#But it has to be done in a way that doesn't feel forced

[superhoeva]

it’s after jack abbot greets to you in the kitchen with his usual kisses to you nose and lips, plus a long, squeezing hug that he pauses.

there’s something about your eyes… beautiful as always, but a familiar haze just behind their usual sparkle that has him pausing to stare. you watch, blinking and gulping as his eyes scan your face.

the seconds that pass stretch over a thick silence, jack only ending it with a squinting sigh. "gimme your hand for a sec, doll."

you abide, hiding the way you bit at the inside of your cheek as you hand places into his. he squeezes it, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles with a warming fondness. the fuzz that fills your stomach zaps away into something that forces you to gasp when abbot plunges two of his fingers into his mouth.

jack recognizes the taste in an instant–you. the tang is still lingering happily. eyes connect with yours, he swirls his tongue once before popping them out of his mouth.

when he tilts his head, you can feel the dissatisfaction rolling off jack in waves. you don't dare look away from his stare–his slightly-annoyed, feverish stare–and give him your best puppy eyes.

"thought i told you to wait," he ignore your pout and steps to you in a long stalk, arms wrapping around your waist to cage you in. pinching at the skin, he sniffs. "how many?"

"just one."

"panties on?" the question comes with a squeeze to your ass.

"mmhm," you hum, "it was quick, i swear. and not even that good since you weren't here..."

he blinks. "it wasn't, huh?"

you shake your head just as jack leans traps you between himself and the counter. a rush of cold douses over you when he backs away with a cocked hip.

"gimme 'em, please," he commands, voice low and edging. the eyebrows he elevates by half an inch stop you from trying to reason with him. with a heavy stare, jack watches as you rid yourself of your shorts before peeling down your still dam panties with a bit lip.

you pass the garment–simple, thin briefs with a lace trim–to him on a single finger, and he's balling it up before you can blink.

"...open."

standing there, you open because what the fuck else would you do, and jack stuffs the underwear against your tongue. planting a kiss on your nose, he spins you gently and leans you against the counter elbows-first.

when you fold at the waist, jack has to smirk to himself because your slit is glistening–still or already, he isn't sure of, yet it doesn't matter. you'll be leaking by the time he's done with you tonight.

"how many you think i'm thinkin', baby?" jack asks, smoothing a palm across the skin of your cheeks. clenching around nothing, you turn to peek at him over your shoulder, words muffled. the man grins at you, winking.

"you said twenty?" eyes widening, you shake your head. you certainly did not say that. "hm. that does does like too many, huh? i'll be nice and bump it down to nineteen."

you huff through your nose and hang your head.

fuck.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞��𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[munsonsmixtapes]

Sunshine

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Simon just can’t stop talking about his fiancé.

cw: mention of alcohol, anxiety, and pregnancy

The club is packed when Simon and his friends show up. If he’s being honest, he didn’t even want to come, being dragged out of the house because they all claimed that he spends too much time with you. He doesn’t think so, though. He spends the perfect amount with you in his mind. And he makes plenty of time for his friends so he doesn’t see what the problem is.

He feels eyes on him as he pushes through all the dancing bodies and it makes him feel gross being checked out like that. This always happens and even though he tells them that he has a fiancé, they don’t seem to get the hint. It’s gotten to the point where he got his own ring to get the point across-well, that and the fact that he just wanted one because he loves the idea of being connected to you in that way.

Simon gets to the bar and orders a beer, letting out a sigh as he resists the urge to text you. He knows something will be said and he doesn't want to be teased about it. He’s convinced that everyone is just jealous and doesn’t care that they roll their eyes whenever he mentions you. He’s just a man in love and he doesn’t see why that’s his fault.

Once his drink is set on the bar, he takes a sip before turning to his friends. His mind immediately goes back to the night he met you. You were working at the bar down the street from where he lived at the time and the second he laid eyes on you, he immediately had to know your name.

“You know, y/n is a bartender,” he speaks up, smiling down at his beer bottle.

“Here we go,” Soap replies with a roll of his eyes. He acts like he’s annoyed, but he’s actually secretly very happy for Simon and the fact that he was finally able to find someone he loved enough to settle down with.

“That’s what, ten mentions of her in the last hour?” Gaz laughs and Soap and Price join in, teasing Simon yet again. “The man is obsessed.”

“Oh, he’s just in love,” Price corrects, clapping Simon on the shoulder. He’s always been very supportive of your relationship and has even offered to officiate the wedding. “You’ll all feel the same way when you finally settle down.”

Simon can’t help but smile at the defense Price is making. They’ve gotten very close over the years, Price being someone that Simon looks up to. He’s the one Simon goes to for any problem he’s having, the one he talked to before he proposed to you.

He doesn’t care about his friends’ teasing, though. He knows they don’t really mean anything by it, they’re just messing around. He knows that they really are happy for him otherwise they wouldn’t have agreed to be his groomsmen. They just like to pick on him because they see him like a brother. It’s the way they show him love without actually saying the words.

He takes his phone out of the pocket of his jacket to check the time and smiles at his lockscreen-it’s a photo of the two of you, grinning at the screen as you hold up a sonogram, tears in your eyes.

He didn’t want to go tonight because he was worried about you and the baby but you forced him to go, insisting that you’d be okay and now that he’s here, he’s worried like he always is.

He misses you and his unborn daughter, wishes he was with you right now, his hand resting on your bump and you both snuggling up on the couch, watching that stupid reality show that he claims to hate but secretly loves.

Simon just worries and that’s why he feels like he needs to be around you 24/7. He’s read more parenting books than he can count and even though your daughter has been as healthy as can be at every scan, he knows that the knot in his stomach won’t go away until he’s holding her in his arms.

He sips on his beer, zoning in and out of the conversation with his friends, bringing you up any chance he gets even though he knows they’re all done with him, making him take a shot every time he mentions you. He’s already up to two in the last five minutes. That’s got to be a record of some sort.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he’s quick to answer it when he sees your name and photo flash on the screen. He moves to a spot that’s more quiet when he puts the phone up to his ear, plugging his other one with his finger so he can hear you better.

His heart is racing and he just knows something is wrong. It’s gotta be. Why else would you be calling? He knows it’s just his anxiety and waits for you to speak before he can panic.

“Hey sunshine,” he greets, grinning so widely just by hearing your voice on the other line. And when he hears the reason why you’ve called, he almost falls to his knees, letting out a sound of pure joy as the line goes dead.

He’s shoving his phone back into his pocket as he races back over to his friends, so excited to tell them the news. That he’s gotta go to the hospital and he’s gotta do it now.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” is all he says before they’re all making a beeline for the door, all looking forward to seeing the little nugget, just knowing that she’s going to be spoiled rotten between the four of them. Yeah, that little girl is going to be so lucky.

[spookyrea]

A Cheap Trick Called Shame

Chapter 1 / Read on AO3

Loki has a plan. A twelve step plan to woo both you and the world (in that order). Unfortunately, he neglects to communicate any of this to you. Chaos ensues. Or: you have a plan. A plan that involves brute-forcing Loki into admitting that he likes you. Unfortunately, you're a witch with a limited grasp on your powers. Chaos ensues. Or: Tony is a very, very good friend, even when he doesn't want to be.

18+ NSFW / fem reader

Loki Laufeyson is all sharp lines. From the slope of his nose to the flat plane of his chest, there is not an edge to him that has not been filed to a point. Even in moments of relaxation, his muscles strain under a skin stretched too thin, hinting at a terrible, jagged restlessness. He is a weapon ground down on a whetstone, which he makes no effort to hide.

The first time you saw Loki – in person, not in a gossip rag or in a pixelated profile on a screen – he towered over the shape of some would-be tyrant, his boot pressed firmly to the soft spot under their skull. It was your first real mission – that is to say, the first one to incur sizable property damage. You hadn’t even seen the action, relegated to keeping civilians safe and handling minor set-backs while Thor and his brother ran point. So the fun was already over, and the bad guy defeated by the time you arrived. Everyone else was celebrating another job well done except for Loki, who watched the enemy wriggle as a cat does a mouse – with a detached curiosity, his mouth whetted for dinner. 

Loki occupies a nebulous middle-ground that is becoming increasingly common: justifiably revered while equally reviled. Not quite an Avenger, but not quite not. Too great an asset to lose to a grudge. He is never trusted with important information, or access to your private chats, or even a room beyond the hoteling spaces offered in the Avengers Compound. There are some who will likely never forgive him for New York, and others who watched him crash-land a ship full of refugees with his brother and have decided to put their faith in that Loki.

Your staring drew his attention eventually. Preternatural in nature and so hungry; his eyes licked up every soft, human curve until he reached your eyes. 

Steve had hauled the enemy up by his scruff, vibranium shackles in hand. Steve was soft – round muscle and sweetheart eyes. The kind of quiet that's assertive. Next to Loki, he seemed comically kind. 

Loki took one step forward – or did you? – and then another, until you were near enough to speak. “You’re new,” he said.

“Yes.” 

“You’re a witch .”

You were turned dumb by his eyes. They were such a bright green – expressive, sparkling things, framed by a dark hedging of lashes and little creases at the corners. How much did he smile, you wondered, to carve lines in an immortal face? “Yes.”

He didn’t say much else. Only grinned, and pulled his gloves off finger by finger. A crowd was forming and the sound of a hundred shutters going off all at once drowned out the silence of battle. People were yelling. Loki kept looking. 

Steve pulled him away by the collar. “Enough schmoozing, Loki. Too public.”

“Shaking hands is the polite way to greet someone on Midgard, is it not?”

“Loki,” Steve had deadpanned. “You and I both know that you weren’t just going to shake her hand.”

Someone like Loki flirted for fun. Looked people in the eyes just to watch them go numb with wanting. Grinned – resplendent despite his terrible arrogance – because he knew they would cave and let him in no matter how evil he was.

But this didn’t feel like a joke. Loki looked back at you over his shoulder, towed away by his epaulettes, and his smile was genuine.

In the present, you stand on a balcony overlooking the Avengers Compound’s quad. The sun has set but the air is still warm; June has been kind so far, it's days rarely so hot that you have to hide inside.

Loki didn’t join you until everyone else went to bed. He does this a lot – avoids detection. It sometimes strikes you as odd, considering how quick Loki is to hog the spotlight, but you imagine the public eye can get tiresome even for someone as naturally egotistical as him. Or maybe he’s just embarrassed by your human-ness. Either way, spending time with him is a pleasure you’ll accept regardless of his intentions.

“Careful.” Loki is sin incarnate, pouring himself over your shoulder to offer you his mystery drink. “This is very powerful.”

“What will it do to me?”

“Enslave you to my every desire?” He leans against the bannister, cheek-to-shoulder, and watches you with the slightest slouch.

“Is that right?” You raise it just high enough to get a taste; it’s sharply floral and leaves your mouth feeling sticky, like you’ve swallowed corn syrup. Unlike earthly alcohol it doesn’t burn, but it does leave behind a strange itch in your sinuses.

“You Midgardians have no self-preservation skills.”

“I think you’re just slipping,” you counter. “So much for enslaving.”

There’s some sort of film collecting at the bottom of the glass, a thin pink sheen left behind as the dregs dry. 

“Nothing? Not wooed by my charm, are you?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmmph. Rude. You could at least pretend to fawn over me. It’s the polite thing to do, you know.”

You hear a rustle from the bushes to your left. You pay it no mind but Loki freezes, and his hand pulls away from your arm stiffly. His shadow splits from his feet and storms toward the planters; there is a short protest, and then an expensive looking camera arcs through the air into Loki’s waiting hand. A ruddy-faced man stands, brushing detritus from his shirt.

“Pervert,” Loki growls.

“Everyone’s fully clothed.”

“Tch.” Loki pulls the camera apart – not with his seidr, but with his bare hands. He rips the lens off, then the flash; squeezes the plastic sides until they splinter; sticks his fingers into gears and gizmos – until the device is practically dust. He finds the SD card and crushes it under his shoe. “Be a dear and fetch security, would you?”

You understand when you’re being dismissed. You’re a little worried what Loki might do to the stranger in this mood, though, so you pull your phone out and type a quick message to Happy.

“Don’t want your playboy image ruined by a little girlfriend?” The photographer either lacks the self-preservation skills to keep his ego in check, or is just too stupid to recognize when a creature with the power to manually disassemble a man by his joints is angry. He brushes off his pant legs as if he is the one being put out by this entire exchange, his ruddy face deepening to near-purple.

“Would you prefer it if I took you apart next?”

The photographer only laughs. “Small victories, huh? Couldn’t conquer the world, or even the Avengers, but its women are all too willing to let you conquer them.” 

Loki’s mouth curves down. The balcony is lit by a brief whip crack of green, buzzing hot inside your silver fillings. It leaves you blinking spots out of your eyes, and by the time your field of vision has returned to normal, you find that the paparazzo has been replaced by a conspicuously round, green toad wriggling on the concrete.

“Loki! You can’t just turn people into frogs!”

“Well, of course not. That’s why I turned him into a toad.”

The paparazzo hops a bit too far left for your liking, nearly clearing the railing toward certain death below. You side-step Loki and try to usher the toad toward the building, not a freefall.

“Can you be sued for this?”

“He’ll be back to normal in a few hours.”

“You said that about the dogs.”

“I had no idea that human teeth were so hard to transmogrify.”

“And the robots.”

“Okay,” he counters, his hands planted firmly on his hips. “That was an uprising against Stark’s villainous mistreatment. They took matters into their own hands and made their grievances heard.”

“You unionized them.”

“They did that themselves! I only… aided their endeavours. I’m something of a humanitarian at the end of the day, dearest.”

Security arrives quickly – no doubt out of fear for the stranger’s well-being, not yours. After a short (albeit slippery) struggle, they collect the paparazzo into someone’s pocket and cart him off… somewhere. Hopefully with a water dish.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you grumble on the way to your apartment. Loki had agreed to walk you back, but the distance between the two of you is enormous in comparison to the balcony. Every time you try to make some headway, Loki moves a comparable step sideways. “A few photos online.”

“It’s the principle of the matter.” You imagine for Loki, someone sustained entirely by attention, that those few photos spell out starvation.

“I know… But women won’t really mind. If you’re seen around me, I mean. A girlfriend wouldn’t stop most people from flirting with you. Actually, it might even make you more desirable.” Loki's jaw rolls, and it’s clear you’ve said the wrong thing. You never know with him. 

The hallway is a sprawling thing on most days, but tonight it seems all too short. You find yourself wishing it would go on a bit longer. “You leave tomorrow?”

“Technically today. Before sunrise.”

“I could stay up a bit longer.” You try to catch his sleeve inconspicuously. “Until you have to go.”

“Pet.”

“You can tell me all about that bet you and Banner have going. He’s tried to explain it to me, but–”

“Pet.” 

“Really, I’m not that tired–”

Loki pulls you to a halt and shoots you a wry smirk. He taps one of the apartment doors. “How many times have we turned this corner now?”

Your cheeks burn. You must have accidentally compelled the building to loop the hallway a few times. “Sorry. I’m not very good at controlling it yet.”

“Witches,” he groans, winding an arm around your waist. This time, he leads you down the hall – and around the corner – until you’re both in front of your apartment.

It’s quiet in the hall. The kind of quiet only experienced in airports and empty streets; a quiet that whispers sleep-song and makes you crave a warm bed.  “I’m not even that tired, really,” you offer weakly.

But Loki stands in your doorway as if the threshold is an insurmountable barrier, lingering like he’s trying to concoct some grand scheme but never acting on the threat. Dejected, you close the door with a wave.

He catches it with his foot just before it can fully shut. “I suppose–” His hand snakes through the gap, pushing it just wide enough to peer through. “Perhaps you could… visit. Me. Us. New Asgard.”

“Is it… built yet?” The last you had seen, New Asgard was a hunk of smoldering rock and a few ramshackle stone houses.

“Well… It’s not perfect. Asgard proper was built out of solid gold. But it’s passable. Quaint. Free from… prying eyes.” The door creaks under Loki’s flexing fingers. Such a small detail, yet you find yourself lingering on it. As if it is taking a great deal of effort for him to remain on the other side of the threshold.

A female voice floats down the hallway. Wanda, you think. Whoever it is, they startle Loki out of his reverie long enough for him to regain some sense.

“I should go,” he mumbles.

“Or you could stay.”

“Or,” he pushes off the door frame with a theatrical flourish. “I could go.”

Even though Loki chose to rebuke you, you don't go to bed until the sun has started rising. The Asgardian warship – a garish, ugly spacecraft spray-painted in a dozen different colours – leaves in the early morning. Your apartment overlooks the compound’s landing-strip, giving you the perfect vantage point to watch Loki ascend the ramp beside his brother.

You consider your reflection in the mirror while you brush your teeth. “You want me,” you say to no one in particular. “You want me so badly.”

Weeks crawl by. The most contact you have with Loki is in passing in meetings, where he occasionally provides a biting comment at Tony or Steve’s expense via video call. 

You can’t get the thought of Loki out of your head. Your mind wanders back to him so often that you find yourself, halfway lost to a daydream, accidentally puppeteering kitchen appliances together like dolls, bashing them together in some crude approximation of an embrace.

“Stop that,” you snap. The toaster and electric kettle float shamefully back to the counter. The ability to communicate will into inanimate objects is sometimes a blessing, but mostly a curse.

“What am I going to do?” You moan to them. The toaster pats the back of your hand with its cord. “He wants me. I know he wants me. He– right? I’m not crazy.”

The toaster chooses that moment to return to being a toaster and does not respond.

You’ve sent Loki a few text messages sporadically; he occasionally answered. On only one occasion did he reach out first.

Are you thinking about me? He wrote.

You were never not thinking about him. Your days were mostly spent pretending to watch television with Tony while secretly dreaming about Loki’s hands. 

You aimed for nonchalance when you replied. Maybe. Why? 

Old superstition. His next message took a few minutes to come in. You wondered what he could be doing – was he busy, texting you absentmindedly during some mundane chore, or was he nervous, poring over every choice of synonym to create the perfect reply like you were? When you catch the wind changing directions, it means someone is thinking about you. 

You weren’t quite sure how to respond. You could aim for flirty, maybe? Or ask him a question to keep him talking? You were halfway through drafting a text when another message from Loki came in:

If a hurricane touches down over the compound, you know why. 

Your response bounced. You watched the little check mark pinwheel, never settling – around and around and around. Eventually, the text bubble went grey.

Undeliverable – try again later.

Another week drags by. 

