopped him. You could barely make out the enigmatic look on his face through your half-lidded eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh, which quivered under the weight. His attention traveled upwards until his fingers brushed against your swollen, sensitive folds. A careful swipe of two fingers scooped up some of the cum that trickled out, which he then eased back into you. You gasped at the intrusion as your body fluttered helplessly around Crocodile’s large fingers. Weakly, you grabbed Crocodile’s wrist as he curled his fingers, already knowing your body inside and out. It only took a few choice movements and a swipe of his thick thumb against your clit to have you shaking under his touch, succumbing to yet another orgasm. 

Satisfied with your encore, Crocodile took a towel from Mihawk and wiped his sticky fingers before moving onto your body. The pirates made quick work of caring for your worn out body, cautious of your aching muscles and tender skin. Finally, Buggy wrapped you in his embrace to carry you back to his quarters for a bath and additional tender care.

---

It seemed that everyone’s expectations were fulfilled. The two former warlords upheld the end of the bargain they struck with you, as Buggy rarely returned with injuries. For a time.

About a week later and even you could feel emotions rising. Agitation and tension carried through the air behind each of the three pirates, with a breaking point close behind. Once again, a meeting behind closed doors was escalating. Threads of an argument trickled through the closed door, a warning for others to stay away. A warning you chose to ignore.

A knock on the door interrupted the meeting and before Sir Crocodile could dismiss the unwelcome visitor, you stepped in with a tray of refreshments. You ignored the blush dusting your cheeks as Mihawk’s eyes swept your body, clothed in an outfit he was intimately familiar with, and placed the tray on the table.

“Perhaps we are due for a break. Why don’t you join us?” Mihawk disguised his command as a question. Choosing to take the statement at face value, you turned towards your captain and feigned innocence.

“May I?” Your request was quickly answered with a nervous but expectant nod, Buggy's hat nearly tumbling off his head from the movement. Following Buggy’s agreement, you chose to settle down on his lap before turning your attention to his companions. The bemused looks on their faces told you that they knew you were toying with them.

“Get the fuck over here.”

[grandlinedreams]

monster trio reactions when reader got pms and gets really sensitive and angry?

Ooh, absolutely!! I hope that this is okay!!

[Heads up!: afab/fem aligned reader, period talk, mood swings, the boys are good boys if not a lil confused]

Luffy ㅡ probably the most confused of the three when you go from your usual cheer to irritable, wants to know what's bothering you. Apologizes for things you didn't even know he did ㅡ like eating the last of the cheesecake or stealing your pillow and replacing it with his. Thinks it's him that you're mad at, and when you tell him no, you're just generally upset with everything right now, he offers a solution in either wrestling with him or flat out yelling at the top of your lungs from the top of the Sunny's figurehead. He does it all the time (usually out of excitement) and it makes him feel better, so why shouldn't it work for you?

"Won't the others get mad?" You ask as Luffy helps you up onto the lion's head, his hand still curled around yours when you settle beside him.

"Nah, why would they? Not like anyone else can hear us. C'mon, try it!" He grins at you, squeezing your hand in encouragement.

It feels strange to do something like this and it takes a couple tries to be loud enough that Luffy thinks it'll help ㅡ but he does end up being right. Even though now your head hurts a little and your throat is sore, you do feel better about the churn of hormone fueled irritation.

"See?" Luffy beams as he reaches to help you down, using it as an excuse to hug you. "I told you it'd make you feel better!"

ㅡ

Zoro ㅡ probably the worst of the three in handling it. Not because he doesn't care or isn't worried, but because he has a hair trigger temper and his first instinct is not to figure out what's going on, but to fight fire with fire. Which leads to arguments, which leads to ㅡ

"Stop yellin' at me, damn it! Not my fault you woke up and decided to be like this!" Zoro shouldn't be yelling at you, he knows that ㅡ but you started it. You've thrown him for a loop the last couple of days because of your attitude, and now you're about to throw him for another. You sniffle, and it's with absolute bafflement that Zoro realizes you've gone from pissed off to crying. "Whㅡwhy are you crying?"

Your response is garbled, and he panics a little as he pulls you to him, and you hiccup. "Come on, stop cryin'. What's with you, anyways?"

"Don't feel good," you mumble into his chest and Zoro wants to point out that picking fights isn't the way to go about feeling better, but he bites his tongue.

"C'mon, let's see if Chopper has anything that'll help and then nap, okay?" He's gruff but gentle, and when you do end up falling asleep with him for a much needed afternoon nap, he has no complaints.

ㅡ

Sanji ㅡ somewhere in the middle between baffled and concerned, but also the most likely to figure out what's actually going on as far as why you're so irritable about everything. Goes out of his way to fix things that will help ease cramping/more than happy to fix something if you're craving it.

"Here you go, mon petit chou." You blink as Sanji hands you a steaming mug of something, and you give it an experimental sniff.

"Chamomile?"

Sanji nods. "I read somewhere that it's good for cramps," he says, then eyes you. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you answer, and he watches as you take a tiny sip, humming at the taste. "Thank-you, Sanji."

He beams. "Anything for you, mon petit chou."

[dorianbrightmusic]

i'm seeing a lot of Pokémon SV DLC analyses where people say 'Oh, Kieran's fixation on Ogrepon is because he sees it as a path to strength; Carmine's bullied him long enough that his shield against admitting his weakness to himself is adoring a legendary creature'. And don't get me wrong – these interpretations certainly hold water – but I've actually been working from basically the opposite angle for all this time.

By all means, Kieran idolises strength, but he inhabits Carmine's shadow – he's the weak sibling, and probably has been for a long time. Yet, rather than fixate on the fantastical power of the Loyal Three, he identifies himself with Ogrepon – the downtrodden, ostracised creature cast out to eke out a subsistence. A terrible demon that wasn't quite terrible enough to cause anyone any lasting harm. The creature defeated by heroes, rather than the perfect, heroic figureheads themselves. He's enamoured with the downtrodden; he sees himself in its grief, in its being cast out and excluded. He's been cast out and excluded all his life (and he can't be a bad person, right? It's not fair – he's hated senselessly, surely, rather than for some reason?) – he sees himself as harmless; so the ogre, too, must be harmless, mis-blamed. Strength is thus in resistance; in growing a shell to tolerate others' inexplicable cruelty. So Kieran looks to Ogerpon, and he thinks that the meek shall inherit the earth, and it gives him the strength to tolerate long nights with poor company. Others are villains – not him, not this creature – and he's safe in the knowledge that at the end of the day, at least an ogre can go down in mythology as the putative sole survivor of its trials.

In this sense, Kieran's like Penny – he finds himself in a position of weakness, of being victimised, and forms himself an armour of being an underdog, of being the thing that bites back. Yet while Penny's position is that the underdog might muster the strength to bite back and restore justice, Kieran's view is that at least the underdog was worth loving. He's inert and preoccupied with his inertia. He can't understand that maybe he could be a human, with the capacity to grow, the capacity to sin. And when Carmine is cruel to him, he reaffirms his own contrarian mindset more – she says I am worth little for my weakness, so my weakness is all I am worth; my weakness is my strength.

And yet he chases strength, because he has to to survive. So when the player comes by, and supports him, maybe he has the safety to walk away from his preoccupation with being an underdog, to enjoy strength for strength's sake. And then, he starts losing, but this time, there are stakes, since he can't just withdraw and be consoled by the fact that withdrawing is right, is right, is right. Thus, he must get stronger. And then, when Ogerpon turns out to favour Juliana, who's become Kieran's idol for all that strength means, rather than Kieran, who's Kieran's selfsame designated weaklingpatheticscumidiot——well, what can Kieran do but fracture, since his whole ideology, his whole premonition that he might have the right to inherit the earth, has been fractured? And, under stress, he pivots from one extreme to the other. All he knows is that weakness is now unbearable. He must get stronger. Must get stronger. Must get stronger—because otherwise he's doomed, he's nothing. He has no myth to dissolve his identity in any longer, so he reshapes himself around the only other standard he's ever known. And it twists him and it breaks him into tiny pieces, because suddenly, the last thing he can bear to be is Kieran: Kieran, the downtrodden and meek boy. He has to flip on his axis; he must become the designated villain of his story by popular imagination, or else be subsumed in the fact that he's going to die someday without any place in the world. He has to play a part, because he's been consigned to one so long, and he can't think of anything other than heroes and villains, enemies and martyrs. He can't be the bad guy. Strength is now goodness; weakness is now evil. And he can't reconcile who he thought he was with who he must become, and as a result, all he can do is try to destroy the person who's destroyed his ideology.

[dodger-chan]

Did I procrastinate by writing steddie fic again? Maybe. In my defense, I think this is very funny. Also on AO3.

Warning for non graphic but frequent discussion of sex.

Like a good number of things, it was Wheeler’s fault.

Under normal circumstances, Eddie would have no problem sitting back in his throne and staying above the fray while his little sheep had their silly arguments. Talking is a free action, etc. etc. And they’d wrapped for the night, were only delaying clean-up. But Wheeler, pressed by his friends to join in the defense of their favorite paladin, had gone with a very explicable but awkward choice of phrasing.

“I mean, Steve doesn’t suck.”

Eddie bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t going to say anything. He was not.

Unfortunately, something about the tepidness, the lackluster nature of Wheeler’s tone only encouraged Gareth.

“Au contraire,” he said, standing and making a gesture that Eddie chose to interpret as homage rather than mockery. “Harrington most assuredly does suck.”

Eddie bit down harder. He couldn’t say anything.

Gareth then began to list a number of harms done to the members of Hellfire that were, for the most part, merely tangentially related to the actions or existence of one Steven Harrington.

