#Chief Two Hawks

[tredawakandan]

Big Salute to Lisa Goree for Being the New Matriarch of the Shinnecock Nation in centuries. As I often showed before Women were respected in America prior to colonization. Glad to see her rise to Chief 👌🏿

Also be sure to check out my two prior post of chiefs within American 👇🏿

Was watching Cursed & saw the scene above. For anyone that doesn't watch the show this scene is between two characters of the Fae/Fairy race. Basically a group of magical beings that are being hunted. If you follow me then you know I show how they hide our history often by saying supernatural monsters for responsible for certain things. The two pics above from China prove this. But back to the video it shows a Black women mentioning how she served Queens. This being a important fact since alot of our ancient empires featured women in high places. From the European point of view this was Matriarchy. A point that I disagree with though is we having matriarchy. It was more we had balanced roles & didn't subjugate women like the Europeans did. The film avatar shows this to me. Neytiri parents both played their parts in leading their tribe. Anyways May the power of Females return 💯

[endless-ineffabilities]

Diet Mountain Dew

chapter 2 of the National Anthem series

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

synopsis: a reporter finds herself entangled in an affair with Aemond Targaryen, the President of Westeros.

in this chapter: In her new assignment, the reader has to immerse herself in political affairs. But will she get caught up in another kind of affair altogether?

word count: 6.5k

themes/warnings: smut! (18+), tension!, language, pining, power imbalance, infidelity, a bit of a slow burn then a decisive unravelling

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

How did you get yourself into this?

You’ve been asking yourself that question a lot lately.

You’re not sure when your job as a reporter became quite so complicated. But you had prepared yourself for hard work, for late nights and challenging deadlines. Highgarden News granted you this assignment—a high-profile, career-defining opportunity to shadow President Aemond Targaryen, as he campaigned from city to city. It was the type of assignment that could make a career, a ticket to bigger stories, bigger roles, maybe even a permanent spot in King’s Landing.

Yet here you are, two weeks into the campaign trail, and you already feel yourself slipping.

What started as an assignment became something else, something you’re almost afraid to name.

Only one news team is granted access for each region, with yours being the one assigned from The Reach. The reporters from the other regions had arrived in droves in Lannisport weeks earlier, and then now in Riverrun, trailing Aemond’s every public appearance. In each city, his campaign team organised luxurious setups, from lavish hotel suites to VIP access at his events. It was a calculated display of power and promise—a future where the country could have all the sophistication and glamour it desired, all thanks to the Targaryen name.

And you are always closest to him. You.

As you move from one city to another, you can feel it growing, that silent speculation from your colleagues. You’re special, they whisper. His favourite. His go-to for the tough questions, the tough days. 

At first, it was easy to ignore. But when Aemond singles you out in every briefing, when his publicist Margaery—almost maternal in her role as his chief handler—asks if you need anything on behalf of “the President’s office,” it gets harder to deny that connection lingering between you and him.

Every day, it’s something else: a small smile sent in your direction, a private nod, a comment to you and only you when a question gets a little too personal. It’s like he’s let you into his inner circle, and even your best friend Theon, who kindly volunteered to assist you throughout this assignment, has become more insistent in his insinuations.

And, as much as you tell yourself otherwise, you find it impossible not to watch him just as closely.

Aemond is, without a doubt, relentless. It’s as if he’s constantly at war, a one-man show of steely-eyed ambition and razor-sharp wit. He doesn’t just address his audience; he commands them. His campaign team circles him like hawks, eager to please, but he always keeps them at arm’s length, rarely indulging in their advice.

His grandfather and campaign manager, Otto Hightower, is the only one who gets close, hovering, guiding Aemond’s every move with a careful hand, though it’s clear they clash. Otto wants a puppet, someone to execute his carefully curated, well-worn tactics to keep the Targaryens in power, and Aemond… Aemond wants something else entirely.

He’s made it clear—he will not be controlled.

“I’m the one they’ll listen to,” he snaps in a rare, private argument you overhear in the hotel corridor one evening. You can almost feel the electric charge in his voice, the tightly controlled anger that lingers beneath the surface. He’s too smart, too keenly aware of his image to lash out publicly, but in these quiet moments, the crack in his polished exterior shows.

“And you’ll destroy your own campaign if you keep refusing to listen,” Otto fires back, with a ferocity that is reserved for his grandson, not the President. “You think they care about you? They want to see power preserved, to see someone they can trust and control—”

“They trust me,” Aemond interrupts, his voice a low, cutting whisper. “And I won’t be controlled by you, or anyone else.”

There’s a silence after that, and you find yourself stepping back, pressing against the hallway wall, your heartbeat spiking as you try to blend into the shadows.

Otto’s voice drops to a chilling calm. “You’d do well to remember, Aemond, that being president means knowing when to bend.”

But Aemond doesn’t bend. Not for anyone.

He finds you, always. In each press briefing, his attention always seems to land on you, pulling you into his orbit whether you want it or not. Because no matter how you deem it to be—inappropriate, overwhelming, distracting—he’s simply too intoxicating.

He relies on you—most of the time only you—when he’s tired, frustrated, or just seeking a confidante. With each private moment, each conversation, the promise you made to yourself of keeping things professional grows weaker and weaker. 

The occasional brush of his hand on your hips or on the small of your back as if letting you know that he’s got you, that he’s there, is nearly enough to get you to break.

And then, there’s the pen incident.

In an afternoon meeting, a few people from his inner circle gathered around, including Margaery, Theon, and Aemond’s loyal security guards, Steve and James. You’re taking notes, barely listening to the endless back-and-forth about strategic points in the city that will “swing the voters,” when Aemond turns to you, breaking the hum of conversation.

“Could you grab that pen from my pocket?” he says, his voice low and casual, as if it’s the most natural request in the world.

Your hand falters, and you glance at him, wondering if you misheard. But no—he’s watching you intently, with that strange, intense expression that you can never quite read. There’s a faint curve to his mouth, a glint of challenge in his eyes. He knows you can’t refuse without drawing attention, yet his request feels deeply, absurdly personal. It feels like a dare.

Aware of the eyes on you, you slip your fingers into the front pocket of his suit jacket, which haphazardly rests on the small table beside you. You begin to suspect that he placed it there deliberately, just for this moment, and this suspicion is confirmed when your fingers brush against something unexpected—something soft, delicate, and unmistakably familiar.

Lace. Your lace panties.

Your breath catches, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as you realise exactly what he’s done. Those were the same ones you had been missing since that night—the same night you made out in his car, crossing a line you’d sworn you’d never approach.

His gaze doesn’t waver, a flicker of satisfaction flashing across his face as he watches your reaction. It’s a possessive look, a reminder of that moment, of the way he had drawn you in, breaking every rule you’d set for yourself. You quickly pull your hand back, clenching the pen and clearing your throat, avoiding his gaze.

“Something wrong, angel?” he asks smoothly as he retrieves the pen from your outstretched, near-trembling hand. Oh shit. Not here, not now.

Margaery raises an eyebrow at the name, her lips twitching in amusement, and Theon, standing off to the side, looks like he’s holding back a loud, theatrical laugh. But Aemond doesn’t break, doesn’t show even a hint of embarrassment. If anything, he seems pleased, his eyes glinting with amusement as he seamlessly segues into the discussion at hand.

After the meeting, Theon doesn’t waste a second before sidling up to you, eyes glinting with barely concealed amusement. 

“Angel, huh?” He draws out the word, savouring each syllable. “Didn’t realise we’d upgraded to pet names with the Commander-in-Chief. That’s new.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Theon, don’t start.”

“Oh, but I’ve already started,” he says, all faux seriousness. “I mean, what’s next? Is he going to give you a little heart emoji in his messages? Add a winky face?”

“Don’t you have something better to do than dissect my life?”

“Normally, yes,” he replies, feigning deep thought. “But in this case? Absolutely not.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “In fact, I think I owe him a thank you for giving me endless material. And you know Margaery caught it too—she’ll have that eyebrow arched for weeks.”

“Are you done?” you sigh, but he’s relentless, clearly enjoying himself.

“Oh, honey, I’ve barely begun,” he says, leaning in as he glances around to make sure no one’s listening. “Because let’s be real. You’re not getting called angel for, what? Your groundbreaking, objective reporting?”

“Theon, what the fu—”

“Yeah, I bet he’s covering you too… literally...”

“You’re gross.”

“...with his tight body, and his thick c—”

“Okay! Okay, I get the picture!”

The next day, it becomes ever clearer that Riverrun—a critical, symbolic region—has remained steadfastly out of reach.

The Tullys, who are influential in Riverrun, have held a deep-seated mistrust toward Aemond’s family for generations. Once allies, the Tullys and Targaryens grew increasingly distant over the years, tensions flaring over each slight, each perceived grab for power by either family. Riverrun is deeply traditional, loyal to old values and wary of Aemond’s ambitious plans, which feel to them like unwelcome interference. And with Cregan Stark—Aemond’s primary rival—making calculated moves to win over the Tullys, Aemond’s approval ratings in Riverrun are slipping even further.

Cregan Stark is as adept at appealing to people’s hearts as Aemond is at appealing to their logic. With his easy smile and steady presence, Stark has positioned himself as the family man, the man who values every corner of the country and pledges to protect its heritage.

Aemond, on the other hand, is seen as a firebrand—a Targaryen not content to merely lead but determined to change, to push, to innovate. Stark’s connection to the Tullys is not just strategic; he has endeared himself to them, winning over not only the common people but Governor Edmure Tully himself, the unyielding leader who holds significant sway over Riverrun’s political landscape.

Still, Aemond persists, though his methods grow sharper and less forgiving by the day.

The morning in Riverrun is bitterly cold, as if the city itself has turned on Aemond. After his latest speech, which was met with only a polite smattering of applause, he retreats with his team to a private conference room in the hotel, his jaw clenched, his demeanour taut as he listens to Margaery brief him on the polling numbers.

“Riverrun isn’t budging,” she says, her voice hesitant but steady. “They’re not warm to us—and to be honest, Cregan Stark’s campaign is winning them over. He’s made a point to connect with the locals, attend Tully family events, visit their memorials. His team’s doing an incredible job of selling him as someone who’s part of their world.”

“Their world?” Aemond repeats, his voice laced with disdain as he leans back in his chair. “Is that supposed to mean something to me? I don’t run campaigns based on sentiment.”

“Sentiment isn’t useless,” she counters, glancing around at the team with a knowing look. “Especially not here. Riverrun values its heritage, its ties to old families. Stark’s giving them exactly what they want—a friendly face who promises stability.”

You observe him from the far side of the room, notebook in hand. You’ve been watching him closely, taking mental notes, seeing just how he ticks under pressure. And right now, his restraint is paper-thin.

Theon nudges your arm, leaning close enough to whisper, “You know he’s never going to win them over with these tactics, right? Riverrun doesn’t want what he’s selling.”

You nod slightly, acknowledging Theon’s point, but say nothing. It’s true: there’s no sense of warmth or nostalgia in Aemond’s approach. Instead, he comes off as cold and unyielding, refusing to play the game of familiarity and tradition that Riverrun adores. Stark, on the other hand, seems to step right into that world effortlessly, casting himself as the everyman with a steady hand and the charm that disarms even the most sceptical locals.

Aemond’s voice breaks your thoughts. “The Tullys can have their nostalgia, their small-minded ways. But it’s a relic of the past,” he says, a sharp edge in his tone. “I’m not here to coddle them. I’m here to bring Riverrun—and the entire country—into the future, not keep them mired in their ancestral grudges.”

Otto clears his throat, his gaze calculating as he turns toward Aemond. “If you ignore the Tullys, you risk alienating a significant power base. And frankly, this region is one you can’t afford to lose. Stark may look like an innocuous threat, but don’t underestimate him, Aemond. He’s winning because he’s using tactics that work, that make him appear… sympathetic.”

Aemond’s mouth twists, barely masking his contempt. “Sympathetic isn’t the same as capable,” he says icily, his gaze flicking to you. “But maybe the press has some insights they’d like to share?”

You feel the weight of his gaze and everyone else’s as the team shifts their attention toward you. For a moment, you hesitate, caught off guard. You meet Aemond’s intense stare and try to keep your response measured. “Cregan Stark’s strategy here seems to be focusing on shared values,” you say slowly, choosing each word with care. “He’s connecting with people on a personal level. He’s convincing them that he’s one of them, someone who understands them. And while you’re pushing for change, they may not feel ready for it… or see the need.”

Aemond’s eyes narrow, his expression unreadable as he takes in your words. “So you’re saying I should be more like Stark?” he asks, his voice carrying an edge that raises goosebumps along your arms.

“No, not exactly. But it might help if you met them where they are before asking them to follow you somewhere else. Sometimes, people need to feel seen before they’re willing to listen.”

His expression tightens, and for a second, you think you’ve overstepped. But then he lets out a low, humourless laugh, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t do nostalgia tours,” he says finally, his voice low. “I’ve already won once before, that’s why I’m sitting here. They still don’t know who I really am? Fine. I’ll show them. But I’m not going to beg them to like me.” 

It doesn’t take long before he dismisses the team, instructing them to meet later in the evening for the next round of campaign preparations. Everyone files out of the room in a silence that feels heavier than it should, but you’ve only just stood from your seat when he commands, “Stay.”

You look around, and it is only Margaery and Theon left in the room, but they barely pause on their way to the doors, communicating their understanding that Aemond pertains to you. They’re used to it by now. 

“So,” he says, his voice smoother and more level than mere moments ago, “we’re here, angel. Riverrun.” He’s perched on the front edge of his desk—his usual spot, whenever he calls you in for a word.

You only emit a noncommittal hum, legs crossed as you sit on the chair in front of him. A small act of defiance because he continues to ignore your request for him to stop calling you angel. Never mind that there is no one else within earshot at the moment, save for Steve and James patrolling the hallway outside. 

“Nothing to say…” he posits the question, and you quickly jump into a response.

“Well, there is—”

But then he adds, purposefully cutting through at that moment to catch you off guard, with the slyest of smirks gracing his lips. “...angel?”

You sigh in defeat. “I told you—”

“Not to call you angel, I know, I know.” He waves a hand dismissively, and you know he’s just going to disregard the repetition of your plea. “But it’s the only name that feels right. That or… I don’t know… Baby? Sweetheart?”

Mortified, you look away from him, scanning the view outside the windows and ignoring the warmth you felt from hearing baby roll smoothly off his tongue. “None of those, Aemond, please. You know what, nevermind.”

He carries on, laughter still evident in his voice. “Tell me, are the people here in Riverrun right to be sceptical of me?”

“They’re wary, yes,” you admit, choosing your words carefully. “You’re a Targaryen; the older generation still remembers your family’s history. Frankly, many of them are wondering if you’re actually here for them or if you’re just trying to settle old scores. It also doesn’t help that Cregan Stark has endeared himself to the Tullys, and if he has their endorsement—”

“Then I’ve lost Riverrun,” Aemond states, his eyes darkening at the possibility, but he doesn’t lose his composure. Or if he feels the slightest hint of worry, he doesn’t let it show. If anything, he’s much calmer now, with just the two of you in the room, as opposed to when he was surrounded by his team. “And what do you think?”

“Well, the Tullys—”

“No,” he clarifies sharply. “What do you think of me?”

He stands perfectly still, all of his focus directed at you. Your stomach twists with the sudden intimacy of his question, but you meet his gaze, refusing to back down. 

“I think you’re ambitious. Smart, ruthless when you need to be. But I also think you haven’t shown enough respect to the values of tradition and ancestral heritage. It’s clear in how you talk about the opposition, how you dismiss their concerns. People feel that.”

His jaw clenches, a flash of anger in his eyes. “I dismiss what doesn’t matter,” he says coldly. “I’m not here to appease everyone, nor to waste time on people who aren’t willing to listen. I’m here to make real changes.”

“You’re here to secure your legacy, Aemond,” you counter, unable to hold back the accusation. “It’s about power as much as it is about the people. Maybe more.”

The air becomes charged, and his stony mask almost falls to give way to surprise. You’re willing to wager that no one in your position has ever spoken so directly to him before. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But then his lips curl into a smirk, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Perhaps it’s both, angel,” he concedes, surprising you. “But ambition isn’t a sin, you know. Everyone in this room wants something out of this campaign.” He gives you a pointed look, as if daring you to argue.

You’re unsure whether to feel guilty of the truth he’s pertaining to. You did accept this position because of the prestige that it offers, the way it can doubtlessly do wonders for the trajectory of your career. And only that… right?

Aemond can’t have been a motivation, no matter how strong his pull is. No matter how often you have imagined that it were his fingers, in the place of yours, stroking your wet folds before you fall asleep.  

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “There’s ambition, and then there’s ruthlessness. People don’t trust a man who’ll do whatever it takes to win. They need to believe you’ll put them first.”