Quin-jets are always a few degrees warmer than comfortable. Something to do with their engines – while magnificently powerful, they give off heat like an oven element. June has been chased off by a slobbering July, leaving you all a damp, awful mess, which is how you and Tony find yourself in t-shirts and shorts, peeling your exposed skin off of sticky leather seats.

You prop your feet up on the quin-jet’s dashboard, waiting for Tony to finish checking the cargo. A can of soda sweats between your thighs and you focus on tracing the condensation while you queue up music for the trip. 

“Do you think you could compel green apple candies to not taste like shit?”

“Some people like green apple flavour, Tony.”

“Who? Name one person.”

“Clint.”

“Clint would eat toilet paper if it looked at him hard enough.”

“Natasha.”

“Okay, but Nat would also–” 

You toss a sour candy in your mouth and chew thoughtfully, ignoring the grotesque ten-layer sundae that Tony is painting with his words. “Why the green apple hate?”

“It’s not even apple flavour,” he complains from the cargo hold. “It’s evil. Nasty. I'm actually a bit offended that you even picked them at the gas station. Throw it out the airlock for all I care. Actually – I’m rich enough. I should start lobbying–” Tony drops into the driver’s seat and begins flipping switches. “Feet off my dash.”

You roll your eyes but comply, knowing that your feet will be back up in twenty minutes. Tony holds out one hand, palm up, while he pulls the quin-jet up and forward toward New Asgard. (Gummy worm me, kid, he insists. Gotta pay the Tony tax. And open my soda while you're at it.)

After a few handfuls and obnoxious comments, Tony eventually settles into your flight path and switches to auto-pilot. It’s a beautiful day; you have a strong tailwind, a cold drink, and nowhere else to be but in each other's company. (Which means that Tony has to cause maximum havoc in order to get his daily ‘Piss People Off’ quota met.) “How’s your thing with Tall, Dark and Murderous?”

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“He’s a war criminal.”

“Tony, I’m pretty sure you’re a war criminal.”

“Still.” Tony and Loki aren’t friends – not even friendly – but they seem willing to put their differences aside for the well-being of the citizens of New Asgard. If it means Tony gets to play with alien technology for a few hours on weekends, that’s a plus. “You can do better. Much better.”

“He’s a prince.”

“An asshole.”

“A god.”

“I could start a religion tomorrow.”

“Tony.”

He makes his voice nasally. “Tony.” 

You toss a sour key – a green one – at the side of his head. He flips you off while pulling the quin-jet a couple degrees North.

“I can’t get a read on him,” you grumble. “He disappears. Barely texts. But then he gets so–”

“Territorial?”

“Yes!”

“Yeah,” Tony scratches absentmindedly at his beard, steering the jet back on its flight path per Air Traffic Control’s request. “I think that he thinks he’s doing a really good job at hiding it. But it’s like he just can’t resist sneaking a peek.”

“You make it sound… perverted.”

“Well, he’s a pervert. Everything he does is perverted.”

You throw another candy at Tony’s head for good measure. “He’s not a pervert. He’s the opposite of a pervert. He’s so… detached.”

“You know who touches your back when you’re not looking? Perverts. You know who strokes your jacket on the rack when they’re hanging up their own? Perverts.”

“Does he really do that?”

“You know who–”

“Tony,” you interject. “What do you know that I don’t?”

He shrugs, stuffing his hand into the bag in your lap. He eats the handful indiscriminately, all at once, and then winces when it comes back mostly green. “He’s completely under your thrall. Gross.”

Tønsberg is an inconsequential splash of colour against an otherwise grey landscape: a meagre collection of houses spilling out in a few spiralled limbs, each extending from a huge clock tower in the very heart of town. A few bizarre creatures – definitely not native to Earth – flit past the windshield when you land.

“Welcome,” Tony says with a regal flourish, “to New Asgard.”

It looks like something out of a storybook. A wide cobblestone street winds along the bluff, lined with wood and stone cottages with cheerily-painted doors and window sills. Flower boxes spill over with late-spring blooms. Wooden carts are piled high with goods, peddled by salesmen in folding chairs, and a great many people sit on front steps, doing idle tasks together for the sake of togetherness. 

A few Asgardians greet Tony as soon as he steps off the ramp; some children run up and grab at his pant legs to draw him into a game of tag. It appears that Thor and Loki were been roped into their game before you arrived, because both of them are collapsed in the grass a few paces away, huffing exaggeratedly and waving off a barrage of wooden swords as if their lives are truly in danger. Thor peels his head off the field with a wave, then pauses when he sees you. His face splits in a magnificent grin, and he begins to laugh.

“Thor, what could possibly be so funny?” Loki hasn’t caught on yet; he’s thrown his hands over his eyes to block out the sun. You find your feet moving on their own, carrying you to the field where the brothers lie.

He peels his hands off finger-by-finger, turning his unfocused eyes toward you. Once they adjust, Loki blanches. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He looks different here. Like Thor, he mostly wears civilian clothing around the Avengers – button-downs and dark jeans in familiar, American cuts. He seems to favour an Asgardian style of dress when home; he’s wearing a dark, draped shirt rolled up to the elbows and an obscenely tight, low-riding pair of trousers. A leather belt is slung carelessly around his hips – for style, not function, since it’s not threaded through anything – and a few knives are strapped to his thighs.

The sun needles the back of your neck. “You said I could visit.”

“I had assumed you would tell me beforehand.”

“Your phone isn’t working.”

“The blasted thing doesn't work this far from your Midgardian cities, you see.”

“Thor sends me weekly Steam requests.”

“Thor is magnetically charged. Your 'service' follows him like a dog.”

“And you repel it.”

Loki nods, his face scrunched up in faux sincerity. “Yes. The telephone believes me to be a great, deadly creature, and it's correct to do so."

“Well. I’m here.”

“Stop ogling and start helping,” Tony hollers from the quin-jet. Thor clasps his brother by the shoulder and gives him a shake, effectively dragging Loki through the dirt.

“Stark convinced you, then,” He grumbles while fixing his hair.

“Yes. He had to ply me with the promise of hours of monologuing and gummy worms. That’s the only reason I came.” 

“Ha!” Tony jerks his head in your direction, his arms laden with interesting machinery. “You’re turning red.”

You blink, bewildered, only to catch a splash of red in your periphery. Tulips – dozens of tulips, growing wildly around your feet. Bright, cardinal red, a shock that quickly bleeds out onto the otherwise grey gravel path. “Stop that!”

The flowers drop their heads in shame, admonished. You feel a little bad for being so harsh, but magical things get over such meanness quickly. When Loki stoops to examine them they immediately perk up, leaning their petals in his direction for a moment of his attention. “Stop,” you try again.

“I have to say, darling... This is a little pathetic.”

“Why can’t I control it?”

“It’s the seidr,” he explains. “Amplifying your magic. So many users concentrated in one place… We’re a bit of an invasive species. You’ll notice…” He turns your chin toward the beach. “The shoreline is turning green. Plants previously thought extinct are returning. The fish are turning new colours.”

“You’re like toxic waste.”

He laughs. “I’m a corrupting influence. When our chores are done for the evening, I’ll take you for a closer look. How does that sound?”

It’s involuntary – like blushing, only worse. Your magic swoons, and you have to consciously collect it before another meadow stars to bloom. You squeeze his hand as tightly as you can, so hard that you ache.

“It sounds great.”

“Great.”

“Mhm. Perfect.”

The corners of Loki’s mouth trip up, a smirk betraying his cool composure. He’s clearly quite taken by your bashfulness. “Per-fect.”

“Quit flirting,” Tony grumbles from the cargo hold, “and help me get everything out.”

You and Loki fill a jeep - the doorless kind, meant for military use – with supplies. Some of it you recognize, like car engines, turbines, and motherboards, but some of it is completely foreign. You’re not sure if the tech is Tony’s design or Asgardian, but some of the circuits shine in a way unlike any Earthly metal you know of. Once Tony is happy with your haul, you deposit yourself in the passenger seat and wait for Loki to get in, but he only rounds the car and leans over your lap, bracing his weight next to your thigh. He’s all muscle; with his sleeves rolled up, you’re gifted a glimpse of miles of smooth, sculpted forearm.

“Aren’t we going to deliver this now?”

Loki snorts. “No. I’m a prince, I don’t run errands . This was the extent of my work for the day.”

The jeep jostles, keeling to one side, when someone joins you from the driver’s seat. You startle and find Korg turning the key, which seems comically small between his massive fingers.

“Hi.”

He nods, which you take as your sign to scramble out of the car. Loki is already wandering off, trailing his hand behind for you to hold. “Come for a look.”

It’s a very small town – you can see the chimney of the communal hall even from the outskirts – but Loki makes it meander somehow. He pulls you down back alleys and through secret doors in shops, taking you on a winding tour of New Asgard. 

Loki is more relaxed here. He laughs more freely, is less conscious of his touchiness. On more than one occasion he links your fingers together, or offers you his arm. He doesn’t mind being a nuisance, and the Asgardians are so used to it that they brush his arrogance off with barely a rolled eye.

It’s the first time that you’ve ever felt really, truly in love with him. Not secretly, or shyly, or desperately - just neutrally in love. You listen to him prattle on about a childhood spent stealing sweet breads from palace kitchens and he listens when you describe summers spent trawling for samples and penny-candy in grocery stores. There were miles – lightyears, even – between the two of you, yet the joys of childhood mischief are universal. He steers you toward the water. His hand is a solid weight in your own.

It’s a rocky beach with only a few patches of dark grey sand – hardly picturesque – but the setting sun has turned the air soft and quiet. You allow yourself to slip into the fantasy that you are the only people on Earth, just for a moment. Where he isn’t a god, and you aren’t a burgeoning witch. Where he is just a man taking you for a walk. Where he puts more than his hand on your waist.

“What were the beaches like on Asgard?” You slow down when you don’t get a response. You can’t hear any other footsteps besides your own. “Loki?”

The beach is empty for miles when you scan it. You take a few more uneven steps forward, but all you can hear is the whisper of seafoam gathering. A lonely gull circles overhead, fighting a current. Maybe it was all a dream , you think dejectedly. You dig your fingernails into the meat of your palm and try to peer past the illusion, wondering if your magic has finally overgrown your mortal body and taken control of your consciousness. “Loki?”

A pair of hands close around your hips from behind. The yelp you let out is undignified at best.

“Jeez!” You press your palm to your chest, willing your heart to calm. But beneath the fear there is relief – he’s real, and he’s touching you. You just want him to keep touching you. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Perfect. I think you’re all getting a little too complacent in my presence. About time I reminded you all of my true nature.”

You shoulder past Loki with a scowl, heading back toward the steep pathway to the top of the bluff. “You’re an egomaniac.”

“We’re quite far from civilization out here,” Loki calls after you. He kicks a stray rock, sending it skittering across the shore into the froth churned up by the tide. 

“Very.”

“No one near to hear you scream.” The tide hums, crawling up the beach with a great swell. Sea salt crystalizes where the waves cross Loki’s shadow, leaving a sparkling impression of him scattered across the beach. “It is a dangerous game you’re playing.” 

You open your mouth to make some dry retort, only to be startled again by Loki materializing in your path. You nearly collide with him head-first. He takes one calculated step toward you, then another. The stone shore crackles under his weight, and mischief taints his handsome face.

You had begun retreating on instinct, something you aren’t aware of until you trip on a leather shoe. The version of Loki advancing on you grins, then dissolves in a green blink, and the one at your back pins your arms like you’re an object to dissect.

“Send me away,” he murmurs, tipping his head ever so slightly. “My restraint frays with every passing second.”

You aim for flirty, but you land somewhere between stupid and dumb. “M’kay.”

Another hum; more shocks of white vandalize the shore as Loki’s seidr splits the salt from the sea. Or is it you this time? You’re not sure, but you feel magic buzzing, skittering under your skin, and you can only imagine what your heart could compel the elements to do in such a sorry state.

Loki turns you around. “M'kay,” he parrots, exaggerating your mundane inflection to be a pest.

It’s a nothing kiss, really – a hand on your cheek, his mouth over your bottom lip. There and gone in a heartbeat, with heavy eyes and a sickly kind of anticipation in his expression. When you chase him, Loki only grows more arrogant.

“Oh, you simple creature,” he rumbles, though it is anything but an insult. He holds you as if to possess you, pawing, sliding his devious hands under the hem of your shirt, and kisses you again – and again, and again, and…

You don’t return until the sun is a sliver on the horizon. You have to be careful picking your way across the cobblestone street, which is still uneven in many places. Loki doesn’t seem terribly affected; you suspect he might have some natural predilection for night vision, on account of his Jotun heritage. Whatever allows him to walk with such grace, however, is a blessing and a curse rolled into one, because it affords him the opportunity to hold you close and pretend to guide you to the town square. Even more infuriating – he’s grown cocky, chiding every unsure step. Poor thing; mocking, sinking his teeth into your shoulder just to hear you squeak; silly creature, tripping again. You’re useless without me, aren’t you? Absolutely– positively— endearingly useless. 

“You’re really bad at this flirting thing.”

“Useless in a charming way.” He kisses the corner of your jaw and steers you away from the clock tower. “I don’t mind helping you along, little mortal.”

Loki’s cottage is less than a mile from the beach, something you learn between searing, mind-numbing kisses. It’s a stone building – surprisingly simple for Loki’s taste – with mismatched shingles and too many wind chimes. There are raised beds for a garden, and lawn chairs scattered around a firepit. Further down the acreage is a miniature quinjet, the four-seater kind meant for casual use. (Whether or not Loki came by this jet legally is unknown)

Loki unlatches the short gate that demarcates the field and his lawn and ushers you through, up the porch steps until you’re at the door. You’re giddy with the anticipation of it, half expecting to wake from your daydream in a board meeting or the training hall. An ocean breeze whips up the wind chimes, the only sound for miles. 

“It’s so quiet out here,” you say, more to fill the time.

“We’re very far from your civilization.”

“No prying eyes.” You’re finding it hard to care, however, when his thumb traces such a loving line over the back of your hand.

“Exactly.”

His house is sparsely decorated, with the exception of an overwhelming quantity of books. They cover nearly every surface; they’ve spilled over from the bookshelf onto the floor; some open and dog-eared on the fireplace mantle; even more stacked on the windowsill. The spines are adorned in all sorts of languages; alongside the alphabet, you recognize the curves and lines of gurmukhi; the swoops of kanji; the blocky shapes of cyrillic.

A few lamps flare to life, green-ish tinted, as Loki settles into a wingback armchair in the corner. His legs spread invitingly, straining the material of his trousers; in the low light, everything about him is sharpened, a little villainous but even more handsome. It’s voyeuristic in the way that a painting is; you could stand there for hours admiring the lines and planes of his body and still find new details to digest. 

You pick a book up at random and leaf through it. It’s a copy of Jane Eyre – second edition based on the inside cover. 

“What are you doing?”

You turn your head and catch him watching you through his eyelashes. “Which is your favourite?”

“Hmm?” His eyes wander the length of your body, scraping a path of goosebumps as they go. Once they land on your mouth they don’t waver, not even the extra inch to meet yours. And then– the most peculiar thing occurs. Loki, usually so impassive, so difficult to read, drops his mask, and every vile, dirty thought that crosses his mind is projected for you to see in his expression.

You swallow around a tangle of barbed wire. “Language. To read.”

“English is fine,” he mumbles. “French is a nightmare. High Martian makes me want to kill someone.”

“High Martian?”

“Low Martian is much easier to read.” 

If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed how Loki’s shadow was transforming under his feet. The shadow moved in an impossible way, stretching into the light without a care for how refraction was supposed to work. But you were struck dumb by the sight of Loki, god of mischief, tapping his fingers against his parted lips. Dumb enough to miss how the shadow hooks around your ankle, then your calf, up the curve of your spine until there is a second, phantom presence behind you, frog-marching you forward. The shadow dumps you in Loki’s lap, facing him. You think you feel it kiss the notch at the top of your spine. 

Loki traces a line down your neck with his fingers, then follows it with his mouth. He kisses like poets speak, somehow filling a dry, nothing gesture with a great swell of emotion. “I didn’t bring you here to share book recommendations.”

Your thumb finds the seam of his lips and pulls, open to an ‘O’ shape. Loki watches you through heavily-lidded eyes, letting you slide your thumb deeper, over the ridges of his front teeth, into the heat of his mouth. His lips close behind the first knuckle, and his cheeks hollow when he sucks – hard.

Loki drops your thumb to kiss you – his tongue hot and insistent, flicking against yours, lips not quite sealed, breaths twisted and coiled together in the space between you. He leans aside just long enough to pull his shirt off before he’s devouring you again.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” He makes quick work of your shirt and bra, which end up strewn across the stacks of books. Loki sinks his teeth into the swell of one breast, just hard enough to leave little divots in your skin when he pulls away. 

There is a prey instinct stirring deep inside you. A trip in your heart’s beat, stuttering with every absentminded pass of his hand over your calf. You’re hyper aware of the peculiar predicament you’ve found yourself in; there is no doubt that, were your circumstances different, were you a lowly mortal who stumbled into the gilded kingdom of Asgard, or even a few years earlier when he was still jaded and heart-stricken, Loki would have plucked you from the crowd and eaten you alive. Yet fate has twisted your luck in such a way that his cruelty has been transformed into lust.

(And isn’t that a cruelty in its own right – wanting. Desire hurts. It hurts something terrible, something bleeding. You can’t breathe for how tight your desire has wound you up.)

(You kiss him again.)

“Get yourself off on my hand like a good pet,” he says, his voice ground like gravel to sand. “And I’ll reward you generously.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His fingers toy with the button on your shorts. “If you come, I’ll give you anything you desire.”

Loki rolls the waistband down your hips, then jerks his chin upwards, instructing you up onto your knees so he can work them the rest of the way off. He somehow makes the awkward act of undressing sexy; even when he has you one leg out of your shorts, the anticipation burning behind his eyes erases all embarrassment from your mind.

You lay your hands around his shoulders for support, creating a very loose collar. "You would look good with something around your neck.”

You didn't even mean to say it, really. It was just an observation, but one that has Loki’s hips jerking, a hiss seething through his teeth. The glare he shoots you is apocalyptic.

“Quiet.”

His right hand slides around until it’s comfortably between your legs. His middle finger traces your slit until he finds that slippery place, where there is no resistance against his touch and he sinks in. His eyebrows slant upwards even though you’re the one on fire.

“One?” He asks.

You rock your hips experimentally. His hands are long and dexterous, elegant, and even one finger is enough to make your mind spin behind your eyes. Just the obscenity of it – his beautiful hands between your legs, all that alien strength concentrated on toying with your nerves until you’re useless.

