#But for now I had another drawing in mind

[littlelamy]

lingerie with rafe

You took a breath, steadying your nerves as you walked into the bedroom in your new lingerie—a soft lace that hugged every curve just right. Rafe was sprawled on the bed, eyes on his phone, but the second he saw you, his gaze locked in, and a smirk slowly spread across his face.

“Well, damn…” He sat up, tossing his phone aside without even glancing at it. He didn’t even try to hide the hunger in his eyes as they roamed over you, taking in every inch of lace and skin. “What’s all this?”

You did a slow spin, giving him a better look. “Just thought I’d give you something to remember before you leave.”

Rafe’s gaze turned even darker, and he reached out, catching you by the waist and pulling you close. His hands pressed firmly against your hips, fingers tracing the lace before sliding upward to brush over your chest. “Oh, I’ll remember,” he murmured, lips grazing your collarbone, his thumb running over your nipple through the thin fabric. You let out a soft gasp at his touch, and he chuckled, low and warm. “I’ll have a lot to think about on that boat ride to Morocco. Starting with how good you look in this.”

You tilted your head up to him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as he grinned, hands moving back to grip your waist and pull you even closer. “Guess I wanted to give you something to keep in mind while you’re gone,” you murmured, letting your fingers trail down his arm as his grip tightened on your waist.

“More than you already do?” He laughed, but there was an edge to it, something possessive as he leaned in close, capturing your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss. The way he moved his lips against yours, unhurried yet intense, had your heart racing as his hands continued to explore. He kissed down your jaw, nipping at the skin playfully before letting out a low growl. “I don’t think you know what you do to me. And it’s all mine, right?”

His voice was low, rough, and his eyes met yours with an intensity that had you breathless. “Only yours,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “No one else even comes close.”

He grinned at that, that cocky confidence flaring up as he reached over to grab the Polaroid camera from the nightstand. His smirk grew wider as he turned it on, one hand slipping around your back to unhook your bra. “Want me to remember you? Better let me get a few shots. For safekeeping.”

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded, feeling his hands move carefully to slip the lace down from your shoulders, letting it fall away. He held up the camera, the click and flash filling the room as he captured you with that possessive, admiring look. You couldn’t hold back a soft moan as his hands returned, tracing over your now-bare skin, his fingers grazing your chest and running along your waist.

You pose with a finger tucked in your mouth with a seductive gaze while pushing your tits together. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with pride and something softer. “Gorgeous. Don’t think I’ll ever forget the way you look tonight.”

He took another photo, watching the image print and come into focus with a grin, before setting the camera down to draw you close, kissing you deeply. His lips were warm, urgent, and when his tongue brushed yours, you couldn’t hold back the soft gasp that slipped from you. His hands pressed along your back, exploring, caressing, as if he couldn’t get enough. He leaned back for a moment, eyes on yours with a mix of mischief and awe.

“Don’t go forgetting who you belong to,” he murmured, brushing a few slow, teasing kisses along your neck, his hands sliding lower to pull your hips against him. “Remember that while I’m gone.”

You let out a quiet moan, fingers tangling in his hair as you whispered, “I won’t forget. But maybe you should take a few more, just to be sure.”

His eyes flashed, and he laughed, reaching for the camera with a smirk. “Smart girl.” He took a few more shots, capturing every detail as he ran his hands along your skin, fingers pressing in, leaving warmth and promises in their wake. “I’ll keep these with me. Look at them every damn day if I have to.”

His fingers ran along your hips, then back up, pausing as he looked at you with something tender in his gaze. He set the camera aside again and cupped your face, pressing his lips to yours in another slow, deep kiss that seemed to seal the moment. You felt his warmth, his grip, and the quiet possessiveness in the way he held you, like he was claiming every inch of you, letting you know just how much you meant to him.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m never letting go, you know that?”

You managed a soft smile, tracing a finger along his jaw. “Good,” you murmured. “I’m counting on it.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills

[inkedinshadows]

Tea, Cookies, and Love

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Azriel takes care of his mate while she's on her period.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.3k

@azrielappreciationweek

You hated being on your period.

Even after years, it was still hard to deal with the cramps and pain, so strong that most days you couldn’t even get out of bed. Instead, you curled up under the warm sheets, clutching a hot water bottle tightly over your aching tummy. It didn’t help much with the pain, but you liked the comfort it brought.

The door opened silently, and Azriel slipped inside. He had a steaming mug in one hand and a small plate with chocolate cookies in the other. “I made your tea, love,” he said quietly as you lifted your head from the pillow. “I know it doesn’t do much, but it’s better than nothing.”

You just frowned, watching as he set the plate and mug on the nightstand. The smell of ginger and peppermint reached your nose, but you didn’t touch the tea. You would likely burn your tongue if you took a sip now.

“I thought you were going to Rita’s,” you murmured.

“The others did,” Azriel confirmed. As he sat down next to you, a few tendrils of darkness wove through your hair, drawing a small smile from you even as you clenched the muscles in your stomach at the stabbing pain.

You closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths to work through the next cramp before you could ask, “Why didn’t you go with them?”

Azriel lifted a brow, visibly trying to hold back a smile. “You're really asking that?”

Sitting a bit straighter in bed, you nodded weakly as you reached for the mug. Even if you couldn't drink it yet, you could still savor its warmth in your hands.

“I'm not leaving you alone and in pain while I’m out having fun,” he stated. His voice was soft, but it carried that underlying determination that told you he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Yet, as he stood up and began undressing, you still tried, blowing over the hot tea. “I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to go with them, you know.”

“I know,” he replied, pulling on some sweatpants and a shirt. He turned to you with a smile. “But I don’t want to.” He climbed into bed next to you, slipping under the blanket and wrapping you in his arms. “No, I want to stay here and take care of my beautiful mate.”

A new warmth spread through your body, one that had nothing to do with the mug or the hot water bottle. You actually removed the latter from your stomach to place it on the nightstand instead, so that you could snuggle closer to Azriel.

“Don’t you need that?” he murmured, letting you move around to find a comfortable position. You settled for curling up against his strong/muscled chest, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Not really,” you answered in a whisper. You finally took a sip of the tea, and its pleasant taste filled your mouth, warming your throat as you swallowed. Hopefully, it would soothe your aches, but you knew how unlikely that was. “It’s not that hot anymore.”

“Do you want me to go heat it up again?”

You looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips. You shook your head slightly. “No, it’s fine. I just want you here.”

“Then I’ll stay here.” Azriel pressed a kiss to your temple, then draped his wings around you. “Whatever you need, my love.”

You wanted to answer, but you grimaced instead as another cramp twisted your gut. It felt like being ripped apart from the inside, and you almost spilled the tea while trying to find a position that would bring you some relief. Azriel’s broad hand covered your lower stomach, gently massaging the area to offer what little comfort he could.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I hate feeling like this too,” you mumbled once the pain settled, at least for the moment. You drank some more tea, and your eyes took in the chocolate cookies he had brought you. “Are those Elain’s cookies?”

Azriel nodded, his hand still drawing soothing circles on your stomach. “She made them this morning. I thought you might want some before they're all gone.”

“Gods, I love you,” you breathed. You turned your head just enough for your lips to brush against his, but you didn't kiss him yet. “You just make it so easy.”

Azriel's lips curled into an amused smile. “I love you too, beautiful. But what is it that I make easy?”

You set the mug down, cupping his face with your now-free hands. “Loving you, Az.” You finally kissed him, pouring all your feelings and gratitude into the kiss and down the bond. “You make it very easy to love you.”

You chuckled as a faint blush crept up his neck. “Thank you,” he murmured, “but I don't do anything special.”

“He doesn't do anything special, he says,” you scoffed playfully. You gave his cheek a kiss, then reached for the mug again and took another warm sip.

Snuggling closer to him, you tucked your head under his chin and closed your eyes. Azriel held you tighter, cradling you against his body. As he opened his mouth to reply, you knew he was going to say that it was true and he didn't do anything special, so you beat him to it.

“For starters, you're here with me instead of out with our friends,” you pointed out. You didn't even open your eyes, instead simply listing all the reasons why he made you fall in love with him every day, all over again. “You made me tea even if I hadn't asked for it. You rub my aching belly. And you brought me Elain's cookies.”

“I just want to take care of you,” he said. His tone was soft, and he sounded as if he was defending himself and his choices. He really didn't see what was special about it. “And I know how much you like her cookies.”

You sighed quietly. You picked up a cookie, but even though you loved them, you didn't feel like eating anything right now. You'd save them for later, when the cramps would hopefully relent. So you offered it to him without a word.

Azriel took it, brows furrowed. “You want me to feed you?”

Your quiet chuckle was interrupted by a twinge of pain deep in your core, and you quickly disguised it by saying, “I want you to have it.”

He shook his head and handed the cookie back to you. “They're for you.”

“The others are for me. That one is for you.” You didn't even touch it, opting to simply sip from your mug again. “It's how bonds are accepted.”

“We accepted the bond years ago,” he mused. He didn't take a bite, instead waiting to see where you were going with this.

“I know.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. He was beautiful, and he was yours. Your love and your home. Your mate. Just as you were his. You knew he considered himself lucky to be with you, but he never realized you were the lucky one.

“Every day, I am beyond grateful that the Mother blessed me with you as my mate,” you murmured. A sudden lump formed in your throat, and you weren't sure if the tears prickling your eyes were caused by the hormones or the depth of your feelings for him. “And I want you to eat that cookie. Because I want you to know that I would choose you in every life, no matter what.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment, but you could see the swirling emotions in his hazel eyes. The love and care, the vulnerability he showed only to you. He slowly lifted the cookie to his lips and took a small bite, his eyes never leaving yours, your ache momentarily forgotten.

“I would choose you in every life too,” he said softly. “I would find you, and I would love you. In every life, every world.”

When you kissed again, the bond between your souls glowed stronger and brighter.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

Brook’s Past, Military and Everything Between [ An Essay kinda ]

Brook’s past is not a thing many people seem to mention or think about, at least in full, however it’s something that's plagued me. Not only as a Brook fan, but simply out of the odd implications it has towards the future, if any. Oda’s planted too many seeds for it to utterly be nothing; there’s so much odd and seemingly out of place comments and facts stated by Brook and others towards this missing history. However, knowing that the show is beginning to near it’s end, due to time, I am unsure of what exactly will be done.

I believe however, for folks' interest and so we can have everything in one place, that compiling everything found so far can be beneficial, so, I have.

Starting with what we know for sure, Brook is from the West Blue, born 90 years ago to a certain kingdom, the same kingdom he was a military convoy leader from. We know this due to a few factors, however it’s still open to debate if it *is* the same kingdom, however seeing as he was shown as a child to already know what fencing is, practicing moves with his bow, I am just going to say he probably was. In any case, other things worth noting, on the topic of childhood, is that Brook seems to have had money. At least, stability.

Compared to a lot of the other strawhats, Brook is shown dressing very nice. No tatters, no tears, shined shoes and a full violin and bow. He also, as already stated, seemed to be exposed to fencing enough to mirror the moves. If this comes from his kingdom, it means he was exposed to it at a young age. Knowing that he was a military convoy leader, this could be taken that perhaps there were military demonstrations, perhaps the kid saw castle guard or other displays; it’s really up in the air.

We know Brook, again as stated before, became a military convoy leader. Now, the definition of what exactly that means can differ.

Wikipedia states; A convoy is a group of vehicles, typically motor vehicles or ships, traveling together for mutual support and protection. Often, a convoy is organized with armed defensive support and can help maintain cohesion within a unit. It may also be used in a non-military sense, for example when driving through remote areas.

This could mean Brook’s job could’ve been accompanying ships for protection, being a knight for his King, mediating information and goods that come in and out of the kingdom. This would make sense on why his speed was needed, a 9.2 ft man being a great choice for a leader.

His weapon also would make sense for this kind of mission, perhaps secrecy being important or at least the ability to be discreet. His cane sword, a ‘Shikomizue’, is not unique however to just him in the show, one other man using one that has been confirmed so far, that being Fujitora. The pair also share a sea, the west, and both utilize iaijutsu (quick draw techniques.) Fujitora blinded himself with said sword because of something apparently so cruel and inhumane that he rather not see anguish. This may be related to Brook’s departure from his kingdom, which is addressed later in this essay. (Fig 3-5.)

Another thing that’s worth mentioning here is Brook’s attack patterns, being unique even for his kingdom apparently. Once again, during the Ryuma fight, Brook states, and I quote;

“Ryuma: “Now tell me, what part of that wretched excuse for a body would you like me to severe with my special ‘Arrow Notch Slash?’ Brook: You don’t know a thing about that move, so do not use it’s name. I use to serve in my kingdom’s raider squad. The quick draw attack that I was most skilled at was ‘Requiem Lebanderole’. My comrades-in-arms renamed it in regards to my fighting technique.”

(Fig. 1, Brook explains his raider squad and move names. A banderole mind you is a long flag for BATTLE crusades. )

This sets up a few interesting facts. 1. Brook was in a raider squad, a kingdom’s group of marauders, as well as if not the same job as convoy leader. 