His expression shifts, something flickering in his eyes that you can’t quite read. He crosses the space between you with slow, measured steps until he’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, and he plants his hands on the armrest of your seat, caging you in.

“And what about you, my angel?” he asks, voice low, his gaze intense. “Do you trust me?”

Your breath catches, his proximity affecting you more than you’d care to admit. His hand brushes against your arm, featherlike and tantalising, and you feel your resolve hanging on by a thread. How soon until you surrender another pair of your lace panties to be his salacious keepsake?

“I trust you to be who you are,” you say quietly. “The question is whether that’s enough.”

He lets out a long sigh, his gaze softening, and for a moment, you  see a glimpse of something more—a vulnerability hidden beneath the polished veneer of the aspiring president. He watches you with a strange intensity, as though he’s trying to read your every thought.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “We both know how to play the game.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you force yourself to look away, breaking the spell. You know the price of getting too close, of letting yourself get sucked into his orbit. It would be so easy to lean into him, to let yourself be caught up in his ambition, but you can’t afford to lose yourself.

“I’m just here for the story,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. But even as you say it, you know it’s a lie.

“Go ahead then, say it,” he murmurs, coaxing you. His gaze is trained on you, hard yet unmistakably interested. “Tell me how I’m arrogant, tell me how you don’t need this job, don’t need me,” he taunts, but his eyes betray him—they’re daring you, almost pleading, though he’d never admit it.

You hold your ground, refusing to let his words twist your resolve. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” you retort, but the bite in your voice only seems to amuse him. The corner of his mouth curves, barely a smile, yet somehow even more alluring than a full one. 

He leans closer, his scent enveloping you—something fresh and faintly musky, muddled by the thick aroma of premium-grade cigars. “Then why don’t you walk away?” he asks, as though he already knows the answer. “Are you still here because of your job?” he murmurs, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Or maybe… you enjoy this.”

Your words falter, caught in your throat. Because you don’t want to lie. Not here, not with his gaze stripping away every pretense, every defense you’ve carefully held between you.

He reads it on your face before you can speak, and it emboldens him. His fingers trail up your arm, over the thin material of your white blouse, and his touch is maddening. His hand moves to cup your face, and the tenderness in the gesture is an almost unbearable contrast to the edge in his voice.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he whispers, daring you.

You can’t. And in the silence, he makes his move.

Without warning, his mouth is on yours, fierce and unyielding, a kiss that speaks volumes about everything you’ve both left unsaid. The world blurs, narrows down to the way his hands move against your back, the press of his lips on yours. Every nerve, every inch of you feels ignited, drawn helplessly toward him.

Aemond pulls you from your seat, carrying you to his expansive desk without much effort. He sweeps an arm across the desk, papers and official documents scattering to the floor, pens clattering with a reckless abandon he rarely lets show. For once, the President’s carefully curated world is disrupted—by you.

Your ass slides along the smooth surface, his arms bracing at your sides. And even as you resist, pressing your palms against his chest in some futile attempt at defiance, he only pulls you closer, responding with a hunger that’s every bit as intense as his usual restraint. 

Aemond steps back just enough to tug his tie loose, letting it fall to the desk before undoing the buttons of his shirt, each one revealing more of the hard lines of his chest. When he finally shrugs the shirt off, he returns to you, his hands trailing down your thighs, his touch firm, almost searing.

“You don’t want to leave,” he breathes against your lips, his voice roughened by need. His mouth traces a path along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me you do, angel, and I’ll let you go.”

Your lips part, but no words come, just a breath that’s half sigh, half surrender. And the truth is, you don’t want to. Not even close.

He pulls back to catch your gaze, the weight of his stare laden with desire. “You understand what this means, don’t you?” he asks, his voice thick with urgency. 

“Wh-what does it mean?”

His mouth curls into a sly smile, one that’s both playful and predatory. “It means you’re all mine, angel,” he declares. 

Before you can respond, he lowers his mouth to your neck, trailing soft, heated kisses along the sensitive skin. 

“Do you know how much I’ve craved this?” he murmurs against your skin. “I’ve fought every part of myself to keep this professional, as you wished. But every time you look at me, I can’t help but want more.”

His fingers trace along the zipper of your pencil skirt, and as he slowly pulls it off, his eyes stay locked on yours. When the skirt falls away, followed by your blouse, and finally, your undergarments, he leans back, taking in the sight of you with unabashed greed. For a brief second, his gaze softens, a look of admiration flashing across his face, before his jaw tightens and he regains his control. 

He tugs at your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist, and as you obey, your body instinctively pulls him closer, pressing against him. You can feel the hard length of him against your core, and a soft moan escapes your lips as he grinds against you.

His fingers dig into your flesh as he rocks his hips into yours, so firmly that his signet ring is sure to make its marking. You arch your back, pushing against him, craving the friction, the connection, the release that feels just within reach. “Aemond,” you manage to gasp, the sound barely above a whisper. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Oh yeah, baby? Shouldn’t… Or wouldn’t?” He knows exactly how to push you, and he revels in it, his gaze flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“Shouldn’t,” you decide, feeling emboldened.

“Good,” he growls, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. He captures your lips once again, and you can taste the desperation in his kiss, a hunger that ignites something primal inside you.

In a sudden movement, he grips your waist and lifts you off the desk, his strength almost overwhelming. He turns you around, pressing you down against the cool surface, your cheek brushing against the scattered papers and pens, the remnants of his work now a forgotten afterthought. He holds you there, his body cocooning you, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, the way he’s anchored in the moment, unyielding in his intent.

You hear the rattling of his belt buckle as he hurriedly shimmies off his suit trousers, until he’s left as naked as the day he was born. The fucking President, in all his glory, his glistening cock fully erect as if saluting the bastard it belongs to. 

You can’t help but gasp as he positions himself behind you, his tip propped against your ass. His hands roam your body, gliding over the curves of your hips, the swell of your thighs, and you shudder when he trails his index finger along your slick folds, prepping your hole for entry. The thrill of being so exposed, so completely vulnerable before him, only makes you feel hotter.

Aemond leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Are you ready for me, angel?” he asks, the question hanging heavy in the air, thick with implication.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, feeling the undeniable chemistry that crackles between you. “Yes,” you whisper, and the admission feels like a declaration.

And with that, he pushes himself inside you, entering you with a powerful thrust that steals the breath from your lungs. You gasp at the sensation, a mix of pain and pleasure that ignites every nerve ending in your body. The desk creaks beneath you as he moves, holding you tightly, anchoring you against him as he finds a rhythm that’s both unforgiving and intoxicating.

You push back against him, matching his rhythm, letting the heat and pleasure wash over you in waves. Every thrust sends sparks racing through your body, and you can’t help but moan, the sound echoing off the walls, mingling with the soft, urgent sounds of skin against skin.

“Uhh, yeah, baby, just like that,” he growls. “Let me take you—”

Your body responds instinctively, tightening around him, drawing him deeper, and you feel the rush of euphoria just within reach.

“Aghhh… please, please!” you gasp, your words bordering on desperate, a testament to the need coursing through you.

He grips your hips, urging you to meet him, to give in to the wild abandon of the moment. “Not yet,” he snaps harshly, but the smirk on his lips betrays the pleasure he finds in your desperation.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to change positions, and before you can fully process what’s happening, he lifts you up, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist. In a fluid motion, he shifts you both, and he climbs atop the desk so that he has you in missionary, your body flat against the cool surface. 

He thrusts into you again, even deeper this time, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely.

As he looks down at you, the image of your flushed cheeks, beautifully fucked expression, and the way his name rolls off your tongue in sensual mewls loops in his mind, each time with a sharper pang of satisfaction.

“Look at me,” he growls, gripping your jaw when your head flops to the side. He demands your eyes—he wants to peer into your soul when you finally crumble. “Look at me when you fall apart, baby. I want to see you unravel.”

“Aemond, fuck yes—” He sees you give in, eyelids fluttering as you obey. He likes being in control, but having you like this might be enough to make this part of him fray. Just say the word and he’s yours. You’ll be the only one who can command the Commander-in-Chief.

“Oh, my angel,” he purrs, a sensual melody that is soft and rough all the same, as he stretches you with his girth and brings you to ecstasy with every roll of his hips. “My beautiful, beautiful angel. You like this, don’t you? You like when I take your body like this? You’re so fucking hot, baby…”

“Yeah, yeah… I fucking love it—”

“You’re gonna love me,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to an intimate hush. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

You’re gonna love him. Whatever the president wants, the president gets. 

“Yes, yes, yes—”

Aemond thinks of making you swear it. To promise that you will love him. Perhaps, if you say it in an official capacity—under oath, for instance—you’d actually fall in love with him for fear of perjury. It’s a childish thought, but he considers it, and mulls it over with as much seriousness as he does the labour policy frameworks Criston is proposing.

He can make you do it. He wants to. 

Please, please, angel. 

“You mean it, baby?” Aemond asks you, not minding that your pupils are blown out from sheer pleasure and your mind is probably going haywire. “You swear you’ll love me?”

Your lips quiver around a gasp as the swollen mushroom tip of his cock drives roughly into your g-spot, the whites of your eyes visible as they roll to the back of your head. “Whatever you want, Aemond.”

You said it. So he has you now. No takebacks.

He sits back, eyes glued to your writhing figure from above, lording over you like you’re his most prized possession. He takes one hand and uses it to lift your hips, raising your pelvis a few inches off the mattress, while his other hand comes to rest firmly on your lower belly, pressing on your flesh as if sensing his cock buried within. He feels it all—from the outside, the outline of his pulsating length sliding in and out of your core, and inside, your walls clenching on instinct when he slams deep. 

The ruthlessness in his gaze spurs you on, as well as how he handles your body, positioning you right where he wants you. His angel, in the perfect angle, a vision as he hits the right spot with every wet-sounding squelch. Your glistening juices coat his cock, and he has to keep himself from bending down and drinking them all up from you. It’s an exercise of willpower to resist sucking your folds and licking every bit of the sticky, tangy moisture. All his, just as you’re all his to eat, to devour.

But that’s for afterward. Now he has to cum in you first, and decorate your insides with his seed. May the gods bless Westeros, his constituents all recite. 

But nothing compares to you. The gods don’t hold a candle to your light.

There is only his angel, taking his cock so well like a good girl, like a good little slut.

“I’ll fill you up, angel,” he murmurs, his voice rough and dripping with lust. “Give you everything I have. Bless you with every bit of my fucking… patriotism.”

“Fuck yes, Sir,” you whine helplessly. He is so gone.

“Oh, my angel is so needy, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Sir… need you so much…”

“So mouthy, baby,” he says proudly, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. “Are you going to sound this pornographic in the morning? Ask me… ask me how I like my pussy in an interview?”

You reach for him as you sweetly giggle at his words, your fingers curling at the back of his neck as you pull him down for a kiss that’s hot, messy, and all-consuming. He moans in your mouth, looking at you all cunt-drunk with heavy-lidded eyes. 

You trace his jaw as you attempt to come up with something coherent. “That’s—” Slam. He slows his pace, punctuating your words with rough thrusts that take your breath away. “—a good question—” Pound. “—Sir.” Plunge. “So… how do you like your pussy, Mr. President?”

He laughs. Now that’s one question he could get used to hearing more often. But only if it’s from you.

“Hmm.” He curls his lips, pretending to consider while caressing your face. “Let me see… I like my pussy… wet, tight, and completely fucking yours.”

“Good answer.”

“Warm around my cock… just like this.” His aforementioned member twitches as it massages your inner walls, and it feels so good when you tighten around him, that he has to bite his lip to restrain from letting out a feral growl.

“—s’that so?”

“Yeah, angel,” he smirks, reaching down to flick your aching bud. “You see, it’s gotta be on this body right here.”

“Sure,” you say in mock defiance. “Bet you tell that to all your women.”

“No,” he breathes, his roguish smirk in place, “only the journalists.”

With an indignant whine, you slap his chest. “You ass!” Your voice is light, full of warmth, and it prompts him to make a face at you, pulling the corners of his lips downward. Your laughter echoes freely, and something in him switches, as if he’s been disarmed. 

He lets his forehead rest against yours. He knows he’s teetering on a precipice of something he won’t be able to pull back from, but he feels like jumping into the void if it means being with you. “Are you calling your president an ass? My, my, angel, that could be a felony,” he teases, his brows quirking. 

“What, are you going to send me away?”

Aemond’s expression hardens for a moment. “Not a chance.”

He increases his pace again, his hips blurring in the motion. The two of you desperately chase your climax, settling in an unforgiving rhythm—your ankles suspended in the air with your legs spread wide, him ducking down to suck your tit or bite along your jawline, his balls grazing the flesh of your ass. 

When the moment overtakes you, his grip tightens, an unspoken command, and you give in, your whole body quivering underneath him. He follows you over the edge, groaning deeply as he reaches his own release, warmth spilling into you as he involuntarily shudders. His breathing is heavy against your skin when he finally collapses beside you, his arm slipping around your shoulders, holding you close as the last ripples of pleasure fade.

“You know, if I’d known what it would take to get that fire out of you,” he murmurs with a smirk, “we’d have done this sooner.”

You raise a brow, playfully challenging. “Assuming, of course, I’m even coming back after this.”

Aemond rolls his eyes, drawing you even closer, but there’s a hint of vulnerability lingering there.

His forehead presses against yours, and his pulse steadies as he allows himself a moment of closeness, a silent confession. "Stay with me," he whispers, and he is suddenly stripped bare, because the words slipped out without his permission.

“Aemond—”

“I don’t want you going anywhere, okay?” Though his words are possessive, there’s a plea just beneath the surface.

You don’t answer with words; instead, you let your hand reach up to cradle his face, thumb brushing the faint scar underneath his ghost-white prosthetic.

And he deems it more than enough.

The next morning dawns bright and unyielding, the weight of Aemond’s words lingering in your mind, but you’re determined to focus on the task at hand, burying yourself in notes and strategies for the day’s events.

But your sense of composure shatters, when you’re met with the imposing figure of Floris Baratheon, the First Lady herself. She glides toward you under the harsh lighting of the hotel lobby, impeccably dressed in a tailored fuschia suit that speaks of authority and sophistication, her presence commanding the room’s attention. 

“So, you’re the flavour of the month,” she says, a mocking lilt colouring her voice. “I’ve… heard about you. Honestly, I was expecting more.”

You straighten, feigning confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. “I’m here for the campaign coverage, ma'am,” you reply, keeping your tone professional, but she’s not having any of it.

Her eyes dance with cruel amusement. “How quaint. Must be quite the thrill, getting special treatment from the President himself. Access like that must mean you’re more than just another reporter. Just a passing phase, I’m sure. A little distraction to help him cope with all this pressure.”

You bristle at her insinuation, indignation rising within you, along with the inevitable shame. “I’m just doing my job.”

She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me give you a word of advice—don’t get too comfortable. My dearest husband has a habit of moving on when the novelty wears off.”

The venom in her words strikes a nerve, and you’re struck speechless, searching for a retort that won’t come off as surprised or defensive—and finding none.

Floris laughs at your expression, a cold, biting sound that sends a chill down your spine. “You know, you’re not the first ‘angel’ Aemond has forcibly inserted into our marriage, and I assume you certainly won’t be the last.”

With that, she flicks her hair over her shoulder and walks away, but she glances back one last time, adding, “Enjoy your little fling, angel.”

a/n: and so it officially begins! It's going to be tough out here for our girl, getting involved with a married man. The fucking President, at that! Oh well. As long as she doesn't fall in love. Let me know what yous anticipate from the story (apart from even more filth that's sure to come) 🤍🤍🤍

Vhagar taglist

@kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee (cont.)

[rainydayathogwarts]

Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, Officer - Jim Hopper

summary: Eddie and gf!reader get busted by Hopper. Hopper "drives" reader home... warnings: age gap, cheating, smut, perv hopper wc: 2.1k+

The image of Eddie Munson with a blunt between his fingers had become an almost regular occurrence for Hopper, their usual game of cat and mouse, however the chief of police hadn't been expecting this sight when he flashed his light through the window of Munson's old van. Perched on Eddie's lap in the driver's seat, skirt ridden up high enough to show your bare ass underneath, lips tangled in a messy kiss with Eddie's hand disappearing under your skirt, his other holding the flaming joint. Hopper's perfect little neighbour who lived with her parents in the house just across from his. Smiling politely with the sweetest "Good morning Chief Hopper!" every goddamn morning as you left the house for university.

Eddie's lips quickly separated from yours when the beam of light from Hopper's flashlight entered his field of vision, the smile leaving his features when he saw the older man looking right at him. The moment your lips detached from your boyfriend's, you threw your head back, mouth opening in a loud moan as he curled his fingers inside you just right. You didn't realise that you'd been loud enough to alert the Hawking chief of police about the activities taking place in the driver's seat.