“Two?” He slides out of you, only to add a second finger when tracing your entrance. You nod, and Loki fills you a little bit more.

“Loki.” You tilt your hips, searching for a bit more friction. “It’s not – oh – quite–”

He seems to understand your frustration and takes pity; his fingers curl, soothing over that soft spot you can never quite reach, and it’s liquid relief that pools in the base of your skull. You sigh, and it drags a growl from Loki in response. 

He’s completely taken apart by your pleasure. He mouths at your chest – sometimes your breasts, sometimes your shoulder, kissing anything he can reach – with a dazedness, constantly distracted by the sight of you getting off. The outline of his cock is insistent through his slacks. You're sure he must be aching. 

“Loki.”

“Yes.”

“ Lo-ki. ”

“I should have offered you my mouth, not my fingers,” he says bitterly. His other hand slides between your bodies, circling your clit. “Fuck, you are resplendent.”

Loki is the picture of debauchery when he tilts his head to look up at you. His lips are shiny with spit, smeared all the way to the corner of his jaw. His hair mused, curls pulled apart by your wandering hands. If he is debauched, you can’t imagine how you look. 

He wears a collar around his neck made of your ten fingers, flexing every time he passes over a particularly sensitive spot. You sit in the lap of a god and he lets you make a throne of him, lets you whine with every little turn of your hips against his hand, lets you stroke his hair and kiss his brow, his cheek, his jaw, as if he is a mortal lover and not a supernova wearing the veneer of a person. Pet, he calls you. His little human pet– yet he looks up at you as if you’re his master, as if this is an indulgence he will never have his fill of. You wonder: if you kissed him right now, would you taste your name on his lips?

“More?”

You nod. “A little bit.”

He lifts his hips off the armchair, rearranging your bodies down the seat so his torso is reclined and you can lean against him. The new angle lets you drag your hips back and forth in a rolling motion and it’s – blinding. Enough to make your head fall forward onto his shoulder, and for the stitching in the armchair to begin to work itself free under your magic.

“What…” His neck is damp with sweat against your nose. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking,” he grits out, “about how hot your little human cunt is, and how you’re going to feel when I fill you properly. When I get to put my cock to this spot and not my fingers.”

It’s so vile an image that your brain blanks. Your skin crawls like television static in the most delicious way, arousal usurping all other sensation until you’re mindless with it. “That–” you can’t really form sentences anymore, with how tight your chest is. “That sounds great.”

“Great?”

“It’s– perfect.”

“Sound certain, poppet. If I’m to give you–”

“Loki,��please .”

“Oh, too many syllables?”

You should have anticipated that Loki would use sex as another method to mess with you. To turn you into a mouse, cornered by a cat’s claws. “Please. Make me come, and then…”

He kisses you sharply. “And then…?”

The circles he’s rubbing inside of you grow wider, pressing deeper. 

“Lo-ki,” you whine.

He mimics your tone, whining each syllable of your name back to you. “Ye-es.”

“Please. Please.” 

Loki hums, finally speeding up both hands until he finds a suitable rhythm. Whatever snide complaint you were going to make is cut off around a silent moan as your whole body tenses, and your hands grope the muscles in his back for support.

“Come, my darling.”

It’s short but lovely; your eyes squeeze shut and all thought drifts from your mind. You can hear him laughing distantly, enjoying the spectacle. Once your eyes are able to open again, the laughter is gone but his smile remains. 

His fingers continue to circle your clit absentmindedly; your hips twist, trying to escape his touch, but Loki manages to chase you, prolonging your orgasm until you’re sniffling, blinking tears out of your eyes against his sweat-damp neck. You think, for a horrified second, that he means to pick back up, to wring another climax out of you. Finally, he slides his fingers from your cunt with an embarrassing squelch.

“Exquisite.”

“I need a minute.”

“Absolutely captivating.” He’s panting, his mouth open to taste you on the air. “Now give us a kiss, hmm?”

Before your mouths can connect, a knocking sound rattles the frame of the house. You nearly tumble out of Loki’s lap, only caught by his hand around your elbow at the last second. Where the awkwardness had once been sexy, now it only makes you uncomfortable.

Loki’s seidr whispers in your ear while it redresses you. You’re strangely disappointed to realize that, in the process of cleaning you up, he’s dried his hands of any evidence of your orgasm. Gone is the sheen of sweat, of come, of spit. He is perfectly, wholly, completely dry.

He crosses the room in a few long strides, pulling the door open with a perfectly-calculated ease. “Yes, brother?”

Thor narrows his eyes. “We’re looking for a certain Midgardian avenger.”

“Now that you mention it, a stray has gotten lost in my library. Perhaps she has a collar to identify her. What did you say her name was again?”

Tony hollers from the driver’s seat of his car, whose bolts seem ready to give way under the force of the bass being pumped out through the stereo.  “What kind of nefarious deeds were you up to, Laufeyson?”

Loki leans his arms on the top of the door jamb, straightening to his full height. “Only the most evil of them.”

You slip out through the space between the threshold and Loki’s bicep, hoping no one will notice when you straighten your shirt collar. “What’s the problem?”

“Extraterrestrial anomaly has touched down about 40 miles off the coast. All hands on deck until we figure out if it’s a friendly or not.” Tony examines his hand, idly snapping one of his repulsor gloves into place. It whirs as it loads, and then a bolt of light is arcing through the air toward nothing. 

Disappointment curls in your belly. You had hoped to shirk responsibility and return to Loki's armchair (or his bed, if you were extra optimistic). It seems you really were dreaming, only it was a waking dream, not a sleeping one -- it's time to return to the land of rational thought, to tuck your love away until another quiet moment arrives. “I have a kit in the jet. We’ll make a pit stop and then we can go check it out.”

Loki catches you by the sleeve before you can descend the porch. He’s still standing in the doorway, his expression troubled. You hear the creak of wood under his fingers – holding himself back again, as if the threshold is a barrier he isn’t willing to cross. Before you can ask him any questions, he kisses you. Just a short, chaste thing.

You ignore Tony when he faux gags, loud enough to be heard over the gunmetal gnashing through the speakers. “What was that for?”

Loki doesn’t respond. He just manifests his helmet and slides it into place, obscuring his eyes from your sight. And then– he’s off, taking the stairs two at a time with a warning jab when his brother flashes the headlights. 

[lottiesfawn]

People that say shipping Enid and Wednesday is "pointless" and "forcing straight characters to be gay" as if Enid Sinclair is the most obviously queer coded character.

The metaphors used to portray Enid's queerness aren't even hidden. They are so direct and upfront.

Werewolves in media are already inherently queer coded. They have been for a long time. Having a piece of yourself, something ugly, something haggard. Something that only comes out when in the dark, under the moonlight. Symbolism for how queerness must be hidden away, how it feels so ugly in a world full of hate.

Her parents, a "perfect" example of exactly what a werewolf should be, having 'wolfed out' and done what they are 'supposed to' a direct comparison to the average straight, expected, "normal" couple.

The first conversation she has with her parents is them telling her about literal conversion therapy for werewolves. Saying she'll "wolf out" in just a few weeks. selling the same false positive spiel that wilderness/conversion camps send out to families of queer people.

Her mother saying "don't you want to be normal?" Forcing her judgments on Enid, making her insecure of that piece of herself which we see even before this conversation whenever we are watching Wednesday and Enid on the balcony. Enid is so wholeheartedly herself. True and bright without the pressures of her mother. The only thing she doesn't love about her self is the piece her mother hates.

One of the first scenes we see of her mother, aggressively cutting a piece of steak, eating meat, an obvious werewolf stereotype. A stereotype of the perfect, straight, religious mother. The one so adamantly pushing Enid to expections that are unreachable for her.

Her mom's constant negative rhetoric plagues her, and we see this, her quoting her mother's words in episode 6. The same way queer people are constantly subjected to anti gay propaganda all their lives. Letting in play in their head with all that they do.

When she does finally wolf out the metaphor is flipped, before wolfing out was a burden for Enid to carry. But now it's an act of love. Cause it's on her own terms. On her own accord.

She couldve wolfed out anytime she was with her boyfriend, anytime her emotions were high, but when she does it's because of Wednesday. The one person she loves and cares for the most. That's because that is the most passionate she's ever felt. She was more passionate about making sure Wednesday was okay than anything else.

Enid sinclair is queer!!! If you can't see that you have horrible media literacy...

I could dive so much deeper omg...

[ogiltig-haj]

Calling Leftists, hajar, and people who want to make a difference!!

Tw: school mismanagement, mold, mice, general infestations etc

There is a school my friend goes to I’m putting the link to the school here because we are in desperate need of help. https://www.lcstn.org/tca/home 

This christian, private school is a perfect example of the blind eye people are willing to give if the organization even seems to align with their beliefs. Not to mention the helplessness many of the students and staff feel.

There are mice in the cafeteria, kitchen and many classrooms. There’s mold in the air conditioning unit in the art room, and the ac doesn't even work! [It's been broken and moldy for at least a year] There are birds[or maybe bats] in the vents in the gym/cafeteria that are loud and honestly disruptive to anything that people try to do in there. I suspect they are also in the roof. 

But something I don’t have to suspect is in the roof is water and bugs. Dead bugs literally fall from in between the ceiling tiles; and live ones. The roof leaks and has visible water damage. 

Some of the bugs are termites. Which are in the science room, which by the way has wooden cabinets and shelves. Ya know, for the chemicals. [the room has had ants many times before]

These are just a few of the issues with this school but the admin also tells people not to complain, lie about them not knowing and that they will do something, and intimidates people[students and staff]. The admin knows and has done nothing to fix it despite having the money too. Leaving teachers to bring fans in to cool down their classrooms, and mouse traps themselves.

Mistreatment of workers, ignoring giant issues and general neglect are big elements they use and it creates silence, helplessness, and a general sense of feeling subject to it and not risking anything. 

You can report the school for mold and mice here -> +1 423-279-1616 

The person in charge of Tricities Shannon Millers. But telling any of the names will work.

And say something like this:

Hello, I am here to report Tricities Christian Academy for having mold and mice. My friend goes there and I’ve heard them talk about it and show me pictures of it and I’m worried for their health.

You do not need to: -Give your name

-Give your address -Take extra calls

If they ask you don’t have to give that to them. They have the pictures I’ll put below already, and a few people have reported them already. The more people report it the more they have to address it. [The EVO has not addressed it in the past but we can force them too]Just remember it’s in blountville tennessee. I’ll post updates. 

Tldr: A school has mice, mold, birds and insects and I want you to report it to the EVO. The school has done nothing in over a year to fix any of the issues. If you can’t call the EVO for whatever reason at least reblog this so someone else might be able to. Thank you. [I'll put the pics in a rb]

@regnbagshaj @purpurhaj

[thevalleyisjolly]

I think it's painfully realistic that Cassian wants to stop fighting, and I don't think it undermines the truth of his arc in Season 1. Season 1 showed how an ordinary person becomes radicalized, how the injustices Cassian suffers drives him to honestly commit himself to the Rebellion. And then Season 2 shows the continual toll that rebellion takes. He has to leave his loved ones behind, again and again, and in his absence they are no less at risk. They suffer and they die. He's mistrusted and challenged by the people on his own side. He's seriously injured with lasting wounds that affect his ability to live his life. He witnesses atrocities and is himself forced to kill or be killed. Anyone going through just one of those things, no matter how much they believe in the rightness of their cause, would find it difficult to go on. Anyone could and would despair, yearn for an end to it all.

Yes, some people are able to fight on through solely the strength of their convictions, and yes, for people who are able to do that, it's frustrating, even insulting, when others constantly speak of quitting. But not everyone can do that. Not everyone is able to fight forever without a shred of doubt, a shred of exhaustion. And for Cassian, who has been fighting since he was six years old, I don't think wanting to stop shows a weak will or lack of conviction at all. It's anyone's natural response to a struggle that often seems impossible. You can wholeheartedly commit to a cause and still experience complete burnout.

I don't argue with interpretations that see Cassian as being forced to stay with the Rebellion solely because Bix leaves, there's textual evidence to understand the scene that way, but I would like to gently propose another view of the characters. Especially through Arc 3, Cassian has been looking for ways to stop - though not at the cost of the mission, he'll finish the mission first. On the flip side, Bix has been trying to stay involved, looking for purpose. The weapons that Luthen passes on to her for analysis, wanting to go with Cassian on assignments, building relationships with the other people on Yavin. By the end of Arc 3, Cassian is fully exhausted and Bix is fully awake. She feels the presence of a great narrative beyond any one person.

Yes, she leaves, and Cassian can no longer use their life together as a reason to stop. But was Cassian ever actually going to stop? He looked at a crushed security droid and his thought wasn't to leave it there but to go through the considerable extra effort of bringing it back to the Rebellion, see what could be done with it. He told Kleya that the Senate was his last mission- literal hours after surviving a massacre and seeing Wilmon stand his ground with the Ghor and refuse to flee, Wilmon who was only on Ghorman in the first place because Luthen put him there. And it's not as if Cassian can't fly a ship and isn't willing to leave the base without waiting for permission. We literally see him in Episode 7 defying Draven and leaving Yavin at a moment's notice. There is nothing actually stopping him from going after Bix, spending the rest of his life searching for her- and he doesn't. He listens to her message and he ultimately stays.

For all his talk of stopping, he never goes through with it. He could. It's clear that Luthen no longer has as much control over his operatives, Cassian has not yet sworn allegiance to the Alliance, and he has the means and the ability to leave and go after Bix if he really, truly wanted to quit. But he doesn't. And combined with everything he's been through, it makes for a narrative of hope amidst pain and difficulty. The constant struggle has worn him out, traumatized him, he doubts whether he has anything more left to give...and after all that, he still goes on, all the way to Scarif. And particularly now, I think that can be just as meaningful a story as that of someone who is always able to fight on tirelessly against fascism without a moment of fear or doubt.

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Overlock Stitch Part 3/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 3,991

Read on AO3

She doesn't see Viktor for a few weeks after that, he came by to collect his uniform and allowed her to take her photos before offering little more than a curt 'thank you' and disappearing through the door. She tries her best not to be too hurt by this, after all, one forced, awkward interaction where she could accidentally stab him with a pin at any moment is not exactly the usual first step in making friends. Not that she has ever been good at following that particular rule-book anyway.

If she pokes her head out at the right time on Thursday she sometimes still catches him on his walk through the fine art wing. One time she was brave enough to wave at him, but he either didn't see her, or did and pretended he didn't. Regardless, she couldn't find the courage to try again. The few times she has seen him, she hasn't been able to resist admiring how utterly stunning he looks in his properly fitting uniform. She just hopes that is has helped somehow, that he gets fewer stares in the hallways and most importantly, that the alterations she made to his trousers make it easier for him to get ready in the mornings. Especially now that the cold outside is biting.

It's still another fortnight before her final assignment for the term is due and she has been working on cataloguing both photos and sketches for all the tailoring work she has done. It is mostly alterations made for her father, some fittings for classmates, one wedding dress alteration, and the work she did for Viktor. The photos of his uniform turned out nicely despite her difficulties getting the film into the camera. Her heart does perform a traitorous little flutter each time she glances at any of them, the photo of his waistline post-tailoring is especially perilous, she tries not to look at it.

It's early evening and the sun has already well set outside the academy, but she knows that she wont get any more work done if she goes back to her dorm. Her radiator has been playing up and she has been avoiding contacting academy maintenance about it for the last few months. She doesn't feel like she belongs here half the time already, the last thing she needs is the academy thinking she is some sort of nuisance. With how cold it is tonight, all she will manage to do back home is climb into bed. So she stays late in the warm textiles workshop, sketching and annotating in preparation for her assignment. It's also nice to have the place to herself, even for just a few hours. She is usually forced to engage in exhausting faux polite conversation with Eliza and her other classmates. It gives her a headache, makes her teeth hurt. She has grown quite comfortable in the silence, sitting in the low light of her worktable's lamp as she works to arrange her portfolio. So the sound of the door to the workshop opening has her yelping and knocking half her photos and sketches off the desk. She whips around, quickly trying to come up with a polite way to tell whatever classmate has interrupted her to get lost, only to freeze in place when she sees that it is Viktor lurking in the doorway.

"Hello!" She squeaks, immediately regretting everything about her delivery of the single word.

Viktor's brows draw together, "Hello. I-" His eyes dart down to the pile of photos at her feet, "I am sorry for startling you."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting an apology. A nervous giggle escapes her, "It's alright, really! I'm easily startled."

Viktor laughs too, it's warm and sounds surprisingly genuine, "Yes, you certainly are."

They both sit in a lingering, uncomfortable silence for a moment. She can't manage to figure out why exactly he is standing here in the workshop, can't think of what she is supposed to say, what he wants her to say.

"I'm-"

"You-"

They both laugh at the failed start, and the energy in the room feels suddenly lighter. Viktor inclines his head towards her, "You first."

"Oh, okay, um." She chews her lower lip, it had been easier to say when it was off the cuff, but now that she's had a moment to think about it, she suddenly feels like it is far too presumptuous, "I'm happy to see you again, that's all." she says quickly, picking at her cuticles.

Viktor hums, his intense eyes peeling back her layers again. It makes her hands grow clammy.

"You did an impressive job with my uniform. That is what I was going to say." He replies.

Her stomach flips and she clutches her hands tightly in her lap, "Th-Thank you, I'm glad." She's nervous and her mouth moves faster than her brain, "I've been thinking about you, I-I mean, your uniform and I was really hoping that it had helped. It means everything to me, it really does."

An almost smirk tugs at the corners of Viktor's mouth, "You have been thinking about me?"

Sudden heat rushes to her cheeks, "About you uniform! That's what I said!"

Viktor shrugs a shoulder, "Suit yourself." he takes a few steps forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him, "What are your going rates when it comes to favours?" He asks evenly.

She blinks at him, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"Topsiders rarely offer an act of kindness without a charge. The values and complicated, payment does not come back until months down the line when they need something from you." He steps over to her, ducking down and collecting her mess of photographs into a neat pile before handing it back to her, "One of my classmates gave me directions to my first lecture and then about two months later he all but ordered me to complete his assignment for him. I would not assign those two acts equal value, personally, though, maybe topsiders have found a way to charge interest on favours, it would not surprise me."

He speaks clearly, succinctly, and she realises that this is the most he has ever said to her, by a wide margin.