Perhaps it had always been a little unfair, to blame the social strictures of highschool on one individual who had no part in designing them and had done little more than anyone else in the way of enforcement. But what was the point of a figurehead if not to take the blame?

Of course no part of Gareth’s speech addressed the one way in which Steve truly did suck dick: literally. Steve had taken to oral sodomy like a duck to water. Eddie would love to claim credit by citing his excellent tutelage - largely by example - but he suspected his boyfriend was a natural.

Eddie tasted blood in his mouth. He couldn't keep biting his tongue. But he also couldn't set the record straight, so to speak. Even if he could tell all of Hellfire that he and Steve were dating, it would be beyond inappropriate to discuss Steve's cocksucking acumen with the freshmen.

“It's an interesting linguistic phenomenon, wouldn't you say?” Eddie interrupted Gareth’s spiel. “You are debating the merits and acceptability of one Steve Harrington, but using as shorthand a term that refers to oral sex. A phrasing that suggests people who give head are lesser than those who do not.

“Without making too many assumptions, I feel safe in saying that most of us would like to enjoy a bit of oral sodomy in the future. Now, I may not be the smartest guy in town, but it seems to me that preemptively insulting the people who might suck your dick is a good way to ensure they never will.”

He gave them a moment to digest his speech.

“So I should have said Steve doesn’t blow?” Mike asked, tentatively.

“Blow comes from blow jobs, so that’s the same thing,” Dustin corrected. A little less confidently, he went on. “Bites, maybe? Biting’s not a sex thing, is it?”

Eddie sighed. Surely there were insults that didn’t reflect some aspect of his sex life. Though biting was, at minimum, not related to oral. And it would probably be easier not to brag about the number of little bruises he’d left on Steve’s neck. And shoulders. And chest. All over Steve’s body, really.

Who was he kidding? He needed to shut this whole conversation down yesterday.

(this now has a sequel)

[dragonsdendoodles]

tell us about your medieval au‼️ (if you wanna :3)

Hehehehehe so

In case anyone didn’t know, this is a direct result of me inputting these characters into The Sims Medieval, a game from 2011 (nice) that is WAY too chaotic for what it is. For those who haven’t played it, you can only have ten playable sims per file (sorry Olive and Claire) and all of them have different jobs and they go on quests together sometimes. They also cannot all be added at the same time, so I decided basically when I started this that what happened was that everyone got Umbrella Academy season 2’ed and have all just kind of been plopped in at a different time and left to fend for themselves. They all already know each other, they have been stolen directly from their books. So here is a list of everyone’s jobs, other sims I have added or plan to add as NPCs, and some shenanigans that have actually happened in this game.

Miss Peregrine - Monarch. All hail Lady Alma the Great. She is the queen and is the best queen in the kingdom of Peculiardom and also no one else is allowed to be in charge ever.

Jacob - Jacoban Priest. Yes that is what the religion is actually called, and yes that is why he had to be that. He fucking hates it. He hated being famous, imagine having the same name as the figurehead of an entire religion in a time period where people are more likely to at the VERY least call you a reincarnation and put you in charge of a church than call it coincidence. Because the Jacoban faith is the scary, “you will go to hell” of the two, I’ve decided it’s only considered “intense” because what Jacob actually does instead of preaching is trauma dump about Caul, and he was taken from his story early enough to not be able to do that without physically shaking.

Emma - Wizard. Only one of them was allowed to have their powers still and I decided Emma might die without hers.

Millard - Physicist. Because he’s the smart one.

Bronwyn - Peteran Priest. If the other church is going to be known for being “the nice one” of the two, Bronwyn’s being put in charge. Jacob and Bronwyn are the only two members of opposite religions to not despise each other and everyone else is incredibly confused.

Enoch - Spy. It was that or wizard. And Emma already took that one. So now he’s pretending to be really badass when in reality he’s in a private room in the castle smacking a training dummy with the flat part of his sword he is horrendous at using.

Horace - Blacksmith. The closest I could get to anything fashion related. He also hates it, but mostly because he’s a scrawny-ass twink (me too buddy it’s okay) and being a blacksmith takes muscle he does not have and also it’s messy and also Enoch gets to live at the castle and he doesn’t.

Olive (to be added) - Princess. I spent a full hour learning how to mod this incredibly breakable game because I learned I wasn’t going to be able to play as Olive and for some reason I guess people in medieval times just. Didn’t adopt children. So Olive gets to go with Miss Peregrine, because she deserves it.

Claire (to be added) - Princess. Same deal as Olive. The best princesses in all of Peculiardom. (I haven’t actually tested if the game even with the mods will let me give them both to Perekoo, so if not Olive can be the Princess and I’ll give Claire to Emwyn so she can be a Lil’ Prioress.)

Hugh - Bard. Just because I thought it fit. It was very unfortunate that they made him live in the tavern before I had Fiona though.

Fiona - Merchant. I wanted her to sell flowers.

Noor (to be added) - Knight. Being the only peculiar actually willing to be in the war, I thought it fit her pretty well.

Miss Cuckoo - Royal Advisor. Because the game’s tutorial immediately asked me if Miss Peregrine was a lesbian, and I knew what had to be done.

Julius (to be added) - Merchant. (The NPC kind.) Purely because @carmine-golde said I should add him so Enoch can have someone to absolutely despise.

Lilly - Nurse. Because I don’t think I can do Fughllard (sigh) and I’ve always really liked Lilly. So she can work with Millard.

Ricky (to be added) - Merchant. (Also the NPC kind.) Because there’s already a Merchant Ricky the game generated on its own, and I need to find him again and customize him so we can have Ricky back.

Now, a list of things that have actually happened in this save file, and may or may not be drawn at some point:

That time Enoch and Emma killed a man while Horace was maybe thirty feet away, an event I can only imagine sounded like “HEY BABE WATCH THIS” CRUNCH

Millard walking into Bronwyn’s sermon to say hi to her and Emma, then leaving the millisecond he realized it was church

Jacob’s sermons being entirely composed of treating the congregation like a therapy group (Hugh and Enoch show up sometimes for moral support)

Emma needing to heal the big magical deadly pit beast (sound familiar?) and Jacob’s quest line literally being titled “And I’m involved in this… how?”

Enoch doing half a spy mission hungover, which was entirely Horace’s fault

That time Millard was flirted with by five separate women and still didn’t get the hint

Enoch being put in the stocks twice for failing to pickpocket somebody unnoticed, the second time after drinking an invisibility potion that was still active

That time Miss Peregrine said in the game itself, after receiving a bird as a gift, “When I was a kid I wanted to be a bird when I grew up. This is the next best thing!” (Miss P I’m so sorry)

Emma and Bronwyn kissing completely unprompted

Enoch and Horace spending multiple hours kissing completely unprompted when they had actual things they needed to be doing and also were very much in public

Hugh playing the lute while people were being shoved into the death pit

Enoch being very bad at using a sword. At this point I’m convinced he doesn’t even use the sharp bit of the blade I think he just beats the shit out of people with the flat edge like a baseball bat

Emma walking up to Miss Cuckoo and completely unapologetically apologizing for fireballing a guy in the face (he was fine)

Fiona walking up to Enoch at the war strategy table (where he literally ALWAYS is) and him immediately telling her about the people he tortures information out of for his job

[basedkikuenjoyer]

HxH 402: King Shit

Okay...this is literally the densest chapter of HxH to date and that's saying a lot given this manga had a superpower based on compound interest. Which is a bitch to be fair. Tonight thought we have a huge lurch forward in the Succession Contest itself and let's start with the beginning. Which is where we picked up from last week. Kurapika has gotten Woble into a formal truce. King Nasubi has stated "sole survivor" is up to interpretation so it matters we now have an agreement that #3 wins if only #5/#14 are left standing.

Tsubeppa's fine with this because she more than anyone else wants Kurapika close, and I'd imagine is operating under the idea she won't have to worry about #3 making it to the end. The core theme this time is how they're all playing a very unassuming game. And there are a lot of parallels here like the coin beast mentioned above and Basho getting a great little moment later. Zhang Hei is in a weird position, from the looks of it and his own assumption his Nen Beast is weaker here but potentially great after winning. He curried a strong showing in our poll, but now let's move on to someone who only got one vote. Mine.

Kacho? Kacho? What the hell girl. I dig it. Batgirl over here. Y'all, this chapter broke hard in the direction I wanted to see this contest go. Everything. So let's recap. The twins tried to escape with Melody's help. In the process we saw freaky hands go crazy and Kacho died, revealing her Nen Beast in the best moment of the arc so far. Season of Two - First twin out resurrects to aid the other. Fugetsu's ability is a tunnel to anywhere she's been, but it does require Kacho to shut it. They and Melody are under investigation for the escape attempt...but the Justice Bureau officials have seemingly been on their side. That said, FuuFuu has been getting a little crazy.

That's all well and good, but why would I think that can beat things like the freakish Nen savant or the First Prince with the military edge?

This isn't a fistfight. It is a political battle for succession. Fugetsu is the one no one is worried about. The younger ones are unpredictable and their moms are the real threat. None of the others really even know Woble or Maryam. Fuu's in that sweet spot and seems like the type everyone at least kinda likes.

But the biggest thing is that Kakin has a mostly modern government outside of this. It's the bureaucrats, yet again Melody feels she should be suspicious but nothing Kaiser has said really warrants it. This is the choice that makes sense for someone in his position. And all this scene is laying out that basic theory; Fugetsu's power is the type of thing that allows so much leeway to play this game if you have people willing to get dirty for you.