"Fuck! Shit!" Your head snapped back towards Eddie when his fingers quickly slipped out of your wet entrance, gaze fixed on the older man on the other side of the window. You didn't have time to question Eddie before he was putting out the joint and shoving it in the compartment on his door. You scanned your surroundings, mouth falling agape at the sight of the police officer, embarrassingly tugging your denim skirt down the swell of your ass, and closing your spread legs as best you could in the position you were in. Two knocks on the car window had Eddie rolling down the window with a nervous smile, saying "Hey Hop!" The officer didn't play along, eyebrows furrowing as he barked out the order "Get out of the car."

Gulping nervously, you let Eddie open the door, quickly scrambling off him, high heels wobbling on the crunchy autumn leaves, your boyfriend immediately following. You stared with wide eyes as Hopper's eyes examined the scene. His nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of weed, hand diving into the side compartment without hesitation to pull out the joint. "You carrying any more on you Munson?" Eddie shook his head hurriedly from next to you and you winced at the obvious lie. When Hopper's eyes landed on you, you knew your face had said too much. His intimidating stare had you instantly looking down at your feet, avoiding eye-contact. "Your girlfriend's face says otherwise, arms out for me."

"Fuck." Eddie whispered from next to you, obeying Hopper's order to let the man pat him down. "What's in this pocket?" The policeman interrogated, pulling out the sachet of weed and rolling paper from Eddie's pocket. "Please don't arrest me Hop, you know me man!" Eddie begged, throwing his hands up in surrender. Hopper huffed, hand coming up to rub his forehead in thought. "This is your last warning Munson. I catch you one more time and I'll be cuffing you, okay?" Eddie nodded eagerly, feet glued in place. "This is the only time I'm letting you off. Now get in the car and drive off." Eddie grinned widely and you bit back a smile, beginning to walk around to the passenger's side.

"You stay right here y/n, I'm driving you home." Your face dropped completely, spinning around on your heels to face the chief as Eddie stopped in his tracks. "I know your parents pretty well. You think they'll be happy with this?" It was now your turn to shake your head, putting on your best doe eyes for him as you begged "No, you can't tell them, please Chief!" "They know about your good for nothing boyfriend?" Shaking your head once more, you frowned at the man's scoff. "Get going kid." He said once more, turning his attention back to your boyfriend. Eddie hesitated, looking back and forth between Hopper and your smaller figure, glancing at the man in worry before scurrying into his van, starting the engine, and sparing you one last glimpse before driving away.

When the sound of Eddie's van was out of earshot, you took two steps towards Hopper, clasping your two hands around his forearm. "Please Hopper, don't tell my parents!" He hummed, gazing intensely down at you. "You know, I'm surprised. I always thought you were a good girl." Unconsciously, your thighs squeezed tightly at the familiar words, and you suddenly remembered what you'd been doing before Hopper interrupted you. Fuck, you wish you'd gotten off before he did. If you focused hard enough, you could probably still feel Eddie's thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

When you looked back up at Hopper, it was clear that he had caught the movement, eyebrows raising in mock surprise. You gulped, seeing the look in Hopper's eyes change, and bit your lip to stop yourself from grinning as you formed a plan in your head. Your fingers moved against his forearm, caressing him softly, and you made show to squeeze your thighs once more, putting on the most desperate tone in your voice when you said "Please, I can't go home to my parents like this. What if... What if they hear me?"

Hopper's eyes shot wide open, imagining you in your bedroom after bringing you home, not bothering to take off your skirt before hiding under the covers and sliding your fingers down your body, finishing what your boyfriend had started. He can picture your flexible back arching, eyes shutting as you bite your lip trying to hide your moans, his name accidentally slipping out of your mouth instead of your boyfriend's when you finally finish all over your fingers. And suddenly, Hopper can feel his trousers beginning to tighten, but he cannot let you know you've won him over so quickly. You need to think he's the one in charge.

"Bad girls deserve to be humiliated, whether that be in front of their parents of not. Whose fault is it you snuck out here to have sex with a boy who couldn't make you finish fast enough?" Hopper knew he was crossing a line, knew that if he'd shown up probably a minute late he'd have found you with your orgasm covering Eddie's long fingers. But he hadn't, and he planned on using that to his advantage. You felt your face heating up in degradation at his comment, licking your lips as one of your hands moved to trail up the Chief's chest. "But here I am now with a man who could make me finish. Or, I'm assuming he could." When Hopper didn't answer you, you decided to push just a little further, adding "Could you, Mr. Hopper?"

Your heart was beating adamantly fast at Hopper's silence. He lowered his head closer to yours with a scowl on his face, whispering "That's Chief Hopper to you." His hands tightly gripped your hips, walking forward until your back hit the cold steel of his car. "Now get naked." He spat. You felt the blood drain from your face. Yes, you were getting what you wanted, but you'd expected the chief of Hawkins to have the decency of taking you in the back of his fancy police car, not in the open forest. You gulped as you pulled your skirt down your legs, kicking it off your ankles. Eddie would probably find your panties in his van at some point, you assumed. Pulling the cozy jumper above your head, you shivered at the cool breeze, undoing your bra as your nipples hardened from the cold.

Hands began roaming your body, landing on your hips to quickly spin you around, and pushing you forward so you bent over the hood of the shiny police car. Hopper's hands trailed upwards, sneaking around your torso to find your tits, groping them and tugging harshly at your sensitive nipples. You moaned softly, legs spreading on instinct before a calloused hand was spanking the soft flesh of your ass. Crying out in surprise, you looked over your shoulder to look at Hopper's face, watching at he observed your head-to-toe reactions. "Please Chief" You whimpered, pushing your ass back into his hips, glancing as his eyes shut, thrusting his hips into you as a response. "Want you cock. Please." You begged again, hand roaming behind you to hook onto his belt hoops, pulling him closer to you.

"How fucking needy. This is what happens when you get with someone your own age. Doesn't fucking satisfy you enough, so you end up a slut, begging to be fucked by the Chief of Police." His words were enough to make you moan, but not enough to make you forget about being completely naked in the woods. You sighed impatiently, finally turning back around to face Hopper and throwing yourself onto him, arms wrapping over his shoulders to pull him into your, slamming your lips against his in a desperate kiss. Hopper gasped, arms immediately wrapping around your waist in return, pulling your body impossibly closer to his as he forced his tongue in your mouth, pushing your body back against his car.

Using the support of the car behind you, you hooked a leg over his hip, pushing your hips out to grind against Hopper's boner desperately. "Fuck." He whispered between kisses, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss, pressing his tongue against yours. Both his hands moved down to your thighs, pushing his body against yours as he lifted you up without warning, prompting you to wrap your legs against his torso, giving you perfect friction against the tent in his trousers. The rough fabric of his pants had you whining into the kiss, rutting your hips harder against him as you began craving your orgasm.

Pulling away from the kiss, Hopper put a hand on your bare hip, pushing your pelvis away from his as he cursed loudly. "Calm down, let me - fuck." He pressed you harder against the car, balancing you with one arm as his other hand made work to free his dick from his trousers. Eagerly, you helped, taking over and pushing his boxers down to take his heavy cock in your hands. "Fuck, put it in, put it in." You mumbled, allowing Hopper to lift you up higher as you manoeuvred his cock between your folds and into your tight hole. "Oh my god!" You cried, arms wrapping around Hopper's shoulder's once more as he began bouncing you up and down his cock, humping upwards into you to meet your movements.

Digging you face into the crook of the older man's neck, you began leaving kisses there, switching between sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin to distract you from coming too early. Indeed, Eddie had nearly driven you to your orgasm, but Hopper's giant cock was bringing you there much quicker. You clit rubbed against the pubic hair near Hopper's balls, adding just the little bit of friction you needed. Failing to hold back any longer, you bucked your hips forward, grinding down on Hopper's cock as your legs tightened around his torso, screaming out a moan as your orgasm over took you, body shaking in Hopper's arms.

Cunt clamping down on Hopper's cock, you heard him beginning to curse, thrusts becoming more rapid and inconsistent as he lost his rhythm, his cock burying itself so deep inside you, you could practically feel him grazing your cervix. With a loud grunt, Hopper's movements completely stilled, emptying his thick load inside you. You breathed heavily, running a hand through Hopper's hair, pressing soft kisses on his cheek and jaw before the man pulled away from you, one hand reaching up to squeeze your face, his lips meeting yours in a wet kiss. "Shit." Hopper mumbled as he pulled out of you. You cringed, feeling your thighs get sticky as his cum dripped out of your entrance, legs untangling to stand up properly.

You waited as Hopper gathered your clothes, helping you put your jumper on before diving into his car in search of tissues to wipe his mess off you. He pulled your skirt up your hips, patting your butt a couple of times when he finally turned opened the passenger's door for you. Hopping into the driver's seat, he turned on the engine, beginning the drive home. "Um, Hopper, this isn't the way to my house." You peered at the man, whose hand was searching in his pocket for his wallet before finally tossing it at you.

"I'm driving you to a pharmacy. How much does plan B cost?"

[marley-manson]

TV Hawkeye has one more surgical residency under his belt because he has two specialties (Chief Surgeon Who among various other eps where he's described as a thoracic surgeon/chest cutter) and was drafted from fully working as a surgeon at a hospital (Hawkeye + also Chief Surgeon Who) rather than straight out of residency the way BJ was, so he was presumably at least 3ish years older than BJ was when he was drafted (each residency taking 2 years to complete).

In the book he's younger - Trapper is the one with 2 specialties and Hawkeye's the green one - but they changed that for the show when they made him chief surgeon instead of Trapper. His age is never stated in the tv show but I assume he's at least 31 in the pilot because of this.

Sorry for the 'well ackchually'ing lol but I feel like since this is a more informative post in the fandom tag rather than a casual personal headcanony post it's worth mentioning.

And the whole premature aging thing still holds true for people into that aspect of the show going for 11 years and the actors often being older than their characters. Alan Alda could still be like 5 years older than Hawk in the pilot, and over ten by the end of the war.

Not a confession: HAWKEYE IS 28??? that war did something to him fr

Well it's called funny casting. I love the cast of Mash and wouldn't trade any of them for the world, but they were all significantly older than their characters.

Hawkeye and B.J. were both meant to be 28

Alan Alda was 36 at the time the show started, Mike Farrell is three years younger than him.

Father Mulcahy is 31 but William Chistopher was in his 40s when the show began.

Then the real Korean War (which has still never been declared a war on the American end) only lasted three years, and the show went on for 11 years. This is part of how we got the time loop theory.

so...yes, war is war and Hell is Hell and of the two war will age you so much faster.

[theshinazugawaslut]

𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑫𝑨𝒀 #𝟐 — 💀🎃 "𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 & 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉" 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒊 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 / 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒙

tw/cw: dubious consent, mentions of attempting suicide

Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go.

It's the first thing you had learned as a young bumbling girl, back when you'd clutch onto your mother's cold hand tightly and ask in a high, squealing voice about the woods you had found out were strictly forbidden.

"Don't go in there," your mother had said in a hushed tone, "there are awful people in there; ones who will offer you ruby-red apples with the magick of eternity's youth, but you mustn't ever take them, my baby, and if you even manage to get away from the faeries and witches and wolves, then you will reach the ocean infested with all sorts of monsters. You don't wish to be eaten by a half-bird half-fish now, would you?"

So you'd always been wary of the forest, as a little girl to a lady, living a respectful life at the village.

You spent days embroidering satin gowns with arcipluvian birds and cutting sweetheart necklines with a healer's steady hand and stitching diamond-encrusted bodices into tulle skirts; all the uninteresting things that come with being a dressmaker's daughter.

Though tonight, you'd long abandoned the box of jewels and the slim needle that had become a tender muscle in your mind, left them by the melting candle on your bedside.

Your shoulders donned a blood-red cloak made of velvet, your gown glittering under the night sky; you'd stitched it yourself from the spare fabric of a rich woman who often visited your family's little shop in the village. It was a lovely thing and it was your most prized possession: the bodice was nice and fitted, ivory in colour with rose and aureate embellishments, low and tight so that the clear spheres of your breast were nipped with cold; you'd made your skirts wonderfully layered also — a swelling blood red silk underskirt covered with a sheer, glittering gold fabric, with two overskirts in damask patterns, sable and cream and sun-spun.

When you had sewn it, you'd left it hanging in your sparse wardrobe in hopes to wear it on your wedding day.

Now, all that was left was to wear it tonight and walk straight into death; the tangerine glow of the lantern held up in your dainty fingers, lighting the path to the angel of death.

You had never thought your mother would arrange your marriage to the worst man in the village. Your beauty was sought by every boy and man of the village, and you'd hoped your mother would match you to the sweet butcher's boy across the street.

Keigo, his name is; a boy with hair spun off golden sunflowers and eyes that glitter like topaz under moonshine, sharp as a hawk. He gave you candied cherries once, the tart fruit dipped in hardened sugar water, and he'd smiled so shyly after.

Instead, your mother betrothed you to Touya, the eldest son of the village chief. You had wanted to cry as the man's intense, electric-blue eyes blazed flames into your skin as your mother and his father discussed the engagement.

Everyone knew of Touya, the enigmatic eldest son covered in gnarly, mulberry scars and strange silver rings and snow-white hair, rumours circled like wisps of smoke that he had been set alight with fire by a witch as a young boy. Worse, rumours said that the young man dabbled in dark magic.

You wouldn't marry a man like that, which is why you'll die.

In the forest.

(Don't go.)

Your lantern only illuminates the trees in front of you, just a few steps away into certain death. Webs shimmer like meshed steel in front of you as you take a ginger step inside, the slow crunch of a leaf below your boots is the only indicator something exists inside.

Almost immediately inside the forest, something shifts.

You can't tell what it is but it's there.

Red.

Your eyes become deer-like, large and frightened, and you turn around, wanting to head back but you find that the path back... isn't there, just endless forbidden forest.

That can't be.

Something gets stuck in your throat from panic, like a globe of cloth that makes your throat dry.

You keep walking, your legs a lot heavier now, something akin to logs.

The world around you seems to shift, a sepulchre silence heavier than the cloak on your shoulders. The trees held the macabre stench of blood, speckles of fungied moss glistening like wet witch dust on its mottled bark; the branches twist toward the sky like dark, skeletal fingers, reaching for the stars that winked down from a velvet expanse.

The moon is hideous tonight.

A whispering breath, no, a breeze, shifts through the lines of the forest and your body. It sounds old, perhaps a little sad. It beckons you.

In the back of your head, you can hear the sound of children singing.

Ring-a, ring-a rosies-

There's a beat of a drum, somewhere deep in the darkness where your lantern's weak light can't reach. A drum, a drum- A beating heart.

a pocket full of-

Enchantment twists and coils around you like a serpent, why are your eyes so-?

posies!

The phantasmal gas becomes the damp breath of the forest.

Shadows dance at the corners of your vision.

Your senses begin to reel, ethereal and monstrous and real suddenly not all the same.

A tissue! A tissue!

Flickering shapes form and die behind the trees; those shapes try to reach hands towards you, scintillating and fading.

The sound of a child wailing echoes throughout the forest, haunting the glades, and pouring into some desolate space elsewhere.

When did you start crying? Why are you running?

Someone is trying to hush you, the sound a hollow echoing, more like the ballad of a crumbling cathedral, like fingers of shadow snuffing out the lights.

Why did you go?

Don't go.

We all-

Arthritic brambles catch on your dress for a moment, gnarled with age, snapping like bones as your boots slap through the sounds of the night.

Something spidery slips into your mind, nails sinking deep into the goo of your brain. The distorted image of your parents flashes before your eyes, the grotesque form of the sun-haired boy, the sweetness of electric-blue eyes.

Time loses meaning; minutes stretch into hours as you drift between consciousness and the realm of the lost. In this state, the boundaries of your existence waver like the edges of a dream, fraying like the gossamer threads in your gown.

Fall-

The night sky above transforms into a kaleidescope, the stars becoming blurs of light, something sinister flashing in front of your pupils instead.

In that one moment, you live hundreds of lifetimes, the beat of the drum getting louder, the singing even more so. You see it all: flowery childhoods and fantasies of a lover and children with his blue eyes and your tears at his funeral-

Down!

All you can do is shriek as you fall, dress dirtying.

It's silent again.

You look up and you freeze.

A deep pool of glittering, gemstone-blue expanding here, a stream behind it, most likely leading to the seas. It's stunning; glimmering like star gleam, burbling and thrumming like a child blowing bubbles into a cup. It lights up the rest of the forest around you, ripples reflecting across tree bark.

You reach out a hand just to touch, fingertips trembling just about to touch the surface.

A hand encloses around your wrist.

You don't have it in you to shriek a second time as blood-curdling eyes meet yours.

His eyes are red. Vivid, vibrant, violent.

He's simmering with cruel intent, volcanic and about erupt, but he's strangely calm, something hypnotic in his gaze and bluish hair falling in front of his ashy face.

The hand around your wrist is gentle. Thick, long fingers, and a broad, heavy palm; made to destroy, you don't doubt his touch is decaying.