She swallows, hoping that she knows the right way to respond, "Eliza, my classmate, brought me a pastry before the end of first semester last year. She still holds it over my head anytime she needs something from me. The funny thing is, had she just been genuinely friendly to me, I would have helped without the need for threatening pretence." She gains the confidence to meet Viktor's eyes and finds his appraising expression encouraging, "It's exhausting, playing these games every day. I'm just not cut out for it. So my going rates for favours is complimentary, as it should be."

Viktor's lips quirk up in a smile, wide enough that for the first time, she catches a glimpse of his teeth. They're crooked, lacking the benefits of modern Piltover dentistry and she is enchanted by them, can't help picturing the shape of the imprint his bite would leave behind

"That is good." He says with a nod, "Very good."

He leans against her worktable, peering down at where she still sits in her chair, she gulps, averting her eyes, "I take it you need something from me, then?"

Viktor turns his head and crosses his arms. His open, almost playful posture tightens into something far more self conscious.

"I meant what I said." he beings, rapping his fingers against his arm, "My uniform is far more comfortable now and those eh, alterations you made were very-" He brow creases, "Accommodating.'

She can feel herself relaxing, unfurling almost, hearing that her work had managed to help, that it had meant something to someone.

Viktor looks at her out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "I told you I was not interested in charity when we first spoke and that is still true, but I am hoping you might be interested in getting some more practice, as it were."

She smiles wide, she can't help it, "Do you want more alterations? Is that what you're saying?

Viktor's next smile is shockingly warm, "Ah, there is that spark of yours. Yes, the rest of my wardrobe now feels woefully inept."

She quickly darts her eyes up to the clock and back, "The wing is going to be closed in a few hours, it's probably not enough time…but I would love to! Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after?"

Viktor barks a laugh, "I did not mean now."

Her enthusiasm gets away from her, she can't help it, "But if you have time now, then we could, or I mean, you could always-" too familiar, too familiar by far, she freezes, staring down at her toes, "Sorry. Never mind, I'm just overexcited, forget all of that."

Viktor's brows draw together and his jaw tightens, "Stop doing that around me, I am not one of your Piltie classmates, I despise it just as much as you do." He spits, "Do not dissimulate, just tell me what you want, is it really so difficult?"

It is. It is. Every bone in her body tenses and panics and tells her that this is exactly the sort of thing that makes one a social pariah, that gets them ridiculed by classmates for seeing friendship where there is none. She balls her hands into fists, sucks in a deep breath and says, "I have sewing supplies in my dorm. If you would like me to do the alterations now, you can come back with me."

When Viktor doesn't immediately start laughing at her, she gains enough courage to look up at him. His expression is thoughtful and not at all mocking. At the sight of him, all the nervous, electric tension suddenly melts from her body. Unlearning years of Piltover fake politeness feels a bit like pulling out rotten teeth. Painful at first, but a relief afterwards.