If you mistrust Kaiser, I want you to consider why. Would you say, mistrust Gon deciding he likes Melody and Fugetsu and he'll fight the bad princes for them? Is it because Kaiser's a G-Man? Oh, see that's exactly why I trust him. If you've ever been around high-level bureaucrats you'll probably know what I mean. If they're good enough to rise to that rank they could have been a politician, military officer, something with more glory. He's just the type of guy who wouldn't balk at the Trolley Problem and is used to making real decisions of that magnitude regularly. Melody's music attracted a lot of people, she's a beautiful soul, someone maybe actually doesn't care about how she looks. King Fugetsu is the type who'd just play the nice figurehead and let the advisors run their own lanes.

And he's already paid huge divdends, just like that. Fugetsu easily waltzes right into most of the other Princes' rooms. No one suspects anything, it all seems above board, Kaiser knows exactly what to do.

But I think it's easy to miss what's important here. Melody and Kurapika both hint the letter truly is a bombshell that'll upend this whole Succession Contest. Once again, of course a bureaucrat of Kaiser's rank just casually has dirt on all of them. You can really see it here with Luzurus but they're all pretty good at playing coy. And Fuu just casually fleeced them all.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

going to tear my room apart thinking about how Makoto Naegi genuinely is a normal guy. Even more so in the games where he doesn’t quite have the same explosion he does in the anime adaption— he made up his mind before the trial even started that he wasn’t going to give up no matter what happened to him because his friends had given their last trying to live, and he had to survive for them. He didn’t see surviving but choosing despair as surviving, he wanted to do what they entered the room prepared to do, he wanted to fulfill the declaration he made when he survived his execution: as long as he was alive, as long as he was breathing, he wasn’t going to give up. He saw Junko, he saw everything she presented, and he’d already felt that utter despair. He had the chance to give in as early as Mukuro’s first trial, where he could have chosen to suspect Kirigiri. But he refused to be manipulated anymore, he refused to play the game, even if it meant everything he had, and that’s where he changed from hiding to fighting. When he made the decision to hide Kirigiri’s lie (he did NOT know he was going to die, actually!!! He thought they’d be able to work out the trap bc there was never a time limit before that trial!! That said it’s still incredible that he refused to break even when he realized it would cost him his life.) that was when he broke from his fear completely. That was when he officially bowed out of the game. He wouldn’t be subject to the game’s demands anymore, he was going to win no matter what. He chose to have reckless faith in his friends no matter what, he chose to pursue a truth that would end the game for good. It’s not entirely normal for anyone to do, for sure, but that doesn’t mean he was the only one capable. I’ve said that before in a previous post, that Makoto didn’t do anything that was impossible for any other person. Just like despair was innate in every person and everyone was capable of it, so was hope. That’s what Makoto brought out. But even he stumbled. Even he needed his friends there. And the other survivors are the ones that took Makoto’s prompt and used it to break free of Junko’s influence, Makoto didn’t force them to. He didn’t brainwash them or manipulate them or do anything to influence their thoughts any more than reminding them hope was still there for them, that it wasn’t over yet. They did the rest themselves.

And then they left, and the title Ultimate Hope got away from them all, into a world ideologically influenced by Junko’s despair, and in its absence after her death, it latched into the next powerful force one to replace what it has lost, but it needed a figurehead. So Makoto was chosen, as the one that refused to submit in the face of Junko. He was viewed as an ultimate, elevated, the world placed on his shoulders, and the same wave that brought about the Tragedy turned towards Makoto. People may have needed something to hold onto that felt as powerful as what they’d been facing, but Makoto wasn’t the only one that fought, and he wasn’t possessing some inhuman ability to always resist despair or anguish. Makoto is both exceptional in his determination and stubbornness to keep moving forward and being optimistic, and also not in the slightest, because it isn’t a talent. It isn’t an ultimate ability, it isn’t something no one else can measure up to. His uniqueness comes from his ability to choose that even if he’s standing alone. But, like I said, he’s not immune, he’s not incapable of falling. He will just do everything in his power to resist up until the end, because that’s the decision he made.

It’s weird how he’s Schrödinger’s normal. He’s the most normal guy in the world, but his view of himself as such is also flawed. He isn’t nothing. In fact one could say it’s abnormal that he’s so normal. And he DOES have something that is unique about him, even he can’t deny that fact despite trying to downplay it. He’s optimistic. He’s chosen to try and be positive or at the very least choose to keep going forward in life. That IS abnormal to an extent, despite not being some ultimate, or something no one else is capable of. It is abnormal to never entertain the idea of slowing down, getting bored, or giving up. But at the same time, Makoto DID have moments like that in the game. The only time he really stopped doing that was in the final chapter, when he was pushed to his absolute limit and those parts of him exaggerated themselves so that he could feel like he could survive. He’s the weirdest normal guy alive, I guess.

Anyway I’m rambling and this probably doesn’t make sense bc I pulled an all nighter for the final class trial but I’m losing my mind over Makoto Naegi all the time

[southerngothicchic]

𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑴𝒆?

18+

You attended a party at the estate of the CEO of the corporation you worked for. It was mandatory for all employees to attend, as it was a retirement/coronation party for the outgoing CEO and the ushering in of his son as the new figurehead.

You rolled your eyes at having to go to something like this, as you'd rather spend your time doing literally anything else than socializing with a bunch of snooty elites and nepo babies.

The savior of the evening was the open bar, as you took advantage of it. The last thing you wanted to be was sober at something like this. Because of your slightly inebriated state, you were inclined to entertain the advances of a handsome young man, that found you wandering out on the balcony.

It was a chilly night, and the thin sleeves of your dress didn't provide much warmth. You rubbed your bicep with your free hand, while you took a sip from your drink in the other.

"Its a little cold to be out here, don't you think?" A voice asked from behind you.

"Its too stuffy in there for me, so I needed some air," you replied, turning towards him.

"I know what you mean, that's why I came out here myself," he continued, taking a step closer to you. "I've never been one for parties, at least not ones like this, with people I don't even like."

He then stood next to you, and leaned against the small, stone wall that enclosed the balcony.

"Although, sometimes I meet someone that makes the night bearable," he continued. "And I think I've just met that person."

He smiled, as his eyes met yours, making you blush.

You chatted with this mysterious stranger for a while, before he couldn't stand the sight of you shivering anymore. He quickly took off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You tried to protest, but he insisted, so you accepted his chivalrous gesture. He stood in front of you, his fingers still clutching the jacket's collar, as he gazed affectionately at you.

You weren't sure why he was looking at you like that, as you were still practically strangers. His hand then cupped your cheek, as he used his hold on you to pull you closer to him.

"So pretty," he whispered, before leaning in for a kiss.

You didn't reciprocate it, at first, prompting him to pull away.

"Is something wrong?" He then asked, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"No, I just..." Your voice trailed off when you met his gaze, suddenly feeling foolish for speaking.

"Its ok, honey," he assured. "I know."

He pressed his lips to yours once more with you kissing him back this time. Your head was spinning from his pet name, reeling from how personal, how intimate it was. He slipped his arm around your waist, pushing your body against his.

"You're still shivering," he breathed, against your lips. "Are you still cold or do I make you that nervous?"

"Both," you replied, your hands resting against his chest.

He grinned.  "Let's go inside then, and I'll make sure to get you all warmed up."

You bit your lip as you nodded, allowing him to lead you back into the house.

Instead of rejoining the party, he led you up a grand staircase, to his room. It was in another wing of the house, away from the sounds of drunk socialites and prying eyes.

You were amazed at the gothic opulence of your surroundings, as you followed him into the room. Once the door was closed and locked, his arms were around you. He pushed his jacket to the floor and pressed his large hands against your back.

"I just realized I never asked your name," you breathed, as he leaned in to kiss you.

"Its Steve," he revealed, before pressing his lips to yours.

You start to tell him your name, but he stopped you.

"I already know yours."

"How-?" You questioned, until he cut you off with more kisses.

"They'll be time for questions later, angel, and I promise I'll answer them, but right now, is about us..." he cryptically explained before kissing you deeply. 

Confusion temporarily ruled your mind, before it was replaced with overwhelming lust.

"I've waited so long for you," he breathily confessed, against your cheek.

You were already too dazed to question him again, as his closeness clouded your senses. You then felt him unzipping your dress. It fell to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you in your matching black bra and panties, which were concealed by black, opaque tights.

He sharply inhaled at the sight of you, biting his lip as he knelt in front of you. His hands traveled up your thighs, before settling on the waist of your tights. His eyes met yours as he pulled them down your legs.

You stepped out of your heels first, before stepping out of your tights. He tossed them over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours. His hands were on you again, grasping your thighs, as he pressed kisses to them.

"I'm going to worship you tonight, and always," he breathed, nuzzling his nose against your skin.

You stood there, stunned, still unsure what exactly was happening. Despite your uncertainty, you had the overwhelming urge to run your fingers through his hair. Your hand hovered above his head, as he continued pressing wet kisses to your thighs. You slowly lowered it and gently combed your fingers through his sculpted locks. He seemed to purr at your touch and glanced up at you, his warm eyes somehow brighter.

He rose to his feet and slipped his arms around you, pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

"Go lay on the bed, angel," he softly instructed, his heavy gaze meeting yours once again.

You nodded and promptly did as you were told. He smiled at how obedient you were already.

He sauntered over to the bedside, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He quickly discarded it then unbuttoned his pants. You watched as he pushed them down his thighs, revealing his tight underwear. It left nothing to the imagination, as you could see the perfect outline of his already hardening length.

He smirked when he caught you unashamedly staring at him.

"See something you like?" He then jokingly asked, making you blush.

"Don't worry, angel," he began, crawling onto the bed, then hovering over you. "Its all because of you..."

His lips were pressed to yours again, in another heated kiss.

"I'm gonna give you all of me tonight," he breathily promised, as you whimpered into his kiss.

His hand then slipped between you and  cupped you through your panties.

"And you're gonna give yourself to me, aren't you, angel?"

"Yes," you answered, wanting him more than you've ever wanted anyone before.