He's half-submerged in water, the upper half of his body all sinewy muscle and the lower half... beneath the blue water, you think you see black swishing around; pulsating like a jellyfish.

"...A human," he murmurs with a heavy tongue, and you can see the gills flare . "So pretty."

Then everything about him changes, that eerie calmness you had caught before disappears as he smiles at the way your mind screams, your eyes bloodshot and terrified.

There;s something rotten in the way he quirks his lips up.

His teeth have the same glint as blood-drenched bones, like flesh ripped out of a body, like hot red swallowing you whole.

"Why are you here, little girl?" he asks, hissing through calcite.

The hand around your delicate wrist tightens.

Run.

Don't.

"I- I- I-" you stammer uselessly. "I- No, I-"

"Shh, 's okay." His other clawed hand comes to touch the plump of your cheek, talons gently tracing soothing patterns. "You don't have to... say a word."

His voice is sultry, soft... It's almost mesmerising.

The fingers on your wrist dance to the back of your hand as he traces the veins there, as if he wants to rip them out and sew himself a tail from them.

He entwines your hands together tenderly.

"Such hardworking hands," he coos, eyes taking in the sight of all the pricks from needling away at dresses. "You need to unwind." His eyes flicker to yours and he gives a half-smile half-smirk, almost genuine. "I can help with that."

His grin is lopsided, those red eyes glimmer, the incandescence of them illusory. "You want to...?"

Your vision becomes hazy, blurring like it did earlier, only this time it's much more relaxing. Like sleep spindles wrapping around your sore joints.

"You missed me, right? You came here all the way to see me, 'm honoured," he murmurs, mouth against your knuckles before pulling back just a little. Another flow. "You came here to see me, right?"

You can't remember now.

Why... did you...?

Why do you feel so disoriented?

"You're the sweetest, you know." The large, gentle hand on your cheek moves to the back of your head, sinking into your hair and bringing you closer to his mouth. You try and shake your head to fight away the warm haze. It's useless. "I've been feeling hungr- Lonely, for so long."

Both his hands cup your jaw now, thumbs caressing the lines he can find on you.

"You're lonely too, right...?" he murmurs and you find yourself nodding along, the gills on his neck flare. "It'd be nice if... you'd join me, here, in the waters." His voice is a whisper now, his mouth inching closer. "I bet you'd like it. My voice is prettier below as well, do you want to hear?"

You blink, frazzled.

The fingers on your face dig in a little harder.

"It'd be nice, you know, listening to beautiful songs with me," he says, "I just adore singing, especially at deaths, it's why everyone calls me Shigaraki. I bet you have a beautiful name, too."

But you don't say it, all you can hear is his name on repeat, like sea froth and foam on the red tip of your tongue.

"Beautiful girls like you deserve pleasure, you know...?" he whispers. "Do you want to...?"

You don't know why you nod.

But he kisses you. It's cold and his teeth gnash against yours, something in it is desperate as his claws make quick work of ruining your beloved dress.

Whatever he does, it keep the oxygen in your lung as he hauls you into the glowing pool that has become duller below it.

He's gorgeous in the water, in all his tentacled glory, and his eyes are burning red to keep the magick of remaining docile on you.

His lower half is the most bizarre thing you'd ever seen: blacker than squid ink at midnight, obsidian veins creeping up on abdomen and then his lower half splitting into eight meaty tentacles.

He grabs you by the throat this time, kissing you with his forked tongue, fangs nipping into the fat of your gasping bottom lip, the other hand holding your head.

You're entirely nude; soft legs floating in the water, virgin cunt exposed, the plump of your ass glimmering. He pulls back, grinning like a warping shadow as his hands touch your swollen breasts.

It all happens at once.

A slimy tentacle wraps around your leg, the other twinning the action, suckling onto your shins and knees and thighs, and he spreads you apart like a starfish, uncaring for how your hips almost shatter from the pressure.

Another tentacles winds itself like a gutless animal around your stomach and squeezes tight enough that all you'd eaten comes gurgling out in a cloud of yellow. The tentacle is large enough to sheathe around your tits, the suckers across the tentacles are like reverberating mouths on your nipples. Within seconds, your nipples are raw and bitten, expanding to twice their size obsenely.

Shigaraki grins as you let out a strangled moan before he shoves a bulky tentacle in your mouth causing your eyes to almost pop out your skull as it goes down into your thoat so that it almost explodes from expanding to fit the thing.

It's gorgeous how sweetly you let him thrust the throbbing tentacle in and out, even sweeter how you scream around it as he doubles down on your sugary pussy and ass.

It hurts so much you can't even feel it inside your stomach, the tentacle on your breasts moving up to squeeze at your throat.

Your stomach convulses from the gruesome size of him, hammering into your womb like a savage barbarian in a brothel. You catch sight of the merman through your tears; his eyes have rolled to the back of his head, mouth hanging open in a vulgar moan, and he was right, he does sound prettier under water.

Your blood is clear in the water as he fucks you, tentacles and sucker clamping and sucking and thrusting on the inside and out.

You're going to die like this, with this monster making you the prettiest human cumdump-

The flames of dark magic suddenly bleed into the waters, severing the tentacles of your captor, the spell breaking and you screech, watching as the monster flails about, blood gushing and staining the pool red as the cut tentacles float.

All you feel is unfamiliar hands holding onto you and swimming out of the waters.

The last thing you remember seeing is electric-blue eyes.

[primordialsoundmeditation]

Words for these Times

(I've copied and pasted with tags since that's the best way to be sure you get to see it.)

Hopi Indian Chief White Eagle commented a few days ago on the current global situation:

"This moment that humanity is living through can be considered a door or a hole. The decision to fall into the hole or go through the door is yours.

If you consume information 24 hours a day, with negative energy, constantly nervous, with pessimism, you will fall into this hole.

But if you take the opportunity to look at yourself, to rethink life and death, to take care of yourself and others, you will go through the door.

Take care of your home, take care of your body. Connect with your spiritual home. When you take care of yourself, you take care of others at the same time.

Do not underestimate the spiritual dimension of this crisis. Adopt the perspective of an eagle that sees everything from above with a broader vision.

There is a social demand in this crisis, but also a spiritual demand. The two go hand in hand. Without the social dimension, we fall into fanaticism. Without the spiritual dimension, we fall into pessimism and futility.

You are prepared to go through this crisis.

Grab your toolbox and use all the tools at your disposal. Learn to resist by the example of the Indian and African peoples: we have been and continue to be exterminated.

* But we never stopped singing, dancing, lighting fires and having joy.

Don't feel guilty for feeling lucky in these difficult times. Being sad and without energy doesn't help at all.

* Resilience is resilience through joy!

You have the right to be strong and positive. You have to maintain a beautiful, cheerful and bright posture.

This has nothing to do with alienation (ignorance of the world). It is a strategy of resistance.

When we walk in the door, we have a new view of the world because we have faced our fears and difficulties.

This is what you can do now:

- Serenity in the storm,

- Keep calm, meditate daily,

- Make a habit of encountering the sacred every day.

Demonstrate resilience through art, joy, trust and love."

From Hawk Henries : ( I honestly don't know if the identity of Chief White Eagle is real. Real or not the essence of this message feels important to consider)

And additional comment from one of his fans:

Yes, very good advice indeed! Yes, he was a real person, a chief and a poitician who died in 1914. He fought for Indian rights and homelands during their most troubling times when they were disposed form their native lands and wantonly killed. But, that is why history is important, right? Most of what he speaks to can be applied to certain times affecting the human condition thru history; this is one of those times, so his wise words are both a balm to the soul and a roadmap for going forward into the future.

I'll put the Wiki link in the comments.

Thank you for finding this timely message, Michelle Heddinger!

Mara Clear Spring Cook

[hansluvs]

close to you — itoshi s.

i burn for you, and you don't even know my name - in which you make your debut into the ton expecting to find true love, and instead catch the attention of piercing teal eyes belonging to the man you swore to never acquaint yourself with.

wc: 3.1k+ (ongoing)

tags: regency au, itoshi sae x f!reader, strangers to lovers, (eventual) mutual pining, slow burn, sae is a little shit in every universe i will die on this hill

notes: took me a few months to get back to this but here it finally is! very excited for this idea it's been fermenting in my brain for a while

masterlist | next part

You were the youngest of five daughters and one son of the Nagi family, right after your older and only brother, Seishiro. Though born a year and three months apart, you were each other’s favorite plaything. Most of your childhood was spent pulling devious little tricks on one another, like you soaking his freshly-washed socks in your leftover afternoon tea, or him replacing the bristles of your hairbrush with hay.

Once the Mikages had moved in across the street, their only son had become the new victim of you and your brother's unspoken play-war against each other. Reo, now caught in the middle, had become a pawn in your games, often switching allegiances to suit your brother's whims or your own strategic interests.

Some days he would side with you and be your second-in-command, working together to devise clever pranks and schemes to outsmart your brother. However, most days found him being Seishiro's commanding chief, often being the mastermind to whatever ploy they had planned against you. Your brother, who couldn't even be bothered to protest, would simply play along, revelling in the chaos and mayhem that Reo's plans would bring. Your warm, humid afternoons would be filled with shrieks and squeals of laughter, running around the vast expanse of green behind the Mikage's summer estate. 

Throughout the years, your little trio's dynamic has not been subject to much change, which is why you found yourself once again in the middle of another one of Reo's plans.

"Once the music stops, we'll bow to one another and you will walk in his direction," Reo whispers, delicately swaying the pair of you back and forth, the sound of the string quartet gradually softening and signalling the end of the dance.

"I will accompany you, of course." He adds, noticing the slight purse of your lips.

As you cross one leg behind the other in a bow to Reo, you risk a glance towards the prominent figure in the far left corner, unsurprised that his teal eyes are still watchfully trained on you.

You move to leave as the dance floor is once again vacated, but Reo holds a firm grip on your hand, looping it around his forearm as he smoothly pulls you to walk beside him. Trying to wriggle out of his grip is useless; with his constant travel and even taking up fencing all in the past year, Reo's physique has noticeably enhanced since the last time you'd needed to escape his iron-hold. His arm tenses beneath your hand as he strides, a subtle reminder of the strength and agility he's developed through his various pursuits.

"Reo, please, I need a drink."

"Do you, now?" he looks from you to the corner where Itoshi Sae is currently settled in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I believe I spot a drink or two right over there."

Indeed right next to a table of refreshments, Sae is still currently looking at you, a slight tilt to his head as your strange pair approach him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of you and Reo together.

As you begin to feel the inky tendrils of dread creeping behind your heart, you attempt to make up more and more ridiculous excuses that Reo masterfully shuts down, until you are all but a few paces away from the object of your (questionable) demise.

Five paces, four... those opal eyes follow your every movement like a hawk.

Three, then two paces left, until he is right next to you, his tall figure towering over you like some menacing giant, with a haunting teal gaze that seems to bore into your very soul. The man's imposing presence making you feel small and vulnerable as he remains in his corner, eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

You shift your gaze over to Reo, who now oddly seemed to have lost the bounce in his step from before. He hands you a glass of lemonade, gives you an encouraging smile and then, with all the subtlety of a headless fowl, hurries to sneak off, leaving you alone with the elder Itoshi sibling. You watch as he makes his way towards your brother, who's sudden shift in interest is apparent on his face once he sees Reo approaching.

You, on the other hand, do your best to ignore the burning gaze on your temple as you sip from your glass and mindlessly poke around the plated pastries. Briefly, you brave a peek at the man and consequently match once more with his intense gaze. You flash a quick, awkward smile at him before looking away and feeling a sudden heat rise to your cheeks, flustered.

Behind you, seemingly oblivious to your distress, the other guests present continue to flit around, the room again filling with music and an assortment of people in colorful attire scurrying to occupy the empty ballroom floor once more.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

A monotonous voice speaks up from beside you, startling you effectively, but you are quick to recover. "No, not at all!"

Maybe it was the slight squeak in your voice, but Itoshi Sae did not seem to like your answer.

"Oh. How unfortunate," he muttered, almost to himself. However, you had heard him quite well, the two of you secluded in your little corner of the room. His tone was laced with a hint of disdain, and in return you felt a slimy chill slide down your spine, the room feeling slightly colder despite the large turnout.

Right before you could respond to his odd comment, the sound of someone calling out your name echoed from across the room.

You turn around in time to watch Reo and more surprisingly, your brother, approaching fast. Donned each with a suspiciously glum look on their faces, Reo speaks up first as they walk up to you.

"It is time to leave. I'm afraid your mother is not feeling quite well, she is already resting in the carriage,"

Your brows shoot up and immediately you set down your cup, reaching out to grab onto Reo's arm, when Sae — whom you had completely forgotten about — clears his throat. The three of you looked up at him, startled that he had anything to say at all about the situation. What was possibly even more startling, however, was when he addressed you.

"I suppose you owe me a dance and a proper conversation at the next ball. I do hope your mother does not fall ill."

Reo takes your hand and whisks you away alongside Seishiro before you had a chance to process his statement and respond, leaving you wringing your hands in worry as you tend to your mother in your family carriage, Sae’s lingering gaze on you long forgotten. 

[cloudninetonine]

Hey so as you guys know I've been playing Tears

So I finally decided to write something for it!

WARNING TO EVERYONE, MAJOR TEARS OF THE KINGDOMS SPOILERS DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED!!!

“I need to reach my friend!”

The world that was once Wild’s Hyrule had changed- drastically. Not anymore did the guardians lay dormant, nor did the Sheikah towers stand tall- the Divine Beasts had been laid to rest and while the lands stayed the same, the skies seemed to become home to more than the native Islander hawk.

Changed for better or for worse, you didn’t quite know. The growling patches of gloom circling chasms to a world beneath the surface wasn’t really all that fun to you- nor were the claws of concentrated evil that crept up from nowhere to try and snatch you without a second thought. But to see how Hyrule seemed to prosper with more life. The settlement by the castle was bigger now, a fort that stood proud to the floating pinnacle that was Hyrule castle and with more warriors seasoned to fight for the place that was their home.

Purah was amazed to see you again and you didn’t know how to feel about being smaller than her now.

Felt wrong in the more comedic sense.

All across the land you had come to find new people, make new friends! Tulin had grown so much! As had Riju! Sidon’s finacée, Yona her name, was a beautiful and cute manta ray! (Never in your life had you been jealous about both partners of a relationship that badly) Paya was now chief! Yunobo had a beard! And you had met the most amazing Rito reporter named Penn! A man who had named your new best friend in these trying times.

And trying times they were- you had no idea how you were keeping up with Wild. A little older now, an inch or two taller with a stronger build and more of an mature edge to him- well, that’s what you thought when you first woke up here in Lookout Landing, a teary eyed Wild looking down at you before he near crushed you underneath his weight, Flora just as teared and happily embracing you once you were finally stood.

You had no idea what happened, not how you got here nor where the rest of the Chain were- but you were glad you at least had the Champion by your side.

Sometimes.

This time was one of those times you were ready to toss him.

“If you connect that fucking rocket to that baby’s backpack I will shove a bomb flower down your throat.” Rauru’s hand was glowing with power, frozen along with the Zonai rocket it was lifting as you stood just a few paces away. “I mean it, Link, if you send them flying we’re duking it out.”

You looked so intimidating with the Glide suit, you just knew it. (Oh internal dialogue, how sarcastic you could be)

The korok shook, little sniffles catching your ears as they gazed at the device just inches away from being glued to the material of their rucksack before sighing in relief as the rocket was dropped with a heavy thud just beside them, Wild turning with an ‘oh-so-innocent’ smile. 

“They need to reach their friend-” He pointed a thumb behind him, “A few hills over- I was just helping.”

You frowned “I don’t know what happened while you were away but you���ve become more sadistic.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You never do.” Both sharing a look, you shook your head. “Hand them over to me, I’ll get them to their buddy.”

Wild’s hand fell to his hip, watching you waddle over excitedly as he side stepped, your hands out in a grabby motion as the small forest child threw their little stubby hands up with an excited “Guide!” that made your heart soar as you hauled them into the air with a similar excited “Forest baby!”

“You know we still need to get to Rito village- it’ll get dark by the time we arrive if we do this.”

“Don’t care, forest babies come first.”

He smirked, “Koroks are older than you.”

“Your mum.”

“Very mature.”

“Who are you, Twilight?” A pang went through your heart. “Ah, no, sorry that was rude-”

Wild’s face had curled in a more comedic way when you turned to look at him, sour and betrayed in the way the skin folded. “Am I really turning into him?”

Pausing, you looked him up and down- “I mean…you kinda do remind me of him right now.”

Wild raised a brow; you grinned. “You remember when Wolfie fell into that bush?”

When you burst into laughter he rolled his eyes, letting out a “hardy-har” while the korok still wiggled happily in the confines of your arms, it’s bag now over your shoulder to relieve some of the weight. (You focused on the spirit and missed the way the Champion desperately pawed at the sticks in his flowing hair)

“I’m not going with you this time- we’ve already lost a lot of hours.” Crossing his arms, the blonde continued. “If you go I’ll head towards the village.”