Viktor thinks her offer over a little longer, casting a considering glance in the direction of the clock before returning his attention to her, "I would have to collect my things first. Give me your address, I'll meet you there."

~~~

Viktor barely understands why he agreed to this. Locking his door behind himself and preparing to navigate the maze-like block of dorms under the cover of darkness. It is a clear night, at least, the moon provides a good deal of light and like the rest of the Piltover's streets, the footpaths surrounding the dorms are lit with streetlights, casting a pale orange light across the ground. His leg complains when he starts walking in the cold air, less than it was complaining yesterday, if that was not the case he definitely would have turned her down. But it's a rare good day and so much of the student body seems to wish they were anywhere other than the academy that speaking with someone who actually cares about what they are studying is refreshing.

Her block of dorms actually ends up being quite a bit closer than the main academy buildings are, so Viktor is at least grateful for that despite the confusion he feels at his own sudden acquiescence. Agreeing to her first tailoring felt a lot like peeling back his fingernails, it was painful, it ached, it was shameful. So what changed, really? She doesn't have any sort of ill intent, that much is plain as day, but there is still no real reason for him to be trudging himself through the cold air in the dark of night. This could have been handled in the morning. It should have been, but when she smiles the way she does, the way that makes his cheeks hurt empathically, he finds it difficult not to keep that smile lit as long as possible. It's far realer than any of that achingly false pretence she slips in and out of, maybe her smile reminds him of home. Just a little.

The set of buttons she had affixed into the inseam of his trousers were another reason he agreed. It was a defensive mechanism, to far understate just how useful he had found them in even just the past few weeks. Despite her insistence that she doesn't charge for favours like so many Pilties do, he still can't shake the feeling that letting her know just how much he owes her would be dangerous. Because he does owe her, he owes her a great deal. Every evening when the cold has left his leg stiff and uncooperative, when he would usually need to spend almost half an hour massaging muscles before being able to undress for bed, he was instead able to unsnap the fasteners with one tug, and the trousers would slide right off. He had been fine without her help, he would have continued being fine without it. But now, he is more than fine, just a little bit, an almost inscrutable amount, a decimal place somewhere within the nebulous number defining just how bad a day can be. It is a small change, but it is one he has noticed and that is significant.

Her dorm is one of the street-facing buildings and on the ground floor, which makes it easy to find. The lights are on in the windows and as she had described very explicitly, there are several bunches of dried flowers hanging from the door frame. Viktor also almost knocks over a dish of water on the doorstep that he can only assume she has left out for the cats he sometimes sees roaming around the academy grounds. The groundskeepers are always trying to chase the cats off campus, but it's no wonder they keep coming back if she is doting on them the way he is certain she is.

She comes to the door just a few seconds after he knocks. He hears the sound of a chain-lock frantically undoing and then the door quickly swings open.

"Hello!" She exclaims in her usual rush, out of breath and smiling wide. Her hair is down, still awkwardly kinked from being in an up-do all day and kicking up around her collarbone. Viktor finds that he likes it a lot more this way and doesn't appreciate how that thought twists at his gut.

"Hello, yourself." He replies, peering past her into the softly lit room beyond.

She follows his line of sight with a whip of messy hair, laughing a little before turning back and chewing her lower lip, it's chapped and red in places, it gives the impression that she is nervously chewing more often than not, "I tidied before you got here. I don't really ever have people over"

He doesn't doubt it. She is dithering in the front door like she isn't even sure how to welcome him inside. Viktor saves her the trouble, taking another step closer and peering down at her. She blinks again, in that mousy way and he inclines his head towards the doorway, "May I come in?"

Her wide smile comes back, "Yes! Please do!" and she quickly presses herself against the wall, motioning for Viktor to walk in through the gap.

He had been hoping for her to vacate the doorway entirely, but the way she clings to the wall and sucks in all her vital organs does at least give him enough room to squeeze past her and into the dorm. From what he can see, it seems to be the same layout as his own room but in reverse, the small kitchenette is off to the left and there's a rickety looking wooden divider separating the small alcove where her bed is from the rest of the dorm. Viktor hears the door lock behind him and she darts out and around him, standing expectantly in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. She is especially nervous now, it's all over her face.

"Do, um-" her face pinches, it's as if she is trying to remember exactly what she has been taught to say when she has a guest over, "Do you want something to drink? I only have tea, unfortunately, coffee makes me nauseous."

"Tea would be fine." Viktor says, eyeing the large collection of dried flowers in various cups and vases throughout the room, "you don't keep any living plants?"

She blinks, "Um, no I don't. I always over water them and kill them."

Not forgetful, then. Viktor muses, just overly doting.

"I'll go brew the tea, then." She says quickly, "Take a seat on the sofa if you want, oh! and leave your clothes that need altering on the armchair, I'll get to them in a moment."

Viktor nods and watches as she darts her way over to the kitchenette and starts heating some water on the stove. She's still in her uniform, he can only assume that she was so busy tidying that she didn't have any time to change. He finds the armchair sitting by the radiator and removes the clothes from his bag, folding them over the armrest. Now that he is standing so close to it, he realises that there is no heat at all emanating from the radiator, the room is at least marginally warmer than outside, warm enough that he didn't notice anything was wrong at first. He peers over his shoulder, she is in the middle of reaching for a pair of matching teacups from the top shelf, he decides not to bother her. Instead he rests his cane against the armchair and crouches down, careful with the weight distribution on his right leg. It still hurts enough for him to wince involuntarily, but it could be far worse. He turns the valve carefully and finds no resistance.

"Are you having problems with your radiator?" He asks

He hears her squeak from across the room, followed by quick footsteps and the sound of her putting a jar of sugar down on the coffee table, "Yes, I'm sorry. Are you cold? I have blankets."

"No. No I am okay for the moment." He turns to look at her over his shoulder, her cheeks flush involuntarily at the attention, "How long have you been experiencing these issues?"

"Since it started getting cold this year, it hasn't been much of a problem until now because it hasn't been too chilly." She shrugs, "I just, I don't know, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Have you noticed anything strange when you try to turn it on?"

"Um, it sometimes makes sounds? Creaking or hissing. I was worried I might break it so I've mostly taken to leaving it off."

"Aha. You must have air in the pipes." He stands from the ground, "I can fix it."

"W-Wait! You don't-" She sputters, chasing after him as he heads over to her kitchen

"Your boiler should be in the bottom of the pantry, if your dorm is the same as mine." He says quickly, deciding that it's best to cut her polite refusal off at the root instead of entertaining it, "I'll need to turn it off for a moment"

She stares at him open mouthed for a moment, but then seems to decide pushing back isn't worth it and follows after him, dithering over his shoulder as he crouches down, using the second to last shelf in the pantry for balance and turning off the gas. His heart races when he realises that she is leaning in so close to him that he can feel her hair brushing against the side of his neck.

"Can I help somehow?" She asks quietly, he can feel her breath in his ear.

Viktor swallows, clenches and un-clenches his hands, "Do you have a Flathead screwdriver?"

She shifts backward, and he suddenly feels like he can breathe again, "I have a fork that works in a pinch! Let me see if I can find it."

He peers over his shoulder and waits until he can see that she is busy digging through the drawers before pulling himself back to his feet. His leg complains, a little worse than the first time, but only marginally. He is glad she wasn't watching. As he steps towards her, she whips around with one of her enormous smiles, clutching a fork in her hand.

"This should do the trick, I had to tighten the towel rack in my bathroom and it worked a charm."

Viktor feels that urge again, the one in the base of his stomach that wants him to soften in the warmth of her gaze. The same urge that begged him to call her Myšičko last time they spoke despite the cloying affection behind the diminutive word, "Thank you." He says instead, taking the fork from her outstretched hand and walking back over to the radiator. Resting a hand on it, he finds it quite cool, it must have been that way for a long time based on when she says it stopped working, but turning off the boiler practically negates the possibility of him burning his hands. Working quickly, Viktor sticks the square end of the fork into the screw keeping the bleed valve sealed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when he realises just how perfectly the fork fits.

"Well you were not kidding about this fork working in- what was it you said? A pinch?"

He hears a laugh from somewhere behind him, the teapot on the stove must have finished boiling because when he looks backward he sees her pouring tea at the kitchen bench, "I told you!"

He exhales an amused breath, "So you did."

It only takes a few turns to loosen the bleed valve enough for air to begin escaping, just as he has expected. After a few seconds a thin stream of water spills down from the valve and Viktor quickly re-tightens the screw before any further water gets lost. Easy.

He stands from the floor with a wince, using the armrest of the chair for balance, "That should work now. Give it a few minutes and then we can turn the boiler back on." He grabs his cane and readjusts himself, turning to see that she is crossing the room with both cups of tea, gently resting them on the coffee table.

"I-" She starts, eyes darting around the room skittishly, "Thank you. I didn't mean to invite you over to fix things for me."

"No." Viktor says, unable to help the smile climbing up his cheeks as he rounds the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa, crossing his right leg over his left, "In fact, I think you'll find I came around so you would fix something." He shrugs, "I suppose I was feeling generous."

Generous is too non-committal a term for how he is feeling. How he has been feeling all evening. Warm? Comfortable? Something in that realm. Something ill-advised and guaranteed to end in suffering, that's what the terrified voice in the back of his head says, the one that always hears alarm bells where there aren't any.

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry!" She says in a near panic, darting over to the desk up against the wall and grabbing an embroidered sewing kit, "I was so busy with the tea and being a good host and- wait, you don't have anywhere to be do you?" and then faster, almost out of breath, "You can leave if you need to! I can drop everything off at your dorm tomorrow!"

Viktor leans forward and scoops several spoons of sugar into one of the teacups before grabbing it by the handle and sinking backward into the sofa. He takes a sip and suddenly finds that he doesn't feel like going anywhere at all, "No rush." He says, surprised to realise he means it, "I am all yours."

[miscling]

also like. can’t speak for anyone else but personally quite fond of it when my partner enjoys the sex we have

THERE'S ALSO THAT!

like there's room to play with unpleasant things in your dynamic. like a part of its own submission is wanting to be pushed to do things it doesn't like, so it can enjoy the feeling of being submissive in ways that aren't immediately pleasant for it, but even as it's doing something it doesn't want (or having something it doesn't enjoy done to it) it gets to enjoy it in a different way. this is kinda where cnc and torture scenes come in, the enjoyment is in doing something you don't like on purpose.

HOWEVER!

if all someone does is force it to be submissive in ways it doesn't enjoy directly, then they're not laying the groundwork for the loyalty that doing something it doesn't enjoy requires. if someone makes demands and punishes disobedience without any kind of positive affirmation or play then they're just abusing its submission.

even the most free-use of submissive sex-toys still has needs and requires maintenance that will require some form of give from their dominants. any sub that claims they don't have needs is lying to you, and any dommy type that doesn't pay attention to their subs needs is just being selfish (and vice versa, tbh.)

the point of kink dynamics is the mutual enjoyment of said kinks!

[chil-aglia]

𝐃𝐨 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦? |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

[The Great Outdoors]

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

Art above is done by my beta reader Cimmerian who is one of the most talented artists I know! Please go like their stuff on tumblr!

Warnings: Blood, guns, animal (Krang Hound) deaths, usual angst, implied PTSD, etc

And of course, a quick thank you to my awesome beta readers @cimmerian1275 + @bootyshakerrr9000 who helped me out a lot with this chapter! Very talented and please, go give them a follow, like their work, etc.

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

Caden had been actively avoiding Mikey since their conversation in the dojo; he couldn’t face him after he freaked out and ran away like a scared child. He hadn’t even done anything, merely suggested a mind meld, and yet Caden chose to run. Hide his tail tucked between his legs like a coward. 

He felt terrible throughout the days he’d been ghosting the young box turtle. Leo had been no help either, fueling their arguments more often, butting heads each time Caden fumbled with the swords.

It was starting to become the norm for him. Wake up, get breakfast from the cafeteria from Draxum, train for hours on end throughout the day, take a break for water and lunch, and back to training.

He honestly felt like a robot, with such a boring routine that everyone has forced upon him. But given how Leo’s family didn’t want him walking around the base alone, he didn’t have many options.

He did however find a little respite in his daily routine by messing with the tech brace that Donnie had given him. At first, he experimented with just a simple notes function, writing down what he saw today or what he and Leo argued about this time when he was bored. Then he found a small drawing program, using his fingers to doodle random things, they weren’t good, just simple shapes and bad attempts at trying to copy stuff that caught his eye from the real world.

Leo interrupted him each time he was finally relaxing and getting into the zone though. Nagging him to train. To supposedly become skilled in the way of the blades. Caden often snapped at him, scolding the older slider to give him a damn second to just breathe for a moment.

Leo would, surprisingly, respect his wishes more often than not. Taking a step back for him, not crowding him so much as he silently observed the young teen.

Leo hadn’t told Caden that he found Draxum’s lab, he figured it was none of his business to know. It took a lot of willpower to not think about what he saw, to not accidentally show Caden the limp body of Leo’s mortally wounded physical form floating lifelessly in the floor to ceiling tube.

Leo also kept the baby pictures to himself as well. Mostly out of the fact he could picture Caden becoming annoyingly embarrassed and running after him in the mindscape, probably even threatening him.

Leo held a deep breath before slowly drawing out the exhale, keeping his lidded gaze fixed on Caden who stood at the panels, unmoving but wide awake as he stared at the ceiling of Leo’s room. “You didn’t sleep much, kid.” Leo mumbled quietly, tilting his head towards him as Caden shrugged a shoulder dismissively.

“Not tired.”

Liar.

Leo could tell he was absolutely lying, he knew because he could feel his exhaustion, but he also knew he couldn’t really force Caden to sleep. Well… in a strange way he might be able to, he would just have to control the body, but something told him that Caden would only fight back harder if he did that.

Leo silently breathed out a sigh, what the hell is he going to do with this kid? He was being so unnecessarily difficult for Leo. Arguing with him about pointless things, ignoring his orders. Just a constant headache for him to be stuck with.

He doesn't know how to get him motivated to listen. Motivated to practice more.

Motivated to grow up and learn.

Sure, he’s gotten better at sword wielding, but there is always room for improvement.

Leo closed his eyes, sitting down cross legged in the mindscape, hands over his lap as he inhaled calmly. He recalled when his father, Splinter, showed him some mediation techniques. Help him ground himself.

Leo should’ve been more appreciative of the lessons he tried to teach him back then. 

He regretted a lot of things from his earlier years, he was immature and selfish, just a bad son and brother in general. While his family would never say it to his face, he just… knew.

Caden felt a strange feeling crawl up his spine, making him turn to Leo as the only logical cause. He figured it must’ve been from the older turtle, but what was that feeling? It felt… kind of sad and heavy.

Before he could even ask, he was interrupted when the door of Leo’s room opens, making both him and the older slider perk up and look over to see April peeking her head inside with a tiny smile.

“Psst, hey Leo? Are you awake?”

Caden exasperatedly huffs, taking control of his body and sitting up in the bed. “Not Leo.” He corrected in a mumble, as April hums in acknowledgement and opens the door wider while gesturing to him.

“Hey, uh, I’m heading out of the base for a bit with some other scouts for a small scavenging trip. I figured I should ask you if you want to tag along? Finally see the world, maybe it could help you with your memory issues.” She explains her reasoning, but Caden brightens up at the mention of leaving the base.

Excitedly he opens his mouth, but he wasn’t able to get a word out when Leo suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder, not pulling him away but gripping firmly enough where Caden would tell he was serious.

“You’re not going.”

“What?! Why not?”

Leo glared down, biting his lower lip and shaking his head. “You’re not ready. It’s dangerous out there.” His firm tone was edged with a hiss, Caden returned the glare back, scoffing as he wrinkled his snout in indignation.

Not ready? He’s been training for what feels like years. He could tell he’s gotten better at wielding Leo’s swords, and he knows how to throw a good punch and kick thanks to Raph’s lessons.

He would be fine.

….Right?

He looked at April who angled her head at him expectantly. “You okay? If you don’t want to come, that’s fine. I can understand.” She assured lightly, though her smile was a bit strained around her eyes, she clearly wanted him to go along with her.

Caden gazed back at Leo, his face was stern. Caden knew Leo was anxious at the suggestion of him leaving the safety of the base, but how was he supposed to prepare for the world outside if he was going to be cooped up like this and never actually see it?

He roughly shrugs Leo’s hand off his shoulder, turning back to April as he moves his arm to grab the discarded gear that had been neatly folded on the bedside table.

Caden stands up, hopping off the bed and decisively clipping the straps for the katana’s on and over his shell, sparing a moment to reach for his cloak and throwing it over his shoulders.

“What are we waiting for? I need to get some fresh air anyway.”

He confidently pushed past April, heading to the door.

“You idiot… you’re not ready!”

Leo was yelling at him, trying to gain his attention but Caden remained fixated on going outside. He wanted to see the world. And he was not going to pass up on this opportunity.

-----

April led Caden through the base’s mostly barren hallways, it was early in the morning where most people were asleep, giving Caden the freedom to keep his hood off for the time being.

“Who else is coming along?” He inquired, tilting his head as April smiled down at him briefly.

“We got Allan, Sorcha and Maya with us today.” She informs, naming off the three other scouts coming along.

Maya….?

The name sounded familiar, but where did he hear it before?

April came to a sudden halt when they reached the doors to a new room, one that Caden hadn’t been in before. “Hood up.” April simply stated, waiting for him to do as he was told. The mutant listened and pulled the blue fabric over his head as he followed after April, who opened the doors for him to enter.

Inside was a room full of weapons and gear he doubts he even knows how to use. Dented lockers lined a wall, paint scuffed and peeling. Dim flickering lights lined the ceiling in haphazard rows, casting a dull white and blue atmosphere over the space.  It was a large room, enough to fit lots of yokai and people at once. The smell of oil, sweat and the ever-present trace of bioluminescent moss clinging to the cracks in the rocky walls.

Right, Caden has to remember that the base itself was still underground.

At one side of the hangar sat an armored rover—scuffed and dented from the years it's been used but still well maintained. The wheels were thick and rugged, plates bolted over them for extra protection, and a small mounted light rig perched on top to keep a watchful eye.

Crates of supplies were organized in rough rows near the far wall. Filled with gear like ropes, water canisters, first aid kits and a few odd pieces of scavenged tech that no doubt Donnie was going to see if he could use for a project.

Near the vehicle Caden noticed stood the other scouts, a lanky yet fit-looking yokai tiger holding a strange looking gun that had glowing purple lights embedded inside and visible through the cracks of the exterior. Beside him was a human girl, skin covered with scars like some kind of patchwork canvas and brown hair chopped short, wearing a black sleeveless top and cargo pants.

The last scout was another human.

Maya.

Caden recognised her when he finally saw who she was. Making him a little relieved that he somewhat knew at least one other person here.

Caden stayed close to April, his steps beginning to feel unsure despite the confidence he projected earlier. The cloak draped over him rustled with the movement he made, starting to feel like the fabric was heavier than he remembered it should be. Or maybe it was just the earlier words from Leo clinging to him.

‘You’re not ready.’

Leo had been quiet since Caden agreed to come along, in fact Caden felt as though if he turned around to face him, he wouldn’t even be there. But he didn’t want to risk looking like some scared or nervous kid if Leo caught him having second thoughts. He shoved the notion aside, shaking his head dismissively.

April stopped near the rover, exchanging quiet greetings with the scouts. The tiger yokai, Allan, gave a grunt of acknowledgment, adjusting the glowing rifle strapped to his chest. Sorcha, the girl with the scars and chopped hair, gave Caden a scrutinizing once-over, her expression flat with a brief flicker of skepticism twisting her lips before she turned away to do a gear check.

And then Maya turns to Caden, her eyes widen for a moment before she smiles and makes her way towards him. Her hair swayed in its messy ponytail, and she wore a hoodie that looked a few sizes too big for her under her utility vest.

“Caden. Nice to see you again.” She smiles happily at him as Caden clears his throat and nods in acknowledgement.

“Yeah, um, nice to see you as well Maya.” He exchanged a little smile back, though no doubt it must’ve looked awkward from under his hood.

“I feel much better now that someone I know is coming along with us on this little scouting trip. I haven’t been outside in weeks, so I was nervous about joining a new group again.” She chuckled good-naturedly, hand on hip.

Caden blinked at her and bobbed his head in thought as he processed her words, “How come you haven’t been out in a while?”

“Ah… I got injured last time I was out. I’m fine now, but the medics told me to stay in the base until they were satisfied enough with my health to let me get back into action.”

Injured…?

Caden silently observed her appearance, he didn’t see anything wrong with her physically, but perhaps the injury was under her clothes or internal?

“Alright team! We're all ready to go?” April announces, loudly clapping her hands to gain their attention.

“Just before we leave Commander. Do you mind telling us this young gentleman’s name?” Allan, the tiger, spoke up as he stared at Caden who gulped under his analytical gaze.

“Oh right. This is Le—“ She catches herself halfway, clearing her throat and quickly correcting. “Caden. This is Caden. He’s new, but don’t worry he can handle this.” She smiled out of pride as Caden offered an awkward wave in greeting.

“And, uh… a yokai! Yeah, he’s a turtle yokai.”

This had their attention, “Turtle? Huh, the only turtles alive I’ve seen are the four brothers.” Allan hums, running a paw under his chin in speculation. Caden fiddles with the edge of his cloak, nervously twisting it between his fingers and clears his throat, gesturing for April to hurry this along so that they can go.

Luckily, she noticed and nodded, “Now that everyone is ready. Let’s go.”

She walks over to a control panel, placing a hand over it as it beeps and turns green, clearing her access. The wall ahead of them sliding up, Caden feeling anxious but excited as he trotted a bit closer to April’s side.

It was time.

Time to see what was really out there.

-----

As soon as Caden stepped out of the hangar’s shadow, the world outside engulfed him whole.

His legs froze on the spot.

The air was noticeably sharper, dry and tinged with something unnatural and new—burnt metal and ozone. The morning light didn’t feel like morning at all. The horizon bled orange and gold across the sky that looked as though it had been ripped open by a dragon.