2. His techniques were unique to him, or at least specialized to a degree of having a nickname. 3. As expected, he seems to have been close to these men he commanded, adding another layer over Brook loosing the Rumbars. Being in both a raider squad and being a convoy leader at one point, if not the same point, implies either Brook was simply versatile, acting in both in separate years or periods. Or, the most likely, that he was higher ranking than expected, making him a CO, or commanding officer. (Lieutenant Colonel is another equal rank for scale, making Brook just below a Major.) This makes him quite the important figure, especially for a kingdom that seems to value its military so much, so much so that a child of Brook’s age would already know about their style of fencing, as expressed already. Brook’s devil fruit is worth mentioning here, the revive-revive fruit not likely to be found by a crew like the Rumbars. It is spoken about as if he has always had it amongst the crew, being a fact of life. However, when did he get that fruit and why? I propose where it would be useful; in combat. If your military convoy leader, your best swordsman could be shot and come right back to protect the king, would he not be utterly invaluable? You would never let him leave… But he DID leave. It’s not said why, however we have some extra tidbits of information that may tell us why, and that ALSO may tell us the answer to what kingdom he means.

( Fig. 2. Brook states his leaving of the military for unknown reasoning, the word certain being used in an odd way, establishing his bounty.) This bounty mind you all is in fact, using inflation method, 297,000,000 berries. That is a MASSIVE bounty for just a pirate. Perhaps a certain blond stole a treasure a kingdom could not replace; their convoy leader. Lets rewind for a moment and cover something that may be seen as off topic however I will come right back to the subject at hand; Calico Yorki. Yorki is an odd bird, pirate wise. He makes his crew read his bounties and information, is never shown to play an instrument/sing but makes his crew preform/they all do, and makes Brook make him dinner. (Steak, and Brook continues to be able to make it as confirmed by an SBS.) What is oddest yet, other than his large crew and shirtless habits, is his nature. A man that set to sea to play music for “orphans and crying children” as stated by himself; a crew made for “any men who love music.” Now, I could be reading into this too hard, however from his speech patterns, to this apparent need for a large family, it seems that singing to orphans may be a very personal goal. An orphan turned pirate perhaps, with lofty dreams and a heart of gold, it reads to me that Yorki may have been just that. Knowing this, orphan or not, we now can compare these facts to Brook’s life up until their meeting. A child who probably grew up being taught to fight, being around access to education, expenses and the kingdom’s training. Why would a man like Brook ever join a man like Yorki, and if it’s only music, would that not make Brook a deserter? I do not think that is the case. I will now bring forward some interesting evidence regarding Brook’s kingdom and WHY he would leave. Germa 66. During Zou to Whole Cake, a few mentions of Germa are made with Brook around, garnering interesting reactions indeed.

( Fig. 3. Brook listens but chooses not to add anything utter than silence, his music pausing as well.) This silence could be take as simple ignorance, however Brook later admits he knows of the kingdom, in fact, he knows a lot. A lot more than anyone else did, Reiju admitting interest in his knowledge and once again, Brook brushes it off.

(Fig 4, 5, Brook speaks about Germa 66.) He seems to underplay or simply not elaborate a LOT on his kingdom, as if something happened. Perhaps joining Yorki was not out of simple cowardice or need to be free, (which again if he did would both reflect poorly upon his entire character and not be in character for him what so ever,) but in fact, out of necessity. It could have been Germa 66, it could have been some other grouping, however I believe this will come to be something important. The kingdom possibilities are interesting as well, and I will list the following LIKELY possibilities. (Other options are known to not be military, like Ohara, or literally places like Thriller Bark itself.) - Toroa - God Valley - Illsia Kingdom - Soja Kingdom The most likely candidates, because again, it is labeled as certain kingdom (Fig 2.) is Toroa or Soja, however I will personally lean into Toroa. This is because of a man by the named of Byron.

(Fig 6. Byron and his information.) His nose and face shape vaguely resemble Brook, however honestly that is a stretch. What is NOT however is his familiar attire, family line and the placement of his kingdom. This could easily be Brook’s home, however again, this is just speculation. Brook very well could belong to God’s Valley, or the same kingdom as Issoh, fleeing because of something he did not agree with or literally could not stand any longer. But, that falls under possibility, not fact. This concludes the facts section, now comes the final question; What does it mean for the story? And, honestly, that can be debated. What Oda has done is plant odd seeds of information about the man, similar to Sanji and his ties to Vinsmoke, that have not been addressed nor talked about in full, or so I’ve found sufficiently. These seeds MAY bloom into what I hope will be a tie into some huge reveal, perhaps aid from a past member of his convoy or kingdom, or perhaps this will only spark conflict. Perhaps it will be minute, Brook being able to aid due to his knowledge, the man already in Thriller Bark showing his prowess by being able to command the strawhats into defeating zombies via salt and tactic. In any case, we can only hope these things mean anything, tied into some huge story that could explain why a man like him would quit for a redneck like Yorki, other than perhaps love, and what kingdom would let a man like him go willingly.

[quantomeno]

There is a long (long) list of wacky and corrupt Australian politicians (not always both, but often)

I kept adding more to this list so I'm putting it under the break

Prime Ministers:

Alfred Deakin, our second prime minister, who returned to office twice later, was "a mystic and spiritualist who was obsessed with signs and prophecies ... Put simply, Deakin believed he had a divine destiny to create a nation for whites only." (source) His spiritualism wasn't widely known at the time though. He was also one of the chief architects of the White Australia Policy which limited immigration of non-British people to Australia (and was only fully repealed in 1973!!!) and he also really believed Aboriginal Australians would die out and wanted that to happen.

Billy Hughes, another racist but let's focus instead on his wackiness: he famously changed party while PM to join the opposition. After he ended his time as PM, he was expelled from that party and then expelled from the party he joined after that (twice). A famous story goes "Prime Minister Robert Menzies remarked that at one time or another, Hughes had been a member of every party. 'Not the Country Party!' interjected Arthur Fadden, that party’s leader. 'No,' replied Hughes, 'I had to draw the line somewhere.'" The joke being that the Country Party were c.... you get the idea.

It's more an oddity than anything else, but Harold Holt famously disappeared while going for a swim down at Point Nepean (if you've seen a map of greater Melbourne, it's the tip of the right peninsula, he swam on the ocean side). His body was never found which led to a bunch of conspiracy theories (including, but not limited to, him being kidnapped by a Japanese submarine). Obligatory 'they named a pool after him after he died' (he was a famously big fan of swimming and the pool was in his electorate so it made sense it's not that they were trying to be darkly humorous).

Gough Whitlam: I'm a big fan of the guy. He bought Pollocks' 'Blue Poles' for the national gallery and was ridiculed for this, but it's now worth 100-350 times the price he bought it. His real wackiness though came from the fact he was fired by the Governor General. This is notable because this has never happened before or since and the GG is otherwise a pretty boring and forgettable person. There are rumours (only rumours, mind you, and a lot of academic debate) that Queen Elizabeth II was in on it. Also maybe the CIA. Whitlam was a big reformist and had a lot of progressive policies that ruffled feathers to say the least.

Bob Hawke. I want to say he is the Australian version of Bill Clinton except better. He set a world record for skolling a yard of ale while he was at Oxford. He was a womaniser and later divorced his wife and remarried (this was a big scandal at the time). When an Australian yacht won the America's Cup for the first time, he famously declared “Any boss who sacks anyone for not turning up today is a bum.” He was a great Prime Minister and I am very fond of him. They don't make PMs like they used to.

Paul Keating! The only PM to have a musical written about him, fitting for the man known as the Placido Domingo of Australian politics. A master of epic put-downs. When asked by the opposition leader John Hewson why he wouldn't call an early election, he replied 'because I wanna do you slowly'. He also called Hewson "a feral abacus". He called Liberal party treasurer Peter Costello "all tip and no iceberg" and had previously responded to an attack by Costello as "like being flogged with a warm lettuce". He called John Howard "The little desiccated coconut" and (on a separate occasion) "the greatest job and investment destroyer since the bubonic plague". He called the senate "unrepresentative swill". He was also a really good PM but he was probably a tad too intellectual for the average Australian. Also there was the 'recession we had to have' quote that didn't win him any favours.

Little Johnnie Howard. He will forever be known as having the bushiest eyebrows of any Australian PM, possibly of any world leader, of all time. Howard has a lot of little weird things so I'll be quick and say the time he claimed it "was not his experience" that Australia was a racist country. Also the time he refused to let a freighter carrying hundreds of refugees to enter Australian waters. He then claimed the people on the boat were throwing children overboard in a bid to force the government to rescue them (there was as much evidence of this as there was of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Howard was also the PM who got us to follow the US into Iraq, by the way).

Tony Abbott. The most gaffe-prone Australian PM ever. Unless you include acting PMs but we won't (yes I'm referring to Barnaby; yes I'll get to him later). He once ate a raw onion skin and all while visiting an onion farm. He claimed he would 'shirtfront' Putin over the MH17 disaster and to this day no one knows what exactly he meant by that. He had a penchant for wearing red budgie smugglers and it was not easy on the eyes to say the least. He got Prince Phillip an Australian knighthood. When an Australian soldier died in Afghanistan, he commented 'shit happens' and when later asked about this comment by a reporter he nodded blankly in complete silence for 28 seconds while the reporter tried to ask him questions ("you're not saying anything Tony"). He called the British colonisation of Australia "a form of foreign investment by the British government". He once said that "no one is the suppository of all wisdom" (if you don't get the blunder, look up what a suppository is). There was also the weird influence his chief of staff Peta Credlin had over him (this irritated his colleagues more than anyone else). Abbott was an unpleasant man and a shambling PM. Oh I forgot the budget!!!!!!!! The Abbott government's first budget! I'll save that for Joe Hockey's entry. He also was a massive proponent of offshore processing of refugees which was so great that Rishi Sunak decided to copy it with his plan to send refugees to Rwanda (it is still a blight on this nation but I digress). Oh yeah and he also made himself minister for women.

Scott Morrison: oh. oh... was he worse than Abbott? is it possible? At least Abbott had a vision, even if it was a bad one, Morrison just bumbled along and if we hadn't had a pandemic I don't think he'd rate a mention. The rumours he cacked his dacks in a Maccas in Engadine are (apparently) false. He does have a weird love of curries, but I like curry too so who am I to throw stones. There was the time he told protesters they should be grateful they don't live in a country where protesters get shot at. During the 2019-2020 bushfires he was found to have snuck off to Hawaii on holiday and rushed back to try to do some damage control. He then said "I don't hold a hose, mate", which went down poorly. He then visited victims and tried to shake their hands but had to forcefully take their hands and shake them. After he was booted out of office he was found to have secretly appointed himself to five ministerial positions during the pandemic without telling anyone except the governor general. He only used this power one time to override the resource minister. It was weird and no one quite knew what to make of it but the consensus we reached was it was bad. There was also the time he tackled a child while playing a friendly game of soccer during his attempted re-election campaign. I mean like full on knocked him to the ground. He also really loved sticking his thumbs up and tried to act like a loveable, daggy dad but in reality he was not so friendly to say the least. Oh and he was the guy who approved the 'Where the bloody hell are you?' ad when he was head of Tourism Australia, leading to him losing his job (this was before he became PM and it's why he's called Scotty from Marketing).

Non-PMs:

Joh Bjelke-Petersen: a really corrupt Queensland premier from the late 60s to late 80s. He was authoritarian, racist, homophobic, anti-environment (he supported oil drilling on the Great Barrier Reef), moralistic, anti-abortion, anti-union, anti-taxation... etc. He was in many, many respects like the current US president-elect. He also had a role in the Whitlam Dismissal. When people protested the South African rugby team playing in Brisbane (because of the apartheid), he declared a state of emergency and sent in the police who attacked the protesters. He is a very strong contender for my least favourite politician in Australian history.

Joe Hockey: Abbott's treasurer. In an attempt to cut down on debt, the Abbott government announced a very, very austere budget in 2014. Cruelly austere. Hockey was then spotted smoking cigars with the finance minister in 'celebration' of a successful budget. This was not good for his reputation as he was living it up while poor Australians were struggling. He went on to eventually become our ambassador to the US during their administration of 2016-2020 and I think that was actually a good job for him considering the guy in charge of the US at the time.

Pauline Hanson: From humble beginnings running a fish and chip shop in Ipswich, Hanson rose to become one of Australia's most hated and most controversial politicians. She is famous for her maiden speech in 1996 when she said Australia was at risk of being "swamped by Asians", her speech 20 years later when she said we were at risk of being "swamped by Muslims", the time she went into parliament wearing a burqa as some sort of stunt, the time she walked out of parliament during the Welcome to Country, the time she climbed Uluru after it was announced climbing it was going to be prohibited (out of respect for the Indigenous people who regard it as sacred) and later she claimed she was 'indigenous' to the land because she was born in Australia, the time she blamed Indigenous Australians for their own problems, and, most famously, the time a reporter asked her if she was xenophobic and she replied 'please explain'. She is a remarkably poor orator and has a tendency to waffle. She's also homophobic and anti-renewable energy and so on and so forth.