You shurgged. “Alright, I’ll see you there.”

The Champion narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious, (Name).”

“I’m sure you are.”

“...I don’t like your tone.”

Clearing your throat, you raised it an octave. “I’m sure you are!”

Wild did not laugh when you did.

If there was one thing you knew about the Champion it was that he was attached to your side. Stuck stronger than the fuse of the Zonai magic, the blonde followed you around like a Hylian retriever followed those that held food towards them. If you strayed too far, he would get you, if you paused mid journey, he paused, there was so many occasion that something had caught your eye mid ride on one of the many vehicles he had created and the man would slow down to let you go study it- lest you hop off, something you had almost done once when he refused to stop.

You really did appreciate all he did, you knew he had a lot on his mind, but with all that was happening didn’t you both deserve to have some moments not caught up the drama of the end of the fucking world???

“I’ll see you in a little bit!” Daylight was falling and it would be harder to find the campfire smoke in the night. “Keep the bed in the inn warm for me, pretty boy!”

And thus began your hike. Your little companion happily chattering your ear off as you walked away from the hero, hearing his heavy sigh and impatient foot tapping loose volume the further and further you got.

You had made it past the first hill, Wild’s form out of your sight as you glanced back when the sound out wheels caught your attention. The korok let out a noise of confusion at the strange noise but you merely spared a giggle, standing aside as the beam cycle (minus the beam) slowed to a stop beside you- your hero refusing to look your way as he waited.

“Get on.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me on a date first?”

He grunted and you gave him the grace to leave him be, being careful balancing the korok in your grasp as you hopped onto the odd bike and wrapped an arm around the man’s waist, another still holding the forest spirit tight. 

“You ready?”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

You missed the small smile that grew on his face, the Zonai devices lighting up with its phantom green glow as the hero started the machine back up and headed towards the direction of the smoke. Without a second thought, you gently kissed his nape, unable to reach his cheek and nuzzled into his back with a relaxed hum.

Wild straightened proudly.

“You still have sticks in your hair.”

“Don’t ruin this for me.”

[mrmeowski]

Ooooh can you do a my hero reader insert with hawks and a fem!reader? :0 I was thinking maybe the reader poses as a normal person but is actually working for her villain parent? and she genuinely falls in love with hawks? haha

˚✦𝐎𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐬✦˚

Synopsis: Born into a family of villains, you didn't want to end up like them—facing heroes and inflicting suffering on defenseless people but it's not like you have a choice, to begin with. When darkness falls, you aim your gun at the head of the unfortunate. Despite looking like any other ordinary person in daylight, someone had caught on and had been followed by a specific hero of the skies. You couldn't help but depose him with a burning passion the first time he showed his ugly face yet destiny had other twisted plans for the two of you.

CW: Slight blood, slight angst, troubled childhood

A/N: I haven't watched/read MHA, my knowledge is based solely on Google and other works so some information might be inaccurate. Any feedback about this work would be appreciated greatly!

Pairing/s: Takami Keigo x F.Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

On an ordinary night shrouded in darkness, you lurked in the shadows, stalking your prey with practiced ease as he ventured back to his space for a well-deserved rest. The target is a figure with authority over law enforcement, Chief Tsurgamae Kenji, who possesses a quirk that turns him into a dog with heightened senses.

His instincts alerted him to your presence, causing him to twist and turn through the labyrinthine paths, evading your pursuit. His paranoia amused you, adding an extra layer of thrill to the hunt. Unbeknownst to you, an unseen observer perched atop nearby buildings awaited the opportune moment to intervene.

When the thrill of the chase reached its end, you grew weary of your prey, relishing the fear danced in its eyes. Yet, the monotony of your sinister endeavors led you to a decision—it was time to bring an end to the unfortunate life you were about to distinguish.

Aiming your gun directly at the target's head, you whispered ominous words to yourself, poised to pull the trigger, "Nighty night, chief..." However, before you could enact your sinister plan, a sudden disturbance caught your attention.

Red-like daggers materialized dangerously close to your figure, prompting a swift evasion that spared you from a potentially fatal strike. Carmine feathers grazed past your pace, one leaving a small but painful gash on your cheek. As you wiped away the warm liquid, looking down at your blood-stained hand, a scoff left your mouth. Your gaze then shifted to your supposed target—the fleeing figure of the chief, fear evident in his eyes.

An intruder had entered the picture and you could hear the soft footsteps approaching along a nonchalant voice addressing your recent activities, "Hey there, Ms. Villain! You're been causing such a ruckus lately... not cool, y'know?" You turned to the sources of the disturbance, glaring daggers in his direction.

His ash-blond hair was tousled backward, framing a pair of golden brown triangular eyes with small black triangles below his tear ducts and the top corners of his eyes. A set of vibrant, red-feathered wings sprouted from his back, giving him an avian-like look. Clad in what resembled an aviator's uniform, he wore a black shirt with a wavy golden pattern, complemented by a tan jacket featuring slits for his wings. Fur-lined cuffs and black gloves completed the ensemble, while yellow ear-protective headphones and a rounded, yellow-tinted visor shielded his eyes.

With a determined grip on your gun, you eyed him down and kept a poker face, you hadn't encountered this man before but his appearance hinted at his identity.

"We're all just trying to live our lives without dealing with your drama..." He eyed the gun on your hand, with a coy grin, he continued, "So, how about you pack your stuff and find a new hobby? Trust me, it's not gonna end well if you keep this up," he declared, there read deathers reattaching themselves to his wings.

The tension in the night air thickened as you aimed your gun at the enigmatic man, watching for the slightest reaction behind his visor as you pointed your weapon in his direction.

"Whoa, hold on there!" He exclaimed rather forcefully, he even put his hands up in mockery. "That's quite the greeting! Mind pointing that somewhere else? We don't want anyone getting hurt now do we?" A mischievous smile played on his lips. Your expression twitched at the audacity of his response. "And I just got these feathers dry-cleaned. You wouldn't want to ruin them, would you?" He casually dusted imaginary dirt off his feathers.

Your grip tightened on the gun as frustration and anger welled up within you.

"Do you take this as a joke?!" You shouted, incredulous at his nonchalant demeanor.

"Oh, you talk! I mean haha... of course I take everyone seriously. But life's too short to be serious all the time, yeah? Let's keep it light!" He responded with a casual shrug, his words pushing your buttons and escalating the tension between you two.

A low growl emanated from your lips, a manifesting of your frustration with the man's nonchalant demeanor. You had grown weary of his games and decided it was time to bring an end to this bizarre encounter. With determination, you pulled the trigger, however, it was no surprise that he effortlessly dodged the bullets.

Taunting you with a mocking suggestion, "You'll have to try harder than that! Maybe a shooting lesson would help—I know a guy!" His dismissal only fueled your irritation as you continued to fire but he skillfully evaded each incoming bullet.

He seemed content on dodging rather than engaging in a direct fight, underestimating not just the severity of the situation but also your capabilities.

Unbeknownst to him though, you had a hidden ace up your sleeve. Anticipating his evasive maneuvers, you aimed at his right, knowing he would instinctively dodge to the left. Swiftly, you retrieved a secondary weapon, catching him off guard as a bullet found its mark in his right wing.

A yelp of pain escaped him as an explosion of feathers surrounded his form. With how he started back at you, it appears he had taken the situation a little bit seriously.

"How does it feel hero, to have your wing clipped?" You taunted, reveling in the success of your surprise attack as you concealed your secondary weapon.

The avian-like hero inspected the damage in his wings and instead of succumbing to despair, he met the situation with resilient optimism.

"That stings a bit! But hey, they say battle scars add character, right? Time to ruffle some feathers!" He proclaimed with a spirited grin, embracing the challenge that lay ahead.

You had been waiting for this very moment—the true test of skill and strength!

As a cascade of feathers began to descend upon you, you engaged in a dance of evasion and precision. Some feathers you gracefully sidestepped, while others met the edge of the blade gifted to you. The hero, undeterred by the injury to his wing, wielded two of his primary feathers as makeshift blades, showcasing as well a surprising agility.

The battlefield had become a flurry of motion, a clash of blades and feathers, as both of you moved with swift and calculated precision. There were moments when it felt like the dance of his feathers might entangle you, yet your determination pushed you to dodge and counter with finesse.

The tranquil embrace of the night shattered only to be replaced by the continuous rhythm of gunshots echoing through the air. The ongoing battle painted the darkness with flashes of gunfire, disturbing the people nearby. The confrontation seemed ceaseless, with each participant narrowly avoiding the brink of defeat before orchestrating a reversal of fortune.

He found himself caught off guard by the remarkable combat skills displayed by someone lacking the traditional advantage of a quirk.

"You think those flashy feathers are going to save you, hero?" You taunted once more, a wry chuckle escaping your lips.

Sweat traced paths down your face and the atmosphere crackled with exhaustion. The intensity of the battle had taken its toll on both of you, but the resolve of triumph remained unwavering.

"You're not bad.. hah... Most folks can't keep up with these feathers!" He complimented, attempting to acknowledge your abilities.

However, his words only fueled your growing frustration.

"You're underestimating me, birdbrain. I've undergone horrendous... training for this!" You asserted, your voice carrying a weight of solemnity and pain.

The cracks in your composure did not go unnoticed by the avian hero. There was a palpable shift in the air, a hint that beneath the surface, there might be more to your story than what meets the eye.

"Training, huh? You and I are not so different after all!" He smirked, keenly observing the change in your tone from now on.

His perception led him to wonder if there were deeper layers to your character, realizing that judgment based on surface impressions could be deceptive. You hunted individuals of higher ranks, eliminating them and concealing their bodies with an elusive master that had left him perplexed. It was as if you seamlessly melded into the shadows, a skill that made tracking you an arduous task.

"We have nothing alike!" You retorted, your voice now laced with venom.

Your words mirrored the physical skirmish, as the shadows, as the shadows concealed not only your movements but the enigmatic layers of your true identity. He met your venomous retort with a hum, his gaze piercing and inscrutable.

"If you say so..." His response was enigmatic, holding an air of subtle intrigue.

Before your eyes could argue back, a swift transformation took place in front of your eyes leaving you stunned—the remaining feathers, once scattered, swiftly regrouped, finding their place back on his wings. With a deft motion, he repositioned his two primary feathers to their rightful spots. As you aimed your gun for a final confrontation, a sudden gale erupted from his wings, a forceful gust set you reeling backward, forcing you to shield your face with your arms.

"Until we meet again, Ms. Villain~" Were his last parting words as he launched himself into the night sky, disappearing into the distance.

"What a fucking pain..." You groaned, the adrenaline of the confrontation fading, leaving behind a surge of sudden pain from all parts of your body.

The injuries inflicted during your encounter began to make their presence known—small lacerations from his blade-like feathers, wounds that you had overlooked in the head of battle. Clutching your arms, you felt the warmth of your own blood seeping through your fingers, a stark reminder of the toll exacted by the fleeting encounter with the arrogant hero. The night bore witness to your retreat, leaving you to grapple with the aftermath of the confrontation in the solitude of the darkened streets.

Upon returning home, the oppressive atmosphere welcomed you, a stark contrast to the relief one might expect from a harrowing encounter. Your father, unmoved by the visible toll the confrontation had taken on you, greeted you with a dispassionate inquiry.

"Had you killed the dog?" His indifference to your wounds struck a chord within you and frustration welled as you clenched your fist.

Did he not see, or worse, care about your condition?

Defeated, you mustered a weak response, "No, father. I-I was ambushed by a hero and he got away." Shame and disappointment rendered you unable to meet his gaze, to face the failure that stained your endeavors.

Rising from his seat, your feather approached, casting a looming shadow that intensified the fear gnawing at your inside. His hand seized your face with a vise-like grip, forcing you to meet his gaze. The anger etched across his face revealed a disappointment that cut deeper than any wounds.

"We didn't train you to be a failure, [Name]," he spat, his words dripping with disdain as if addressing a stranger rather than his own flesh and blood. The grip on your jaw loosened as he spoke again, "You disappoint me, [Name]. I expect a much better performance by tomorrow." With those cold words, he abandoned you in the desolate silence of the living room.

It was the last draw for the persona you had been building up your entire life, as everything collapsed before you. Holding back tears, you retreated to your room. The façade of strength crumbled, and the weight of a life forced upon you became unbearable. In the quiet solitude, you grappled with the harsh reality that you never chose—a life of villainy, ruthless training, and a father who saw only failure in his own daughter.

In the safety of your room, the weight of today's events pressed upon you, and crying became inevitable. Alone in the quiet room, you succumbed to the overwhelming sorrow that enveloped you. As your tears feel like silent rain, each droplet carries a weight of frustration.

The melancholy solitude was abruptly interrupted by a soft tapping on your window. Startled, you raised your eyes, and there, perched on the window sill, was a familiar figure. A surge of frustration and anger coursed through you—you hadn't been careful enough, and he had followed you back.

Gritting your teeth, you regarded him with a mixture of annoyance and weariness. Despite the desire to close the binds, you found yourself drawn to the window.

Your body moved almost involuntarily, and against your conscious will, you opened the window to control the intruder, "What do you want..?" Your voice was tinged with cracked vulnerability.

Silence was in the air as he nonchalantly hopped into your room, avoiding your question altogether. The resentful glare you cast upon him did nothing to deter his approach.

"S-Stay back!" You stammered, a tremor in your voice betraying fear.

"Or what, you'll shoot me?~" He chuckled, his words laced with dismissive amusement. You grimaced for your beloved weapon wasn't in your person and though you excelled in physical combat, you are no fool. Facing in a hand-to-hand combat with him would only lead to your downfall. "I didn't expect to find someone like you in tears..." Advancing toward you, he offered a gentle smile. "Hey... tell me, what's going on?" Each step he took prompted you to retreat.

"Leave me be! I don't want your pity, hero..." You hissed, voice laced with defiance as he closed in on your shaking frame.

"I'm not here to fight, I just want to understand," he asserted, his words carrying a sincerity that clashed with the prevailing tension in the room, "to understand you." Despite his seemingly genuine plea, you struggled to believe his words.

Your eyes had gone red and puffy from all the tears you shed. Shaking your head in disbelief, you dismissed his claim, unwilling to accept the possibility of genuine understanding from someone on the side of heroes.

"You heroes don't care about people like me—I'm just a criminal to you. So stop pretending you want any of it!" The bitterness echoed through the room.

Yet, your conviction against him and all heroes remained ignored by the man, imploring, "Perhaps if you fill me in, then I won't be like them." All his words carried a genuine curiosity.

Skepticism painted your perception, convincing you that it must be an act, a ploy to exploit vulnerability. However, the weight of your internal struggle proved too much to bear and your knees gave in, collapsing to the cold wooden floor. Tears, seemingly endless, streamed down your face as you buried it in your hands.

"I... I-I didn't want any of this!" You screamed, the anguish in your voice living through the air. "I never wanted any of it..." You looked up at him, your body trembling with the weight of your pain.

He knelt down to meet your gaze, his eyes shifting between your tear-streaked face and the untreated wounds that marred your body.

"I'm just a tool of them..." You uttered in a hushed tone, the confession heavy with the burden of a painful truth. "They never saw me as their daughter... only someone to do their dirty deeds." The words hung in the air, resonating with the silent acknowledgment of a fractured identity.

Quirkless and subjected to a life of cruelty, you were molded into a weapon by the very same people who should've provided you with love and care. What more could they have done to you if you possessed such abilities? His decision to follow you home, go easy on you in your earlier confrontation, and uncover the mystery shrouded in the shadows, had been justified.

As you sat defenselessly on the ground, the man enveloped you in the embrace of his wings and arms, a tight yet oddly comforting hold that you lacked the energy to resist. You surrendered to the almost crushing, warm hug, your tears soaking his clothes but he seemed not to care. It became evident that beneath the mask of a villain, you were, at your core, a broken individual.

His fingers gently reached out, tangling with your hair in a tender gesture, offering a moment of peace in the midst of the emotional storm. The world narrowed down to the cacoon of that embrace a fragile sanctuary where vulnerability could be acknowledged without judgment.

However, the fragile moment was abruptly shattered by a knock, followed by the concerned voice of a maid, someone you had grown close to during your time in this broken home.

"Ms. [Last Name? I heard a scream and wanted to check up on you..." She expressed from beyond the door. "Are you alright, dear?"

"That's my cue then," the man hummed, releasing you from the embrace as he rose to his feet. His gaze lingered on you with a soft, genuine smile. As he made his way to the window, he glanced back, "I hope to get to know you more... Ms. [Last Name]~" As you watched the winged man vanish into the night, you gathered yourself and stumble your way to the door.

Responding to the concerned maid, Alice, "Yes, I'm alright, Alice... Thank you for checking up on me," you replied with a sigh.