Mountains of rubble and blackened stone stretched across the ground, like gravestones of the old world that Caden had only heard brief stories of.

Caden could hear his heart pounding loudly in its confines, eyes blown wide with shock. He winced out of startlement when the wind picked up, his cloak rustling as dust from the earth swirled and hissed around him.

“Let’s go. Make sure to stay low, quiet, and if you see anything don’t engage.” April orders, her voice stern and authoritative as she jogged away in the lead, the others following after as Caden hesitated before chasing the group. The sensation of sand and uneven broken land beneath his wrapped feet was new, the earthy tones already beginning to coat his legs and the bottom of the cloak. The light felt different on his skin out here, warmer and more real.

He gulps, dry mouth making the motion a challenging task, breathing unevenly as he tries to not dwell on the destruction he had only just now begun to see.

He struggled to tear his gaze away from the scenery as April gestured him over to her side, and he noticed that they were using trenches to move. Caden hesitated a moment as he looked behind him, the base slowly getting farther away.

He didn’t realise that they came out of an underground tunnel system, the wall that opened up for them was now closed. Caden bit his lip, body feeling a little shaky as he stared ahead to keep up with the group.

They travelled further from the safety of the base, having to crouch down and remain on constant alert once April informed them that they had now entered enemy territory. Or close to it at least.

“Commander, what are we supposed to be looking for?” Sorcha asks in a hushed tone; April stops and looks back at her team.

“Supplies, anything that looks valuable. Food, first aid kits. The usual list.” She informs, gazing over at Caden who remained quiet, deep in thought.

“You okay?” April asked, the others looking at him when Caden flinched at the sudden switch in attention.

“Yeah. I’m just… I’ll be okay.” He assures, pulling his hood down as much as he could to hide his expression in case it gave away how he felt.

He spots the way Maya frowns at him, patting his arm in comfort. “It’s scary isn’t it? I was like that too.” She mutters, voice soft and reassuring as Caden hums in reply, inhaling a deep breath of dusty dry air and exhaling it slowly in an effort to calm himself down.

“Okay, we’ve reached where some stores are reported to still be standing. Spread around and gather anything you can fit in your pockets.”

Quietly they enter inside a ruined convenience store, Caden blinking curiously at the mess as he watches the others split up, browsing through the aisles.

Gather supplies… okay.

He walked over to a spot they hadn’t checked yet, crouching down and searching through crates, picking up random jars full of strange substances inside. He grimaced at the sour smell of food turned bad, sighing and giving a slow and hesitant look around the place.

Shelves leaning against each other, half collapsed, their contents scattered across the dusty and rubbled floor. Degrading bags of chips long since torn open, drinks that must have exploded from the heat and candy reduced to sticky rot. Caden didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to as the others chatted quietly amongst themselves.

It felt too quiet.

Focus Caden. Look for useful things.

He goes back to scavenging around the place, eyes narrowed in concentration.

And then he heard it. Something that instinctively screamed danger for him in his mind.

A soft, wet click. Somewhere in the back just behind a pile of fallen shelving units. His eyes went wide and unblinking as he slowly turned towards the noise.

“…Guys?” He called out, voice low and barely audible. He received no answer, but he saw how Maya had ducked into a side aisle, April was busy prying open a locked cabinet and the other two were somewhere else out of sight.

Another click. Sounding closer now, which was followed by the noise of tapping, reminiscent of Draxum’s hooves on concrete.

His breathing hitched in his throat, and he crouched near the fallen aisle, planning to peer through a gap. 

“Kid—“

Leo had suddenly spoken up, but Caden ignored him, peering through the gap and narrowing his eyes, willing them to adjust faster. It was nothing but dark shadows, and for a second, he felt relieved that it must've been his imagination.

He let out a breathy chuckle of relief, “Stupid mind tricks.” He mumbled, curiously looking once more through the dark gap.

His heart stopped.

Two vibrant glowing red eyes blinked open low to the ground, so bright they were almost white, looking back at him.

And then—

A loud guttural roar echoed from the gloom as the eyes lunged forward, the pile of fallen shelves burst outward as a giant, four-legged creature thundered through. Caden yelps in both shock and fear as he quickly jumps and stumbles backwards.

He let out a grunt when he dove back again, narrowly dodging the beast as it crashed and pounced towards him. It skidded across the floor where Caden was just standing, letting out a mix between an inhuman shriek and howl, knocking over an empty freezer as it immediately turned, fast, too fast.

April grabbed his arm, forcefully pushing him back behind her with a strong grip, gun trained on the enemy as she fired at its shoulders to force it away.

“Krang Hound! Everyone, weapons ready!”

At this Allan, Sorcha and Maya dashed over and drew out their guns, aiming them at the Krang Hound. Caden stood in the back of the group, breathing heavily out of shock and adrenaline as he cautiously reached behind for the blades on his shell, swinging them out and gripping the hilts tightly.

Would Leo’s swords even do anything against this?! It was practically as tall as himself and way, way bigger than him.

“You have to attack!” Leo commanded, as Caden trembled, frozen as he switched to watching the group fire their guns, pink and purple lasers blasting with skilled and experienced precision at the Krang Hound. But they weren’t fast enough to hit their mark as it dodged, running circles around them and using its powerful front legs to propel its massive frame faster and jump between the shelves, screeching down at them.

“Caden! We could use your blades to cut them down!” Sorcha shouts, in the brief moment they used to split their focus and yell at Caden, it left them vulnerable and she gave a muffled scream. The Hound had lunged at her when it saw the lapse in concentration, pinning her down with a single foreleg and the crushing weight of its entire body. She used her gun to block its jaws from biting her head off, the metal snapping and sparking as the Hound’s jaws thrust forwards and severed the weapon clean in two before tossing it aside.

“Damn it, Kid!” Leo growls, shoving him back and taking control, using Caden’s body to charge ahead, brandishing the katanas towards the Krang who narrowly avoided a blade to its neck. Leo managed to slice a shallow wound in its leg, making it hiss in pain and back away as Caden watched Leo from within the mindscape.

“Leo!”

“Just shut up and let me focus!”

Caden listened for once, shutting his mouth as Leo flexed Caden’s fingers out. Readjusting and getting a comfortable grip on the hilts before running ahead again, blades at the ready as he leaps up at the same time as the Hound, kicking his leg out and hitting it square chest. The Hound yelped and huffed as it crashed down, muscles rippling across its thick hide as it shook off the impact of Leo’s attack.

He rolls to the ground shoulder over shell, and lands in a crouch, swords aimed at the Hound again as it swivels its glowing eyes back in his direction, growling and claws tapping on stone as it inched closer to Leo who clicked his tongue in annoyance. Sorcha no longer had a gun, and April and Maya were periodically firing between reloading their own weapons, the laser fire glancing off the tough skin of the Hound.

“Come on! Attack me.” Leo smirked in his routine cocky fashion, whistling to keep its attention as the Hound snarled and charged at him. Leo dodged, circling around the Krang Hound as his swords collided with its razor sharp jaw and talons. 

They did this a few times, the Krang Hound testing his defences and looking for a new opening to attack as Leo studied it with focused eyes. Then he saw it look over at April, as she momentarily struggled to reload her weapon, and his breathing got caught in his throat.

“April!”

The Hound runs at April who fumbled briefly with the gun, and she cursed under her breath. Leo sprinted forward, instinctively throwing one of his katanas at the Hound, the ear-splitting shriek of the creature ringing in his ears as the blade struck its lower back, falling to the ground and shaking the foundations of the crumbling building as it skids to a stop at April’s boots. It lay twitching and spasmed for a horrifying moment before going limp.

April blinked widely as she watched Caden’s body pant heavily when he gasped for air, unaware that Leo was in control, unaware that Leo was the one who expertly threw his sword with practiced aim at the Hound to save her.

He gathers a deep breath before walking over, grasping the hilt of his sword that had remained impaled in the spine of the now deceased Krang Hound. “Leo… I mean, Caden?” April mumbles to him, but neither of them had a chance to speak when another click and growl echoed throughout the building.

Caden slowly made his way towards Leo, “There’s more…?” He inquired in bewilderment.

“They’re pack creatures. When there’s one, you can bet there’s at least a few more around.” Leo calmly informs him, used to this sort of scenario.

The growls got louder, the scouts and April loading their guns again as they followed the noise. Leo trailing behind them, he noticed that they got closer to where the first Krang Hound jumped out from. Leo used Caden’s engineered inhuman strength to lift up the fallen shelf and move it upright, walking in first.

It revealed a back room with its door ripped off its hinges, the shelves acting as an impromptu doorway before he’d removed them.

Another Krang Hound. However, unlike the first one, this one was already injured, struggling to move as it lay prone on the ground, but still managing to direct a weak and feeble defensive snarl at the group when they approached. Huddling behind the Hound were 3, smaller, puppy-like sizes of the adult creature.

“It’s hurt. Let’s kill it and the pups before they get a chance to recover and grow.” Allan growls, gun trained on the Krang creature as it hisses.

Caden stares and looks at Leo, whose face remains stoic. Expression unreadable as Caden gulped. “Can’t we just… leave it? It’ll die eventually with its injuries…” He mutters, but Leo laughs bitterly for a moment.

“These things? Trust me… it’ll take a lot more than this to kill them off. It’s better that we do it now.”

Leo looks at April who gazes at him, “Shoot.”

The guns power up, and Caden watched with a feeling of uncomfortableness churning in his gut, recoiling and closing his eyes when he heard the sound of gunfire blasting away, followed by screeches of pain and terrified yelps, the sounds of an animal suffering as it died.

Then it was silent.

“Okay, let's head back to base guys. Take what you’ve gathered.” April announces, turning away and walking out of the room, Allan helped Sorcha, an arm under her shoulders as they followed behind her closely. Maya took a second to look back at Caden, chewing her lip in thought as she glanced back at him when he didn’t move from the bodies of the Hounds.

She eventually walked out, leaving Caden alone.

Inside the mindscape Leo walked away from the controls, letting Caden regain control as the young mutant let out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding.

When he was back to piloting his own body, he felt his chest tighten at the scene up close. His hands that gripped the sword hilts felt weak and shook as he sheathed them into their holsters on his shell.

He didn’t like this. Killing an already injured creature that was just protecting its babies. Leo was probably judging him. Hard. But he didn’t say anything if that was the case.

Caden turns around, ready to leave the gore and death behind.

“Chirrrp!”

He froze at the soft and barely audible noise, quickly turning back around as his eyes flew wide open at the sight. A miniature, puppy sized Krang Hound tumbled out from behind the lifeless body of the adult that shielded it.

Its red eyes looked around curiously, and as it noticed Caden, let out a small 'chirup' of curiosity as it tried to climb around the large body.

Caden gulped and hesitantly crouched, kneeling down with one leg as he watched the young Krang stumbling head over heels over its dead parent. It shook its head and sneezed, sniffing the air and nudging its snout against the limp leg of the adult Krang, who of course couldn’t respond.

“Shit, we missed one. It’s up to us to kill it.” Leo spoke up, making Caden tense up at his words.

“Kill it…?” Caden repeated in a mumble, watching as the pup whimpered when its parent didn’t move and return its gesture of affection or wake up to its offspring's cries.

“Grab a katana.” Leo orders, but Caden shakes his head stubbornly.

“No, please… don’t make me do it. I… I can’t just..” He takes in sharp and ragged breaths as he feels his heart rate pick up, wrapping his arms around his body as though he was trying to calm himself down.

Then the pup turns around, looking over to Caden. Its previously sad and grieving body language had suddenly perked up and it trotted towards him with its smaller stubbier legs, letting out a curious and eager ‘sheiwrk!’ sound as it approached and stood on its hind legs. Leaning against Caden’s thigh, trying to climb into his lap.

Caden didn’t know where to put his hands at first, but he slowly and gingerly helped it up to sit in his lap, quiet and stiff as he looked down at the small creature who nuzzled its snout against his plastron.

“What are you doing? It’s a killing machine. It’ll shred people when it’s older.” Leo announced, putting a hand on Caden through the mindscape.

“If you won’t kill it, then I will—“

“NO!”

Caden shoved his hand off his shoulder as his body in the real world curled protectively over the Krang pup, shielding it and holding it tightly as he trembled.

“No one is killing it…”

Leo, flabbergasted, stood still. “What are you…?” He mumbled as Caden tenses, tears forming and burning his eyes as they slid down his cheeks, the droplets landing on the Krang pup who inquisitively looked up at Caden, wagging its little tail as a tongue flicked out to lick its nose dry.

“I can’t kill it… I won’t. And neither will you.” Caden glared at Leo, who’s face twitched in annoyance and incomprehension.

“You can’t be serious…” He growls, but Caden nods.

“What’s the point of killing it? It poses no threat. I can… I can take care of it.”

Caden tightened his hold on the pup, who started licking away his tears, making Caden smile painfully as he sniffled, looking down at it with a fond gaze.

“From what I’ve seen of this world so far… mercy is a skill that more could use, right?” Caden spoke out loud, voice crackling and wet.

Leo stiffens at his words, hands curling into fists by his sides, scoffing at him. “Absolutely insane.” He comments under his breath, but Caden grinned when an idea popped up.

“I’ll make us sign up for those therapy sessions with Mikey, if I don’t get to keep this, uh, Krang pup.” He blackmailed, Leo groaned loudly and walked away to curse under his breath.

I’ll take that as a go ahead and I can keep it.

With an eager smile, Caden stands up, holding the Krang pup in his arms. He frowns at the remaining lifeless bodies, the other pups.

“I’m sorry…” He muttered, turning away and walking out the room. He stops before he could see the waiting group, tucking the Krang pup into one of the larger pockets of his pants to keep it out of sight.

“Make sure to stay quiet.” He whispered as the pup purred quietly, before ducking down deeper inside the pocket.

“Yo, Caden! Are you coming?” April calls out, noticing him standing far from the group. He flinched but nodded and did his best to look normal, or as normal as he could.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

He strolls over, nodding in acknowledgment as they exit the store.

Leo sat in the back, rubbing his hands over his face. “This kid is gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He grumbled to himself.

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

It’s so sad….ANYWAY CADEN HAS A PET NOW- 

APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE PRETTY FAST AND OFTEN DON’T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER. THEN I’D TRY AND FIX ANY MISTAKES WHEN I SEE ONE.

Quotev - Do I Look Like Him?

Ao3 - Do I Look Like Him?

First Chapter here

Previous Chapter here

Taglist:

@turtl3sk3tch3s

@katiemaycreate

[emblemxeno]

Random Fates thoughts that I wanted to write down

I think a personal reason why I love Fates' (and most other FE games') writing so much is because Fates doesn't shy away from meaningfully analyzing and criticizing how war comes to be and what it does to people.

It rightfully points out that Nohr's militaristic culture is bad, as well as Hoshido's isolationism and xenophobia. Most of all though, it rightfully deduces that war is unnatural, a product of terrible and/or aggrieved and resentful people stoking prejudices and anger in others, so they can end up profitting off it when the innocents start fighting each other.

Anankos even says, verbatim, "Why should I suffer alone?" He's all powerful, but access to power can corrupt someone over time and make them go off the deep end. It happens where one unfair backlash forces him into exile. He becomes resentful, paranoid. And he begins to spread that volatility to others. The war that eventually breaks out is then able to fuel itself because of cyclical violence, vengeance, and ignoranace, aspects that Fates also heavily touches on.

Nohr and Hoshido would not have as hostile a relationship that they have were their cultures not set into motion by Anankos' influence, first by razing Valla, then corrupting Nohr through Garon, then by attacking Hoshido. Nohr, while still suffering from poor harvests and rough terrain, would not be obsessed with conquest as a way of survival. Hoshido, while still isolationist, would not sink into outlandish xenophobia that results in anyone with ties to Nohr being branded a monster or a traitor.

And who else profits from the war? Other notable scumbags, like Iago (wants power), Hans (wants his own country), Kotaro (wants Hoshido for himself), etc.

There's other little things that, thanks to Corrin being the protagonist, sets up a certain lens to see through, as well.

Every life is precious and every time one is lost, it's treated with necessary weight.

Being a prince and a relative of both royal families means your action has more consequence than just fighting your siblings, it affects the situation of the common people and military as well.

Compassion, empathy and will is the cure to destructive warfare. Corrin would never meaningfully be able to pick a side, had he not been written being raised in Nohr, nor written as a character who's unendingly kind, broadening his horizons and has an unflinching moral code.

I just love this stuff! I know most people prefer the "both sides have a point, no one's truly at fault here" kind of message that a certain other game presents, but I think that comes across as victim blame-y and almost inane in how there's no endgoal.

No, actually, it's not reasonable to propose that people will always eventually devolve into war because they have clashing ideals. In fact, what hastens a war's ignition is unconditionally validating every single perspective while not offering any criticism. When you have no endgoal for your grand war story beyond "war is bad, isn't it tragic that good people fight each other", to me, that reads as pretty infantile and lame. Especially when it's obvious that avoidance of proper criticism and analysis in-universe is done in the name of protecting the good reputation of certain characters over others.

What I like about most FE stories, is that after establishing that there are differing perspectives, the heroes communicate where the root cause is for this war, who is responsible, who profits off of it, and solve it. Is it often a Problem Dragon? Yeah. But a) the Problem Dragon is often a metaphor for a bigger theme and so shouldn't be so easily dismissed and b) a story that just says "well war happens because humans disagree and that's always gonna be the case, feel sad about it" fucking blows. It's banal and empty, giving the illusion of depth because people say "it doesn't shy away from grim tragedy", when in actuality, it's just a whole lot of nothing.

What are you providing in your story when your big picture rests upon a supposed "perpetual truth"? Because not only is that not inspiring, it provides no meaningful answer to the big "So What?" question that is asked of any literature.

Fates, on the other hand, answers those questions handily. If the game's actual prose was written better, I have no doubt that more and more would consider my belief on that.

[xysidhequeen]

Hello! I JUST found you The King and His Red Knight series and I am OBSESSED! IT'S SO FREAKING CUTE!!!! Also, thank you for the new ship to my collection hahaha!

I have...so many questions? Not in-depth questions, but please don't feel like these are prompts. Absolutely no pushing on my end, and I hope this doesn't convey pressure. Just...SO EXCITED!!! So I'm figuratively FLAILING!

I LOVE THIS DEPICTION OF GOTHAM'S CITY SPIRIT. I've seen a few takes on this but yours might be my favorite. The DETAIL. The DISSONANCE because you could straight up imagine her in a horror movie, but it's also DANNY and his nonchalance carries over to the reader. 😂 But lol, he WOULD accidentally become King of Gotham. And Jason just essentially became the literal Gotham Knight! 😂🤣😂 As a result though, and actually you might have seen my comment for this, now I'm thinking about whether Amity Park has a city spirit because I remember it being a pretty old place too. And I get sad feelings because if Amity Park loves its hero the same way Gotham does, then how is Amity Park doing after their hero son and all adjacent hero-children were driven away? 😭

I kind of really understand Danny's depression. What his parents did was not only a betrayal, but they literally ruined his life and any chances at a future. The sheer depth of it is at least touched on in many fics where Danny revealed his identity, but I think the implications are distinctly FELT in an unsaid way in your fic. Because canonically, Jason is taken back into the Wayne Family's sphere in many ways. But if that happens here, Danny can never truly join Jason there unless all the secrets come out. Because all it takes is one photo of Danny in a Wayne gossip shot, and the GIW and/or Fentons are on their ass. It's the same mentioned at the beginning with Tucker and Sam. At the time, the best protection Danny could give was to stay away as his friends and family moved forward in life. He can't, but he won't let his spook stagnate with him. Thanks to his parents, Danny Fenton doesn't "exist" anymore, so there's no life where he can move forward with. No wonder he remained in his ghost form, he might as well be dead-dead at that point.

But they ARE doing a bunch of illegal stuff anyway. Is Danny going to be able to go to university? He's so smart, he deserves at least the choice. Even if not officially enrolled, I mean, would he find it appealing to just join classes? (Lol, Gotham Uni students and professors being like normal attendees but three times as much DONE so they REALLY don't register the new guy in class as anything other than another student there for the grind.)

Actual question: What's been going on with Vlad all this time? Did I miss a detail there? He's mentioned as an existence but what's been going on with him since the discovery that Maddie won't even accept her own son as a half-ghost, so he's probably right out. Is he still obsessed with Danny on some level? Or has the dynamic changed there with everything? If nothing else, he'll still be the sassy, creepy billionaire who speaks to Danny in incredibly condescending ways while needling all his weaknesses. (Which is another way of saying, go kick his ass, Jason!)

Just to clarify, Danny's abilities are still growing? Because that's so cool. Was there the implication that the crown and ring are actually binding his powers?

In which case, who would win? Trigon or Danny?

Has Danny done any business with forces like Doctor Fate and Klarion (Lords of Order and Chaos)? How would they fit in the schemes of the Infinite Realm?

Right now, most of the problems are navigating kingship and issues that can't simply be punched into oblivion, which I like and also think is the absolutely right choice to write it. It's both fun, and I like the suspense of Danny's true extent of power yet being unleashed. Actually, I even consider the issues with GIW and Joker to be issues that can't be punched into oblivion because those are tangled with (respectively) politics and emotional issues. My question is, will there ever be a straight-up villain that is a threat to Danny personally? Admittedly, the way his unique being is described gave my writer-brain a reflexive thought of "someone definitely wants that".

Which is a long way of saying, I have a craving for like that some kind of interdimensional villain looking to capture and enslave all the major forces of existence for one reason or another. And them going "yeesss, and I'll leave the Earth alone as long as you give me these remaining individuals for my collection, including the King of the Infinite Realms", and seeing Jason lose his shit.

Speaking of which, will Jason ALSO get to beat up a clown for his boyfriend? Freakshow has been mentioned? Any plans for him?

Lol, Mausoleum. How many extra rooms are there? Is there ghost magic playing with the dimensions? Will Gotham moving in mess with that? How do they even get mail if the building is supposed to be abandoned?

Actually, it IS mentioned they paid attention to the safe houses lecture. Do they have a bunch of other safe houses? Including up-and-up ones?

In the last chapter where Danny notes that Arkham's natural ambiance could effortlessly power Spectra and already WAS giving Nocturne a boost, can the same be said about the rest of DP's rogue gallery? All the weapons smuggling and ABUNDANCE of slippery targets in the maze that is Gotham for Skulker. The music/celebrity scene for Ember. The nightlife for Kitty. The doubtlessly countless illegal street races for Johnny, not to mention BATMOBILE at any given time. Not to mention, SHIPYARDS FOR BOXY! ALL THE SHIPPING BOXES AND CRATES!

Before, Tucker was able to eat Blood Blossoms. Now that he, Sam, and Jazz are more distinctly liminal, how do Blood Blossoms affect them? Is there a difference?

Does Jason know about Dan?

Daaaaahhh~! Danny threw a whole ass ball for Jason??? That's so fricking romantic.

Lol, did Dani like the duck candles?

Daaaahh~! Constantine is actually a worry-wart. X3 I love how, essentially, Danny has a job lined up for John after his death. "Lol, welcome to your afterlife, bitch! You're working for me for the rest of eternity! 😈" It feels like it's exactly what John deserves.