"So compliant," he praised. "I really lucked out with you."

You pulled him into a kiss, this time, further exciting him.

"Do you want to feel my fingers, angel?" He asked, against your lips, relishing your desire for him.

"Please..." you whined, hating how pathetic you sounded.

"And polite, too. You're fucking perfect," he lamented before kissing you again.

He pushed your panties to the side and eased two fingers inside you. You sighed as he pushed them in, up to his knuckles, as well as writhing underneath him. He pumped them in and out of you, torturously slow, at first, while kissing you deeply.

You gasped his name when he added another finger and increased his pace.

"I want to make sure you're ready for me, honey," he breathed.

Your head fell back, against the pillow and your eyes closed, your body pulsing with an aching need for him.

He turned his attention to your neck and sucked several purple marks into your skin as he continued to pleasure you. He then felt your legs tremble, and slowly withdrew his fingers.

You actually whined at the loss, while he softly laughed.

"So needy, aren't we?" He teased, before placing his fingers between his lips. He wasn't prepared for just how sweet you tasted, as it had him moaning.

His eyes met yours and you gasped when you saw how they glowed a bright yellow.

"What are you?" You finally managed to ask, as he settled next to you.

"The short answer is that I'm a demon, technically an incubus. Well half demon, actually, I'm still half human, too," he casually explained.

You looked at him, wide eyed, as you waited for him to divulge more.

His hand cupped your cheek, as he continued, "I know how unbelievable this sounds, but stay with me, it'll all make sense in the end.  My father's also an incubus. He met my mother decade's ago and then had me, of course. You see, when a demon mates with a human, the child is only half demon, until he or she, meets and mates with their...soul mate, for lack of a better term. Then, they become their true self, a fully fledged incubus or succubus, if you will. Are you still with me?"

You nodded, still processing everything he's told you so far.

"It was prophesied that you were, essentially, going to be the love of my life. The only downside was I had to wait, like, a fucking eternity for you," he paused to kiss you. "But, so far, you were worth it."

He kissed you again, and your body naturally responded by reciprocating his kiss and pulling him closer. Your mind, however, was screaming for you to stop, to get out and get away from him.

He knew you were afraid of him now, that you wanted to leave.

"If you don't want to stay with me, this is your one chance to leave," he said lowly, pulling away to look into your eyes.

"Because once I- once we have sex, we'll be bound to each other forever..."

"Seriously?" You asked, finally finding your voice again.

"Yeah, it'll complete my transformation into my true self, after that, your soul will be bound to me for all eternity," he explained, as his fingers lightly caressed your cheek.

The nonchalant way he explained everything infuriated you.

"Something tells me you wouldn't let me leave, even if I wanted to," you surmised, your eyes now challenging his.

His lips then spread into a grin.

"So perceptive, and you're right, I wouldn't let you out of this room. I've waited too long for you..." he said, leaning in close again. "And I'm going to take what's been promised to me."

You actually gasped when you felt his nails dig into your flesh.

"And really, does the thought of me fucking you disgust you that much?"

You hated how it didn't. How you still wanted him, despite everything. Despite what he revealed himself to be. Despite whatever you would become afterwards.

"No," you quietly answered.

"That's my girl," he praised, before pressing his lips to yours, for a searing kiss.

His hand slipped between your legs and felt how wet you still were for him.

"Fuck, you're just begging to be devoured," he breathed, into your mouth, before slithering down your body.

"Eyes on me, angel," he commanded, while gazing up at you.

He then tore your panties off, fully exposing you to him.

You then watched in awe as he flicked his serpent like tongue over you. You wanted to close your eyes, already overwhelmed, but felt his nails digging into your thighs, prompting you to keep them open.

He then languidly licked and sucked making you writhe and reach for him. Your hands settled in his hair and pulled, eliciting delicious moans from him. His strong hands then held your legs open wider as he brought you closer to the edge.

His eyes were glowing, seeming to change with his growing lust.

You sighed his name, as he crawled back up to you, his lips and chin glistening.

Before you realized what you were doing, you pulled him in for a kiss. You even surprised him, making him ache for you even more. You tasted yourself on his lips and it had your eyes rolling back.

"You want me..." he breathed, before sucking on your bottom lip. "You want me to fuck you now, honey?"

"Y-Yes..."

"Tell me how much you want it, how much you want to belong to me," he continued, into another kiss.

"I want to be yours, I want you to make me yours..." you dreamily said, while gazing into his golden eyes.

He grinned darkly. "Do you?"

You nodded. "Please..."

You pressed your lips to his again, desperately. He was truly loving every minute of this.

"Please what...?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"I need you..." you breathily answered, before kissing him deeply.

"Remember, once we do this, you're mine forever," he cautioned, pulling away to gaze into your eyes.

You saw how his shimmered, not glowing as brightly as before, but still beautiful.

"I know," you simply replied.

"And you're ok with that?" He questioned, his brows furrowing.

"You haven't left me much choice, but yes, I am." You then pulled him close, so your lips brushed his ear, as you added, "Make me yours, Steve."

He sharply inhaled before pinning you to the bed, below him. He then kissed you roughly, his hand reaching underneath you to unclasp your bra. After slipping your arms out of it, he threw it to the floor.

He then attached his mouth to your breasts. He breathed praises into your supple skin, as he licked and kissed.

His hands kept a firm grip on your wrists, as you whimpered for him. He licked the valley between your breasts, before releasing his hold on you. He left the bed only to take off his underwear.

You couldn't help but gasp when you saw how he was throbbing for you. He sensed your apprehension as he resumed his place on top of you.

"You can take it, honey, I know you can," he cooed, gazing down at you, so affectionately.

You instinctively spread your legs wider as he nestled his hips between them. He briefly teased you by rubbing his tip against you, making you shiver all over again.

He kissed you passionately, as an effort to distract you from the sting of him easing himself inside you. You gasped into it, feeling him stretch you like no other man had before. Your eyes watered as you felt every inch of him.

"Steve, I don't think I..." you breathed, when he was only half way in.

"Yes you can, angel," he assured, pressing kisses all over your face. "Just spread your legs a little more."

You did as he said, and he was able to push himself all the way in, his hips meeting yours.

"See? I knew you could take me..." he gasped.

He didn't move, as he wanted you to get acclimated to him. You were already dizzy from how deep he was and how full you felt.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He asked, breathless.

You nodded, unable to form words.

"You feel fucking incredible, angel," he continued,  breathless.

He then slowly pulled out of you before thrusting back in. You whimpered his name as he fucked you slow, to start. His moans echoed in your ears while your nails clawed at his shoulders.

"Wrap you legs around me," he then instructed.

Once you complied, you each moaned at how he managed to fuck you even deeper.

"Oh, S-Steve..." you sighed, never feeling pleasure remotely close to this before. "Its so, you're so..."

"I know, honey," he breathed, against your neck.

He gently licked the little bruises that littered your skin, before kissing them.

"You're doing so good for me...taking me so well..." he praised, as you squeezed your eyes shut, soft moans escaping your lips with every thrust.

You noticed his voice seemed deeper now, though you weren't sure if you were hearing him correctly, considering how hazy your mind was and that this was already the best sex of your life.

"Is it ok if I go a little faster?" He then asked, getting your attention.

"Y-Yeah..." you whimpered, as you gazed up at him.

His eyes were glowing again, brighter than before. You were transfixed by them, as you reached up to touch his face. His hips slowed as he watched you press your palm against his heated skin. He was so hot to the touch, you thought you'd actually burn yourself.

No one had ever touched him like that, so gentle, so affectionate. He was already falling in love, a feeling so new and foreign, he was meant to finally experience with you.

He then let you pull him into a kiss. It was slow, romantic. How he wished he could be kissed like this all the time.

He started moving his hips again, as you sighed against his lips.

"I wanna stay like this forever," he breathed. "Would you like that, honey? To stay with me, as I fuck you better than any mortal man ever could?"

You whimpered, before actually forcing yourself to respond, "Yes..."

He grinned. "I wanna try something..."

He sat up, pulling himself out of you, for a moment. You watched as he placed your legs against his chest, with your feet at his shoulders. His chest hair scratched the backs of your calves as he positioned you how he wanted. His large hands held your hips as he eased himself back into you.

You each moaned as he was able to push himself in much easier now. He began thrusting into you, while keeping a tight grip on your hips. You glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails had been replaced with claws. They lightly scraped your skin with his movements.

You knew this should frighten you, but it didn't faze you. You merely acknowledged the change before your vision blurred, as the familiar euphoria took over.

"Still good, angel?" He breathily asked, as his hips snapped against you.

You nodded. "Steve, it's so..."

Your voice trailed off into a moan as he kept hitting the right spots.

He then leaned over you, bending your knee and pressing it to your chest.

You gasped as you felt him even deeper.

Your hands settled on his shoulders, but instead of feeling his tan, freckled skin, leathery scales met your fingertips. You almost recoiled at the feeling, but the intense pleasure coursing through you made you think otherwise.

You opened your eyes and saw his whole body was covered in dark scales. His face still hadn't changed too much, he was still just as handsome, though his complexion was starting to match the rest of his changing appearance.

"You truly were made for me, honey," he praised. "The most beautiful, perfect woman I've ever seen that I get to fuck until the end of time..."

His praises sent your head spinning.

"I can't wait to start our life together...I'm gonna give you everything you've ever wanted...we'll get married and then you'll have my children...it'll be the perfect life..." he breathed, as he fucked you hard and fast.

You were literally coming apart underneath him. You felt as though you were undergoing your own transformation, as he roughly claimed you as his.

"Does that sound good to you, honey?" He asked, his lips ghosting over yours. "Being my perfect, little wife and having our own little family?"