Sam Dastyari: he took bribes from Chinese companies with links to the Chinese government and was essentially working for China and advocating their interests. I'm not sure he was that 'weird' but he was definitely corrupt.

Bob Katter: The crazy independent member of parliament from Far North Queensland. He is the current Father of the House, being as he is the longest current serving member of parliament. He has an obsession with crocodiles (he wants to cull them) and has floated the idea of giving rifles to all children. He once promised to walk "backwards from Bourke" if homosexuals made up so much as 0.001% of the population of North Queensland (claiming that there were none there). He didn't want to waste time talking about same-sex marriage because the crocodiles killing people in Queensland was more important. He's also rather racist.

George Christensen: Sex holidays in the Philippines. He was in Manila more often than he was in Parliament House. He's also Islamophobic, doesn't believe in climate change, and believes in other conspiracy theories particularly those around COVID-19.

Fraser Anning: this guy is kind of a Nazi and I do not throw that term around lightly. He used the phrase 'final solution' with reference to 'the immigration problem' (i.e. the 'swamping by Asians/Muslims' Hanson was going on about. Oh yeah, forgot to say he was a member her party but then defected to Katter's party). Even Pauline Hanson said it was 'straight from Goebbels' handbook'. Later, a boy famously hit an egg onto his head. He then slapped the boy on the face twice. This boy (William Connolly) became known as Egg Boy and was a national hero for a brief time.

Stuart Robert: this guy was the minister involved in Robodebt: the government implemented this automated debt collection thing which incorrectly calculated a lot of people's debts for government payments (e.g. for unemployment, disability etc). Essentially the government was robbing the poor and suffering in the name of tackling 'dole bludgers'. There were a number of other corruption allegations against him too.

Richard Colbeck: Aged care minister during the pandemic.... oh did he stuff it up big time. Just general incompetency during a time when elderly Australians were most vulnerable (the pandemic). It was appalling.

Michaelia Cash: famous for her marching, her odd enunciation, her oddly high intensity and her hairstyle. There was also the time she threatened "name every young woman" in the opposition who was the subject of rumours. This came off the back of when she sent the police to raid union offices. Then after the threats she hid behind a whiteboard to avoid having to talk to the press. There was also the time she got Scott Cam (host of the reality TV show 'The Block') to be 'National Careers Ambassador', for which he was paid almost $350,000 AUD and he didn't do much in that role.

Bridget McKenzie: colour-coded spreadsheets! Sports rorts! Sorry, this was a big event at the time. Essentially the government was found to have funded sports grants in marginal seats to try to help win the election, and in doing so they ignored other, more worthwhile, requests for funding. Bridget was left holding the can for this. There were found to be spreadsheets colour-coded by who held what electorate to decide which marginal seats should be targeted. She also was found to have given funds to help a rifle shooting club she was a member of.

Angus Taylor: this guy just seems to make things up a lot. He once presented a document detailing the Lord Mayor of Melbourne's air travel to try to paint her as a hypocrite on environmentalist issues. But the documents were complete bunkum and to this day no one knows where they came from. He also claimed in his maiden speech to have argued with Naomi Wolf about Christmas trees (it was a political correctness thing) while they were at Oxford together. Naomi Wolf was not actually at Oxford at the time in question.

Clive Palmer: he is a mining magnate who is trying to rebuild the titanic. He has a theme park filled with replica dinosaurs at a resort he owns. He made a political party called the Palmer United Party which was rather disunited (more on that later). He ended up losing at the following election but then spent $123 million AUD on election spending (all those ugly yellow signs.....) and won one (1) seat in the senate (for a member of his party, not himself). He also once likened himself to Gandhi.

Craig Kelly: ugh….. him… a former Coalition member, he defected and joined up with Clive Palmer on his attempted return to Australian politics. He was a big believer of COVID conspiracy theories and the like.

Jaquie Lambie: the senator from Tasmania who tells it like it is. Jaquie was originally a Palmer United member until she split from the party and became and independent. She was incredibly Islamophobic and anti-refugee. Then she went on a TV show where they got famous people to see what it's like to be in the shoes of refugees and she had a change of heart. She is famously foul mouthed. Almost any sentence she says will have the word bloody in it. She also got found out to be a dual citizen and so lost her seat and then had to regain it. The time in the wilderness only sharpened her. I actually think I like her now. She fights for the little guy, but in an honest and actually good way, not like just channelling their rage (though she does definitely do that, I mean it in the sense doesn't just use it to feather her own nest). She's proof politicians can become better people.

Barnaby Joyce: I've saved one of the bests till last. Where to start? He tried to euthanise Johnny Depp's dogs, he lived rent-free in the house of a millionaire, he was found to be (unbeknownst to literally everyone including apparently himself) a New Zealand citizen and thus ineligible for parliament (he got re-elected after he renounced the NZ citizenship), he got a $40,000 award from the richest person in Australia for being a 'champion of industry', he had an affair with a staffer which led to the PM of the time creating what became known as the 'Bonk Ban'. He also looks like a tomato when he gets angry. He also cannot string two words together. He once said a massive flood was a 'once-in-3,500-year event'. He was also our deputy prime minister for an embarrassingly long stretch. Which meant that when the PM was out of the country, he was acting PM. Which is just... yeah

I’m from the US and I have a few friends here from India and recently one of them told me “You know, we also have corrupt politicians in India but they’re not nearly as wacky as the ones you have here.”

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch10 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

❥ Word Count: ~7.8K

❥ Warnings: non-con, rimming (m. receiving btwn stsg), double piv penetration, lactation kink (w/ geto), mommy kink (w/ geto), fingering (f. receiving), cunnilingus, pussy slapping

❥ Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either.

Lately, activity has picked up quite a bit for Geto and his goons. He’s had to be absent for longer stretches of time, which gives you more time to plot. You do have the incantation and the instructions memorized by heart that Miguel has given you, and during times which he remains behind, he has coached you through a bit of the technique he’s embedded into your necklace, which is actually something called a cursed tool.

Much of this world is still unknown to you, even with the briefings Miguel has been kind enough to give you—hopefully without any of Geto’s curse spirits monitoring, but according to Miguel, most of the time they’ve had a green light on all of this.

“Initially, Geto instructed me to make it so that when you wear that necklace, it binds him to you,” he explains to you one day when Geto had been out of the city to take care of some urgent matters that you don’t care to know the details about. “It also grants you the ability to see curses, but I’d imagine he hasn’t released any around you since he hasn’t felt the need to…”

You interject, “No, actually. I… I tried to pull some things before and I saw some barely there blobs trying to prevent me from trying anything. So yeah, while my perception of curse spirits aren’t strong, I know that they’re around me all the time. Geto must keep some around to make sure I’m not up to anything that might hurt me. Before you ask, I don’t sense or feel any around me now but I figure you already picked up on that.”

Miguel doesn’t need you to elaborate, thankfully. He grunts in response, adjusting his scarf.

“Trust me, you’re not going to be stuck here for much longer. Not going to even lie to you, I’m pretty worried about Geto. Since the last family meeting, he’s been a bit…”

“A bit what?” you ask, furrowing your brows as you beckon him to specify.

“…out of character, I suppose. Have you noticed him moving differently at all?” Miguel crosses his arms over his broad chest and stares you down, waiting for a direct answer.

You think hard for a moment. Sure, he’s been a lot more hands off especially lately. He has lasted way longer than he had before. He keeps his promise of Satoru not touching you, and instead they remain focused on each other, and you’re allowed to mind your own business unless Geto requests for you to try something—gently, actually. Surprisingly gently. He doesn’t seem angry or disappointed when you refuse anything you’re not ready for, and he doesn’t even try to manipulate or charm you into it like he had in the beginning.

“…Actually yes, but I didn’t think too much of it. Just thought it was another way for him to try to get his way with me.”

Miguel draws out a sigh. “Well, there you go. Geto’s a principled guy. He doesn’t shift his gears at the drop of a hat, so either he’s thrown in the towel or something else is going on that even I can’t understand.”

What the literal fuck does that mean?

“That doesn’t…I’m sorry. I don’t think I get it. He’s still…you know. Himself.”

“You sure about that?” Miguel challenges, dark eyes boring into yours, almost like he’s piercing through your very soul. “Because had I not known any better, he gave himself up the minute he let you into his life. Of course I could be wrong.”

You chew on your lower lip, considering.

“What makes you so certain I shouldn’t take this, his motivations, at face value?”

“It’s like I told you, Miss …. He’s a principled guy. The minute he let you into his life is the minute he realized the inevitable.”

Oh whoop dee doo. More cryptic bullshit. Should you pry anymore?

“I see,” you reply, shifting in your spot. “Thank you, Miguel. For everything. I just hope that I can pull this off.”

“The chances of things working out for ya are slim, Miss …, but not zero.”

Geto seems a little distracted by something as he shuffles around the bedroom, preparing a change of clothes for the night. Perhaps it has something to do with what you overheard in a meeting you aren’t supposed to be around for and had it not been Miguel who caught you eavesdropping you likely would have been reprimanded or punished or something else right now.

But Geto doesn’t appear suspicious of you even now. You remain seated on the bed, completely bare. You feel comforted by the silk sheets against your skin as you clutch it tight toward your body. You slowly breathe out, trying to relax your nerves as much as you can around him.

You jump in your spot as he stands at the foot of the bed before kneeling to you. He’s disrobed, tied his long, luscious locks into that tight bun. He looks shockingly unthreatening, but you know better.

“I fear things may become a bit…messier in these next two or so years,” he sighs, and even you can see something must be weighing on his shoulders—what is his plan with the Night Parade? Does it matter? "I’m not sure how much longer there’s going to be.”

He joins you on the bed, and you shift in your spot, supporting your back against the headboard as you cast him a curious look. He leans into you, resting his head into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply, willing himself to relax. You grunt a bit from the added weight. He may appear skinny but he does maintain quite a bit of muscle and it’s evident in when he carries you.

“I need you,” Geto murmurs into your skin. His arms cage around the dip of your waist and you squeeze your eyes shut, biting back a sigh. God, you’re so fucking tired of this bullshit. No one’s meant to live like this, and he expects you to smile and fucking bear it.

You know, you’ve just gotten used to the idea that Geto isn’t initiating much intimacy anymore. All in an effort for you to warm up to the idea of a future with him and with the twins. But it’s not working for you, and he realizes that maybe his efforts are in vain and it all means he can still take advantage of you. While you have accumulated quite a number of small wins, you know they aren’t going to last forever. They’re fleeting, at best.

“What is it that you need, darling? Use your words.” Gods every time this feels so gross yet you don’t really have a say in that, don’t you? Even if Geto has given you a little more room for some illusion of agency you know not to let it get to your head. You snap off your bra and push out your breasts, presenting one of your stiff nipples to him.

“I need you,” he repeats, practically panting at the sight, running his tongue over his lips a few times.

Geto’s mouth hangs open a bit, his cheeks flushed, he’s been craving this for some time and you can tell. He’s kept his hands off for far longer than before, and maybe with the recent developments that you only inadvertently hear about (and by extension don’t confront Geto over because you learned your lesson the last time), you don’t protest and are a bit more receptive to what he wants. Relationships are give and take… even if he does basically all of the ‘taking’ in this particular brand of it.

His lips latch onto your bud, and you already feel the milk rushing out of your tit and spilling into his waiting tongue. He groans in delight as your sweet milk tickles his taste buds in the best way and one of his hands moves to fondle your unoccupied tit, his finger flicking the other bud to stiffness and pinching it playfully, making you inhale sharply. He laughs at your reaction; the dietary plan he’s put you on isn’t all that restrictive but he has mentioned the particular ingredients like fennel seeds, for instance, aids in producing more milk. The meds further stimulate the production and you’re more than certain some of the formula for all of this may have been imbued with that ‘cursed energy’ you hear and Gojo babble on to with each other on more than one occasion.

The glorbs every time he sucks up your milk like a suction are so audible and fucking disgusting each time. But he wants to be taken care of, that’s fine. You can do that. More like you have to do that. Your fingers scratch at his scalp, and he purrs, seeming to like that. He nips at your nipple in response and you whimper from the sharp contact. His tongue laves around the sensitive skin, and you moan low, not realizing how flushed and debauched you are yourself.

“Sugu…ru…” your voice is a bit strained but he hums in response, playfully flicking the tip of his tongue against the bud he just finished feeding off of before his mouth latched onto the other nipple. He takes both his hands and squeezes the large mounds of squishy flesh and you wriggle beneath the weight of his body. He growls like it’s a warning, sucking harder on your nipple like he needs it to survive and it might not be too far off the mark considering the recent developments. You feel something wet pooling in your groin and you know the sheets must be lightly damp by now and you aren’t ashamed of it anymore, more like on the path to true acceptance. Because it’s not going to be much longer. You’re so certain of it; soon you’re going to be free of this humiliation, and Geto can die alone and pathetic like he’s been destined to.