Speaking of which, can I say how much I feel Danny and Jason DESERVE each other? Just driving each other up the wall and giving each other as good as they got for the rest of existence hahaha!

Sorry for the very long spiel. Please just know that I LOVE your series and writing!

I feel like i was just brought back from the dead. Which for my followers may basically be the truth, I was on Tumblr to read a blog that does some great analysis for a different fandom I'm in and checked my notifs and saw this in my asks.

I'm sorry as I'm sure this was asked a very long time ago, but hopefully you won't be too upset at the delay for an answer. I'll try to touch on all your points.

One thing to remember with my writing process, most especially with fics, is i rarely plan. I have a rough mix of ideas and goals I want to hit with fics when I write and I let the characters drive me towards them. The exception here is Equilibrium which has an outlined plot. I also end up adding a lot of unintentional foreshadowing and deeper meanings subconsciously.

Warning, walls of text ahead.

I am always so happy, and surprised, how well my interpretation of Gotham's city spirit is recieved. Especially considering there is already a canonical version of Gotham the city spirit. Which is really cool (And super freaky and scary). I spent far more time than I normally would(as i said my writing is very intuitive and instinctive. I sit down and just. Write) thinking about how she would look, and trying to cram as much symbolism (because what could possibly be more of a symbol than the literal spirit of a city?) as I could into her appearance. There's even a refrence to Martha Wayne in her appearance, and technically a reference to Thomas AND Martha in that scene(in the fic the theater Danny goes to, that is the seat of Gotham's power, is the same theater the Wayne Family left and got mugged nearby. That event, that spawned Batman, is seen as such a pivotal moment for the city itself that Gotham's power shifted to make it the nexus). So Gotham is something I'm actually rather proud of, because I put in some real mental work to give her life and tie in a bunch of things. Her dissonance was also, miraculously, intentional. As is Danny's reactions to her. My fics in RK are comedy and fluff first, angst second. Danny and Jason being such funny little shits naturally helps with that, and with taking the edge off of a lot. I wanted Gotham to be undeniably creepy, I actually enjoy supernatural horror movies and I wanted some of that feel to Gotham when I wrote her. I wanted her to be frightening and creepy and something you don't want to see in your mirror at 3am in the dark. But I also wanted to use her to really show exactly how immune Danny is to that, that was important to me. Because Danny in my fic has Seen Some Shit. He's King of the Infinite Realms and every possible afterlife. He can't get scared because of a city spirit. So he had to approach it with a 'away she's kinda sweet' mindset. Which also does a lot to give you hints into how he likely approaches his subjects. No matter how frightening they might look, Danny won't see them as monsters. He's going to see them as who they are, and offer them comfort if that's what they need. Which is a core part of how I write Danny. He cares, so much. It's why he took Jason in, it's why he's willing to put himself out there again and possibly make enemies with the entire world just because his subjects are in danger. You'll notice that the people Danny sees as monsters are always living Humans. Because they act like monsters.

I'm addressing Amity in a different bullet point because I went on about Gotham and Danny so much. I didn't initially have any concrete plans for Amity Park to have a city ghost, although that is a natural conclusion to come to. It is a fairly sized city (I'd place it as a mid to large city because of the sky scrapers shown in the show, I've lived in several cities and only the large ones have buildings like that, small cities do not grow up, they sprawl outwards. At least in the south). Combined with the amount of ectoplasm released from the portal to hell the Fentons opened there should definitely be a city spirit. Now whether it's a newly born city spirit that hasn't entirely formed a sense of self yet, an existing one, or is Danny himself I haven't landed on as of yet. If we touch back on Amity this will be brought up inevitably.

Danny's abuse and the fall out from the Fentons and all of that trauma is implied throughout for a reason, the reason being that the fics are comedy and fluff focused. I can, and do, write angst and willingly will deep dive into a character's trauma but the focus of RK was always to be a bit of a balm. I wanted it to be fun while also providing Danny and Jason with a chance to heal together. But I'm incapable of writing depthless works, so I hint at and allude to what Danny went through as much as I can without shifting the tone. And also, Danny doesn't want to touch on his trauma or issues. He doesn't want to work through it. He's avoidant. (How does Jazz feel about this? Frustrated. She wants a drink) This will cause problems later. You can see his avoidance in how little he talks about it, and you can see it still affecting him in the fact that he's now more comfortable in his ghost form than his human form. And it says a lot about his self perception as well.

Onto the Wayne Family. Danny getting involved with them could cause problems, if he has a reason to be involved. I know a lot of fics get deeply involved with the Wayne Family (and I love that, i love those fics) however Danny really doesn't have the biggest interest in the Wayne Family as a whole. His main interest is Jason, Tim and eventually Damian. Dick he feels obliged towards because Jason cares, but that's not really Danny caring about him one way or another. (And this is yet another example of Danny and his trauma. He takes an interest in the child heroes, because he was one. Dick also was a child hero at one point, but he's an adult now and in Danny's mind this means he doesn't Need Danny. Danny needs to be needed.) I don't see Jason going in the direction of reintegration in this fic series, mostly because he already has a very stable support network (something that Jason did not have in UTRH) and he's a lot more secure in himself. And most importantly, Bruce and the Wayne Family are no longer the sole source of love and comfort for Jason. Jason spent his 'missing' years being loved and adored by So Many People. Yes, he's still devastated by his death, and Bruce's actions leading up to and following it but it's no longer a defining part of him. Actually at this point he's spent nearly as much time with Danny and everyone as he did with Bruce (I'm not checking the actual timeline, but it should be of a roughly similar amount of time) and during still formative years of his development. Jason doesn't Need Bruce to kill the Joker here the way he did in canon. Although it would do a lot to facilitate at least something like amicability here. But if Bruce wants a relationship with Jason (and whichever other batkids Danny steals from him) he would have to Work for it and it would take a Long Time before Jason is even willing to step foot in the manor, let alone drag Danny along and result in paparazzi catching a quick shot.

I'm breaking this up because I talk too much. But if anyone is going to be caught in a picture and plastered on a gossip column for hanging out with a Wayne it's most likely going to be Jazz. Feel free to guess why.

Danny is unlikely to go to Uni the normal way. He really doesn't even see himself as human, or living, anymore. He fully sees himself as a Hero first, King second and Danny third. He wouldn't be willing to split his responsibilities that far, he's only willing to even leave the IRs at all because they're building a portal so he can go back and forth without using his own power to do so. He will push for Jason to go though, because Danny is always going to try to make sure the people he cares for get their dreams even if he doesn't. However he may start 'shadowing' classes if he gets the chance. But that might take convincing from the rest of the Spook to have happen. Danny is very averse to being selfish in my fic, he's been a King for too long. (You are right though that even if he goes in his human form no one would care. He's not holding them hostage, they have better things to care about)

Vlad is doing creepy Vlad things in the background. Like building a shrine. He's not touched on because he is no longer a threat to Danny. Danny matched Vlad when he was 14, by now as a fully fledged adult with years to grow into his powers and self, along with the authorities given to him as King, Vlad can't stand up to him. He's been so thoroughly outclassed he's not going to try. Vlad is smart, and cunning for all he's mildly insane. He isn't going into a fight he knows he won't win. It doesn't help that Danny has been living in the GZ for years, and staying in his own seat of power which further skews the power dynamic there. However, now Danny is back in the world of the living and shaking things up. Maybe Vlad thinks he can slip his way in? And you know who isn't as strong as Danny but is ALSO a Halfa and is also someone Danny has strong emotional ties to? Jason. So if Vlad shows up it's unlikely he's going to be aiming directly at Danny. He knows better by now, but that doesn't mean he can't do Something if he shows up.

Danny's powers are still growing. His theorizing that he's tied into the IR is canon in the fics. Danny is smart, definitely take his theories seriously. As long as the IRs continue to grow, so will Danny. His power is, pardon the pun, infinite in its potential. He will never stop growing. I like writing him as OP. It means I have to think of other solutions to add tension since there's no actual threat that can stand up to Danny. The Ring and Crown don't really limit his powers, so much as they kind of smooth out the rough edges in a way? Normal Danny in ghost form is like a hurricane, all wild power and force of nature. The Ring and Crown kind of... clean that up a bit to give him a sense of gravitas and elegance. They make him a King, basically, and add Authority to him.

Danny would beat Trigon, hands down. Danny is a multiversal level threat, meaning he has the power to destroy multiple universes if he wanted to. Is he consciously aware of this? No. He'd have a whole meltdown if he realized the full extent of his power. Honestly I could see Danny fighting Trigon just because if he met Raven and befriended her. But also, I'm not as familiar with Raven's story besides what's shown in DCAM and Teen Titans(the OG show). So it's unlikely to happen.

He is familiar with the Lords of Order and Chaos. As an agent of Death who is also tied to Life he sees the intrinsic need for both, as life is chaotic by nature and death is its own form of order(all must come to her one day, no matter who they are.) But on a personal level he thinks Klarion is a funny kid and Doctor Fate is an annoying stick in the mud. But as always Danny is going to offer grace towards those he views as children, and he definitely sees Klarion as a child and Klarion's actions reinforce that belief. If they ever interact Danny is going to behave like an Uncle towards Klarion and at worst just throw him into a portal to have his fun in the IR where he can't really do too much damage. If he runs into DF he'd probably try to just leave if possible, as he respects DF but his general distaste towards adult living heroes is going to make him not want to deal with him. But I also am not exceedingly familiar with either of these characters so there's not a huge chance of them appearing in my fics.

I'm glad you enjoy that most of the issues Danny&Co approach aren't things he can punch away. It's the only way I can add tension since I prefer writing Danny as OP so I can focus on character growth. There are no villains in the fic series who will pose a physical threat to Danny himself. The only way to even the playing field are Fenton Tech weapons, which Danny is VERY familiar with and even if his parents made new ones, he's so familiar with them, their thought process and their inventions that he's going to be able to reverse engineer any of it in minutes. So even with those it would take a LOT for someone to be seen as a valid threat to Danny. However this doesn't mean they can't be a threat in other ways. They can threaten him politically(with his aims towards getting Ghosts recognized as sentient beings with rights) they can threaten his friends, they can even threaten people close to the people he cares about (Dick, Tim, Damian, Babs, Bruce, Tucker's family, Sam's family etc). He might physically have no equal, but that doesn't mean he lacks weaknesses.

I have no plans for an intergalactic threat in RK (Equilibrium on the other hand...) most of the threats Danny&Co will face are going to be ones that have already been mentioned in fic. (Bruce, to a very low extent, The Fentons, GIW, The American Government, The Justice League).

However Jsson would absolutely go apeshit if someone demanded Danny as a hostage.

Freakshow is lying VERY low and will not be making any in person appearances. Sadly. Jason WILL get to beat up a clown though.

There are enough rooms for the purpose of the plot LOL. Realistically i never did a full floor plan for it, because if I did I'd try to make it in the Sims and then I'd have a whole other set of problems. Currently there is no space magic other than what Gotham has done (which is shift things around underground to facilitate them digging that deep). However that is not going to stay true as more and more supernatural beings take up residence. As for how they get mail. Gotham. Gotham is how they get mail.

They do have more safe houses! Mostly in Gotham as that's home base, and they've been bought under a few different aliases by Sam, Tucker and Jazz. But they all remember Jason's lectures and also all remember how hurt Danny used to get and so they have several spots they can crash in or head to for first aid.

The other ghosts WILL love Gotham. That's as much as I'll say for that, and they will be appearing again.

Blood Blossoms still won't really affect Tucker, Sam or Jazz as none of them are dead. They'd have to be dead, or half dead half alive, for them to have an impact at least in this verse. However Tucker might end up with something like indigestion if he eats one again.

Jason knows Danny fought an evil future version of himself. He doesn't find this weird because. Well. How many times has someone from the Batfamily(actually any DC Hero) had to fight an evil version of themselves? He however is NOT aware Dan is being kept in a thermos in Clockwork's haunt. I have considered having Dan be a character in the fic, just because I think he and Danny as he is in the fic might be able to get along fairly well. But also I'm not sure if I want to bring in another character dealing with emotional trauma and baggage when we've got Danny and Jason and Tim will be absorbed into the group soon as well.

He did throw a ball. Danny is SO sweet to the people he cares about and wants to make them as happy as possible, and Jason was a rather sad kid. Danny can't stop spoiling him anymore because that behavior got ingrained so early in. And Danny did actually enjoy the ball, although that was mostly because Jason enjoyed it and wouldn't stop gushing about it for two weeks straight afterwards.

Dani loves the duck candles and now wants more of them. Constantine has learned that if he buys duck candles he can't expect to use them because Dani will, somehow, know and will, somehow, get in and steal them. He has no idea how she does this. He doesn't want to know actually and can she please stop stealing his candles? He needs those!

Constantine unwillingly cares a Lot about Danny (and Dani but he's less willing to admit that since she keeps stealing his candles). He feels rather like he's being held emotionally hostage here because he doesn't want to care about this chaotic, overpowered king of the dead who is also a traumatized young adult but no one Else seems to be stepping up to care so he guesses it's his problem now. (He knows about Nox. He is lying to himself he's got a soft heart)

Danny and Jason very much deserve each other in every meaning of that lol. They balance each other rather well, and both provide what the other desperately needs.

Sorry for my even longer response to your ask than what you asked, but I couldn't help myself. Also, thank you. You actually reignited a lot of my love for this series. I apologize for any typos.

[rotting-ink]

I know everyone is very excited for the Royal! MC in OLL, for obvious reasons sasha, but can I just say that I'm looking forward to Servant!MC even more? The overall status and power differences with most of the ROs and being under the constant pressure to perform well and being used as a replacement goldfish/merely a vessel with a singular purpose in some regards, or as something (not someone) which needs to be saved... It almost seems as though none of the ROs see them as an individual.

Servant!MC has to feel so drained and constantly on edge and hypervigilant. To be tempted, over and over again, flirted with and seduced and batted at like a cat's favorite toy and not just by the ROs. Pulled this way or that way and, unlike the Royal!MC, it sounds like some of the ROs would prefer to keep a relationship with the Servant!MC secret? Or at least keep it more lowkey and not quite flaunting it the way they would with a Royal!MC. It's more as if they love Servant!MC for the use and purpose they see within them. Imagine loving someone but your partner is patting your head indulgently like they'd do with a cute little pet because they don't take you seriously, don't see you as an equal.

Or the ros don't flaunt the relationship cause they are possessive bastards and I'm misreading it all, haha.

I don't know if this is intentional but it is delightfully mean to me. It just underlines how shitty Servant!MC's situation is. They have strong 'cosmic plaything' vibes, even if we end up playing them as someone who basically goes 'Respectfully, 🖕', their life plain sucks.

10/10, looking forward to OLL.

YESSSSSSSSSSSS, SOMEONE HAS ABSOLUTELY NAILED IT!! YES!

The only relationship that the servant mc will have that is totally equal is with Arkasha. But Arkasha is... Well. Themself. They are on completely equal footing but but BUT Arkasha will still aim to... Control them in their own way, demanding their attention. Now imagine that after having to... Light most fires in every room, do the dirty work, clean and sweep, just so one day maybe, maybe, MAYBE, you can... What? Make the beds instead? It's a thankless job.

The Heir? Doesn't have to do any work instead fight against whatever is creeping around their brain. The Witch? The Witch can have done some grunt work before their powers kicked in (Mortmain was a servant, Beckett's family were all con artists, Gwyn was a foundling at a church and forced to take on chores there, etc, etc) but they don't have to work themselves to the bone, not like the Servant has to. Don't even get me started on the Royal.

Our Last Liaisons is genuinely, at the core of it, a game about giving and taking and what people WANT. With the Royal, it's far more subtle. They're wanting to be favourites, to be more, to be wed, to be relied on. But the Servant? They have nothing but being taken from.

And a few of them, well, they could love the Servant all they want but only Arkasha would ever stand up and say it. But even choosing Arkasha means that you would be giving SO much of yourself and your energy to them. Sasha could never BE with a servant, so they, at best, would be kept. Like a pet. Dasha too. They had JUST left their life of indentured servitude behind but it doesn't mean they'd want to return to it so soon. And they're one of the few people who will be openly friendly, but they know how this works, and they can ask anything of you and you must concede. All the while, the Priest is actively looking down on the Servant as someone to be rescued. Taken away. They won't hear your objections and they don't care.

Both the Royal and the Servant get to experience giving and taking but also being forcibly given upon and then taken from. OLL is legitmately one I'm disgustingly excited for.

[ckret2]

I have been enabled was asked to share some Aku headcanons, and I just made a post mentioning his tendency in the comics to keep telling crappy stories to kids, so on a related note:

In some other universe where everything's soft and fuzzy and nice and Aku either isn't evil or somehow got reformed, and therefore he needs to find a job that isn't ruling the world—

I think he'd gravitate toward being a storyteller.

Like, we've got an entire episode of Aku telling fairy tales. If you want, you can dismiss that as something he only did because circumstances conspired to make him think that was the best idea (the people don't respect me -> it's because they've heard stories about jack -> i should kill them all -> the elders do respect me, it's just the kids that don't -> kids are impressionable; if they don't respect me because they've heard jack stories, maybe they just need to hear aku stories) and that, if it weren't for that chain of events, he would never have thought of storytelling.

But… he could have done so many different things. he could have ordered somebody to create a propaganda cartoon aimed at children depicting aku as the hero and jack as a loser. he could have ordered someone who's good at storytelling to go tell stories to a stadium full of kids. but instead he decided he wanted to go tell stories himself. Which means this is something he wanted to do more than sit around at home (and Aku almost NEVER leaves home unless it's to try to kill Jack), and he thought he'd be good at it.

Which maybe is just a general ego problem, but could also mean he thinks, specifically, he has a knack for storytelling.

Plus there's the way at the end of season 5 it canonizes the "long ago in a distant land" speech as something that happened in universe via global broadcast he forced everybody to watch. He enjoys the myth making—whether it's making his own life into myth, or inventing fictional ones.

Plus, he keeps on doing the same thing, repeatedly, in the Action Pack comics—which as we have established are kind of bad comics, but I've decided to cherrypick that one detail as "sorta canon when I feel like it."

I think he should just do that full time. Yes his stories suck, but maybe they'll suck less the more he practices at them! And even if they still suck… like, it'd be good for him. He should express himself creatively more. He doesn't have many creative outlets!

(disclaimer: i do not, in fact, know whether the psychology of the creature that is Aku is structured in a way that would let him mentally benefit from having creative outlets. I do know that whatever he's doing right now for his mental health ain't working.)

I've embraced the Aku is an Ancient Greece fanboy theory. He was probably all over Greek mythology. Devoured the Iliad with breathless awe, lost his shit when he found out there was a sequel. We should just,, set him loose to write stories like that. "Do you mean to write epic poetry about wars and great quests, or to write fanfic about Greek gods & heroes?" Yes.

I think in Kage's AU I'll probably have him gravitate toward storytelling. May or may not be as a full time thing, but at least as a hobby.

[cheralith]

Hiii hope you're having a good day/evening, please ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m still in love with your cannibal au and thank you so much for feeding us with hiori content.

My heads bin so stuck on karasu as of late (also one of my best boys) after your cannibal au head canons. I can’t stop imagining karasu forcing his readers head into the nape of his neck and making her drink his blood to get her to calm down.

I might be projecting as a shy person that loves someone taking care of me when I don’t realize I need it. But do you think this is something he would actually do?

🍡 - anon

cw: mild violence, blood, cannibalism!au, cannibal!reader

oh very much so . VERY MUCH SO. the entire dynamic between karasu and his reader vs. kaiser and his is almost the weird mirroring of themselves, but also almost a foil (more on karasu and ksr!reader's end rather than the cannibals)? if that makes sense; i'll explore more of them later.

karasu's reader has a harder time trying to adjust—as most new cannibals do. they even refuse to eat even the small, dried pieces of meat that karasu provides for them to relieve their hunger in place of a medication that he's still trying to gather all the ingredients for.

it's not like karasu doesn't want them to resist, that's the main goal of his rehab after all. but he's doing it in the way where they build resistance against their instincts while still being in sync with their nature. reader does it in a way that's basically torturing themself and not allowing their new self solace, thinking that if they resist against it enough, they could maybe... just maybe go back to their normal life.

but in the way of life, nothing good comes from denying yourself life in the way you're supposed to live it. so when reader goes completely feral one day during meat training, breaking out of the restraints and chair and leaping towards karasu with their teeth bared, eyes a fiery red, and saliva dripping from your chin, he thinks he's really in for it.

he's a strong guy—he puts up a good fight and manages to tackle you down, the impact of your head hitting a wall so hard it makes you regain your consciousness. at the sight of a rugged-breath karasu whose shirt is tattered from your nails with a couple of scratches and bruises here and there, along with how wet your own shirt was from your saliva, it doesn't take you too long to understand what happened.

so you cry. you sob and wail and blubber apologies at what you've done (or nearly did), finally coming to an epiphany that nothing will be the same as it was before you attacked that poor high schooler after your brother's funeral, the grief you felt back then now coming back to you tenfold.

karasu worries that you might spiral back again, especially since you've been so depleted of a food source to stabilize you, so he shoves your head down into the crook of his neck where the blood is most succulent and tells you to bite down and drink his blood. you argue and resist at first, but he's insistent and tells you to do it before he sedates you.

"it's just the blood," he commands, hand gripping your hair tightly, but not painfully. just to keep you in place. "it'll help—ya gotta trust me."

he can feel the hesitation from your breath when you open your mouth, teeth shyly gripping his skin before they sink down enough where blood from underneath the layers begins to draw. he hisses at the feeling, fighting his own instincts to push you away, and groans when your tongue glides over the pierced skin, lapping up his blood.

and you and him just stay there for awhile; you on top of him, eyes closed and relaxed for the first time in weeks, breaths steady. karasu stares up at the dim light, hand still cradling your head, and trying to understand what to do with you to distract himself from the pain.