You nodded, as tears streamed down your face, from intense pleasure. You also found his vision for your life oddly heartwarming.

"I need to hear you, honey," he chided, emphasizing his statement with hard thrusts.

"Yes, I'll...I'll be whatever you want," you rasped, feeling like your body's melting into the mattress.

"I'm definitely gonna use that against you, in the future, " he darkly laughed.

You barely registered his words, as you felt you had transcended to a new plane of existence. A place where only you and he existed. A place just for you to worship each other.

His lips against yours brought you back to reality. You struggled to kiss him back, making him laugh once again.

"I know you're close, angel, I am too," he breathed, his lips moving to your cheek. "I can feel you squeezing me..."

An obscene moan escaped his lips as he fucked you, chasing his own release.

You sighed his name over and over, as you arched your back when he kept hitting that spot.

"I'm gonna fill you up, angel...its gonna be dripping out of you...you'll be so full...fuck" he breathed, his lips now at your ear.

"Tell me you want it...to feel my seed dripping out between your legs."

"I want it, Steve, please..." you whined, your hands grasping for whatever they could.

After a few more thrusts, you came undone around him. Tears flowed from your eyes and your moans echoed throughout the room, while he kept grunting above you. He kept fucking you until he reached his own climax. Inhuman cries of ecstacy left his lips, forcing you to open your eyes long enough to see his turn completely black as he rode out his high.

You wanted to look away, but you couldn't. You watched and winced as he kept thrusting into you, making sure he gave you every last drop of him.

When his hips finally stilled, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His heavy breathing now filled the room, while you struggled to breathe with him practically crushing you.

You then reached up to smooth his hair, gently combing unruly strands behind his ear. You glided your other hand over his shoulders and was relieved when you felt his skin had returned to normal.

You softly said his name, getting him to glance up at you. His eyes were glowing once again, but there was a new warmth within them.

He raised his head, so he could capture your kiss swollen lips for another kiss.

"You were definitely worth the wait," he breathily confirmed, making you laugh.

"I'm glad I lived up to your expectations," you replied, still with a laugh.

"Oh, you exceeded them," he smiled. He nuzzled his nose against yours, before kissing you again.

"You're everything I've ever wanted, angel."

"Steve..." you breathed into another kiss.

His hand cradled your face as he kissed you, deeply.

Sometime later, you and Steve lay curled around each other, under the sheets. Your head rested on his bare chest as he lightly glided his fingertips up and down your arm. His touch was so soothing, it had almost lulled you to sleep until you heard his voice.

"Do you think you could ever love someone-something like me?"

You raised your head, your eyes meeting his even in the darkened room.

"I know we just met, but I already feel like I'm falling in love with you," he added, his vulnerability surprising you.

You moved closer to him, so close the tips of your noses touched.

"I know I could love you, Steve Harrington," you smiled.

"You knew this whole time?" He asked, also with a smile.

You nodded. "It wasn't that hard to figure out."

"I thought I was being properly mysterious," he replied, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"You did make a valiant effort," you laughed, before he pulled you closer, so your lips connected.

"It worked, though, because you're here."

"True, though your little confession made quite the difference..."

"Usually does," he grinned.

Your lips brushed his before kissing him again.

"So, you're really ok with all this?" He asked, while his thumb caressed your cheek.

"Strangely, yes," you answered. "Knowing what you really are, makes me want you more."

His eyes glowed once more as his lips curled into an excited smile.

"Oh, angel," he breathed against your lips, "we're gonna have so much fun."

[odinsblog]

In the coming days/weeks, you’re going to hear a lot about how Ukraine should accept the terms of surrender (as that’s what they are) offered by Russia—how they’d be “stupid” not to, how Zelenskyy should “do the right thing for his people” and prioritize saving lives, how peace should be the priority and we can’t always get what we want.

Make no mistake: even if Russia intends to uphold these terms once Zelenskyy accepts them, this is a terrible deal for Ukraine and a terrible deal for the world.

First of all, there’s no guarantee that Russia will respect a cease fire or peace treaty. Obviously that’s always the case with war, but it’s especially the case when they’ve already violated multiple cease fire agreements by firing on and murdering evacuating civilians, including children. So there’s your peace treaty.

Second, the terms that Russia has presented include virtually all of Putin’s actual goals for this illegal invasion (obviously “de-Nazification” and “de-militarization” were just lies à la “weapons of mass destruction,” a rhetorical tactic that really ought to be familiar to any self-respecting American leftist). Ukraine would forfeit its claim on the territories Russia has already illegally annexed/recognized, it would be forced to change its constitution (!!!) to commit to never joining any “pacts” (EU, NATO, anything else that forms in the future), and it would retain Zelenskyy as a figurehead while installing a pro-Russian actual government leadership.

This is—and I cannot stress this enough—not a “compromise” or a “peace treaty.” It’s terms of surrender. And the lesson learned here is that Russia can continue invading and terrorizing sovereign states without any actual consequences—remember, Putin doesn’t personally care about Western sanctions. He doesn’t care if his people are plunged into poverty as long as he and his cronies aren’t, and they won’t be. He’s furious about the sanctions because he finds them personally offensive and because they confirm his victim complex, not because he’s legitimately worried for his people like Zelenskyy is.

Third, and perhaps most importantly, Putin has made it extremely clear that he seeks to rebuild a Russian empire. He will not stop with Crimea, Luhansk, and Donetsk. (And make no mistake—Luhansk and Donetsk are not independent sovereign states like Ukraine; they’re simply Russian satellites.) He will not stop with forced regime change in Belorus, Georgia, Syria, and Ukraine. (And even if he did—isn’t that awful enough?) He is not “concerned about Russia’s security” or “worried about NATO’s encroachment” or whatever his extensive social media operation has you believing. He’s not concerned or worried about anything. He’s a dictator expanding his empire. He is exactly what you all feared Trump was.

I believe that this “offer” from Russia to Ukraine serves two purposes, and neither of them is to establish a lasting peace and autonomy for each country. One is to give Putin a potential way to back out of a war that has already gone much worse than he expected and cost him significantly in terms of personnel and equipment. (Not the sanctions—like I said, I don’t think he personally cares about the sanctions and in fact sees them as a political tool to use to his advantage.)

The second and more important goal is to create a way for the international community to blame Ukraine for the continued war. “If you’d just accept the terms, you could save your people and prevent nuclear war.” It’s absolutely classic DARVO tactics that, again, any progressive activist should be familiar with. “Sure, it’s not your fault he attacked you, but you shouldn’t have reported it, made a big deal of it, gotten him ‘cancelled,’ made it public, etc.”

It’s not Ukraine’s responsibility to “prevent nuclear war.” Ukraine gave up its nuclear weapons in exchange for protection—protection that it has not received, although Western aid and military assistance has undoubtedly been helpful. Placing responsibility on Ukraine to accept unjust terms and illegal annexation of its land in order to “prevent nuclear war” only lends credence to the claim that only nuclear weapons can keep a country truly safe—after all, it would mean that Putin’s nuclear threats have allowed him to invade his neighbors, terrorize their citizens, destroy their resources, replace their democratically elected leaders with his own puppets, and steal their land—without even having to make any concessions himself.

So here’s my plea to my American progressive/leftist siblings. Please question what you think you know about Putin, Russia, and Ukraine. There are certainly far-right and neo-Nazi political forces in Ukraine as there are in any country, but Zelenskyy is a progressive, democratically elected JEWISH president. NATO and the EU have their (serious) issues, but they have not pressured or forced any former Soviet states to join—in fact, prior to this war, it seemed unlikely that Ukraine would be admitted. Ukraine WANTED to join to protect itself from Russia, which had already illegally annexed its land, empowered far-right groups within its borders, and forced regime changes in surrounding countries.

Putin is not an anti-imperialist revolutionary; he denounces American imperialism because it’s convenient for him politically and it keeps the American left from putting pressure on our government to divest from Russia. Sure, maybe the Democrats oversold Russian election hacking as an explanation for Trump’s win (although the more I learn about the extent of Russia’s disinfo campaign, the more I question this common leftist talking point), but that doesn’t mean that Putin isn’t bent on conquering Eastern Europe and subduing Western powers by any means necessary. This goes far beyond American electoral politics, and the answers here do not conform to American party lines. Do not fall into the trap of dismissing politicians’ statements about Putin and Russia just because you disagree with the rest of their stances.

Putin is a dictator. Sometimes it really is that simple. A former KGB agent, he came to power by staging the modern Russian version of the Reichstag fire (look up “Russian apartment bombings”), using that as an excuse to start a war and win it, and he has maintained his power through strong-arming and terror. The State Duma is entirely symbolic at this point; anyone who goes against Putin knows that they are likely not only to die, but to die horribly, just like Alexei Navalny almost did not long ago (look up “Novichok” and prepare yourself for some body horror).

I could go on. I won’t right now. But in truth, I deeply regret the fact that I haven’t done more over the past 8 or so years to disrupt the blatant Putinist propaganda I hear from a lot of my fellow progressives. I had other priorities and I didn’t give it the attention I should’ve. To be clear: nothing America or American progressives could’ve done would’ve stopped this war, only delayed it or hastened it. The war was inevitable because Putin wants to conquer Ukraine, and beyond.

So I’ll just say—please, please listen to people who fled Russia/the Soviet Union, and to experts who study Russia. The most likely threat here isn’t a nuclear WWIII; this isn’t about you. The thing people like me fear most is simply that Putin will continue subjugating, terrorizing, and ultimately conquering innocent citizens of sovereign states, and that the West will eventually just accept this as the price of nuclear deterrence.

I’m not a political scientist; I don’t know how to stop this war. All I know is that Ukrainian surrender isn’t it. Listen to Ukrainians, anti-Putin Russians, and other experts, form your own opinion, and most importantly, keep your wits about you. Not everyone in this world is a good faith negotiating partner. Some people are, unfortunately, just evil. Hitler was, Stalin was, Putin is.