In a world where your biological mother was too preoccupied with chaos, the mad served as a comforting presence almost like your real mother. You wished she was your mother.

"Are you sure, Ms. [Last Name]?" It seemed your tone had betrayed you as she caught the lingering pain in your voice, "May I come in at least?" After a moment's hesitation, you relented, unlocking the door to allow her entry. Shock crossed her face as her eyes fell upon your wounds, some still bleeding. "Oh dear, look at you! And you left the window open, you might catch a cold, young woman!" Her worry was palpable, and you couldn't help but crack a soft smile.

"Sorry... I simply want to look at the stars. They're quite fascinating..." You lied, shielding the truth about the unexpected visitor in your room earlier, a hero no less.

You eyed her as she closed the window.

"Ms. [Last name], please sit for a moment; I'll tend to your wounds." Before you could protest, she had already left the room to get the essential things for your wounds.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn't shake about the winged man and his true intentions—his name also remained a mystery to you.

The next day arrived, and thanks to Alice's care, your wounds were now bandaged. With a warm coffee in your hand, you sat alone in a nearby café, the comforting aroma enveloping you as you attempted to find respite from the storm of thoughts that raged within.

The tranquility was abruptly shattered by the chime of the bell, signaling the entrance of an unwelcome presence. Although you didn't bother to look up, you sensed someone approaching you and much to your dismay, occupying the vacant chair across from you.

"What is it that you want this time..?" You demanded, locking eyes with the audacious interloper.

His response was a simple smile, brushing off the hostility you directed at him.

"I don't think I introduced myself yesterday, I'm Takami Keigo, by the way," he offered, extending his hand.

Gone were the safety of his black gloves, and he appeared in ordinary clothing, devoid of the heroic attire he donned the night before. A slight hesitation lingered in the air before reluctantly accepting the handshake.

"[Full Name]..." You mumbled, your voice revealing a reluctance to divulge more information. "So, if I may ask again, what is your business here... birdbrain?"

"...Heroes need a break too, y'know?" He responded, leaning in and releasing your hand before resting his on it. "I'm just a regular guy looking for some good company," he added.

"Fair enough... but I still got my eye on you," you declared, taking a sip of your coffee.

"You truly don't trust me, do you?" He sighed rather dramatically, his expression reflecting a mix of amusement and resignation. "What can I do to gain your trust?" He inquired, his eyes fixing on you with an expectant glint.

"Nothing," you answered coldly, your gaze unwavering.

He pouted playfully in response to your lack of enthusiasm, undeterred in his attempts to keep the conversation alive.

"Well..." He kept being persistent, "let's start with something simple," he suggested, tapping his cheek as if pondering a question. "Like what do you do when you're not causing mayhem? Any hobbies?"

"Hobbies..?" You repeated, skepticism lacing your tone.

The notion that this hero wanted to get to you felt inconceivable, leaving you perplexed about how such information could benefit him. Questions lingered in your mind, like why he hadn't yet reported you to the authorities.

"Everyone's got something they enjoy, right?" He mused, his curiosity undeterred.

Your gaze shifted away from him, focusing on something else as you contemplated a response.

"I used to paint..." You began, "When I still have the time," you admitted, a small fleeting smile gracing your face as memories of a simple, more innocent time flashed before your eyes.

The warmth of the nostalgia was short-lived, replaced by a frown as the hero's voice but through your reverie.

"Painting, huh? That's pretty neat, ever think about picking up the brush again?" He inquired, a genuine interest in his tone that caught you off guard.

"I don't know. Maybe someday I will..." The idea of painting again had never crossed your mind until he mentioned it, yet a longing for your beloved brush began to surface.

"Well, if you ever decide to, let me know. I might not have artistic skills but I can be a good art critic!" He proposed a hint of camaraderie that caught you slightly off guard.

"Why... are you being so nice to me?" Your curiosity about his true motive lingered beneath the surface, demanding an answer.

"Why not? Being nice costs nothing." He shrugged, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "Besides, who knows? We might end up being friends or more if you prefer~ Stranger things have happened!" His slightly flirtatious tone grated on your nerves, scrunching your face in disgust.

"I'm leaving..." Standing abruptly, you grabbed your unfinished coffee, eager to escape the man's company.

"Hey! Where are you gooooing??" He whined, following beside you as you exited the establishment.

"Somewhere far from you," you grumbled, the promising start of a lovely day tainted by this unexpected intrusion.

"Heh, that would be a hard place to find! If there's even one~" His mischievous grin widened, aggravating your frustration.

"Are you simply here to bother me?" You accused, to which he responded by pinching your cheeks teasingly. "Hey—"

You were quickly cut off by his remark, "You do look cute when you're grumpy~ But no," he answered, releasing your cheek as you rubbed it right after, a faint ache lingering. "Can't I get to know you better? I'm interested in people's stories and yours seems intriguing!" He admitted, looking at you with a hint of earnestness.

"So you essentially cross people's boundaries out of personal curiosity?" Your remark made him pause in his tracks, his eyes widening.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, h-hold on! That's not what I meant at all! You've mistaken me," his chuckle carried a nervous undertone as he scratched the back of his neck. Suspicion etched across your features, you raised a skeptical brow. "No hidden agendas, no hero business. Just two people having a conversation. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I believe in the power of a good talk!" He reassured, attempting to dispel the doubts that lingered in the air.

You maintained your silence, casting a scrutinizing gaze at him before, without warning, you picked up your pace, leaving him be.

"Heeeeey!!"

The intrusion persisted for days, a relentless invasion of your life by the enigmatic avian hero, who you learned also goes as 'Hawks' but honestly, you rather refer to him as birdbrain. Even during your attempts at carrying out your grim assignments, he still would weave himself into the fabric of your existance.

His mere presence, devoid of confrontation, proved to be a disruptive force, effectively thwarting your every move. As the days unfolded, his interference mounted, exacerbating the challenges you faced, both in your dual life as a villain and under the oppressive gaze of your father's dissatisfaction.

Your once-covert operations became a chaotic dance, a tangled web of failed attempts and disrupted plans. Your father's wrath intensified with each perceived failure, each word piercing through your heart. You couldn't help but blame it all upon the man, the hero with an uncanny to infiltrate your life.

At times, he would tap persistently on your window until you either allowed him entry or pointed a gun at his face—a futile attempt to deter his meddling. Reluctantly, you found yourself letting him inside, providing you with sanctuary within the confines of your personal space.

Unexpectedly, as more days passed, you found yourself gradually opening up to the man. The guarded walls around your past, your struggles, and the torment inflicted by your family began to crumble apart. From the earliest memories of your childhood, where the weight of your parents' expectations pressed upon you, to the relentless pressure that molded you into the person you had become.

These people would cast you before powerful villains, using you as a pawn in their quest for world dominance. You were a prisoner in a family that sought to control everything even if it meant sacrificing their own daughter.

In recounting your story, you expected his indifference and disinterested responses. However, to your surprise, he listened intently, not letting any detail slip off. His comforting presence became solace in the storm of your tangled existence. The view of his actions being a mere act began to fade, replaced by the genuine concern and understanding he displayed.

Even if it so happened that he'll report you, it provided a sense of relief that you were able to share your side of the story, to vocalize the pain and suffering buried deep within. Alice had been a good friend and motherly figure, but there was something different about him.

The world is not simply shades of black and white. Each villain, including yourself, has a tale of experiences and pain that shaped them not who they are now.

Another unexpected turn is that a peculiar warmth began to swirl within you whenever he was near. His playful banter, occasionally laced with flirtatious undertones, wove through the confines of your heart, creating emotions you hadn't anticipated.

Now, you found yourself eagerly expecting his nightly presence in your room, a silent companion who brought comfort to the shadows that enveloped your life. Missions that should have been accomplished instead were ignored by stolen moments in the city with him. Together, you navigated through the urban labyrinth, experiencing the vibrant pulse of the city's nocturnal life.

In these hours he would fly you up into the moonlit skies, offering a view of the world from a perspective you had never imagined. The wind carries whispers of freedom and the soft glow of the city lights painted a canvas of serenity, it was a stark contrast to the chaos and darkness that defined your life.

From the very first confrontation, he had found more than just a typical villain in you. As he initially stalked you through the city's buildings, however, the more he observed, the more he realized he was mistaken.  Beneath the veil of a villain, he discovered a profound yearning for a normal life—a desire to break free from the chains imposed by what you call your family.

In silence, he vowed to become the catalyst for the change you sought, to be the friend you longed for, and to help you reclaim a sense of normalcy. He recognized the gray areas that defined the lives of those deemed villains.

He chose to keep his discovery of you a secret, he will shield you from the prying eyes of his allies, determined to handle the situation on his own terms and ensure your story remained untold to anyone who might exploit it.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon the cityscape, you found yourself perched on a rooftop alongside Keigo. The night held a peaceful ambience and his presence brought a sense of companionship that you had longed for.

As he pulled you closer with a gentle sweep of his wings, he whispered into your ear, "It was a pleasure meeting you, [Name]... I hope this friendship develops into something more~"

Request» Masterlist��

*•.𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃.•*

[misfitwashere]

October 15, 2024 

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

OCT 16

After Trump’s bizarre performance last night in Oaks, Pennsylvania, when he stopped taking questions and just swayed to his self-curated playlist for 39 minutes, his campaign this morning canceled a scheduled interview with CNBC’s Squawk Box, according to co-host of the show Joe Kernen. The campaign did not, though, cancel a scheduled live interview today with Bloomberg News and the Economic Club of Chicago. That interview echoed last night’s train wreck. 

Trump showed up almost an hour late to the event with moderator John Micklethwait, editor-in-chief of Bloomberg News. When he arrived, things went downhill fast. Micklethwait asked real questions about Trump’s approach to the economy, but the former president answered with aimless rants and campaign slogans that Micklethwait corrected, repeatedly redirecting Trump back to his actual questions. Trump quickly grew angry and combative.

When Micklethwait corrected Trump’s misunderstanding of the way tariffs work, Trump replied in front of a room full of people who understand the economy: “It must be hard for you to, you know, spend 25 years talking about tariffs as being negative and then have somebody explain to you that you're totally wrong.” Referring to analysis that his plans would explode the national debt, including analysis by the Wall Street Journal—hardly a left-wing outlet, as Mickelthwait pointed out—Trump replied: “What does the Wall Street Journal know? They’ve been wrong about everything. So have you, by the way….. You’ve been wrong about everything…. You’ve been wrong all your life on this stuff.”

The economy is supposed to be Trump’s strong suit.

The former president seemed unable to stay on any topic, jumping from one idea to another randomly, or to answer anything, instead making statements that play well at his rallies—referring to people with insulting names, for example—or by rehashing old grievances and threatening to end traditional U.S. freedoms. He made it clear he intends to "straighten out our press,” for example. “Because,” he said, “we have a corrupt press."

As Micklethwait tried to keep him on task, Trump asserted stories that were more and more outlandish. He claimed that children could do the work of U.S. autoworkers in South Carolina, for example, and that he would be a better chair of the Federal Reserve than Jerome Powell. 

Micklethwait did not fight with Trump, but he didn’t indulge him either. When Trump explained that “you don’t put old in” the federal judiciary because “they’re there for two years, or three years,” Micklethwait replied: “You’re a 78-year-old man running for president.” 

And therein lies the rub. 

Aaron Rupar of Public Notice, who watches and clips Trump’s speeches, called the appearance “bonkers.” Journalist David Rothkopf of Deep State Radio wrote: “The past 24 hours seem to have been a dividing line in the Trump campaign...and in Trump. He went from being periodically adrift and sporadically demented to being 24/7 unfit and in need of permanent medical attention. He's one cloudless night away from baying at the moon.” 

Likely reflecting this shift, trading in shares of Trump media, the parent company of Trump’s Truth Social social media site, was stopped briefly today as the price plummeted in unusually heavy trading. Trump took to social media to hawk tokens for his new crypto project, although the nature of the project is still unclear and investing simply offers voting rights in the new platform. The website crashed repeatedly during the day. 

Trump’s issues make it likely that a second Trump presidency would really mean a J.D. Vance presidency, even if Trump nominally remains in office. 

Currently an Ohio senator, J.D. Vance is just 39, and if voters put Trump into the White House, Vance will be one of the most inexperienced vice presidents in our history. He has held an elected office for just 18 months, winning the office thanks to the backing of entrepreneur and venture capitalist Peter Thiel, who first employed Vance, then invested in his venture capital firm, and then contributed an unprecedented $15 million to his Senate campaign. 

Vance and Thiel make common cause with others who are open about their determination to dismantle the federal government. Although different groups came to that mission from different places, they are sometimes collectively called a “New Right” (although at least one scholar has questioned just how new it really is). Some of the thinkers both Vance and Thiel follow, notably dystopian blogger Curtis Yarvin, argue that America’s democratic institutions have created a society that is, as James Pogue put it in a 2022 Vanity Fairarticle, “at once tyrannical, chaotic, and devoid of the systems of value and morality that give human life richness and meaning.” Such a system must be pulled to pieces.

Thiel has expressed the belief that the modern government stifles innovation by enforcing social values like equality and anti-monopoly. Those limits have caused society to stagnate, a situation he warns could lead to an apocalypse. “We are in a deadly race between politics and technology,” Thiel wrote in 2009. To move society forward, he calls for freedom for technological leaders to plan a utopian future without government interference. 

It is at least partly the promise of dismantling the administrative state and its regulation of technology that has brought other technology elites, most notably Elon Musk, to support the Trump-Vance campaign. These technology entrepreneurs envision themselves, rather than a government, planning and then creating the future. New campaign records filed today show that in just over two months, from July to the beginning of September, Musk invested almost $75 million in his pro-Trump America PAC to get Trump and Vance elected.  

Like Thiel, Vance has spoken extensively about the need to destroy the U.S. government, but while Thiel emphasizes the potential of a technological future unencumbered by democratic baggage, Vance emphasizes what he sees as the decadence of today’s America and the need to address that decadence by purging the government of secular leaders. A 2019 convert to right-wing Catholicism, Vance said he was attracted to the religion in part because he wanted to see the Republican Party use the government to work for what he considers the common good by imposing laws that would enforce his version of morality. 

Their worldview requires a few strong leaders to impose their will on the majority, and both Thiel and Vance have rejected secular democracy. “I no longer believe that freedom and democracy are compatible,” Thiel wrote in 2009. 

In 2021, Vance called American universities “the enemy” and said on a podcast that people like him needed to “seize the institutions of the left, and turn them against the left.” In a different interview, he clarified: American “conservatives…have lost every major powerful institution in the country, except for maybe churches and religious institutions, which of course are weaker now than they’ve ever been. We’ve lost big business. We’ve lost finance. We’ve lost the culture. We’ve lost the academy. And if we’re going to actually really effect real change in the country, it will require us completely replacing the existing ruling class with another ruling class…. I don’t think there’s sort of a compromise that we’re going to come with the people who currently actually control the country. Unless we overthrow them in some way, we’re going to keep losing.” “We really need to be really ruthless when it comes to the exercise of power,” he said. 

Vance told an interviewer he would urge Trump to “[f]ire every single midlevel bureaucrat, every civil servant in the administrative state, replace them with our people.” This plan is central to Project 2025, whose main author, Kevin Roberts, has a book covering those ideas coming out soon—it was supposed to come out this month but was postponed when Project 2025 became a lightning rod for the election—for which Vance wrote the foreword. “We are now all realizing that it’s time to circle the wagons and load the muskets. In the fights that lay [sic] ahead, these ideas are an essential weapon,” Vance wrote. 

Like Roberts, Vance wants to dismantle the secular state. He wants to replace that state with a Christian nationalism that enforces what he considers traditional values: an end to immigration—hence the lies about the legal Haitian migrants in Springfield, Ohio—and an end to LGBTQ+ rights. He supports abortion bans and the establishment of a patriarchy in which women function as wives and mothers even if it means staying in abusive marriages. Vance insists this social structure will be more fulfilling for women than becoming “childless cat ladies who are miserable at their own lives and the choices that they’ve made.“

That desire to get rid of the current “ruling class” and replace it with people like him has prompted Vance to say that if he had been vice president on January 6, 2021, he would have done what former vice president Mike Pence would not: he would have refused to count the certified electoral ballots for President Joe Biden. 

“Let’s be clear,” former representative Liz Cheney (R-WY) said. “This is illegal and unconstitutional. The American people had voted. The courts had ruled. The Electoral College had met and voted. The Governor in every state had certified the results and sent a legal slate of electors to the Congress to be counted. The Vice President has no constitutional authority to tell states to submit alternative slates of electors because his candidate lost. That is tyranny.”

Early voting began today in Georgia, where more than 328,000 voters smashed the previous record of 136,000 set in 2020, during the worst of the pandemic. One of those voters was former president Jimmy Carter, who turned 100 on October 1 and said over the summer he was trying to stay alive to vote for Vice President Kamala Harris.