Your fingers dig tightly into the sheets when Geto sucks a bit harder, his wet muscle flicking off the droplets of milk that have gone astray. His lips trail between your plump mounds, feathery light but worshipping every bit of skin they touch. He stops, nips at your soft skin before lapping his tongue against the sore spot, leaving a few more marks behind. He trails down your stomach, peppering soft kisses there.

“Mamma,” his voice rumbles like a lion’s roar. “You’re so perfect for me.”

“I’m happy I make you happy, darling,” you manage to say, clamping your hand over your mouth to conceal an embarrassed shriek when you feel his tongue twist between your folds. Your body shivers and you feel a little dazed. At this point Geto knows how to make you feel good, knows how to make this not all that awful and you hate that so much. You hate that someone you loathe with everything you have has this kind of power over you.

“You make me feel the most alive I’ve ever felt,” he mumbles as his tongue laves around your sensitive core, the tip flicking against your stiff clit. “I want you to marry me.”

You don’t want to. You don’t, yet you know that even if you do, you still have a shot at getting the fuck out of there. Should you just… give in for now? Let him have another win?

Is it going to make a difference in the end? Even you admit you have your doubts. When Miguel explains the technique he’s used on your insignia, he says that there is still a chance for it to fail. In fact that there’s a higher chance for it to fail than succeed which is why you need to use it wisely. Maybe on another occasion when Geto fucks off with Gojo for a while.

A chance for it to fail doesn’t mean your success rate is completely 0. Just remember that.

“But Suguru…” you start to protest, but he cuts you off by shushing you harshly.

“Marry me and make this blasted world worth living in again,” he interjects while sucking on your folds, and your legs tremble, instinctively tightening around his shoulders. His hands rest against your fleshy thighs, massaging you gently. The wet noises from your pussy seem to echo in the bedroom, and your cheeks dust pink from more embarrassment. Even if you don’t have any potential witnesses this is so humiliating.

“But… Suguru, I…m not… ready…” you babble, you try to play up your role, but a response is a harsh slap on your pussy, making you weep a little. “Please, I just…”

Geto hushes you while twirling his tongue around your stiff clit, before closing his lips around it and sucking hard. Your heart is pounding so hard you feel like it’s going to burst out of your chest. Your body is clammy and sweaty and more heat pools in your groin and stomach.

“You,” he grunts, dragging his tongue down your spongy skin. “Are the only reason for me to tolerate a life like this. So marry me, Mamma.”

No.

He spits onto your pussy and dips his tongue into your hole, his eyes rolling upward to enjoy your debauched state.

“It’s not a request,” he growls low between lapping his tongue up and down your pussy. You feel like you’re floating in air; you hate that he knows how to make your body feel all kinds of euphoria when in reality you feel anything but around him. Your breathing is already labored and ragged, and that self-assured smirk on his face makes your face go red from both fury and arousal.

“Suguru…!” you shout, tightening your legs around his neck.

You see stars behind your eyes when you come, the sensation practically dizzying and you’re glad you’re grounded by the bed. Geto reacts with a string of dark chuckles, so condescending, so maddening. Your eyes peer up to meet his, piercing, twinkling from triumph.

He grins down at you, his hands still ok the fleshy parts of your thighs as he presses affectionate kisses between them. Your brain might short circuit and definitely not for the reasons Geto hopes.

He drags you down until you’re at his level, his body tenting over yours like a shield from the world. Like he wants to protect you from the horrors of it, but doesn’t he understand that all the horrors you have faced at all are all because of him?

He hasn’t even broken a sweat himself, leaning in to press his forehead against yours, syncing his breathing with yours. You try to appreciate the stillness of the moment before he decides you don’t deserve any time to breathe, but he seems pushy about the marriage bit.

His hands on your thighs adjust them so they hook around his hips. You whimper. You know what comes next.

“Marry me,” he murmurs again as his lips ghost over yours. “Please.”

No.

“Okay,” you reply weakly, squeezing your eyes shut as his lips finally meet yours, ravishing them. You don’t really kiss back but your mind drifts off to when you desired being kissed passionately like this, with someone you genuinely love and who genuinely loves you. Maybe Geto believes he’s in love with you, but it can’t be true.

“I love you,” he drawls against your lips, pulling away for a moment to slip on a condom.

Maybe he believes that he loves you. It’s fine if he does but you know you never will. His lips find the crook of your neck as his cock breaches your hole, and your throat tightens as you fight back another whine.

“No,” he commands with a yell, nipping against yours jaw. “Let me hear you, Mamma.”

“Suguru…” you reply in a weaker tone, and he growls in disapproval, sharply bucking his hips. His whole body is coated in sweat and some of his hair clings to his forehead and around his cheeks. Even in this state, he looks something akin to a powerful deity.

“Suguru!” you cry, arching your back into the mattress.

“Better,” he purrs into your skin, before licking along your neck and throat. “I want to hear more of your lovely sounds. We must commemorate today. You’re mine for the rest of our lives.”

No. You aren’t. You never will be.

“Suguru, please, I—!” You’re cut off with a kiss; he refuses to hear another word out of you now (unless it’s a preferred response). His tongue twirls around yours as each languid, smooth roll of his hips slides his length just a bit deeper inside. You feel the tip of his cock brush against it and you whine into his lips, hands sliding down his sides which makes him the one shuddering all over now.

It’s over before you know it; your walls clenching around his length and he keeps pumping inside you without stopping for a breath. His lips remain locked on yours; your fingers sink into his muscled skin and you swear your body might give out but he refuses to let up the erratic pace.

He pulls away just slightly, purring into your mouth.

“You are perfect for me, Mamma.”

You wish you could agree. But you do admit, from your focal point, the way his hair falls over his face and perfectly frames his sharp features makes him look like something from the Heavens. The way his eyes soften looking down at you, and not even with a hint of condescension, it’s… different. Whatever must run through his mind, it can’t be good, and it can’t add up for you. If he’s convinced that he’s in love with you, then you can’t change that. But you can work with it.

He doesn’t pull out for a while, just taking the time to feel you around him. To feel himself inside you. He sighs in content, resting his head between your breasts drenched in his spit, your sweat, and splotched of milk that he gladly licks up without so much as a second thought before lifting himself back up to flash a little smirk at you.

But even his smirk seems off. It doesn’t carry the same energy of someone who knows they have taken you away from everything for their personal amusement.

And you find yourself wondering what Miguel might mean by Geto officially surrendering to his fate.

Your hand reaches up to cup his face, brushing some of his fringes behind his ear. He is a breathtaking man. A devil with the face of an angel—isn’t that why demons make themselves appear angelic? To lure victims into a sense of security?

He leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand. His forehead scrunches a bit as he relishes in how your walls still feel like they’re pulsating around his cock, a few aftershocks from your orgasm.

“I need more,” he says, peppering little kisses around your face down to your collarbone.

“Suguru,” you reply, your hand dragging down to the crook of his neck. “Let’s rest for a bit. You seem tired, darling. Something’s troubling you.”

“You don’t have to worry about it,” he replies between more heated kisses. “It’s politics. Between our worlds. It doesn’t concern you.”

“You keep saying things like that, darling, but don’t you just…”

“Just what?” he beckons.

“Don’t you need someone to actually…talk to?” You can’t believe what you’re doing here; didn’t you just say you learned your lesson the last time you tried to meddle into business that had nothing to do with you?

His eyebrows furrow at that. Obviously you’re in no position to ask such things of him. But it’s more of a push in the right direction, a suggestion. Nothing more. He doesn’t have to agree with you.

“Won’t change anything,” he says after a period of reflection. “I appreciate that you’re trying, my love. But your role is with the twins and I, separate from all of that. You’re with your family here.”

You will NEVER be family.

Delightfully oblivious as ever to your own wars clashing in your mind, Geto kisses your lips again. Slow. Gentle. Passionate. Like he really believes he loves you.

The kiss grows more heated again, and sometime during he’s finally pulled out, he didn’t even come, his cock still painfully hard and standing erect wrapped in that condom. This is the first time he hasn’t chased after his own pleasure once he took care of you. This time he seems fully devoted to pleasing you, making you satisfied.

He bites, nibbles your lips and moans like an actor in a lewd video into your lips that have become cracked and red and swollen from his treatment.

“Suguru…?” you manage to utter between each kiss, each one more desperate than the last.

Geto moans your name, low and needy.

“I love you,” he confesses again, “I love you.”

You find yourself unable to say it back, but you don’t get a chance to say a word anyway; his lips meet yours again. You find yourself trying to return it, at least be a little responsive or reactive, try to keep him unsuspecting for a while longer. Even if you know he carries all of his monsters or apparitions with him whenever he’s gone for longer stretches of time, you can’t help but fear the slightest chance that he has someone—or something—keeping an eye on you even if Miguel or Suda insist that they would have known all along.

You can’t afford anymore fuck-ups. You can’t fuck up your chances again.

Finding time to spare for Satoru has become increasingly more difficult. With Yaga practically on Satoru’s ass 24/7, he can’t exactly make quick pit stops to the temple anymore. They have had to find compromise somewhere, so Geto has been back to visiting his penthouse.

Even if logically nothing can be done should Gojo not follow direct orders from the higher-ups, he still can’t afford more penalties, and Geto can’t afford to raise any more suspicion from the long stretches of time he’s been hiding away from his own duties. Just for a few moments with the love of his life.

“Are you sure about this?” Gojo asks, intertwining his fingers with Geto’s as they lounge in his king sized mattress. Sure, Geto may have excused these longer absences of his own as part of his duty but it’s in reality to stay a while longer with Gojo. Gojo’s the one feeling like a burden now, but Geto won’t have it much like Gojo won’t have it every time Geto talks down on himself and how much he means to Gojo. Can’t go around being a hypocrite, right? “It’s a big step, you know! I’ve always expected you’re going to marry someone as sexy and perfect as her. I mean, I was hoping it’d be me but I understand we can’t necessarily given the situation here.”

Geto rolls his eyes a little in jest at that last comment. Of course, in Geto’s world, they’re already married, practically inseparable, but Gojo has his world, and Geto has his. And they have to act as if they don’t interlock their bodies like rabid, mating animals between everything that’s going on.

“Yes,” Geto answers, kissing into his shoulder. Gojo sighs dreamily at the contact, snuggling closer to his lover. “I’m marrying her.”

“That’s great,” Gojo replies, but there’s an underlying hint of longing in his tone. “But how does she feel?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Geto quips as he trails more kisses along Gojo’s exposed, sweaty skin, humming at the salty tang hitting his tongue. “Isn’t this what you wanted for me, Gojo? Her being here gives me more of a reason to tolerate a life like this.”

Gojo can’t help but scoff at that sentiment, eyes flickering with something akin to envy.

“So what, I’m not enough?” he mutters like a stubborn child. Geto rolls his eyes again.

“Baby, look at me—“ Gojo does, “—Of course you are,” Geto counters, pecking his lips for good measure. “You know what I mean.”

“I know,” Gojo replies with a longing sigh. He accepts another kiss, unable to hide the smile playing on his lips in spite of how much he feels like he’s going to miss out. “I’m sorry.”

Geto hums in response before capturing his lips again in another fervent kiss, a hand snaking down his chest to draw lazy patterns across one of his pecs. Gojo sighs again in that dreamy way, completely putty in Geto’s hands and he’s unashamed of it whatsoever. Geto is the love of his life, his one and only, and Geto feels the same except now there’s someone else thrown in the mix that they can both have fun with too.

“You’re always my forever, Satoru,” Geto swears in a whisper, his tone tender—a side to him only Gojo gets to witness. “We just have other matters to sort through now.”

Geto playfully pinches one of Gojo’s nipples and that draws a gasp from his lips, and Geto laughs heartedly, dragging his tongue along the defined lines of his muscles. Gojo brushes his long, slender fingers through Geto’s endless locks of soft hair, and Geto purrs in approval.

“I do really miss Princess, you know…” Gojo points out with that grin widening and brightening his previously sullen and worn features.

“Then come by sometime before the ceremony,” Geto suggests, “We must commemorate the occasion, don’t you think?” Geto insists with a knowing expression as he rests his chin on Gojo’s strong chest.

“Of course,” Gojo answers, that grin still plastered on his face like it’s been sewn on there. A little glint in his azure eyes suggests something a bit… worse, like there’s something else he’s plotting.

While Geto’s still off visiting Satoru, you’re still left with little time to plot your escape plan when you have to attend to the twins the majority of his absence. Both Miguel and Suda have found ways to pull you aside to give you a pointer or two but they know they don’t want to make things more suspicious to the twins but they seem so lost in their own universes you doubt it’s going to be much of an issue.

But a part of you also knows not to underestimate anything. A part of you still tries to amplify your perception of curse spirits but you don’t detect any around you at this point in time. No matter what you’re doing, whether you’re accompanying the girls during their video game sessions or when they want to opt for something else. Or when they want to go out and about—not without one of Geto’s loyal goons keeping a close eye on you while you take the twins out of the temple. You do try to see if you can pick up any during any outings with them but you have failed each time. The most you can make out are outlines of spirits, but Nanako and Mimiko has exorcised them before you can react.