(source)

[themojaveexpress]

Bethesda wanted to go personal with fallout 4, but then they didn't put in the time and thought that going personal requires!!

Where are the articulate, grown-up conversations (multiple conversations, not just one!) with adult Shaun about why he's made certain choices, let us talk about what he believes in!! Like, what he actually believes in. There's interesting arguments that could've been made in this scenario and they just never go there! (Arguments that go beyond the very surface level reasonings we hear from nearly every Institute NPC.) They could've done anything.

And while I'm here, actually reward the player for having a good relationship with Shaun. And when I say that I mean specifically the relationship with Shaun, not just your Institute standing. Let us bring him gifts (or some game mechanic that lets us raise his affinity without siding with the institute), in order to access more personal conversations. Why can't we have a deeper conversation with him about what it really would've been like if he hadn't been kidnapped. Would it have been shitty? Good? A mix of both? Plenty of opportunities for role playing here. Why can't we break down the barrier between our characters? Why isn't it a choice? If you don't care about Shaun you get Father, you get the cold figurehead who doesn't give a shit about anything but the Institute. But if you bother to talk to him, to find out how he feels? You can have something close to a parent/child relationship, you can find out how he actually feels about his life and what he's doing. Come on Bethesda, if you want it to be personal don't just rely on the players ability to imagine it being deeper than it is. I honestly think a lot of players aren't giving themselves credit for how much they themselves bring to the story with their own thoughts and ideas. If it was deep to you, then YOU brought that to the table.

My point here isn't just about Shaun either. Same goes for companions. For the love of god Bethesda, let your writers actually think about what they're writing. I know they can! We see glimpses of it all through the game, especially in far harbor. But whether it's a lack of time, or poor direction, or both, or something else.... idk. I don't mind games "going personal", but that cannot be shorthand for "we've given up".

[heliads]

okay, hopefully you have room for more than one request from me !! this time, could i pretty please request billy rocks with a gender-neutral reader, since you know i have to send in my obligatory magnificent seven request ? the reader is a member of the seven and their resident medic, in charge of patching up everyone else’s injuries after a fight. they’ve had a kind of flirting banter thing going on with billy for a while, but neither of them are planning on really doing anything about it anytime soon, until the reader collapses after a battle because they ignored their own injuries in favor of helping the others and billy completely freaks out. when the reader finally wakes up, the others tell them that billy hasn’t left their side the entire time they were out, and after billy soundly scolds them for ignoring their own health, they finally confess ?

again, obviously you don’t have to right this if you’d rather not, but if you do, thank you so much in advance, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'living, surviving' - billy rocks

masterlist

He will die tomorrow morning, but now, while the town of Rose Creek is still quiet and dark, Billy Rocks is alive. Alive and alone. No one sees him, no one knows him. He remains invisible, curtained by deep shadow. He looks around him at the wavering lights of candles in windows, and wonders, depressingly, when they’ll get blown out by gunshots. When every glass pane shatters, when every roof collapses, when each body falls and friend goes missing, Billy will remember this night, back when nothing had gone wrong yet.

The wind whistles through the slots in the door out back, bringing with it the vague lilts of laughter and conversation from a few doors down. There are people here who still harbor hopes of walking out of tomorrow morning’s fight alive, and they’ve gathered around fires or drinks to convince themselves that it’ll happen. Not Billy, though. Billy, as per usual, is alone.

He likes being alone, though. It lets him see what others don’t. Billy remembers being a child once, a long time ago in a place that was not this one. A schoolmate of his, a friend, maybe, had shown him a print of an ancient warship in the book with a proud figurehead at the front cut out to look like the head of a god. It was meant to guard the ship, apparently, and keep it from harm.

It had always struck Billy as a rather lonesome thing. One god, brought down to land in the form of a wooden carving, always staring ahead sightlessly and separated from the crew. Forever bond to solitude. Watching out for the men aboard that would never look it in the eyes.

Now, though, Billy thinks that he quite understands it. He is alone now, hidden comfortably in the shadows such that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Tucked away in a dark corner, he can see the various inhabitants of Rose Creek nervously passing the time before they’ll likely lose their lives. Lost in drink or card games, doing their best to do too much so their minds can’t sit and think about how little time they’ve got left, nobody has the patience or nerve to check for things hiding in the shadows. They certainly don’t look hard enough to find him.

They wouldn’t if they tried. Billy has had a lot of time to perfect the art of remaining out of sight. He shows off when he wants to, twirling a silver knife just right so the lithe blade reflects the sun like an arc of pure light, but he prefers being quiet. He’ll let Goodnight do the talking, or Billy’s knives. When he’s quiet, he can watch. When he’s quiet, he can learn the secrets about people that they aren’t aware they’re telling. He can guide his crew from the shadows. He can lead them from his place alone above the stormy water.

Usually, no one can find Billy unless he wants them to. The exception, of course, is Goodnight, because as business partners, it became somewhat of a necessity to find Billy when need be, so he’s let that slide. Tonight, though, with Goodnight gone and everyone else highly strung due to the battle looming ahead, Billy doesn’t think he’ll be found.

That makes it even more surprising when he is. Billy sees this new arrival coming, of course, but he assumes they’ll veer off towards the bar, or that they’ll go laugh with the drinkers or the dancers like everyone else sees fit on this restless night. Instead, their path stays true, and they not only find Billy at once but pull up a chair next to him. Like the only thing they want to do on what may be their last night alive is to spend time with him. Like Billy is the only person worth seeing at all.

Ordinarily, Billy Rocks has no problem holding his tongue. He’ll whisper a few biting jokes here or there, typically never above the volume of a sigh, but he’s never had a problem with keeping his peace. Tonight seems to be a night of surprises, though, because Y/N L/N, their resident medic, has hardly sat down before Billy’s asking them cautiously, “You don’t want to be with the others, then?”

Y/N glances towards him, surprised, as if they hadn’t even realized this would be an option. “Now, why would I do that when I’ve got such pleasant company here with me?”

Billy chuckles in spite of himself. “It’s not the most entertaining of company.”

“Mmm,” they hum, “but I like it better that way, I think. Tonight’s not a night for shouting. Seems wrong that way.”

Billy lets out a slow breath. He can feel his fingers curling at his sides, readying themselves for triggers or blades come the next morning. “No, it doesn’t,” he agrees.

Quiet falls. Billy waits for them to leave, but they don’t. They stay, and they smile at him, warm in the lamplight from across the room, and say, “You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

“Of course not,” Billy replies hastily. “Besides, what sort of man would I be to kick out our medic the night before a fight? I can’t risk upsetting you now, sweetheart. You might do something wild, like sew me up with pink thread.”

Y/N laughs. Billy finds himself glad for the isolation again– out there in the main room of the bar, the sound of Y/N’s laughter might have blended in with the stomping of heels, the creaking of wood, but out here, with nothing else to disguise it but his own bated breath, Billy delights in it entirely. The sound curls around him like music, and his fingers twitch again, this time not to reach for a weapon but to hold their laughter. To hold them, maybe. It’s a good thing he knows better. It’s a good thing he doesn’t want that more than anything, because if he did, he might do something foolish like try.

“I’d never mess with you,” they grin. “Promise. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Wouldn’t just ruin your reputation, it would ruin my skin,” Billy grumbles, but he’s smiling again.

Y/N knows it too. They always seem to smile all the brighter when he’s smiling too, like it’s a bet they’ve won. “I wouldn’t dare,” they promise. “Besides, I can’t go threatening one of our best shooters the night before I fight, can I? What sort of friend would I be? I need you on my side to keep me safe.”

Billy arches a brow. “I’ve seen you with a gun, darling. I’m pretty sure you can keep yourself safe all on your own.”

Y/N’s lips curl suggestively. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Something hot rushes through the back of his neck. “I leave it to you to find the fun in a gunfight,” Billy says hoarsely. Changing the subject is the safest thing to do right now. It’s safer than leaning closer, than returning Y/N’s fire with fire. Safer than touching them, which is what he wants to do right now most of all.

This is not the night for that, Billy reminds himself. They’re going to die tomorrow and he won’t cloud either of their judgment. So, even though he wants nothing more than to keep testing this theory and see where they break, he forces himself to pull back and resume a normal conversation. He encourages Y/N to get some rest before everything goes to hell tomorrow, and hopefully, they will. Y/N’ll have a lot of hard work headed their way by dawn. He doesn’t want them any more stressed than they need to be.

The sun rises, bringing trouble with it. Bogue brings a lot of men, too many by Billy’s estimate. He grits his teeth as he watches them ride in, and prepares himself for a long, bloody morning. They’ve set up a small medical center in one of the better protected buildings where Y/N can practice their craft. If Billy can only make sure none of Bogue’s thugs make it to them, he’ll die a happy man.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to like the idea of sitting pretty while their friends die. Ordinarily, Billy wouldn’t blame them for that, but he can’t deny that his heart starts racing whenever they sprint out into the streets to tend to the wounds of their fallen friends. Once Goodnight turns up, the other man wastes no time in teasing Billy about his obvious partiality to the brazen medic, but Billy’s only half listening, anyway. He can’t both partake in snide comments and keep Y/N alive, and he’s really only interested in one of those things.

The battle rages on, then, startlingly enough, quiets. Bodies line the streets, both the dead and the injured. Y/N has been moving non stop almost the entire time; how they haven’t passed out from exhaustion, Billy has no clue. He sees them swaying slightly on their feet as they move from patient to patient, and mentally reminds himself to make sure they’re doing alright. He just needs a little more time to clear the enemy from the town, then he’ll be free to check on them.