At a rally in Atlanta, Georgia, tonight, a slurring, low-energy Donald Trump told the audience: “If you don’t win, win, win, we’ve all had a good time, but it’s not gonna matter, right? Sadly. Because what we’ve done is amazing. Three nominations in a row…. If we don’t win it’s like, ah, it was all, it was all for not very much. We can’t, uh, we can’t let that happen.”

—

[mariacallous]

Over the past week, Donald Trump has been on a fascist romp. At rallies in Colorado and California, he amped up his usual rants, and added a rancid grace note by suggesting that a woman heckler should “get the hell knocked out of her” by her mother after she gets back home. But on Sunday morning, he outdid himself in an interview on Fox News, by saying that “the enemy within”—Americans he described as “radical left lunatics,” including Representative Adam Schiff of California, whom he mentioned by name—are more dangerous than Russia or China, and could be “very easily handled” by the National Guard or the U.S. military.

This wasn’t the first time Trump suggested using America’s armed forces against its own people: As president, he thought of the military as his personal guard and regularly fantasized about commanding “his generals” to crush dissent, which is one reason former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley reportedly told Bob Woodward that he sees Trump as “fascist to his core.”

The term fascism has been so overused as a denunciation that many people have understandably tuned it out. But every American should be shocked to hear a presidential nominee say that other Americans (including a sitting member of Congress) are more dangerous than two nations pointing hundreds of nuclear warheads at America’s cities. During the Cold War, conservative members of the GOP would likely have labeled anyone saying such things as a “comsymp,” a fellow traveler, or even a traitor. Indeed, one might expect that other Republicans would be horrified to hear such hatred directed at their fellow citizens and such comfort given to the nation’s enemies.

Pretty to think so. But today’s Republican leaders are cowards, and some are even worse: They are complicit, as Virginia Governor Glenn Youngkin proved today in an interview with CNN’s Jake Tapper. At least cowards run away. The GOP elected officials who cross the street against the light just to get away from the reporters are at least showing a tiny, molecular awareness of shame. Youngkin, however, smiled and dissembled and excused Trump’s hideousness with a kind of folksy shamelessness that made cowardice seem noble by comparison.

Tapper read Trump’s remarks verbatim, and then asked: “Is that something that you support?” Youngkin replied that Tapper misunderstood Trump, who he said was referring to undocumented immigrants. No, Tapper responded, Trump clearly meant American citizens. Tapper added that Trump had singled out Schiff. Youngkin aw-shucksed his way through stories about Venezuelan criminals and Virginians dying from fentanyl. “Obviously there is a border crisis,” Tapper said. “Obviously there are too many criminals who should not be in this country, and they should be jailed and deported completely, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” And then, to his credit, Tapper wouldn’t let go: What about Trump’s threat to use the military against Americans?

Well, Youngkin shrugged, he “can’t speak” for Trump, but he was certain that Tapper was “misrepresenting [Trump’s] thoughts.”

Some of the people who watched Youngkin’s appalling dishonesty immediately thought of one of the most famous passages from George Orwell’s 1984: “The Party told him to reject the evidence of his eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”

But this interpretation gives Youngkin too much credit. Orwell’s dictators were able to terrify people with torture and deprivation into accepting the government’s lies. Youngkin, however, is not a terrified subject of an authoritarian regime: He’s just an opportunist. Like J. D. Vance, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Youngkin is demanding that everyone else play along and pretend that Trump is just a misunderstood immigration hawk, and then move on—all so that Youngkin can later say that he was a loyal Republican when he contends for the leadership of the GOP after Trump is either defeated, retired, or long gone.

In this, Youngkin joins a long list of utterly dishonorable people, including Nikki Haley, who ran against Trump with energy and honesty and then bowed and scraped after she was defeated. As The Atlantic’s editor in chief, Jeffrey Goldberg, has noted, 10 Republican senators could have changed the course of history by supporting Trump’s impeachment. Ohio Senator Rob Portman, a supposed GOP moderate, is a particularly galling example. Portman twice voted against convicting Trump. He announced his retirement just weeks after the January 6 insurrection, and he had no electoral chances to protect (not that protecting one’s electoral chances is an honorable excuse). Still, he let Trump slide, perhaps out of fear of reproach from his neighbors back in Ohio.

It’s not exactly a revelation that the Republican Party’s elected ranks have become a haven for cranks and opportunists, and sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference: When Georgia Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, for example, talks about how “they” can control the weather, it’s hard to tell if she is just a kook, if she herself is an anti-Semite, or if she is employing yet another anti-Semitic trope because she knows that some of the MAGA base feasts on such garbage.

For someone like Greene, the difference doesn’t matter. She is ignorant. And she traffics in ignorance. Her constituents have rewarded her with a safe seat in Congress. But in the Trump era, the conceit all along has been that more responsible Republicans such as Youngkin are lurking in the background, keeping their heads down while quietly and competently doing the people’s business.

Americans should therefore watch Youngkin’s exchange with Tapper for themselves. They should see that supposedly competent Republicans have already abandoned the party. To believe otherwise—especially after watching someone like Youngkin—is to truly obey the commandment to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears.

[missmarveledsblog]

I Think I love you a little bit more everyday ( Steve Harrington x Reader)

summary : being in love is never easy and it most definitely not easy when the person you love is one of you best friends .

warning : steve is an insecure boy , angst and fluffy

Steve harrington was known for many things , the great head of hair on his head, most popular guy in hawking high for a long period of time , many jobs he had despite his family being rich . He was also widely known for his failed love life , from nancy and his up and down romance to all the failed dates afterwards . Another thing that was well known was when she was a round steve puppy dog brown eye would light up and follow her around  or an inkling of trouble and he was ready to come to her rescue not that she needed it given she was one of the kids from the lab one that help eleven escape after something so horrible nether spoke about it . when those two showed up it was like a nuclear bomb went off exposing so many things. One of those things that most people of hawkings forgot was chief hoppers first fleeting marriage and his first daughter , back when he was young cop he and claudia henderson’s sister maggie had one night stand that would lead to a pregnancy and marriage to do the right thing, then one night when the girl was four years old  maggie took off and sent papers of divorce . What Hopper didn’t know was the girl's ability or the lab approaching the mother paying her a large sum of money . For years and years even before she returned he never stopped even though mentally he was done , he’d never stop looking  .  in all that time she was so close and yet so so far away it wasn’t til he noticed the birthmark on her arm  and a  under wraps blood test to find out who the  now almost young woman was . unlike eleven she was able to be out in public the towns people talked for long time but soon with everything else it became old news. 

The odd nature of it all skipped over but for steve harrington it was more skipping from a crush to full blown feelings . Everytime he tried pulling his mind to something else she would be around and everything would flood back , convince he was undesiring of love or convinced that he was cursed and destined to never get the girl some form of karma for his stupid asshole behaviour . so it was safe to say he was afraid to get that close to her in a way where he could get hurt even thought realistically  this was killing him . 

Even though many times their lives had been put in situation were if a love confession should arise it would be now on the tip of his tongue but he chose to ignore it  a decision he nearly regretted when he say eddie carrying her weakly while dustin henderson was chewing him out for being an idiot for not sticking to the plan  mainly because he was scared , because he watching people he loved being taking  from his life . steve heart fell into his stomach , the blood in his veins cold looking at the lifeless limp pale body in his arms  rushing to their side all at once asking what happened what was wrong . all bickering til the reached the byer place one where they all spent many of times at not wanting to leave her side as she lay , least the colour was starting to come back into her cheeks and he did turn so nancy and robin could clean the blood and fresh clothes on her. Then when it was last straw , it was end battle one of good and evil wayne munson promised to the stay by her side . when it felt like everything was hitting the wall , when it felt like a loss was on the brink the bright headlight of a pick up truck and added effect of metallica blasting through the  speaker like some knights on four wheeled beat up stallion . 

“ As metal as this is what the hell your suppose to be watching over her” eddie hissed although slightly impressed at the entrance he couldn’t lie .  

“ she was going to go whether i let her or not so i got her here safely … shit kid i was kinda hoping this wasn’t actually real “ wayne’s eyes looking at monstrous creatures . 

“ can you use one of these” hopper asked holding the shot gun like nothing  . 

“ yes sir .. legal hunting “ he was made sure to clarify . 

“ i don’t care just aim and shoot  these fuckers legalities don’t come into play here” dustin yelled as  y/n stood out of truck eyes locked on the enemy before turning to see steve both happy she was up and pissed she was there something she could ask about once it was over .  hand in hand they stood watching her and eleven get the better hand holding Venca in the air almost tearing him apart . the anticipation and fear all over everyone's faces.   Like a sick joke the two thrown apart the cruel laugh that spilled from its grotesque mouth as their friend watched trying to get to the girls  then when the beast turn his sights on the people they loved it was like every life lost due to this creatures being channeling through giving them the strength to rip him apart and this time for good . that should of been that moment for steve but again he missed it by just hugging her so tightly til hopper had to clear his throat all in the midst of it all the feelings of it finally being over , the seemly curse of hawkings finally broken as eddie munson screamed his victorious yell and few obscenities that prompted wayne to slap him back of his head . 

“ ladie present” he’d gruffed . 

“ shit sorry … shit “ the boy cursed . 

A year after that day , the town of hawkings rebuilding people still coming in droves to the so called cursed town as it and the people in it are some sort of spectacle .  oddly at first it help getting so much aid but it came with a price  , media circus and droves of people coming to town . steve stood in family video because of course  that could be rebuilt fast not that he could complain and in hindsight his parent stayed longer this time before heading off again . something else that linger in the air , tension of a sort with him and y/n. He tried once more burying the feeling deep down  which seemed harder to do every time he would try close his eyes he could see her lifeless in eddies arms or thrown by Vecna  to point he was losing sleep  , ignoring robin and co pleading with him just to talk to her which he would if it wasn’t for kyle , he first came to help the town wit others and seemly took an interest in y/n and before steve knew it he was watching yet another girl he was in love with in the hands of another like a knife constantly plunged into his heart and it was his own fault or was it just future proof of his own curse.  Yet it did nothing to quell the feeling the weeks almost months of distance did nothing to stop the strong coursing feelings that building up and up he felt it was going to rip him apart . everything he face nothing scared him more than this  , no matter what fear he had  he needed to tell her maybe if he got it all of his chest he could move on , closer in it own bitter way . flowers in hand and man on a mission he drove like bat out of hell not caring if he blew a red light of if the cops would try pull him over because in this very moment nothing was more important than freeing himself of all this . he needed a release from  it and he needed to do it now , right now . pulling the car to a stop and walking to the door muttering to himself , psyching himself up . 

“ rip the band aid off look she gonna reject you , you might have to fight kyle but we need to do this “ he muttering unaware of eddie and wayne sitting on their porch ready to witness  it all . pumping himself up and knocking at the door watching it fly open  and her voice filled with surprise of course it was he actively avoided her for months because he couldn’t fess up or bare the thought of her with another man . 

“ look no talking , listening yet shitty of me to say so but i need to get this out because if i don’t i will throw up and make this a hundred times worse , i know i have been a dickhead… “ 

“ putting it lightly “ 

“ ok deserved that but look hush … i couldn’t be around you it was killing me … i mean not you but you and kyle it was killing me watching another doing what i should be doing but i know would never happen because let face it henderson and the rest of shitheads will get married before i can find a girl that doesn’t leave me for someone else and that in itself is why i’m afraid .. was ..no actually still scared to tell you i’ve been in love with you since i met you , every time i try think of way tell you end of the world happens or that voice in my head tells me to shut up because you one of my best friends and now i need to tell you get some closure and also be made at you for almost dying twice  and even then my coward ass couldn’t tell you i think i love you a little more every day and it killing me , i can’t eat or sleep because it’s tearing me apart holding on and i know ….”  his whole body seized up at the feeling of her lips and his , the fact of her lips on his sending him into a short circuit and that fear melting away  , what felt like ice that was thawing away a warmth was coming into his body for first time .  pulling her close even if kyle was there and  not that he care he pulled her closer almost like  their bodies were welding together in iron clasp hold . suddenly the alarms in his brain ringing off she felt the same, she feels the same . as much as he didn’t wanted to pull away he needed to breathe and he was pretty sure the nerves of it all still had him ready to throw up still . 

“ kyle? “ he gasped .

“ we broke up couple months ago “ 

“ why didn’t you tell me ?” 

“ because you kept avoiding me “ she glared still feeling pissed at him. 

“ why didn’t anyone else tell me ?” he asked .

“ BECAUSE YOU NEVER LISTEN BIG BOY “ eddie yelling making him aware of the audience . 

“I wanna hit you for ignoring and avoiding me “ she glared. “ but i also want you to kiss me again ,  you idiot i’ve been in love with you since we met too “ her face softened. 

“ what if you find someone better” that broken vulnerable voice spilling from his lips made her own heart clench . 

“ there is no one better than you steve , in my eyes your the best of the best, everyone knew it  i was like a little school girl all heart eyes at you that when you dated i was secretly wishing they sucked and you would like me back honestly i owe buckley and all of friends therapy for all times i’ve pretty much blabbed about how much i’ve been and still am in love with you “ all her own pent up feelings finally breaking like a dam  gushing out of her mouth before she could even think to stop them . 

“ so this whole time “ 

“ you both been dumber than a box of rocks  … yeah “ eddie called. 

“ maybe we should take this inside “ she laughed as both their faces flushed . 

“ and make up for lost time i’m way ahead of you sweetheart “ he chuckled lifting her up and rushing in, the voice in the back of his head was telling him this was going to hurt but the voice in his heart told him he was going to be ok because this time he got the girl who was going to want him and only him .

[zuffer-weird-girl]

anon request: hi queen of fluffiness 🤭 (is it okay to call you that?) Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I love your scenarios! Even if the villains ones are majestic to read I have to admit I love the most when you write for Hawks. Can I pretty pls have a imagine where Keigo just can be himself? I hc that outside the walls he is cocky and all what we saw on anime but inside this man just needs a hug and a chance to just be a child for once. Like, reader is just minding her business and kei walks in and bumps on something and starts to tear up because "doveeee I hurt myself 😢' or he gets a flu and is so whiny about it.

"Can't we just order take out instead and eat cake?" He mumbled, face supported by his hand as you arched an eyebrow at him in a very disappointed expression.

"You want to get diabetes bird brain? Just about three days ago you stuffed your face with the goodies we had for your birthday. We can't eat unhealthy food all of the time... even if we want to." You mumbled, going back to the golden looking omelet on your pan as you stirred it carefully.

"Pff. Party pooper." You heard him chuff jokingly and go right behind you to wrap his arms around your body as you could only rolled your eyes at his attics.

Going back in time, your old self would never have believed that the flirtatious, teasing lil shit and a bit arrogant Hawks, the number 2 hero and the fastest man alive... could be such a man child.

Now with almost two years of dating you knew the truth.

This guy had been through hell and back in his childhood days, so of course you couldn't be bothered or annoyed when he acted like this. It just meant he trusted you to just... losen up that hero persona he was forced by the comission to have.

Although that didn't meant you could spoil him too much. Nah, that wouldn't do.

"Here." You placed the omelet on a plate and handed it to him as his brown eyes, which were closed as he rested his face on your shoulder, widened at the sign "You need to eat before you go to work. None of that canned coffee crap you drink so much."

"Hey, is good that thing, not crap." Be mumbled as he reluctantly let go of you so he could grab the plate with a smile and a kiss on your temple "Thanks love~"

"No need. Especially when I can just steal some of that." You grabbed a fork and jokingly aimed to his plate as be gawked at you and put up his arms up with the plate still secure on his hold.

"No way thief, I deserved and earned this. Back off."

"But I was the one who cooked!" You jokingly pouted and smiled at seeing him trying to maintain a serious expression instead of just burst out in laughter "Don't I deserve at least a lil bite?"

"No. You can cook. I can't. Have some mercy on me." He said monotonously before both of you couldn't contain your laughter anymore.

It sadly didn't take long after he sat down to eat for the hero comission to already start calling for him. You didn't even bothered to hold your annoying sigh when he got up to answer it.

You could notice how his demeanor changed in less than a second when the chief woman's voice echoed on the line. His voice wasn't as carefree and soft as it was with you. It held a tinge of seriousness and false charisma and charm thar you now could detect.

'Would he be a little more laid back with others if he wasn't forced to just grow up before the right time?' You thought this to yourself every damn day...

"Gotta go. Word needs saving." He muttered while grabbing his jacket until he made a pained expression at seeing the half eaten omelet still on the table "Sorry about that dove."

"Don't worry. I will either eat or just put in refrigerator." You waved him off before going to the door to hug him tightly, inhaling his scent deeply before placing a sweet peck on his lips "It won't go to waste. Promise."

"Yet I wanted to eat." He mumbled, closing his eyes in bliss at your hands doing wonders to his hair before it got tangled once again when he took his flight.