That’s where you learn a bit more about what they can do. Mimiko can manipulate with that doll she carries around with her everywhere. Meanwhile, you understand why Nanako is attached to a camera—she can manipulate curse spirits through photos. You don’t understand what any of this means, but it’s interesting to watch. Even if you don’t understand the full extent of what happens in front of you just yet.

Miguel has mentioned during one of his limited coaching sessions that the first step to being a sorcerer at all is being able to perceive curses. Yet you have failed spectacularly at that part. It’s true that kids and animals are the most sensitive to their presence, and you might have recalled sensing spirits like the Hat Man or the Smiling Man from popular lore.

“All curses are human-born,” he remember him explaining to you one day. “They develop through the negative emotions of humans. That’s why we often hear that most of our struggles are self-made. It’s true, isn’t it, given what we h ave to deal with, huh? Being a sorcerer is a thankless job and often seen as a bunch of hooey to those monkeys. Let’s just say it’s worse in the more rural areas, where people like me and the twins came from.”

“I can only imagine,” you find yourself mumbling in response. “This must take a lot of self-control to master.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” he concedes with a nod. “But manipulating and controlling your cursed energy—something everyone has, sorcerer or not—takes mostly a deeply innate ability. Some people are just gifted at that stuff. Like Geto or that Satoru Gojo punk. They’re the best a small world like ours has to offer.”

“So I’ve been told,” you mutter to yourself.

Miguel rests a reassuring hand on your shoulder, flashing you a smirk. “Listen, Miss …. Just remember you do have backup in case things go awry. I can’t guarantee we won’t get caught, but don’t worry about us when that happens. You need to get out of here. You don’t belong here.”

You can’t help smiling.

“I’m so glad you’re deciding to help me get the hell out of here,” you breathe, “I just can’t help but wonder why.”

Miguel gives you a non-committal hum.

“You just seem like someone worth sticking out for,” he replies, “But honestly, I don’t really have a good reason behind it. Seeing someone like you, someone who was probably minding your own damn business before all of this, going through what you are… just doesn’t sit right with me. I’m not claiming to be good, like I told you before.”

“Thank you,” you tell him again. He returns your smile.

“No need, Miss ….”

“Princess!” Gojo exclaims with glee riddled all over his expression as he climbs down the stairs to greet you. “Congratulations on your engagement. It was going to happen sooner or later.”

He strides up to you, cups your face and greets you with a long smack of his lips against yours before approaching Geto and doing the same. Geto secures a possessive hold around Gojo’s hips so he doesn’t pull entirely away from him and it doesn’t seem like Gojo’s protesting, anyway. When Geto twists his neck to face you, your face falls upon realization. You know that look.

That can’t be good news for you, but when do you ever have good options between them?

“My love, can you make this final exception for the sake of celebration? Satoru does want to wish us well, you know,” Geto scoots you closer into him, his lips against your ear. “After that, he doesn’t have to touch you again, but you can do whatever you like.”

“But Suguru,” you begin, before eyeballing Satoru who’s waiting beside you with eagerness evident in those sharp oceanic eyes, deeply unsettling the longer you stare at them. Something about Satoru aside from the obvious seems… off-putting. You can’t place what it is, but you know you have heard many of Geto’s goons refer to him as some kind of God in the world of jujutsu sorcery. But he’s far from a merciful God, or even a good one.

But you do remember what Miguel says about that—that they’re sorcerers, not saints. They don’t claim to be good or right in whatever they do, and this holds true for both Geto and Gojo.

Gojo bounces his leg out of impatience, meeting your gaze full of hope and passion. He has missed having the agency to touch you, to do as he pleases…

“Please, my love,” Suguru pleads with a little growl, his hand reaching out to you and brushing his finger along the chain around your neck, jingling a bit as it moves. “Just this once. I won’t request this again another time.”

You don’t believe that in the slightest, yet you know you might not be here for much longer than you have to be. You cling onto that hope that whatever you plot with Miguel and Suda that it will work even if those chances are slim.

He promised it’s not zero, you remind yourself, that’s enough for me.

“Okay,” you concede with a weak tone, unable to wholly say no this time. If Geto swears this will be the only time before the marriage ceremony.

Tweedledum’s eyes twinkle from sheer happiness, and Geto loosens his grip on him so he has full autonomy to pounce on you and pin you to the large couch like an untamed animal. Geto laughs in dark amusement as Gojo smothers your face and neck in slobbery, sloppy kisses before he locks his body around yours; your chests pressing so tightly together you fear you might suffocate from the proximity.

“Fuck, gorgeous, I missed you, missed you so much,” Gojo babbles between playful and messy little swirls of his tongue against your jaw. You can’t even struggle or squirm; the added weight too much, keeping you secured in place and a gasp leaves your lips as he digs one of his knees into your crotch, forcing your legs apart. He digs into your crotch and grinds against your sensitive core, which you already feel some slick building and dampening your panties and his pants.

“Looks like she missed you, Satoru,” you hear Geto purr from somewhere above you but you can’t even adjust in your place. You hear Gojo groan as Geto yanks his pants and boxers down, leaning into to smack his lips against his ass and perineum.

Gojo lets out a shuddering gasp, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he whimpers and wriggles closer to the sensation.

“God you’re so fucking mean,” Gojo bites out, pathetically nibbling at your ear to try to ground himself and you hate that you’re immobile practically.

“Please… can’t breathe,” you gasp out and Gojo’s lips quirk upward as he adjusts himself ever so slightly, but still rubbing his knee into your damp crotch.

“Sorry about that, Princess. Better?” he purrs into your ear before nibbling on the lobe. You whimper in response. A slight improvement sure but you’re still immobile, just how they like it.

Gojo’s eyes dilate as Geto slathers his tongue around the rim of his tight hole, and he moans low into your skin.

“Fuck, fuck, baby, stop…” he begs through a lewd moan. “Being so fucking mean…”

Geto’s hand comes down hard on his ass.

“Do you mean that, Satoru?” he teases, the tip of his tongue catching into his hole and making Gojo squirm under the slightest touch or sensation

“N-no,” he groans, inching his ass closer and sticking it more upward like the obedient dog Geto’s trained him to be. You keep your eyes shut, unable to witness this like you have countless times before. Gojo seeks reprieve from the torment by tormenting you; his knee still grinding into your crotch and making you whimper and whine and weep. His lips leaving behind little marks that tingle in their wake.

“Sssatoru…” you slur, your eyes rolling back into your skull as your orgasm sends shockwaves through your body. He grunts in approval, plunging his slobbery lips onto yours and rolling his tongue against your shier one. He grabs one of your hands and guides it to his cock, veiny and swollen and leaking. You wrap your hand around his size and brush your thumb against his slit and he sucks in a shaky breath, approving and needy. He’s getting worked on both ends and he adjusts his position for you to have some wiggle room and you can focus on getting him off while Geto is still busy eating him out. His expert tongue laves between his perineum and his asshole and somehow Gojo can still maintain some semblance of composure.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” he strains his voice through the soft moans as he fucks his cock into your soft palm. “I got you. You have nothing to worry—fuck—about.”

He peels your panties aside and dips his finger between your damp, slick folds and you utter a little whimper.

“Please, I can’t,” you plea, but Gojo only tuts at you as he draws lazy circles around your stiff little bundle of nerves.

“Yes you can,” he snarls, grunting as his own orgasm rushes through his body but somehow he can remain composed while he’s tending to you. Geto shuffles around in the back, before repositioning Gojo and you by extension. Gojo sits up and rests you on one of his legs as he continues to play with your soaked pussy.

Your hand doesn’t dare to leave his cock, knowing you could be punished if you did, even if Geto swears not to bring harm to you, it doesn’t mean he can’t find other ways to get his point across. Geto watches from beside the two of you as you fondle each other. Your body is coiling from the intense heat, and you find yourself bucking into Gojo’s skillful, eager fingers.

“That’s it,” Gojo praises, kissing your cheek. “I’m not so bad, right Princess?”

When you don’t answer, you hear Geto click his tongue in disapproval. Dread fills your chest at that.

“He asked you a question, love.”

“You m-make me f-feel good, Satoru,” you stammer and Gojo coos at you as he slips another finger inside you.

“Goooood. That’s all I want, Princess. I just want to make you feel good, be a part of your life. S’not fair that I don’t get my share these days but bearing the responsibility of being the strongest means I can’t be here as much as I’d like to be. Can you forgive me for that, Princess?”

He twists his fingers inside you and brushes against your spot, making you thrash in his hold. Your grasp on his shaft tightens and he sighs in delight.

“I f-forgive you b-but w-we miss you. S-satoru…!” Your free hand clutches at his wrist as you feel another wave of an orgasm coming on and you can’t take it; you splatter all over his hand and some of your arousal splashes onto the ground.

“Gorgeous,” Gojo murmurs, his tone reverent, “So fucking gorgeous on my fingers. Now you can take my cock. It’s missed your perfect little pussy.”

Geto chuckles as he tears open the condom and helps Gojo slip it onto his strained, throbbing cock. He presses a soft kiss to the tip before Gojo hoists you up like you weigh a bucket of feathers and sinks you onto his cock until just the head enters your tight, soppy heat. Your juices make it easy to slide you all the way down to the base of his cock, and Geto growls as he watches the scene unfold intently; his hand resting on his lap as his own cock strains against his slacks.

“Fuck, so fucking tight. Guess even Gsto’s cock doesn’t stretch you out for long, huh? Fucking perfect for me,” Gojo babbles as he bounces you on his cock like you’re his cheap whore and it feels so fucking humiliating yet you’re moaning because you can’t deny how good it feels. Gojo’s size doesn’t make you as uncomfortable as Geto’s does; he’s much easier to take.

“Hear that, Suguru? Man, she fucking loves me!” Gojo cackles as he bucks his hips in time with moving you up and down.

“Of course she does,” Geto replies as he pets Gojo’s hair, kissing his temple. Geto rests his free hand on your clit and rubs hard on it, making you shriek from the overstimulation. The sounds of Gojo’s cock slapping against you and the lewd squelching from your juices reverberates through your ears like a loud bass and fuck you hate it so much. You hate that it’s beginning to feel kind of good.

“You should see how fucking good you look right now,” Gojo rambles on again as he whips out his smart phone, switching on the selfie camera and recording you and him.

You hate seeing yourself. You hate what you see right in front of you—Gojo’s wide, manic grin as he oogles his long, veiny cock disappearing into your dripping cunt and your face. Your fucking face is what’s humiliating. Your complexion is reddened; your face and neck is coated in sweat. You appear limp and completely out of it—like you’ve given up though that can’t be further from the truth. You have to sell the naive damsel role because that’s what they both like, making them think they have full power over you but someday soon you’re going to stick both your fucking middle fingers at them when you’re riding off into sunset toward sweet freedom.

He stops the short recording and sets his phone aside; his tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth as he fucks deeper inside of you, groaning as your walls clench and flutter around his length.

“You’re killing me, Satoru,” Geto laments, frowning as he palms himself through his slacks before finally pulling himself out. “Hurry before I stick my cock inside with yours.”

Your eyes widen at that in sheer horror as your head turns to Geto’s direction. His expression makes your heart sink; he’s not interested in sparing you a little dignity and really plans on bullying his cock alongside Gojo’s because he’s growing impatient.

“No no no, please, Sugu… I can’t!” you shout, shaking your head frantically as tears well in the corners of your eyes.

Geto’s frown deepens, his forehead wrinkling as he caresses your cheek with his knuckles.

“You can take it, my love,” he coos as he fists his cock into full hardness. You bite back a choked sob.

“No, no, Suguru…please it’ll be too much..!”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you protest but Geto disregards everything you say as he wraps his cock.

“Damn, Suguru,” Gojo cackles, “Can’t let it wait, huh?”

“Shut up,” he hisses as he pushes the tip of his cock into your pussy, and Gojo moans feeling Geto’s dick rub against his. The stretch absolutely fucking hurts and you weep, babbling endlessly and begging him not to go further but he doesn’t listen to you this time. Maybe he’s getting tired of being kind to you.

He manages to fit a good portion of his size inside and you’re sobbing so hard, your body is on fire and not in a pleasant way. They fill you up and stretch you out and they’re cackling together like the psychopaths they are.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Gojo growls, kissing the top of your head as he spears his cock into you with deadly precision. “Fuck fuck fuck you’re so much tighter. ‘M gonna come.”

And he follows through on his word, fucking into you with one last hard thrust before he gives you a little mercy and slides his cock out so Geto can have his way with you.

Gojo trails kisses all over your tear-strained face and ignores your continued weeping and begging to stop.

“Shhhh, we’re just getting started, Princess. We have so much making up to do before you and Suguru tie the knot, yeah? Just relax and let us take care of you. That’s all we want.”

Such fucking lies.

Geto growls as now he’s the sole cock drilling into you, and you’re stretched nice around his size. Your walls are still fluttering and squeezing around him and trying to suck him inside deeper and Geto looks down at you with a feral gaze, something you haven’t seen since the day he took you.