Once the final thug has been killed or chased off, Billy starts scanning the area for Y/N. A couple friends mention that they saw the medic recently, but none of them can point him in the right direction. He checks the medical center, but it’s only inhabited by the groaning injured, not sunny would-be doctors with a spark in their eye and a quick joke on their tongue. 

Heading outside again, Billy completes a slow loop around the building, but he can’t find them anywhere. Panic starting to grow in his chest, he pulls aside Sam when the other man walks by.

“You haven’t seen Y/N around, have you?” Billy asks hastily.

Sam gives him a slow, worried look. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure that I have. They were keeping plenty busy while the fighting was hot, but it’s been a while since they crossed my path.”

Billy nods, not even sparing the time for a thank you before continuing on his careening search through the city. As he paces down the streets, some of his friends make to approach him, but he brushes them all off. Nothing matters except finding Y/N. Nothing matters except finding Y/N.

And then, almost by accident, he does. It isn’t how he’d expected. Somehow, some naive part of him was hoping he’d find them in the tavern, already with a drink in hand, or surrounded by some awestruck sharpshooters, dazzling them with their wit. Anything that would guarantee their safety. Anything that would keep them out of harm.

In reality, when he finds Y/N, it’s no different than finding any of the other fallen bodies. They’re slumped against the wall of a building, a roll of bandages fallen loosely from their hand. There’s a man unconscious next to them, a friend of theirs who’d evidently suffered from a gash across the arm. Billy spots Y/N’s expert handiwork in the form of a clean wrap across the injury, but the one who seems to need medical care now is Y/N themself.

Hurriedly, he crouches by them, lifting a hand to check for a pulse. “Y/N?” He asks, his voice wavering.

Y/N stirs slightly, their eyes half-lidded. “Billy? That you?”

“It’s me,” he confirms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

They move slightly, grimacing in pain, and that’s when Billy notices the dark splash of red seeping out of their waistcoat. “Sweetheart,” he repeats unsteadily, “Don’t tell me you got shot, now. You can’t just bleed out like that without getting yourself some help.”

“I had to help him,” Y/N whispers. “That’s what mattered.”

“No, you’re what matters,” Billy hisses. “Fuck the rest. You were supposed to put your health above theirs.”

Y/N manages a slight slip of a grin, not even a half-smile, and the obvious pain it causes them makes Billy’s heart clench in his chest. “Now, what kind of medic would I be if I did that?”

“A safe one,” he sighs. “Now, come on. I’m going to pick you up and get you some help, alright? Don’t you dare close your eyes. I need you to stay with me.”

“I like staying with you,” Y/N mumbles as Billy picks them up.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he tells them. 

Y/N feels deathly still in his arms, and Billy doesn’t want to give that a single moment of his attention. All that matters is sprinting back to the medical center; calling for someone, anyone to help him; carefully setting Y/N down on a clear bit of space. He has to be moved away from the table so the doctor can treat them, so intent is Billy on staying within reach, and the second they tell him that Y/N’s going to be okay, he’s right back by their side.

Y/N will wake up soon, they tell him. Just a bit of exhaustion and blood loss. Y/N’s made of tough stuff, they’ll be alright. When they open their eyes again, Billy will be right by their side. This time, he has something he’d like to tell them, and this time, there isn’t anything holding them back from the love they were always meant to share.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[pontevoix]

his hands shake; he doesn't know where else to go & the headache that's been a soft throb has turned into a full blown migraine. he swallows hard –– he remembers them from back then, but they had a purpose then; is it the memories that are doing this? a phantom reminder of who he is and where he's come from? blue eyes flash behind his closed lids and he lets out a strangled noise, rain plastering his hair to his forehead as he pounds his fist on the apartment door. kenny's truck isn't in the drive –– which suits him just fine, he doesn't want him here for this. slate eyes blink water out of them when the apartment door opens, the onslaught of light making him wince for a moment as he trembles to find his voice. " i don't....i remember and i don't...know what to.... " voice trails off & levi swallows hard, frustrating blooming in his chest. there is every urge in him to drive to erwin's, to tell him –– but there's a blockade whenever he tries to & the migraine flares harder. levi chews at his bottom lip for a long moment before he finally manages to get the words out. " i don't know what to do with it. " he never asks uri for anything –– he makes a habit of that. but right now this feeling inside of his chest is too big, too strong; his lives are colliding together like a meteor impact and he doesn't know how to navigate it.

in two lives, the name reiss has made him a figurehead & a dreamer. he does what is required of him & strives for little else. it makes it easy for him to lazy schedule & continue naming himself a dreamer. unless he is scheduled for meeting, then he sets no alarm. he names himself dreamer, & the clock flashes an hour past nine. uri leaves bedsheets unmade when twenty-four hours kicks into a new day. he looks at himself in a bathroom mirror & cannot tell if his reflection is a mirror.

he ages terribly. in one life, it had been true by the weight of a curse. in this life, it becomes a needless insecurity.

the reflection doesn't have crow’s feet - he has never smiled enough to gain them. but the reflection starts to show lines at his brow, at the corners of his lips. they make him appear severe. it’s fitting. he passes severe judgement on the way that years tell-tale him.

he ages terribly. it can’t be helped. he thinks it’s a lingering consequence from a first life – he was slated only for thirteen years. he had volunteered thirteen years. when he inherited & when the timer began, he lost his voice. dreams became warped. time lost its linearity, & information of consequences, networks, & people came to him in abundance. he lost his voice to a god; as the founder, he saw the end of paradise that he once thought was cursed. & there was very little choice in what had could be done. even among the gods, there was very little choice.

he tasked upon himself to preserve paradis. his voice grew smaller

his inheritance aged him terribly. it aged him fast. it made him feel as though weight & sky were crushing his spine downwards. it diminished him.

he had volunteered thirteen years, & now he feels as though he’s stealing more time. it’s a selfish thing. it’s an indulgence. he savors it.

in the first life, kenny were thick with ackerman blood, & it was a relief to to see a man across past, present, future. & so kenny became a selfish thing. talking with kenny had been a selfish indulgence, & so too had been the bond between them.

uri makes himself selfish, too, when he finds kenny again – when they meet in the second life, kenny does not yet remember, & uri pretends to be a rooted version of himself.

he pretends that he is less of a dreamer than he had been the first time around, that he hadn't seen a world decay, that he hadn’t once abandoned humanity for godhood.

uri avoids churches & temples nowadays. it amuses kenny when he makes longer commutes to avoid traffic from popular religious centers. uri never tries to explain himself. when kenny remembers, uri doesn’t need to explain himself.

uri avoids most public spaces when he can, lets himself be fanciful. he sequesters himself in a home that he can only call his. kenny stays there more often but not, but he refuses to call it his. to give substance to his refusal, he leaves for weeks at a time – takes jobs that will let him travel.

uri thinks he hates the distance, but it is difficult for kenny to admit a shared life.

they argue about this. with memories & without. uri expects no resolution to this argument because kenny is a man built from movement & from running & from coping in solitude.

still – uri takes selfish satisfaction when kenny comes home to him, when he preens when uri casts a hand through his hair.

stretched out on an aging couch that cost far too much, uri watches him & thinks that kenny ages much nicely. he weathers in the sun & wrinkles & he wears his years like proof of survival.

he doesn’t age like uri does. he isn’t diminished.

they argue about age, too. they argue more about a lot of things. they had not previously had the opportunity, & kenny had not fully had the chance to know uri before he was a vessel for a god.

truthfully, uri hadn't had the opportunity to know himself before he was a vessel either.

they argue about habits, about substance, about responsibility, about privilege. they argue that uri has no real drive for himself but he has peculiarities. they are argue that kenny has family that he treats gruffly. it’s cowardice, uri has said. it stems from kenny’s insistence that he is a disease.

but still, kenny is closer with his family in this second life. he sees them often enough. he lets uri meet them, though he had been restless at the meeting.

the first time uri meets kenny's family, it had been odd.  he never knew them in the first life, but he saw them. he followed them down the pathways & looked through others' eyes & saw them in their dirt & in their glory.

he cannot say this to kenny, to kuchel, to levi. so instead he watches kuchel glow when he compliments her cooking. he discusses her hobbies & tells her that he would love to host her for dinner. kenny bristles at the merging of two worlds, & levi follows his lead.

levi ( @chaoslulled ) follows kenny’s lead. he looks at uri with suspicion; he looks at his him as though he weren’t part of their world, as though he couldn’t understand things that made up his daily life.

it’s a fair assumption. it makes uri hum & tell levi that he reminds him of kenny - just a little.

levi hates the comparison. his relationship with kenny is difficult. uri chides himself with the click of his tongue, but he can’t apologize. so he explains his reasoning to levi (then a child) that he thinks well of kenny, & he only means to communicate that he thinks well of levi too.

levi’s relationship with kenny is still strained. years after that first meeting, uri finds that they still  scoff at each other & think of the others' weaknesses as cowardice. they take too much hurt in their vulnerabilities & bite at each other like wounded dogs.

years after that meeting, it is still difficult for kenny to concede a shared life. he stays with uri more often than he doesn’t, but he forces a distance & still leaves for weeks at a time.

he forces the distance & hates it. he exposes himself when he calls uri at night, clears his throat, & tells him not to find another lover. kenny thinks himself a disease, thinks that uri is holier creation than he is. uri murmurs assurances into the line & waits for kenny to spin into a narrative laced with rough language & honest perceptions. uri likes listening to him. kenny knows he likes listening to him.

but still – distance is distance. kenny leaves for weeks, & uri occupies solitary nights with three lamps that burn amber, with a cup of tea on the coffee table, with nothing that he cares to do.

half-heartedly, he tempts himself to perform concentrated interest by holding a dog-earred book against his knees – a used copy of a biography of man that he supposes he works with -- biographies are very telling , he thinks. memoirs even more so. they resemble the information he used to know about common people through pathway exploration, but he finds that their narratives never say enough –

it's curious. it's quiet. it's rain splashed against the windows, tea growing cold, the intrusion of desperation knocking at the door.

when uri opens the door, he sees the pathways again.

 he closes his eyes to regain himself. he can see other men 's perception of levi in another life - grief on a child who was hungry & forgotten, grief on a man recruited into a military branch pretending freedom, grief on a man that was associated with triumph & victory & strength.

uri opens his eyes, & there is levi now. the pathways were a separate life, & levi’s desperation comes as a punch.

uri ushers him in, & the door is quiet click behind him.

he doesn't know what boundaries levi will allow. they are not quite family, but they are.  so he purses his lips & steps forward enough to press his hand against levi's shoulder - a soothing gesture. he feels older than he is.  