[aritsukemo]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. Spread the self-love!

OKAY I FINALLYYYY HAVE THE TIME TO RESPOND TO STUFF SO FIRST WILL OFC BE MY FAVORITE OLDER COUSIN- 🤭 ( Also feel free to tag my in anything!! Just be warned, it may take me a while to respond... )

Paradise | KImetsu No Yaiba

"𝘈𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦... 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙟𝙤𝙠𝙚." All she wanted was to forget. Forget what happened, forget her mistakes, and live a simple life with the family who found her in the the snow one night. 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙚.. But instead she got a sword, a demon slayer uniform, was forced to relive her trauma and now has an adoptive demon sister who for some reason doesn't want to eat humans. F̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶d̶a̶m̶n̶i̶t̶ How wonderful.

Notes: I've said this a million and one times over, but this fic had been eating away at my brain tissue for a little over five years. It was the reason that pushed me into this world of poetry and I will forever hold this close to my chest and deem it my favorite fic series to ever write...though it's nowhere near done lmao-

The Oddities of Human Nature | Genshin Impact - Kabukimono

Humans are, by far, the strangest, most pitiful beings to ever exist.

Notes: This fic was never supposed to be written as it had lost to my old wip "Utterly Devoted To You" but my impatient self started on it while waiting on the poll results to come in and ended up finishing it a little while after finishing the poll winner. It's a depressing read I'll admit, but it's a fic I'm very proud of. Not only was it my first ever fic to breach 10k, but it's themes and the story I managed to unveil to my readers is to die for!

Kitten Love | Danganronpa ( Trigger Happy Havoc ) - Mondo Owada

A wounded stray and two love-drunken idiots who're hopelessly in love with one another.. That's it.

Notes: This fic was a surprise. I usually take forever or never finish fic request, but I had so much fun in the process of writing this! I got to take a different approach to my writing and overall I just had a fun time writing two people so obviously in love with each other. That said, this fluffy piece had quickly latched to me and I adore the feelings I get reading it back!

Birth of New Beginnings, Death to Old Comforts | Honkai Star Rail - Sunday

Sunday is approached with a second chance at life. Unbeknownst to him that what was sacrificed to obtain it was scarier than any death penalty.

Notes: This was my first time writing Sunday, but I'm happy it came out the way I did. Again, I managed to take a slightly different approach to how I usually write and I grew to be proud of this little fic. Not only that but the bts of it and the chats during ebg full of bliss and laughs for me and this fic will always remind me of that.

Invisible Scars | Miscellaneous - Multiple Fandoms

In which the night before leaves you traumatized and causes your emotionally constipated/emotionally reserved friend to seek you out.

Notes: This fic was a spur of the moment write. I remember scrolling through @creativepromptsforyou's blog looking for ideas and saw a prompt that I just couldn't help sinking my teeth into! This was simply a result of a sudden motivation that overcame me late at night but it makes me smile nevertheless!

Tagging: @castorizz, @pinkxpantha, @nursedflowers, @wystiix, @mikashisus ( no pressure, please lmk if you would not like to be tagged in future tag games I participate in ^^ )

fic authors self rec! when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. spread the self-love!

thank you for tagging me @suguwu sorry this took me a sec to get to!! i have been cooking it up in my mind though !! hehe

Threefold | Honkai Star Rail — Mydei

When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

notes: this is my most recent project ergo i am the happiest with it atm HAHA i think my prose is at its strongest here!! honestly the idea for the plot really came to me in a vision…the image of mydeimos as the reluctant prisoner appeared so clearly to me that i had no choice but to build entire world to make it a reality!! (although in terms of world building i have done the bare minimum i feel LMAO very fast and loose fs) even though i haven’t met him in-game yet hehe he’s just very handsome yk haunts my waking hours and whatnot

Seabird | Blue Lock — Sae Itoshi

Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

notes: i feel like i would be remiss if i didn’t mention seabird!! this one was so much fun to write if only because reader and sae had the funniest dynamic i think i’ve ever written. they are so hater4hater and all of their conversations (plus the little brother’s snarky asides) had me giggling as i came up with them. i think in terms of prose it’s definitely a lot more functional compared to like threefold but that kind of lends it that silliness and charm?? so i still love it HAHA

Hierophant | Honkai Star Rail — Sunday

Sunday is your mirror, as you are his — or, how meeting him spells your doom, just like losing you spells his.

notes: did i know anything about sunday when i wrote this?? debatable (it was a birthday gift). forget about robin LMAOO this is definitely THE most ooc oak siblings you will ever see but i enjoyed it making it regardless!! it’s a 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓭𝓪𝔂 fic more than anything and very speculative/open to interpretation in its entirety which is what i was hoping to get across hehe like i have my ideas for what i think happened but truly it’s not clear at all and it was fun withholding everything LFKDJD if that makes sense…coming up with the differences between halovians and humans as well as writing sunday’s slow deterioration and eventual breakdown was very fun for me!! i also loved switching between past tense and present tense for the different povs hehe it was a fun exercise writing-wise as well!!

The Instrument | Blue Lock — Michael Kaiser

Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

notes: yes my opp michael kaiser is making an appearance here because unfortunately i actually do really love this piece LMAO i am not as much a fan of the part two because i only wrote it upon popular demand (i prefer leaving things open-ended) but part one i do by and large enjoy!! this was my first time ever writing in the present tense and i loveddd it HAHA it really unlocks a different style and vibe of writing for me so although i don’t always use it i def do like pulling it out every now and again which i wouldn’t have learned i can do without the instrument!!

Polar | Blue Lock — Nagi-Centric Genfic

This time, when Seishiro Nagi’s talent at soccer is discovered, it’s by a boy named Oliver Aiku — which goes about as well as you’d expect it to.

notes: this one is definitely a crazy one to put on here given that this is a genfic and i am a reader insert author but. i LOVE polar LMAOAOAO it was born of a silly conversation i had with one of my friends (jei if you’re seeing this hi) but it ended up being over 20k words of nagi character study in an au where he’s found by oliver instead of reo!! i love writing it hehe i think this is the proof nagi is my fav because like writing a genfic from a character’s pov is smth i’ve never done before and probs never will do again. but it was a blast at the time!!

no-pressure tagging: @luvether @loverducky @mewnbuns @kazucee @veraties (if any of you were tagged already i am sorry 🥹 i tried switching up who i tag too so i hope you all are okay with it please lmk if not so ik for next time 💖)

[pacifymebby]

How do you think Harry Da Souza would handle it if he found out his gf’s ex used to rough her up? I imagine he’d be a calm and soothing comfort for her whilst they’re alone but he’d want to get his sweet revenge BIG TIME. No one hurts his girl and walks away from it…… no pressure as I’m sure you have loads of requests but if you wrote some headcanons or a little protective Harry fic I’d love you forever <3

ps the Alfie smut was glorious x

Heyyyy thank you for this <3 my first Mobland request <3 and i loveeee it <3

Protective Harry

🐻 He doesn't find out about your traumatic past until your first real argument because you'd done your best to leave your past in the past. In order to feel strong and in control after the horrors of your previous abusive relationship, you attempted to build an impenetrable defensive layer. You've always done your best not to show fear, not to show anything which could be perceived as "weakness" in front of Harry.

🪽 You have nightmares about your past but when you wake from them in a cold sweat you force yourself to swallow down your fear, lie there still and silent on your back, too affraid to move just in case you wake Harry and he finds you crying and wants to know why...

🐻 Because Harry is a dangerous man and you know he's seen more shit in his life than most men. You know his stomach isn't easily turned, that violence doesn't phase him... That its pretty hard to stir him. You know your Harry doesn't fear much... And you don't want him to think you weak, or to percieve you as a victim in any way...

🪽 You're also scared that talking about the things you went through in the past might jinx you, make them happen all over again. The classic "if you act like a victim you'll always be a victim" so you keep everything hidden, do your best to block out your past. Pretend like none of it ever happened.

🐻 And though Harry has noticed a few discrepancies in stories about your past, has noticed that sometimes you get this faraway, fucking sad, look in your eyes as though you're remembering something awful, for the most part he suspects nothing...

🪽 Until your first fight that is... The first proper shouting match between the two of you. One of those arguments which starts being about one thing and then winds up being about something totally different. Its the first time he really loses his temper in front of you, the first time he raises his voice and slams his hand on the kitchen counter.

🐻 It happens so suddenly, one moment you're absolutely giving as good as you get, your tongue just as sharp as his, your adrenaline and anger leaving your cheeks flushed as you assert yourself. The next you've flinched away from him, raised your hands to protect your face and dropped to the floor.

🪽 Harry's so stunned he doesn't quite know what to do with you. You'd let out a real terrified scream, the scream of a woman expecting to get seriously hurt. Its a sound he's never heard from you before and one he's certain he never wants to hear again.

🐻 Just like that all the anger is knocked right out of him. He feels winded, starring at you cowering on the floor. You've made yourself as small as you possibly can, hiding yourself, trying to protect your head and face. He doesn't want it to be true but he knows, the only reason you'd drop like that is that you're expecting him to hurt you.

🪽 He tries to be so gentle, doesn't want to scare you anymore than he already has so he softens his whole demeanor, lowers himself to your level, crouching on the floor in front of you, his hand tentatively hovering in front of yours. He reaches for your hand the first time and you flinch, you let out this little whimper which breaks his heart and he tells you as much...

🐻 "Bloody hell darlin you're breakin my heart," he says softly, his smile a little cheeky in the hopes of putting you at ease. Still he can't hide his concern, his frown knitted heavy on his brow as he reaches for your hand the second time and finally gets you to bring your arms down from your face...

🪽 You're not crying, but he knows that you will. Your eyes are wide like a deer caught in the headlights and your whole body is shaking like a leaf.

🐻 "'alright babe," he says gently as he interlinks his fingers with yours. He wants nothing more than to coax you into his arms, hold you so tightly, promise he'll never let anyone hurt you again, but he knows that he has to move slowly. Knows that he can't risk startling you. So he hushes you as he tugs gently on your hand. Sits himself down and coaxes you slowly towards him. "Alright babe, come here yeah, come to Harry..."

🪽 When he's finally got you in his arms he holds you carefully, not too tight but secure with his arms around your shoulders. He shushes and hushes you as he sits back against the wall and positions you safely in his lap. Then he places a firm, lingering kiss in your hair. His big hand holding the back of your head, caressing your hair down your shoulders with the back of his hand.

🐻 "S'alright sweetheat," he says softly, still in a state of shock himself. Its the fact that you've always seemed so steely and unbreakable... He could never have imagined you so fragile, so helpless as you seem to be now... And god it makes his heart hurt. All he wants to do is wrap you up, cradle you, hold you until you feel better.

🪽 And thats what he does. He holds you still, kisses your forehead, tells you again that you're safe, "nothin to be scared of here baby, Harry's got you yeah, no ones gonna hurt you here..." he needs you to know that like he needs oxygen in his lungs. Needs you to know that he'll never hurt you. He holds you tight but not too tight, just gentle enough to let you know that you can escape his grip if you so wish... But you don't want to.

🐻 Youre a little shocked too, a little uncertain... You're kicking yourself for having cowered away from him, for not having stood your ground, for revealing your vulnerabilities... But you're confused too because Harry's temper seems to have dissipated completely and he's being so gentle with you. You're not used to men who can reign a temper in. Not used to men who don't take their anger out on you.

🪽 You're still trembling in his arms, too fearful to speak yet, you want to apologise for behaving like such a baby but your fear is enough even now to silence you and so you remain quiet and shaking and Harry has to take the lead.

🐻 "Right babe," he starts quiet and gentle but serious too, because he needs you to take him seriously now, if theres one thing he's serious about its this. "Lets get something straight yeah, me an you yeah we might fight and shout and say stupid shit when we're arguing yeah, but I will never lay a finger on you... Never yeah. That, its just not something you need to worry about right?

🪽 At first when you nod your head and promise him you're not scared of him he doesn't buy it. He can tell from your tone that you're being overly defensive. Trying to build that emotional wall up again, but lets face it, that defense is well and truly crumbled and Harry knows you've given him a window into your soul... That he can't let you get away with pretending to be fine now.

🐻 So he persists. Brushes off your "Ain't scared of you Harry..." cooly, simply reiterating his point. "Yeah well, you don't need to be babe." "I ain't ever gonna hit you yeah, because that kinda behaviour appalls me right... Only fuckin real pathetic lowlifes behave like that don't they, bottom of the barrel cunts... An I ain't one of them yeah... Fuckin love you don't I sweetheart, wouldn't fuckin ever fuckin hurt you..."

🪽 His persistence helps, the way he holds you bundled up in his arms like that, his head resting on top of yours, his hand holding your head close to him, fingers weaving through your hair. He's being so tender with you, holding you as though you are the most precious girl in the world that it's easy to believe him when he says he loves you, when he says he'd never do anything to hurt you.

🐻 But Harry isn't satisfied with simply calming you down. He needs to know what happened to you to leave you with those defensive reflexes.

🪽 "Now that frightful display just now, know you musta learned moves like them the hard way... Reckon you must know a bottom of the barrel cunt yeah?"

🐻 But its difficult for you to admit it, difficult for you to think about everything you blocked out without just feeling sick. Without beginning to shake again, get upset again. And you feel so shameful when those tears begin to fall.

🪽 You try to hide yourself from him, try to pull away and escape his hold but when you get up to try and leave Harry catches your hand and stops you in your tracks. The gesture is still gentle but theres something in the look he gives you, this quiet command not to run away. He looks like hes begging you to talk.

🐻 "Maybe yeah, we should get that kettle on and make a cuppa, go sit somewhere more comfortable..." he suggests, his hand resting on your lower back. He's determined to show you that he's determined to be there for you and he's so relieved when you nod your head. You look scared sure, but at least you're agreeing to talk.

🪽 Thing is you know you don't really have a choice. That you're already past the point of no return with Harry, he's already seen you scream and cower away, already seen how scared of him you really are, so what choice do you really have? You have to explain yourself now...

🐻So you do. Harry tells you to go sit down on the sofa, you pull one of his hoodies on and curl up against the cushions, and when he brings your cuppa to you you try to put on a brave face, try to smile and tell him it really isn't as bad as he's probably thinking...

🪽It doesn't take long however for Harry to discern that it is as bad as he thought. You don't get far into your story before Harry feels sick to his stomach, his mind racing ahead of him with thoughts of revenge.

🐻Still, for you he is completely calm. He listens quietly, doesn't say much whilst you're trying to speak about your past. Only really speaks when you hesitate or when your voice catches in your throat, just gentle "go on babe..." and "s'okay babe you're doin good carry on..."

🪽He holds your hand and raises it to his lips pressing a kiss to your palm. His hand so much bigger than yours as his thumb brushes over your knuckles in an attempt to soothe your growing anxiety.

🐻The thing is you don't just seem sad or scared the way he'd expected you to. You seem embarrassed too and when you look up at him and say "I know I shoulda left him way sooner... Fuckin stupid girl aint I..." he frowns. He can't believe you're blaming yourself for another mans crimes. Can't believe you don't realise the strength you must posess to have left and then kept going holding your head up high.

🪽"Nah," he shakes his head, squeezes your hand, "nah babe, don't say that about yourself, you ain't stupid..." he's quiet at first, seems particularly pensive but that is because he's concentrating very hard on controlling his anger. You've told him some pretty horrible things and his temper is bubbling away beneath the surface.

🐻 "You're pissed off..." you say after a moment, you're looking up at his face, at his frown, his eyes are difficult to read and you can only assume he's angry with you for not telling him sooner, or for thinking he could be anything like your ex, but when you try to say sorry he realises he isn't doing well enough to hide his anger at your lowlife ex and so forces himself to soften again for you.

🪽"Babe," he sighs, that disbelieving but gentle cooing tone as he takes your cheek in his hand, "I'm not pissed off with you..." he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb, tilting his head, looking at you all serious furrowed brow, "babe listen to me now yeah, cause this is important right. I promise you yeah, I am not pissed off with you... Bit heartbroken for you maybe, but mostly right I am unbelievably proud of you..."

🐻You're looking at him cynically and he recognises the look in your eyes as one he's seen 100 times before. Its suddenly all making sense to him, the way you raise your brow at him whenever he says something complimentary, like youre always waiting for him to take it back... Like you never quite believe him. Its not something that ever really registered with him before but now he realises he makes a note to praise you more and to make sure you know he means it.

🪽He lets out half a laugh in disbelief, all "Nah, babe I mean it yeah, the fact you got yourself out of that all by yourself, don't think I coulda done that..."

🐻Now you know he's being ridiculous and you can't help but laugh at him, you tell him not to patronise you but you're smiling, shaking him off. And still he's persistent because he does mean it. He thinks you must be a really fuckin brave person.

🪽"Really though babe, proud of you..." he says it one final time before he lets it be and for the time you're finishing your tea you both sit quietly. He's still thinking about how he's going to take revenge for you. You're just trying to make sense of everything in your head, why he's being so kind to you when you've revealed yourself to be "weak" questioning whether this is going to change everything between you.

🐻When you finish your tea and place it on the coffee table he opens his arms up for you, he's feeling very soft and sentimental. Pulls you up into his lap and kisses your cheek, "my babys been through so much" keeps you bundled up to him close, any plans he had for the afternoon have been postponed because all he wants to do is hold you and coddle you until he's sure you're feeling safe after your fright earlier... He feels pretty guilty for having spooked you the way that he did.

🪽Doesn't action any plans he might have made straight away but that night he can't sleep, lying on his back with you sleeping soundly on his chest, hes tangled his fingers in your hair, one hand behind his head, gazing up at the cieling thinking about all the ways he's going to take revenge.

🐻The next morning you wake up to find Harry's made your coffee for you to drink in bed. You roll your eyes at him, grateful but thinking he's being a little dramatic now.

🪽"Whats this for?" you smirk at him, shaking your head when he shrugs his shoulders. "Coffee." he says plainly, "caramel syrup in that for you too babe..."

🐻"Ooo givin me the fancy coffee now you know my ex used to rough me up... Shoulda told you sooner" youre joking and Harry knows your defensive humour well, usually he'd laugh it off but this morning he stops.

🪽"Yeah well babe, wanted talk to you about that didn't I..." Harrys been thinking and although he knows hes going to be to do something to teach your ex a lesson, he doesnt want to do anything without giving you a couple choices first.

"Do we have to?" you frown, you'd been hoping you could leave it in the past now. You feel a little embarrassed about the whole episode yesterday and you wish Harry would just forget it ever happened.

You should have known he wouldn't.

He pretends to think about it for a moment then nods his head all, "yeah babe, reckon we do..."

🐻"Thing is right I've been thinking about it yeah an I can't forsee any outcome here that don't involve me exactin some form of comeuppance for the daft cunt that hurt my girl... Can you?"

You look up at him as you sip your coffee, trying to hide a small smile because yeah, of course you should have known he wasn't going to let this pass without doing something. "An I suppose you wanna kick his head in yeah? You gonna kill him Harry?"

🪽"Well thats just it love, I'm gonna do whatever you want me to do..."

You look back at him, a little smirk on your lips, unable to resist the urge to wind him up. "Nothing then?"

He chuckles, shakes his head. He'd known you would say that but he also knows you dont mean it.

"Yeah thats not an option babe."

🐻"Fine, babe." you narrow your eyes but you're smirking, teasing him. Harrys just glad you haven't lost your resillient sense of humour, relieved to find that your argument the day before hasn't destroyed your trust in him or left you feeling like its not safe to joke with him.

🪽"Right I'll be straight with you darlin, what I need from you yeah is to know a) what you want me to do to him and b) do you wanna know about it?"

"Well you're askin me so I already know about it..."

Him silencing you with his hand over your mouth, chuckling at you. "You know what I mean..."

🐻"Alright alright," you grin prizing his hand away from your mouth giggling at him, "Fine you can do whatever you want to him Harry, i dont care yeah, be as mean as you like..."

🪽"You sure about that babe I can be pretty mean you know..."

"Yeah Harry, I'm sure."

"And do you want me to tell you when its done?"

"Yeah," you smile, "we can do story time with Harry."

🐻And thats the last you hear about it then, Harry leaves you out of the planning just as you'd asked, and because you'd told him he could be as mean as he likes, he goes all out. He enlists Kevin's help, the Harrigans have always been fond of you and Kevin is almost as incensed at the idea of someone wanting to hurt you as Harry is, so he takes pleasure torturing your ex.

🪽Harry briefly considers leaving your ex alive, battering him within an inch of his life, perhaps cutting his tongue out or castrating him... Forcing him to spend the rest of his life as scared and vulnerable as they made you feel when you were together...

🐻However when it comes to it Harry can't stand to look at the evil bastard who hurt you for very long, your ex is truly pathetic, a snivelling cowardly mess. They cower back and shield their face and beg "don't hurt me!" and the way they shake when they see the blade Harrys carrying reminds Harry of your petrified figure cowering away from him the week before.

🪽So Harry shows them no mercy. Sure he's mean about it. Him and Kevin drag the process out far longer than it needs to be dragged out. He kids on that he's going to spare him if he apologises to you. They get a video of your ex crying and apologising for everything he did to you, begging for his life... And then once they have everything they want from him they lock him up in a storage crate, leave him to starve and suffer for a few days.

🐻And only when they return to find him a feeble beat up mess, do they put him out of his misery.

But of course they kill him. Harry can't let someone who hurt you walk free.

🪽And then one night Harry comes home, hes brought you flowers and wine. Its late and you're in bed and he brings you the bottle and two glasses, lays the flowers down across your lap and asks if his baby wants a bed time story.

🐻"Now then babe? You want all the gory details?"

"Yeah..." you smile around a sip of blood red wine. Harry can't help but grin, wrap an arm around your shoulders as he pulls you in to lean back against his chest ready for story time with Harry. He's more proud of you now than ever before, loves your vengeful streak, how wicked you can be.

🪽Harry definitely takes this as an opportunity to reiterate to you the fact that he will do anything for you. That no one geta to hurt you and get away with it. "someone so much as looks at you funny when youre down the shops yeah, you tell me and I'll sort it... No one treats my baby badly and gets away with it alright..."

🐻 "And you never have to worry about me yeah, know your Harrys a big grump with a mean temper but darlin I will never turn that on you yeah?" "Okay Harry I believe you I promise..." "Yeah? Cause I am telling you I do not want you to worry about that alright, that is something you never need to worry about. I Harry Da Souza do not want you worrying about that..."

Hope you enjoyed these lovely. Thank you for the ask if you have anymore requests for Harry please send them my way <3 <3