“Too bad I don’t have the intention of fucking a few babies into you,” he chuckles, reaching out to trace the gold chain jingling around your neck with each jerk of his hips. He tugs a bit on the chain and you avert your gaze. He frowns at that, tugging again and making you look at him. “You know I can’t afford to bring more monkeys into this world, but the idea of coming inside you is… enthralling. Perhaps we can save that for when I fuck your perfect ass.”

“Damn,” Gojo whistles, his arms circling your waist. “That’s going to be so hot. Fuck her full of cum and then have her walk around like that all day. Perfect way to ensure she belongs to you, yeah Suguru?”

“Exactly,” he laughs in response, a wicked smirk on his face. His hand comes down to smack your pussy and you scream, but Gojo secures his hold on you.

“Shhhh, Princess. Don’t squirm too much or he could hurt you. He doesn’t want to, you know?” he whispers in a mock soothing tone.

“Please, Sugu…. It already hurts,” you cry, sniffling, your eyes bloodshot and puffy from all of the tears you’ve shed.

“You can take it,” he grunts with another sharp slap on your quivering cunt. “You can do it, my love. Come for me.”

In spite of everything the world spins as you come down hard on his cock, arousal gushing out and it’s not the prettiest sight to you but it must make Geto and Gojo as gleeful as children on a Christmas morning.

“Sugu…” you murmur, body going a bit limp but you remember Gojo saying they barely begun. This is so tiring. But Geto pulls out with a soft moan, but his cock is still hard. Needing.

“What is it, my love?” he asks in that affectionate tome he’s been using so much more lately. Without the underlying condensation, just pure love, like he really believes he does love you.

As if someone who loves you would do things like this without so much as a shred of remorse. Gojo is silent behind you, sitting back and enjoying the scene unfold.

“I-I can’t,” you stammer, “Please, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” he urges a bit more gently. “This is a celebration, my dear. Lean into it.”

He kneels on one knee until his mouth is level with your cunt, his eyes sparkling with need and lust.

“We just want to take care of you,” he goes on, pressing a kiss to your spent cunt. “That’s all we want.”

You shake your head again.

“Can’t,” you keep pleading, “I can’t, I can’t…”

“Sure you can, Princess,” Gojo murmurs, “You have to. It’s the least you can do. After all, Suguru’s risking a lot just to be with you.”

Huh?

“I’m risking everything just to be here too,” Gojo continues while Geto pushes his tongue into your cunt. “So do this for us, baby. Because once Suguru married you, it’ll make things easier for us to be together. You’ll understand soon, I promise.”

“B-but…”

Gojo shushes you again before silencing you completely with a heated kiss. You can’t put up much of a fight anymore, in that moment.

This will be the only time you surrender to this battle, but not the fucking war.

[the-boy-meets-evil]

as wild and untamable as the sea | l.c (teaser)

pairing: greek god!chan x reincarnated sea nymph!f!reader genre: angst, smut | (very minor) reincarnation, fantasy, greek gods!au rating: explicit, minors DNI (for full fic, nothing in this teaser) word count: 850 for the teaser (TBD on full fic, prob 10k+) warnings: none for the teaser (full fic: explicit smut, past unhealthy relationships, plays with greek mythology, etc) post date: november 16th (hopefully)

summary: Chan remembers everything. Every little thing that's happened to him since his days as one of the twelve olympians. Poseidon to be exact. Even though he tries not to think about it now that he's living in modern times running a sad little aquarium, some memories are more vivid than others. Then, you stumble into his life and he can't explain the draw. You can't seem to figure out how this man is keeping an aquarium like this running when it seems like it's not that busy. Something about him really seems to put you off, despite the fact that he seems drawn to you. None of it makes any sense...until you start to remember.

a/n: this is for the 13 Gods of Olympus collab that @beomcoups & @wooahaeproductions have been tirelessly working on. thank you so much for hosting this! it's been fun (even if it's a challenge) to get lost in an entirely different world.

if you want to be tagged when i post, leave a comment or join my taglist here

Another day, another dollar. 

Wasn’t that what the humans said about another day spent working at some mindless job? Despite all the years he’s spent blending into their world, Chan still doesn’t really understand the humans. Doesn’t really understand why they put up with so many things they seemingly hate. Doesn’t really understand why they waste their short lives on something that makes them miserable. But, in fairness to the humans, Chan has also never had to worry about the trivial things that come along with working like money, possessions, or a home. When you’re one of the original gods of Olympus and life is seemingly infinite, money isn’t really an issue. 

That’s who Chan was in another lifetime: Poseidon. The God of the Sea, among other things. At least, until Olympus fell. A painful thought that he usually tries to push from his mind.

In the early days after Olympus fell, Chan still went through life acknowledging who he was. He leveraged his powers for favors or for payment. He used his control of the water and everything in it to get him what he needed. But, the years went by and the Olympians became the stuff of myth. Of stories. The kind of characters that you read about in books. Only the most eccentric members of society continue to worship the Olympians as if they’re real. Which they are, Chan reminds himself. Or, they were. As the faith faded, so did the Olympians’ belief in restoring themselves to full power. One by one, they gave up the task of finding a way back until it was only Chan and Zeus left. Two of the brightest minds of Olympus. Even they had to admit their own defeat. 

Which leads to the present day. Chan has taken on a new persona, for the…well, he’s lost track of what number this one is. He’s just thankful for his ability to shapeshift into someone new whenever he needs to. Takes a new name every time, too. At first, he tried to keep in touch with his siblings and the other Olympians. That, too, fades over time. It’s been at least a century since he’s spoken to any of them. Though, occasionally, he’ll catch wind of something through the chattering of local sea creatures. Something that says at least some of them are still out there.

Chan sighs. There’s really no reason for him to be wandering down memory lane in this way. He thinks, not for the first time, that maybe he needs to pick a different cover job. One that will keep his mind a little more occupied. The reality is, though, he’s tried nearly everything he could think of over the centuries. Changing professions is a frequent occurrence when he doesn’t want to let his body show too many signs of age. Not that he minds, it’s just that people start to ask too many questions about how he’s handling things someone “his age” shouldn’t be able to handle. In the end, working with sea life has always been the best. And this set up, where he’s running a smaller aquarium off of some long forgotten boardwalk in an area that doesn’t get much traffic, is also great. It isn’t even that Chan doesn’t like being around people. He finds humans entertaining in most senses. It’s just that nothing in this life is permanent for him. He’s not going to fall in love and grow old with someone. Best to just keep things at arm’s length. 

Most days are more or less the same and Chan works the majority of them. On the rare days off, he’s not far away since his little house is within walking distance of both the aquarium, the boardwalk it’s on, and the water. He trusts the limited staff that he has because he pays them well. Better than any other similar business, but he values loyalty. And they don’t seem to question how he’s able to make things work. That is largely due to the anonymous donors that make monthly contributions to the aquarium. Really, it’s just Chan funneling money that he’s earned over his many years on Earth so that he can keep a business afloat. Nobody seems to have anything to say. Beyond the staff not asking questions, they are all very good at their jobs. It makes life easier for Chan that way because he doesn’t have to micromanage them. Everyone knows what they’re supposed to do and will only ask questions if they hit an actual block. No, the aquarium runs very smoothly. It just doesn’t get a lot of business.

Since every day kind of blends together, Chan almost never realizes as days or weeks or even months pass by. He’s in a sort of autopilot where he also knows what he has to do and just does it without question. It’s just rinse and repeat day in and day out. 

Until it’s not. Until the first day that he notices you in his small, out of the way little aquarium. Until the day that everything starts to change.

[nayafanfic]

Can you do rotb Optimus (Or whatever bot you feel like) x platonic human single mom reader? Reader moves to the countryside and tries to start a farm to feed herself and her five-year-old kid. She notices strange happenings around the woods, like large footsteps, and strange vehicles driving on the roads, and has a feeling there's something in the woods (maybe just the bots trying to hide from humans). One day, reader looks away just for a second and her kid wanders off, getting lost in the woods. Reader looks for her kid desperately and her kid wanders too close to a cliff, ending up falling, but Optimus saves the kid just in time. He then carefully returns the kid and reader is confused when her kid constantly talks about 'Mr. Truck', making a drawing of this giant red-blue robot. However, reader then starts to believe in the possibility of Mr. Truck being real and one day finding Optimus with one of his injured Autobots. Reader is not scared and helps fix his friend, even offering them to stay in her barn. Then maybe that's just the start of a beautiful friendship?

(Sorry, if this is a bit long. You are free to ignore it.)

(platonic) Optimus prime x single mom reader

You lived alone, even though a few years ago it seemed impossible. Completely hypnotized by love, you hadn't seen the red flags. Always on the couch, yelling at you for any little mistake or letting you do all the chores.

The final straw was the slap on your face during one of many arguments, that night you left with a bag on your back.

Now 5 years later, you live in a small house with your adorable son and your 2 dogs. The little house is in the middle of 2 field of various vegetables (Tomato, cucumber, carrot, lettuce, wheat and recently, spinach). At the back of the house, is the mini farm with some animals.

But, even though you were fulfilled and exhausted from your new life, you noticed a strange event.

1- There are very few cars that pass in front of your house, but when there are, they are always the same ones. A large red and blue truck, another yellow, a pink motorcycle and another blue and white that drives like crazy (he already ate a stick, because he was driving fast and almost hit one of the chickens).

2- You noticed Mr. Truck's huge footprints? Finally, that what your baby boy has been saying since he got lost in the forest.

This day you will remember for the rest of your life. Everything was going so well, he was playing outside while you were fixing your old truck and in a second he was gone.

You spent the day looking for him, shouting his name and even sending your dogs at him. Until night fell and he reappeared out of nowhere. Never before you had cried, been relieved and angry at the same time other than at that moment. When you started to go home, he started talking about his experience with a big smile.

-Mom, when I fell in a water, a BIG robot picke me up!

-When did you fall? Where did you fall darling? And a big robot, that must have been so impressive! As a mother, you played into his game (thinking he was just talking nonsense).

After that day, he didn't stop talking about him, drawing pictures and dreams of the big Mr. Truck.

At first you thought it was just his imagination, young people have an extremely overactive imagination. But, It became so intense that you started to believe it.

So for good measure you installed fences all over your home (as if it would protect you, but also to prevent your son from returning there after his 5th attempt to run away).

But now you know it is real, because what is in front of you is the same thing in his drawings.

You had heard loud noises in the forest, so you went there and thought that one of the cows had run away again. Your son had already been sleeping for a good hour so there was no chance of him waking up, you took the shotgun, put on your boots and go outside.

Optimus didn't mind seeing you, he had been watching you since he meeting your little sparkle, but only to protect you of course. And usually at this time there is no more light in your home otherwise he would never have come near your home.

But now with a wounded Bumblebee, and no other protection he wasn't sure if you were a bad person or not, you were armed after all.

He didn't know how to act, should he talk to you or say nothing? The only thing he was sure of was that not a single bolt in his body moving. And you, damn it, you didn’t move more than an inch either.

the gun is held tightly in your hands trembling from the cold and the fear.

Your eyes were fixed on his glowing blue orbs until movement behind him caught your attention. The yellow bot was starting to lose consciousness due to his loss of blood. The larger robot turned towards him and tried as hard as he could to stop the bleeding while keeping his eyes on you.

Seeing what is happening in front of you, you remembered what he had done for your son, so taking a deep breath you gently placed the gun on the ground and began to walk towards it.

-My son, talk my about this day. In fact he doesn't stop talking about this day. Your laugh caught the attention of Bumblebee who hadn't even noticed you were walking towards him.

-He told me that you saved him from a fall, no? The cliff north of my house, the one overlooking the lake?

Now with the two of them looking at you closely and this close to the yellow robot you can see his wound, a hole on his cables. It looks quite serious, as a strange substance is coming out of the place in big quantities.

The big blue had all his attention on you again. -Yes, it was me. His serious and deep tone made all your body vibrate with fear? no, with surprise? You don't even know how you feel about yourself at the moment.

So, as a normal and intelligent person, your first action was to take off your shirt and place it as delicately as you can at the level of the hole and putting pressure on it. Then in a sure and calm voice you reassured them.

-So it's my turn to help your family now, Mr. Truck, everything will be fine.

[crystalizedcryolite]

While waiting for me to finally finish the next chapter..

DESIGN ANALYSIS FOR MY VIGILANTE AU >:D

As always, let's start in rainbow order! But first things first; all CG members have matching eyes, in one way or another! Red has yellow eyes, Orange has green eyes, Yellow has orange eyes, Green has blue eyes, and Blue has red eyes!! I might change things depending on how it looks, though.

Anyway, Red!!

I'll admit, I'm definitely giving him a design upgrade, but let's talk about this one.

Ah, the classic yellow bandanna. How could I leave it out? It's iconic!

His hair is definitely the wildest out of everyone's. A lot of black and grey in his design, too, which makes the yellow bits and the light-up shoes REALLY stand out.

The yellow matches his eyes and bandanna, and is reminiscent of that media trope with seeing yellow eyes peek from the darkness. The mask is, of course, to hide his face. Red didn't really seem like the guy to wear a visor like Green, or cover his entire face like Blue, so he gets that mask! Might change that, who knows.