' your uncle is out. you can stay here tonight. in the guest room. tonight you will eat. you will drink. you will do what you have always done before remembering. & then we will talk. you are always welcome here. '

it's good that kenny isn't here. kenny doesn't know what to do with remembering either. neither does uri. but he knows that it makes him age poorly. he knows that it hurts. he knows that it feels like time has been frayed.

uri is accustomed to time’s fraying. still, for a second, he wonders how levi knows that he remembers.

he closes his eyes again & remember pathway perceptions that surround levi. the ones that had faded away before levi ever grew to be an old man.

' it's a tragic way to love, i know. '

[binaryjayne]

More Venko. Forever Venko. I am STUCK on this pair.

First off, I wrote a thing. It's this thing right here:

After the war, the Alliance and press catch wind of their relationship and decide to "redo" their wedding, making it an enormous event in the process. Both James and Kaidan want just a tiny bit of it for themselves.

Pairing: Kaidan Alenko X James Vega | rated G | 2.5k words | Part of the Honeymoon series

CUE THE OVER ANALYZING OF THESE CHARACTERS AND THIS FIC.

Spoilers for my Honeymoon series (and this fic in particular), but honestly, if anyone read the first smutty one-shot, there's nothing new or surprising below this line.

Okay. So, in this fic, both of them have an idea of how they want their proposal and wedding to go. Let's walk through Kaidan's first:

He got his suit tailored.

He made a reservation at a fancy restaurant.

He hired a violinist.

Does any of this sound like something James would be into? No, I really don't think so. I'm not saying James is simple, but he certainly has simple tastes. James values his connections to people over anything else. It's important to him that the people he loves are happy.

Would that proposal make Kaidan happy? Absolutely.

James? Not so much.

That approach to him would be stuffy and too much. Kaidan would find it romantic and understated, while James would find it over the top. He'd find more romance in an impromptu proposal on the back porch of their home while stargazing under a blanket. Granted, he's never going to not be thrilled at whatever Kaidan's proposal was, because at the end of the day he was always going to say yes (ignoring the fact that they're already married). But a little more consideration for what he might like would be nice.

I mean, a violinist? Really, Kaidan?

~

Now James' wedding plans:

Backyard BBQ

Only friends and family

Tattooed wedding rings

There's no spectacle, no expectation, just good food and good company. Would James love it? Yes. Would Kaidan love it?

ALSO YES!

So why does James think he'd hate it? Well, he doesn't, but he feels like Kaidan deserves more than something as casual as a backyard get-together. Kaidan deserves the violinist and the fancy dinner and the ring in the champagne flute. Those are big gestures that show just how much you love that person. Just because he doesn't find it particularly personal, doesn't mean they aren't traditional gestures for a reason. James doesn't want to be on the receiving end of that kind of affection, but Kaidan certainly deserves that type of luxury.

He doesn't realize that Kaidan would be thrilled to be surrounded by his friends in a tiny ceremony. There's no expectation to be a certain person or act a certain way. Moments like an exchange of vows should be private and only shared with your loved ones. He might want something a little more than a backyard BBQ, but under no circumstances would he hate a small reception at the orchard. No cameras, no titles, just love.

Oh, and he'd want real rings, but could be convinced to get a tattooed one as well.

~

So why am I highlighting this? Because they've only been together for a year, give or take a few months, and they're still learning about each other. It's why the whole thing turns into a fight because they don't truly know where they stand with one another, only knowing they're in love. They're trying, they want it badly, and yet they keep missing the mark.

It takes time, sooooo much time to truly know your partner, and they got married in the middle of a war, as figureheads in the middle of that war. There wasn't any time to do anything besides cling to the fact that what they had was real and would fight tooth and nail for it to survive.

They have more in common than they think, but are two very stubborn people. I've written them specifically to have trouble communicating, because I'm a dick like that. But if Kaidan would stop interrupting, and if James would stop acting on knee-jerk reactions, they'd find more success at getting to know each other.

So they keep screwing up. They're going to stumble, they're going to be selfish, they're going to misinterpret the needs of one another. And you know what? That's okay. They've decided they want to be together and are willing to put in the work to make it successful. They're not perfect, no relationship is, but growing together is what is going to make them woven together in a way that makes sense for them both.

Will it work? Who's to say, but they're trying. They want to make each other happy, but it takes time for them to truly know just how to do that.

But there's time now, hard-fought and well-earned time. Giant spectacle of a wedding or stargazing at the orchard, as long as their together, it's time well spent.

~~

So that's my thought process. The explanation is probably longer than the three or so paragraphs that it pertains to, but there we go.

[hyperanaemia]

Sorry, I don't mean to disappear for months, but I've been getting back into reading comics after taking a super long break to play bg3. So, I've finally gotten around to reading the Knight Terrors: Robin issues that have been sitting in my 'to read' box months after they've been relevant. I’m sure everyone else had a bunch to say when it came out but here’s my two cents. 

The issues just really fall flat to me. Like, I wasn't expecting a two-shot to be a deep dive into Tim's dead-dad trauma or anything, but I do feel like it misses what the core fear/horror that surrounds Jack's death is. 

Like, the KT issues posset that what Tim fears the most is failing to save people, with his dad's death being the figurehead of that. That this failure is what makes him unworthy of being Robin. I'm not going to say that isn't true, that reasoning definitely factors into Tim's trauma. But it also just feels basic to me.

Like, 'failing to save a loved one' is one of the most basic superhero tropes at this point. I'd be hard pressed to think of a hero who hasn't failed to save someone they know. It might as well be a rite of passage.  

(In fact, here's a panel of Tim thinking as such about his parents in an issue literally called Rites of Passage.) 

Also, Tim has already had a 'crisis of faith' arc after failing to save someone with the character of Eldon Adams (Young El). It had a very big impact on Tim and the fallout of that lasted for several issues.

Identity Crisis certainly has its flaws and at times I question the need to kill off Jack in the first place. But, to me anyway, Jack's death is beautifully written and manages to tie his and Tim's decades-long storyline off in an interesting way. 

The important point to make about Tim in relation to all this is that he chooses to be Robin. He was never picked, he was never fated, he was not born to do it. Robin is something he actively chooses to be. At first, it's an easy choice to make. Tim reasons that since his parents are off doing their own thing it won’t be an issue if he’s gone all the time. But, as time goes on, Jack starts spending more time at home, wanting to spend more time with Tim. The issue "resolves" in this instance by having Jack's time get taken up when he starts dating Dana Winters. But this tension continues to be a major subplot throughout Tim’s series. Tim and Jack’s already strained relationship is constantly made worse by Robin.     

Tim feels guilty that his duty as Robin keeps getting in the way of his relationships. Tim's friends like Ives and Ariana are constantly stood up or brushed aside. Anything that ties Tim to the normal life he used to have is always being balanced against Robin. And for as much as Tim tries to maintain it, for as much as he says his normal life is what keeps him grounded when push comes to shove Tim always ends up choosing Robin.  

The thing that makes Jack's death different from all the other parental deaths in the Batfam, and the Identity Crisis did right, is that they made it a direct consequence of Tim choosing to be Robin. Bruce's parents were killed at random. Dick's were targeted in a situation outside of his control. Jason's mother was killed for her involvement with the Joker, which started before he even met her (and his dad with Two-Face).  

Jack was killed because his son was Robin. In Identity Crisis, Jean Loring targets the family members of heroes. She never would have hired Captain Boomerang to kill Jack if Tim wasn't Robin.  

(Obviously, none of this is to minimize any of these characters' pain or to say one is worse than another.)   

The added twist of the knife is that Tim had been spending that week with Jack instead of helping everyone find the killer. It's the one night that Tim chooses to go out as Robin again that Jack is killed. If Tim had stayed just one more night, even just one more hour, he could have saved his dad. And Jack lets him go because he knows how important Robin is to Tim.

This is more of an aside, I love this sequence of Tim ripping off his Robin uniform. Like obviously the intention is that Tim can't be seen wearing it when the police arrive. But the subtext to me reads that Tim is ripping Robin off, this thing that's come between them at every moment. Tim, before he even knows if Jack is alive or dead, doesn't want Robin to come between them anymore.

And Jack's death is something of a 'point of no return' for Tim. Before this, many of the people who know Tim is Robin have pointed out that he could always return to a normal life if he wanted to. Tim himself believes that he'll probably retire being Robin at some point. (I have my own thoughts that aren't relevant here about how that's more about him being practical as opposed to his genuine wish for his future, but I digress.) But after this, Tim is locked into the vigilante life. There's nothing normal he could return to. If he can’t be good at this, then what was the point? 

KT Robin just feels uninspired. It doesn't try to extract what makes Jack's death unique or interesting. It just picks the most surface-level takeaway you could have from it. Like, it's not just about being not good enough for the job. It's losing everything because you chose to do this job and you still don't know if you're good enough to do it.