His outfit looks thrown together with not that amount of effort. Very casual, as Green pointed out. Before Orange, he was the latest addition to the team, which can mean he can be a bit inexperienced. Wanted to convey that somehow!

Light-up shoes, oh, light-up shoes... who doesn't love them? Green certainly doesn't, but Red disagrees!

Next one!

Orange/Sketch

Now, I didn't draw their vigilante outfit yet, but I added the description of it to give an idea!

I wanted her hair to give a very anime-protagonist feel, if that made sense? Not sure if I got that right but it works for me! And hey! Freckles!

Working clothes: His pants are covered in paint to give an artist-like feel. (I should know. I paint a lot and some of my clothes did NOT survive the process.) As for the top and apron, I wanted it to feel like an actual café worker's uniform without it being a basic starbucks rip-off.

Vigilante outfit: VERY reminiscent of outfits animated characters would wear in scenes where they're doing some graffiti on the streets. That was my main inspiration behind the design.

Also in dark colors. They have to blend into the darkness and stuff!

The pouch mentioned was for practical sake; as is something I like to do when thinking of designs. And it helps with the artistic urge to draw at any time, regardless of what the situation is.

Not much to say about Orange's design, besides the fact that I wanted to give it a very protagonist-y vibe.

Yellow/Y

The second design is more or less his actual vigilante outfit, buuuut yeah!

Curly hair -despite my inability to draw it- and Yellow has been a favorite hc of mine!

His outfit is somewhat inspired by steampunk? Not exactly, but I DID have steampunk in mind while making it! The pilot's jacket was the best change yet.

Someone on a03 has told me that he looks like Alan, somehow! I'm not sure if I see it, so does anyone else see it? It would be a funny coincidence if so!

Green/Songbird

His hair is my favorite part of my Green design so I HAD to keep it! The classic headphones are there with a gamer-ish colour scheme.

VERY hip-hop and streetdance inspired! His visor is a reference to the sunglasses Orange gave him in the "More Faces" short, rather than his sunglasses in the Influencer Arc.

His clothes are a reference to the clothes I see my sister wear for her own dance training, and I love streetwear in general, so its a perfect fit! The necklace is just for show, though. Nothing practical about that, but it does look cool! Plus, it's a notion to his powers! His outfit is practical, but still shows off somehow, just like Green!

My vigilante!Green is the most experienced in the group, so I wanted him to look that way, somehow? And he definitely looks the most professional! I think!

Blue/The Witch

The second member to join the vigilante team!

I HAD to give her a hat. The witch's hat is a must. Practical? Not exactly. Cool? Yes, indeed.

The mask is my favorite part. A direct reference to the "Faces" short, AND a good way for Blue to, ahem, mask her identity (hehe a pun)

The sweater and coat combination seems strange, but it looks a little like a modern witch outfit? Trenchcoats definitely give a vigilante vibe in a way, and Yellow already had one, so Blue gets a belt and a sweater to go with it!

Blue definitely needed a bag for her potions. She can't just make them on the spot!- well, she can, but it would still be a hassle! She'd be the most practical when it comes to her clothing for vigilantism, after Yellow.

Purple/Aeolus!

Obviously, the cloak is a reference to elytra. The green hairtie, the bag and the cloak buckle is a reference to their mother, Orchid. You can see the vines on the bag strap, the flowers on the bag and buckle, and the leaf-shape on the hairtie.

There's also a lot of green on them, wink wink ;3

To hide their identity, they cover a majority of their face with the cloak hood!

It was hard to balance the colors, but I'm happy with the results! This one is simple compared to the others, but its still cool nonetheless!

Purple was meant to have ripped jeans but my drawing ability to low, so... sorry, Purple.

AAAAND THAT'S ALL! Sorry if this seemed boring or disappointing, or whatnot. I tried my best!

[overnightheartbeats]

—

"Fair enough," protective family she understood. That was her dad and Juju, but still, she smiled because Laurel was certain about not hurting him. No way. "Well, I know. I meant failure on my part, I think I fooled you with my dancing, but I'm not an expert. Nope, not trying to offend you at all. I trust you."

The waffles pulled a smile from her, yet another example of how close he was to his family. Or, so she assumed. Why else would someone learn about how to make Mickey Mouse ears shaped waffles? "You got me, breakfast is the best part. I have to admit, I'm intrigued by these waffles."

"I'm glad you think so, Texas suddenly got so much better now that you're here." Laurel felt a warmth rise in her cheeks, his smirk just had that effect on her. "Count me in, I'll be there next time."

Sitting in front of him with one less garment on her should've brought a sense of shyness to her, but Laurel felt the furthest thing from that. Silent nod, and she felt giddy, knowing they were in agreement. She felt safe here with him, there was no hesitation that this was where she wanted to be. Her eyes trailed up from the edges of his sweater to the soft skin that peeked out from his collar. Laurel smiled against his lips, the feeling of his hand roaming her body pulling a content sigh from her, only to eagerly meet his lips once more. Were they speaking the same language right now? Because she swore she felt something in his kiss.

She hummed at the trailing feeling between her breasts, her head falling back in response. The way he made her come alive, oh, his touch was magic. His breath tickled against her skin, only drawing her closer to him as her breaths grew shorter. Each kiss left a warm trace on her, eyes closed as she reveled in the electrifying sensation. He was exploring her body, but it was odd, feeling like he already knew her, even better than she knew herself. Her body trembled in realization that he found a sweet spot, a breathy moan escaping her as he bit into her collarbone. The feeling was unlike any other, her mind going fully blank as her hand trailed under his sweater to reach his chest, pulling on the edges of his sweater. "I...I want you," she whispered, just for him, leaning up to nip at his earlobe. Being this close to him was intoxicating, one kiss and she was hooked. Happily though, there was no complaint from her at all.

—

"You'd have three very angry people at your door," he laughed even though he knew it would be true. Isa, Inez and Emma would truly dislike anyone who he didn't get on with. "I wouldn't set you up for failure. I'm offended," his dramatic gesture made his hand fall on his forehead like she had truly hurt him. "But, it would require a lot of trust on your part."

"Waffle shaped into Mickey Mouse ears. I am on expert on that and since working at the diner I feel like I've conquered breakfast foods. So, I've got breakfast covered for you." Truly if it wasn't for Emma he wouldn't really have stepped into the kitchen. He was grateful they did send him more than poptarts in their care packages.

He smiled like she had just amused him. "I think being stuck here with you is not too shabby of a life. You've made Texas a little less insufferable." Eli shrugged and smirked. "If you're there when I clock in, I'll make you the freshly made batch."

He let out an audible gasp as his chest breathed heavily, eyes following her every move. She had a captivating way to hold his attention. As her fingers moved to remove his hoodie off her body, he felt the gravity of this moment. He trailed his eyes up slowly as he drank her in and took in that silent nod. His hands cupped her face and continued to kiss her? This time taking her down so that half of his weight laid on his elbows. One hand roamed down her side to her hip, the touch was deliberate as his mouth moved against hers in an unspoken word of I'm yours.

The other that framed her face stayed at her haw for a second before it moved to the dip between her breasts. Familiarizing himself with the soft skin, the way they were so uniquely Laurel. He brushed her hair aside, letting his breath dance across her skin, his leg slipped between her thighs a second later.

His lips trailed from her mouth, across her cheek, to her neck and had his tongue sweep across the spot he knew noticed her whole body tingle in arousal. He grinned against her skin, enjoying the fact that he found key points. He groaned into the crook of her neck at the skin to skin contact. He kissed down her neck to her clavicle, dragging his tongue along the bone, before dipping down to the valley between her breasts. Eli was deeply aware to make sure she was ready the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

For that matter he traveled his mouth down her neck, teeth biting into her collarbone wanting to see the bruises blooming after he lapped his tongue around to soothe it.

[icequeenlila]

“Vi!”, she called as she recognized the tattoo on her cheek, illuminated by silver moonlight.

Caitlyn threw herself into her arms without thinking, and Vi caught her as her knees gave out, embracing her like it was second nature.

She could feel Vi flinch at the impact, her body pulling away from Cait despite still holding on to her. A sharp intake of breath next to Caitlyn's ear.

Cait froze as she realized, guilt tugging at her chest as the memory of their last encounter played inside her mind. 

Her hands holding onto Vi’s shoulders, she pushed herself away just enough to look her in the face.

“I’m sorry”, Caitlyn breathed when she noticed the slight twitch of Vi’s brows, the tight line of her lips. “I’m so sorry, Vi. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Her hands moved to cup Vi’s face, her heart thundering against her ribcage as she felt Vi’s soft skin beneath her fingertips.

Caitlyn’s eyes caught on Vi’s lips, curved in a soft smile. She felt a warm touch on her face as Vi’s fingers found their home beneath her chin, gently forcing Caitlyn to look her in the eyes.

“I think I’ll survive”, Vi murmured, a cocky smile tugging at her lips as her thumb softly caressed along the line of Caitlyn’s jaw.

It did little to reassure her.

Pictures flashed through Cait’s mind, pictures of the day they first met. Vi’s back dirty and bruised, proof of abuse and injustice.

Caitlyn bit the inside of her cheek to fight down the wave of guilt at the thought of hurting Vi even slightly.

“I thought you hated me now”, she said, stepping closer towards her. “I thought I might never see you again.”

Their faces were close enough for Caitlyn to feel the warmth of Vi’s chuckle against her cheek.

“I don’t hate you, Cait.”

Despite the smile on Vi’s lips, Caitlyn couldn’t help but notice the underlying sadness in her voice. A small alarm clock went off inside her head.

“Why did you break in?”, she asked, looking over to the open window. The moon shone bright onto the roofs of Piltover. “You know you could have used the door. The guards would’ve let you through without questioning.”

Vi averted her eyes and a sense of dread washed over Caitlyn as something began to dawn on her. 

With the first sparks of fear inside her gut, she moved her hands to wrap her fingers around Vi’s, pressing down gently but with urgency.

“Vi?”, she asked, trying to meet her eyes. 

But Vi wouldn’t look at her.

Caitlyn watched her biting down on her bottom lip, her brows furrowed in thought, like Vi was searching her mind for the right answer to her question.

“I didn’t mean … I … “ Vi let out a frustrated groan when the right words wouldn’t come.

Instead she slid one hand from Caitlyn’s grasp, reaching into the pocket of her jacket. Cait’s breath got stuck in her throat when she looked down at the object Vi retrieved from it.

“I came to give this back to you”, Vi finally said, gently placing the Enforcer’s badge into Cait’s hand.

The fear Caitlyn had felt before now grew into full on panic. The leather with the Enforcer’s emblem on it felt cold against her skin. Her chest did too.

“You mean you came to leave it here for me to find in the morning”, Caitlyn said, her voice holding a bitter tone to it. She couldn’t help it.

Vi let out another sigh, completely slipping from Caitlyn’s grasp now.

“I don’t get it”, Cait said hastily, fearing that Vi would leave her just like that. Maybe forever. “Vi.”

And finally Vi looked up at her. The shine of the full moon drawing the soft features of her face in silver lines. It was enough to see the sadness inside Vi’s eyes.

Caitlyn struggled to breathe evenly.

“This was a mistake, Cait”, Vi said, her voice soft, gentle, empathetic and all the right ways. Only that the words leaving her mouth weren’t right at all.

“What exactly?” There was that bitterness again. “You putting on the badge or you … and me?”

Again, Vi didn’t answer right away but the conflicted look inside her eyes, the way her gaze slipped away from her again was all the confirmation Cait needed.

“Water and oil, huh?”

+

Link to fic

[atheneum-of-you]

I've talked a lot about priest/ priestesshood on my blog recently as well as my journey as a priestess in training for Lord Hermes. (I promise I'll post other stuff as well this has just become the forefront of my life recently and I enjoy sharing my journey!)

With that in mind, I wanted to share what it's like deciphering card pulls with Hermes, particularly when it comes to tasks. As I've started in a couple of previous posts, tasks are basically your training and given to you by your god to strengthen your skills with them and teach you how to work under them. It's similar to job training.

The Cards

Before I ask for my tasks, I like to ask him if he has any messages for me, typically a 1 or 2 card pull. I was immediately given the Sword card.

The card represents birthright and purpose. I had taken this as another small confirmation that priestesshood was the right path for me (as I had done a small tarot reading for myself earlier saying something similar). I had no clue that he had drawn the card for a meaning I would only figure out later, but with that now in mind, I moved on. I asked for my next task for him and drew the following cards:

I was a little surprised to see 2 cards from my last task reappear (the fields and the cottage in the woods) and at first glance of the cards I assumed it would be another Demeter message (as it is winter it would make sense for her to be particularly active). But the crossroads stumped me. The crossroads are typically associated with Hecate, not Demeter. Additionally, I didn't draw the Herald card (Hermes's card), so I wasn't entirely sure if this was a message to be delivered. Did Hecate want to speak with me directly? But why draw the Pair card? Hecate is a trio goddess.

Epithets

The cards stumped me for a while and I ended up leaving the task incomplete, deciding it'd be best to revisit with a clearer head (I was dealing with a lot yesterday).

As I woke up this morning, I looked to my references to find a suitable epithet of Hermes to pray to this morning. And while looking, I noticed one specifically that piqued my interest. One I wasn't aware of before.

Hermes Trikephalos.

Hermes of road-intersections. Hermes three headed.

Hermes has a crossroads association.

Suddenly my cards started to slowly piece together. The crossroads card was never about Hecate, Hermes is the god of travel, the messenger of gods. ALL gods, including the chthonic. I didn't need the Herald card, he had represented himself using an epithet he wanted me to learn.

Interpreting the Cards

I had learned from my previous task that Hermes doesn't always use the cards' intended meaning when giving me my tasks, so I always observe the cards themselves and the picture they create before interpreting them individually. I almost exclusively use this deck for Hermes because it's a panoramic deck, meaning when put together, the cards can form a much larger image:

While naturally everything doesn't line up perfectly, it does create a scene. A pair (which I immediately considered lovers) overlooking a field and home in isolation. Across from the home (a little distance away), a goddess statue points to a crossroads. I'd already established that the crossroads card signified Hermes, but it was more than that. The crossroads represent the intersection between our world and the gods' and are heavily associated with the chthonic gods. It represented a goddess at the crossroads, her back turned to a lonely field that she overlooked with her lover.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The cards spoke of Persephone, leaving the mortal fields of her mother's (hence me drawing both cards of Demeter's from my last reading) and making her descent back into the Underworld. My task was not a message to deliver, but a study session.

The Completed Task

I had learned a new epithet oh Hermes, had learned how to read my cards without using the actual meanings of them, and learned how to read them as a vision/ story. Sometimes, my duties as a messenger will involve me needing to not observe the strict meaning of the cards and instead interpreting them as a vision. Similar to skrying.

I was fully prepared to run around trying to figure out what message to give to who, but this was an absolute blast to decipher. Hermes's tasks tend to be criptic and very much as a combination of games. Clue, Guess Who, word association, puzzles, riddles, etc. He makes you have to think critically and outside of the box and purposely tries to stump you. Things won't mean what you think they mean, and it turns into a battle of wit, and if he can successfully outsmart you. And your job as his underling is to not let him. Honestly, I think if I were using any other deck, I'd be pulling my hair out.

I revisited the Sword card from earlier and realized it had a whole new meaning. It wasn't just confirmation. He was telling me to be sharp, and to always be ready for his tricks and games. And I'll be moving forward with that in mind from here on out.

This is what it's like, training under Hermes. And it's the most fun I've had in years.

[dummiebrat]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal (Mentioned)

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: A monologue from a young Agatha Harkness, reflecting on her first encounter with Rio Vidal, a personification of death. Set in the aftermath of her Coven's destruction, Agatha is consumed by a mixture of fascination, longing, and existential recognition.

Notes: Tarot Symbolism, Rio Vidal (Mentioned), Salem! Agatha Harkness, Angst, Longing, Monologue and Existentialism.

Author's notes: This is my first time posting what I write, I hope you like it. English is not my native language, please forgive me for any mistakes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤI saw her first through the smoke and ruin, the embers of my world still glowing red-hot as if they might sear her image into my memory forever. Rio. Her name tastes ancient on my tongue, like the first breath of a long-forgotten prayer. She moved like the shadow of a storm, cloaked in night, her presence a force of nature that could strip the marrow from your bones and leave you grateful for it.

But even then, as the weight of her settled upon the clearing—upon me—I did not feel fear. No, fear had died alongside my Coven, their lifeless forms twisted and blackened around me. What I felt was something far more dangerous, far more consuming. Curiosity.

Her face is etched into my mind now, clearer than any memory I have of the women who raised me. Her beauty defies description, for how can one describe the juxtaposition of death itself? The hollow perfection of her skull, bare and gleaming like the moon, balanced against the soft humanity of her lips and the cold fire in her eyes. It is a beauty that demands surrender, a beauty that promises ruin.

And oh, how I wish to be ruined by her.

She spoke to me, and her voice was the end of all things. Low and steady, like the final toll of a bell, each word slipping beneath my skin to settle in my marrow. “You carry the weight of them now,” she told me, her tone neither cruel nor kind. And I, broken and burning, could do nothing but believe her. How could I not, when she was the very proof of the weight I bore?

In that moment, I thought of The Lovers. The tarot card that someone once showed me, the one she said was meant to guide my path. I used to laugh at it, at its foolish romance and impossible choices. Yet now I see it clearly, its meaning so sharp it cuts. The Lovers is not just about love — it is about union, about two halves becoming a whole and the impossible balance of what is chosen and what is fated. I see it in Rio, in the space between us.

She is death, cold and inexorable. I am life, wild and unyielding. Two forces that should repel one another, yet I feel the pull like gravity, drawing me closer to the void she carries within her. We are the two sides of the same coin, two halves of an unfinished story. Where her hands take, mine give; where her presence consumes, mine creates. And yet, standing before her, I feel as though I have never truly lived until now.

Her words lingered in the ashes that surrounded us: Death is not scary. Life is. How could she be so cruel as to speak a truth so profound? It is life that binds us, that breaks us, that chains us to one another even as it promises freedom. Life is the fire, the storm, the chaos. And death… death is her. Quiet. Inevitable. Beautiful.

I wonder if she knows what she has done to me. Does she see the way my fingers itch to touch her again, to trace the sharp lines of her face and learn the secrets of her unyielding form? Does she feel the tether she has wrapped around my heart, pulling me toward her with every breath?

Rio Vidal, death in human form. I should fear her, and yet I want to claim her. To make her mine. I have lost everything — my Coven, my mother, my innocence — but I will not lose her. She is the opposite of what I am, and yet I feel as though we are the same. Two flames destined to burn together, consuming all in our path.

I will find a way to bind her to me, to tie her essence to mine as tightly as life is bound to death. If she is the reaper of souls, then I will ensure she has all she needs. And perhaps, in giving her that, she will give me what I crave in return.

Her presence lingers still, like smoke in my lungs, like the memory of a dream that refuses to fade. She will return. She must. For how can The Lovers exist if one half of the pair is missing?

[herearedragons]

"Solas?"

Aqun's breath is warm on his shoulder, the rumble of his voice a faint vibration against Solas' back. Familiar by now, and all too comforting, even when it draws him back from the brink of crossing over into the Fade.

He cracks an eye open.

"Ma vhenan?"

Still strange, so strange to call him that, even weeks later. Every now and then he finds himself retreating to the safety of "my friend", which rings just as true, but that much more distant; a brief and insufficient respite from the bleeding vulnerability of "my heart".

But it is what he is. What they are.

Kadan. Vhenan. So entangled that only the extremes of their language are fit to describe it.

"I... have a question."

Solas chuckles quietly.

"As you do."

He rolls over to meet the eyes of the man beside him. Despite being firmly wrapped in an embrace, this is hardly a challenge; the slightest push is all that's required for Aqun to release him.

Protective, but never confining. Part of him is glad for it. Another part of him is not as wise, wishing, at times, to be held tighter; to be stopped, prevented from leaving.

Aqun's features are faintly defined in the dark before him, softer than they are during the day. His red eyes seem black in the dim light.

"What is it?" Solas asks.

He expects some question related to the Fade, perhaps something they had encountered recently. That, or Corypheus, or some other affair of the Inquisition; it is usually one of the three that keeps Aqun awake at night.

The question that comes is different.

"Where did you fight? That... elven skirmish, Blackwall called it. Where was it?"

At once, despite the warmth of another body so close, there is a chill in the air.

It takes him a moment to place the conversation. It is not a recent one; months old, in fact. An exchange with their resident Warden as they were making their way through the Exalted Plains, before Halamshiral, before Adamant, before... this.

Aqun was present for it and said nothing, but, evidently, he remembered.

It takes another moment to review the tale he had told Blackwall; an attempt to explain away his own familiarity with warfare. He had not mentioned a location, or even the fighting sides, but Blackwall did not inquire further.

"Nowhere of importance," Solas says. "Otherwise, you would have heard of it."

He knows that this answer will not satisfy, but it will give him time to think.

Why is Aqun asking?

Not out of suspicion; everything about his voice and body is relaxed, trusting. It is something else.

Not idle curiosity, either; he wouldn't have disrupted his sleep on a whim.

It is important to him. But why —

Aqun sighs quietly.

"Alright," he says, and does not question further — but it isn't hard to see that he is unhappy.

"You are disappointed," Solas states.

Aqun shakes his head slightly, the pillow rustling.

"I'd like to know, but you don't have to tell me. It's your past. It's fine."

And, just a moment too late, the realization comes of what Aqun was trying to do.

To further his understanding of him; of who he thinks "Solas" is.

The untangling of the mystery brings no excitement, only a strange heavy feeling in his chest — and yet, still, a warmth.

This desire to understand is what drew him to Aqun in the first place, and then made it impossible to pull away. It is what sets him apart from anyone else Solas had met ever since he awakened.

It is what makes keeping the truth from him a harder task than it should ever have been.

Solas deliberates for a moment, choosing his words, and then says:

"Ir abelas. Speaking about it is... difficult. The story is old, but the wounds remain fresh."

There is more truth than lie to that, and it will have to do.

"Alright," Aqun says softly.

The disappointment is no longer there; he has accepted that for an answer.

As always, only the slightest push is required.

"...Perhaps one day I will find it in myself to tell you."

The words are spoken before his mind can pass judgement, and then there is no taking them back.

But Aqun smiles slightly at his statement, and the warmth spreads.

[im-a-mint]

answering questions

we didn't go past "hey wouldn't this be funny" and "what ifs" so unfortunately there are no new designs (yet) but when there are I'd be more than honored that you'd want to draw them?? holy shit??

your brain is enormous. it's an actual moment in my head where Simmons gets florida confiscated after he ends up pushing himself way over the edge and it's just Too Much for himself to handle

we never thought of it Seriously Seriously like plot wise but the idea of meta Simmons does not escape my mind now. otherwise AI!Maine is in Doc's mind so there's always That

on another note here is the list of who gets with who and what I remember about why we chose what (note; we didn't go in depth about enhancements but that can be thought of later)

already said why Simmons and florida ended up together, but! Florida would be the aspect of Willingness portrayed as him just genuinely being able to and encouraging others to go as far as possible with a smile on their face

Tucker and North ended up together because, for one, Tucker is somebody willing to do sacrifices + he wants to have someone to trust, and North, in this au being the aspect of Protectiveness, would provide both somebody he could trust and somebody who could bring tucker back down to earth

Grif and Carolina ended up paired up together because we reasoned that Grif has a lot of potential but needs motivation to go through with it, while Carolina needs to tone it down a little and realize that she can, actually, get a break and a treat after good missions. she's the aspect of Desperation in how all she wants is to be the best in any way possible

Sarge and Wyoming because of old man yaoi and because we agreed Sarge is very smart and clever but also goes off the rails pretty easily, and having an equally clever but grounded man in his head telling him to go back on track would be more than helpful. Wyoming would be the aspect of (Singleminded) Focus, taken from how he was a gun for hire and genuinely just doing things because it was what he was paid to do, putting all his focus there.

Donut and Texas. I can't remember exactly Why we put donut and Texas together but putting Texas aspect of Failure and the cheery donut together seems like a good enough idea. also we wanted to give church a heart attack

Church and Washington were our last pick so it was from elimination but also.get fucking EPSILONED. on a more serious note, Wash is the aspect of Accountability in how he holds grudges and HOLDS onto them, so he pushes Church forward on his motivations snd living up to them

Sister and South because YES sister is here and YES we have lesbians in town why the hell not. south is the aspect of Frustration but turns out being in a girl's head whose telling you youre both the greatest and hottest gals around while you guide her on learning how to fight better helps a lot, actually

Doc and Maine I can't remember tbh I know in my notes I put Maine as the aspect of Resilience though so there's that. mainly cause he's a tank kinds soldier.

Lopez and CT because we want Lopez around and plot relevant and CT would be the aspect of Secrecy, so putting her with the guy whose main shtick is that nobody can understand him properly was a pretty good idea for us, especially when it comes to showing how it's like.she had all the answers but no way to tell them in a way she'd be believed. they'd get along well :3

Caboose and York because they both are loyal like dogs but York actively helps Caboose understand and process things better. York is genuinely the aspect of Loyalty and having a good time with Caboose, steering him on stuff and helping him cope and process his feelings n stuff

that's all I've got tbh. the friend was @arcaneinsomniac and we did all of this over call n we were going insane with the funny. I'm pretty sure a plot point was church going insane because he was 1. into Tex 2. into donut and 3. into caboose. also because wash was having something with tucker so mans was never getting a break

So I was thinking about Red vs Blue and I realized that if Simmons was on blue team with Captain Flowers he would be extremely happy there

[ricksoo]

So today is Pigment's 2nd birthday...

As much as I, or we wanna celebrate it,

... Uh...

I don't think this is the best time to celebrate it... 😶

Tbf I kinda wanna follow it based on the storyline so technically this is kinda at an incorrect time ;v;'

Pigment by @xxtc-96xx TC you're awesome for introducing Pigment