"I know. But I was thinking of maybe for dinner a hot pot?"

"Sounds nice. But please I beg of you to not put carrots on it." You snorted before placing another kiss to his lips.

"You're such a baby."

"Stop that. I'm not." He chuckled before placing his visor glasses on "See you at dinner?"

"You better."

You watched as he opted to leave by the windows instead of the door as you sighed while shaking your head at him sending you a kiss before taking flight. You prompted your elbows on the edge of your balcony as you watched slowly got even farther away from you with a worried glance.

Dating a hero always made your anxiety even more difficult to deal with...

.

.

It was already way past dinner time as you tapped your foot anxiously. Watching the clock you heaved a sigh until you flinched at the loud 'thud" coming from your balcony.

"Ouch..."

There he is.

You got up rather quickly as you rushed outside, opening your glass window to frown at him rubbing his forehead, his closed tight eyes having a tinge of evidence of small tears which you immediately grew worried off.

"There you are!" You kneeled down besides as he finally opened his eyes to look at you, shoulders visibly relaxing at just seeing you near him. " I was worried sick, what the hell happened this time?"

You knew it wasn't his fault when things like that happened. Your anger only was directioned by that dreadfully hero comission and the villains he had to deal with on daily basis.

"Got stuck up on a fight near the center with endeavour. Asides from the whole "being beaten up" part it was pretty cool." He mumbled with a pout before glancing up at you, tears threatened to fall "Was tired from paperwork and fights of today and when I got here I bumped on this shit." He knocked with his knuckles at the glass window

"Oh God poor thing." You accidentally let out a chuckle when brushing his hair back you saw the redness on his forehead already making its appearance.

"Why are those even a thing?!" He whispered shouted as you hugged him close and caressing the back of his head.

"You normally don't even bother when bumping into something that much love.." You muttered in amusement as he clinged on you.

"I had a long day, let me be..." he muttered in your neck as you frowned at the tears hitting your skin as you hummed.

"Must have been to take such a hit on you like that..." You sighed before parting from the hug while cupping his cheeks as he tired eyes stared down at you "do you need any patching up or you just want to go eat something? You must be starving."

"Famished." He mumbled before wordless pointing at his forehead... chuckling at his demeanor you kissed it gently the red spot as he finally smiled for a bit since he got home.

"Baby." You poked his sides as he rolled his eyes with false annoyance.

"Shut up."

.

.

"No. He can't go to work. Not even a chance." You talked with a hushed voice on the phone outside of your room.

"And why exactly is that?"

"Because he woke up not even being able to get out of bed? Because the last mission you guys sended him took a big hit out of him? Oh, should I tell you that he even puked this morning?" You hissed on the phone, expecting any retorts of those who worked for the comission only to hear a heavy sigh.

"Fine. I guess we can grant him a few days off due to his healthy. It would surely ruin his image to the public if he went to work looking like what you told me. So I guess we can provide that."

Thats your main concern? You thought with a angry expression.

"Thanks. I sure think he appreciate that." You mumbled as they hanged the phone.... you could only mentally flipp them the bird for their rudeness.

You cringed at the coughs coming from your room as you placed your phone down and walked towards the sound.

"How you're feeling?" You asked while sitting down next to him and feeling his forehead... he was burning up.

"Eh... could be worse." He panted before cracking an eye open with a smirk "Hey.. is in hot in here or just me?"

"Not the time Keigo." You deadpanned as he coughed once again.

"Fine fine... but seriously is it warm? I think I'm having a heatstroke..." he growled while tilting his head up as he flapped his wings a bit to emmit some sorta of wind to cool him off.

You frowned... it wasn't THAT hot.

"Sorry hun, but I think you got one nasty flu." You mumbled as he groaned once again.

"Should have expected... a kid with a runny nose came to me asking for a hug and their parent asked me for a picture with the... the poor fella sounded so badly sick."

"Well, the good point? You made a kid happy which surely is something good and I'm proud of you for it." You spoke silently with a smile as you caressed his face and helped him lay down "The bad point is that now you need to be on bed rest until you get better."

"Ah come one is not like I'm dy-" a violent fit of coughs interrupted him as you massaged his chest with a frown still present ".. shit..."

"I know, it sucks. But you at least don't have to go to work..." You whispered while adjusting his blankets as you saw him start to shiver.

"W-What? Since when?"

"They called. Wanting to know why you were taking so long. And I gave them a good hearing." You mumbled as he frowned while you caressed his looks "Is alright, they didn't made a fuss and even granted you a few days off to get better."

"Man... I was hoping to take those days off to at least get to enjoy them with you... and not mentally stress myself in worry to pass whatever this shit is to my girlfriend..." he covered his face with one of his hands on a growl as you snorted.

"We will bird brain. But you need to get better first.." You mumbled before gently prying his hand out of his face to place a kiss to his forehead.

"No fair..." You chuckled at his whine "I want a proper kiss..." he pouted, looking uo at you as you smiled sweetly.

"I need to be the health one here to take care of you dummy." He grumbled while pulling the covers close to him with a 'fair enough.' Mumble .... you chuckled at his attics before getting up to suddenly stop at a hand gripping your wrist for dear life.

"Uh?"

"Where...?" He coughed "Where you going..?"

"Make at least a toast for you. You need to have something on your stomach before you take the meds."

"No." He whined "I don't want to puke again, and I don't want to taste that crappy médico of coughs. It's just awful."

"Is pills bird brain. You won't taste it." You deadpanned "And you need to have something on your stomach love or else if you do eventually puke, trust me is only going to be worse since it will only come out bile. And is awfull." You explained as he scoffed and weakly got up "No no. You stay on the bed."

"But I don't want to be away from you...." he mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder while his whole body trembled "Just stay a bit.. please?"

"Kei..."

"Noo noo..." he whined while smashing his face on the crook of your neck, nuzzling it as his arms caged you with him "Don't call me that... call me baby..."

"But I thought you hated when I called you that?" You giggled before caressing his back up and down as he hummed in appreciation.

"I lied..." he mumbled on your neck. His voice mot only hoarse but also muffled by your skin as you sighed "... dove?"

"Yes..?"

"Do you see a problem?" You arched an eyebrow "Y'know... with me acting out like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like a damn spoiled kid..." he chuckled humorless.. "A guy from work saw me once... like I usually act with you and commented how it must be hell for you to date a man child like myself." He chuckled once again, nuzzling on you even more as if he wanted tk be one with you.

"I like when you are like this around me though..." You mumbled, a bit flustered at your confession "It makes me feel special..."

"Don't I make you feel like that asides from that?" He looked up at you and you cooed at the puffy eyes he had.

"Kei you make me feel the most lucky woman in the whole world." You whispered while gently cradling his face on your hands "of course is not only because of that. Really. Your kisses make me feel like I'm walking on clouds, your hugs are like a open gate to heaven and I will not even speak about sex from how much you mind blow me from it." You smiled at the little cackle he let out.

"But what I meant is that I feel special when you "act out" around me is because you only act like that with me, you know? You trust me to just... be yourself. You don't bother anymore to keep the "hero hawks" image with me anymore. And I'm overjoyed with that... even if you are a brat who don't like to eat carrots."

"They're gross!" He laughed with a whine while placing his face once again on your chest.

A comfortable silence was stabilized until you felt his rough finger tips moving and... it seemed like he was drawing something on your arm?

"Whatcha doing?" You mimic his tone of voice as he chuckled on your neck, still with closed eyes.

"Guess it.." he mumbled, his nose still congestioned..

You paid more attention at his movements before finally realizing with a smile before kissing his forehead lovingly.

"I love you too." You got up carefully as he once again whines for about the fourth time of the day "I need to get you to eat and take your medice."

"Nooo..." he groaned when you got pass the door "BABY ME WOMAN!"

"Don't I do this already every day?" You poked your head on your room as he coughed before sending you a glare but still with a pout. "Behave."

"You're evil." He mumbled before giving his back to you with a bratty huff as you shaked your head once again at his attics.

You were about to pick the butter for his throat until cringed at the sounds of your boyfriend once again puking.

You soon saw a him walking towards the sofa with a blanket secure in his hold as he plopped down on it. You placed the toasts on a plate along with the pills he needed to take... walking towards and putting the plate down on the coffee table to just scrunch down to his level as he gave you a teary look.

"The bitter taste thing that sounds like it's stabbing your throat.. is that the bile you said before?" He weakly whispered, tears clinging on his lashes as you nodded while gently wiping them away "It was awful..." he whimpered as you frowned.

"Told you..." You sighed in worry until you saw him making grabbed hands at you "Eat one toast at least and then we can cuddle, alright?"

"... couldn't it be fried chicken..?"

"You just puked Takami Keigo." You deadpanned as he cracked a smile at your fed up tone of voice.

[munchcorner]

Hawks has been assigned to Osaka for a month and deeply misses his family. He calls them every night, and sometimes, he calls in the middle of capturing a villain.

During his last week in Osaka, Dabi forbade him from contacting them. Hawks tried to ask him for an explanation, but Dabi put down the call and blocked him.

First ending:

Although sad, Hawks didn't have any other means of contacting Dabi, so he went to work, sulking. Later that night, Hawks was notified of an intrusion into his hotel room. He quickly returned and found Dabi fighting with authorities.

"You dumb fucks, don't you know we're married? We have a daughter, for fuck's sake!" Dabi yells, showing his wedding ring while protecting their daughter's identity.

"We've heard that story multiple times. You aren't the only person claiming to be married to him." The police say as he pulls out the handcuffs.

Hawks chuckles at the absurdity of the situation.

"Ah, Hawks," The chief officer says upon seeing him.

"Hey," Hawks greets and walks toward them, a genuine smile plastered on his face as he approaches.

"This is a minor problem. There's no need to worry yourself over it," Another officer reassures.

Hawks ignores him and walks toward Dabi, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and kissing his neck, "well, there's really nothing to worry about here because he's telling the truth,"

"See?! You stupid police officers! You never get anything right!" Dabi continues to scold the officers while Hawks bends and greets their daughter, who is hiding behind Dabi.

Hawks scoops her in his arms and shields her with his wing before telling the police to leave. Dabi is still fuming when they enter the hotel, and the Hawks do their best to appease him.

Second Ending:

Although sad, Hawks had no other means of contacting Dabi, so he went to work, sulking. Later that night, Hawks is asked to respond to an attack at the airport. Upon arriving, he sees a familiar blue flame surrounding the area.

"What's happening?" Hawks asks, panicked. He can feel his heart rate racing.

"There was an attack, and someone had been fighting the attacker," A hero explains.

Hawks feels his heart drop. He rushes into the fire, not caring if he's burned, "Dabi!" Hawks screams his name repeatedly until he finds Dabi in the middle of the fire with their daughter crying beside him.

"Papa," Their daughter cries as she continues to cool Dabi's body, "Daddy isn't breathing,"

Hawks gets on his knees, taking Dabi in his arms. " Dear, listen to me," he says to his daughter. We're going to play a game. So, listen carefully, okay?"

Their daughter hastily nods, "okay,"

"Let's race out of the fire. The first one out wins; if you win, papa will buy you the latest merch you want. Is that a good deal?" Hawks asks. Their daughter nods, "Yes,"

"Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three," Their daughter quickly dashes out of the fire, leaving Hawks with Dabi's burnt body.

"Stay with me for a while. I'll get us out of here," Hawks whispers as he flies through the fire with whatever feathers he has left.

After getting out, he finds their daughter standing in the crowd, waiting for them. Hawks sighs in relief and sends his last feather to her before rushing Dabi to the medics.

"Papa!" Their daughter yells, running to them after following Hawks' last feather. "I won," she whispers.

"I know. You did well," Hawks whispers, calming her.

"I'm sorry," their daughter apologizes. It's because the bad guy took me away; that's why Daddy's like that."

Her tears continue to fall as she cries into Hawks' shoulder. Hawks shakes his head, "No, it's not your fault. Daddy will scold you if he hears you saying that. Besides, Daddy is strong, isn't he?"

Their daughter looks away, guilt written all over her face. Hawks cup her cheeks, forcing her to look at him, "Don't blame yourself. Why don't we follow Daddy to the hospital and tease him about it when he wakes up?"

Their daughter continues to cry but nods and follows Hawks to the ambulance, praying that both her dads would be okay.

[ryin-silverfish]

Into the Erlang-verse: Li, Zhao, Yang

-This is something I wrote for fun and reference purposes, back when I was starting to seriously get into Chinese mythology. As such, there is no citations, and is meant to be more of a general introduction to Erlang Shen in pre-modern writings.

(Emphasis on "pre-modern", because, as much as I love the Lotus Lantern + Prequel TV series, it's just a little frustrating to see people taking the shows' version as the end-all-be-all of such a complicated deity, y'know?)

-Anyways, much like Nezha, his Archery Accident Bro, Erlang has what I'd refer to as his "Pop Culture Form": Handsome three-eyed warrior god wielding a three-pronged spear, accompanied by his doggo Xiaotian Quan(Literally "Skyhowler"), going by the surname "Yang", jade emperor's nephew, etc.

-However, The Second Lad is an even messier amalgamation of deities worshiped in different parts of China, even in his supposed "home domain", Sichuan. Here, I'm only gonna talk about the most well-known and significant Erlangs.

(Not even gonna go into the possible Zoroastrian influences and the Dujian thing...)

1. Lord of Sichuan, "Li Erlang"

Key words: Hydraulic engineer, based on a historical official and his son, fierce competitor with Zhao Erlang for the Lord of Sichuan title

Weapons: Knowledge

Power: Can turn into a bull/dragon 

Pets: N/A

"Who's Yang Jian? I've been watching over Sichuan since the Qin dynasty."

Li Bing was a pretty typical case of famous historical figure being worshiped as gods posthumously; born in the Warring States era, this official was put in charge of the Shu Prefecture (modern Chengdu) by King Zhao of Qin, and he was known as the creator of Dujiang Yan, an ancient irrigation + flood control project.

Later Tang legends deified him with a bunch of traditional "Flood-control hero" tropes taken from Yu the Great (heads up JTTW readers, SWK's staff is originally his extendable ruler), mostly the "hero turn into a giant animal" and "fight and subdue local water demons" aspect.

Though he wasn't yet known as an Erlang, or gained a son called Erlang as later folklore would have it, Li Bing's worship began in the Eastern Han dynasty, and he had a long tradition as Sichuan's guardian deity.

Even as later versions of Erlang began to populate, in the Qing dynasty, people of the province were still like "Our Lord of Sichuan is Li Bing/Li Erlang, not Yang Jian, as the novels would have you believe!"  

What made Li Bing and his likely nonexistent son into "Li Erlang" could be traced to the two "warlord states" that occupied Sichuan after the fall of Tang dynasty: both states tried to use the Lord of Sichuan worship to strengthen their own legitimacy, and passed decrees that 1) said Erlang was Li Bing's son and 2) granted both father and son honorable titles, as mentioned in Song dynasty records. 

However, due to the association of Erlang with previous warlord states, the first emperor of Song had reassigned Li Bing a lesser title and taken away his son's title altogether, reducing him to just "God of Guankou", and worshippers were quite disgruntled by the change; there was even a rebellion using the Guankou worship rituals to legitimize itself, a decade after said emperor's death.

Fun fact: when I went to the Two Lord’s Temple (of Li Bing and Li Erlang) in Dujiangyan, even though the god worshipped in the main hall was supposed to be Li Erlang, the plaque next to it still said something like "Li Erlang, also known as Yang Jian"...

Which really shows just how influential FSYY is on popular worship, to the point of overshadowing older incarnations of certain deities.

2. Immortal Master of Illustrious Sagacity, "Zhao Erlang"

Key words: Chief of Jiazhou Prefecture, dragon slayer, No.2 violator of archery safety (first place goes to Nezha)

Weapons: A scribing tablet, slingshot, sword, bow and arrows

Power: Supernatural strength, monstrous giant form

Pets: unnamed white horse, hunting hawks and hounds

"C'mon, my aim isn't that bad! What happened in the Zaju was a one-time thing!"

The prototypical Taoist Erlang, his name, "Zhao Yu"(赵昱) first appeared in a Song dynasty source. At this point, the story of Erlang was mainly defined by two traits: 1) was, or was related to an official in charge of Sichuan in bygone times and 2) Did heroic flood control stuff, probably through dragon-slaying. 

One notable strand of local worship was the "God of Guankou"; historical records mentioned that people sacrificed hundreds and hundreds of goats to him, as well as a regional festival in Sichuan where people played out his confrontation with dragons. It coexisted and entwined with the "Lord of Sichuan" worship, until the Song dynasty.

In typical Song dynasty fashion, the officials decided to give their own official title to this...Erlang/Lord of Sichuan/God of Guankou guy, bringing our titular "Zhao Erlang" into existence.

Also a deified official from the Tang dynasty, his image was more heavily influenced by Taoism (historically popular in Sichuan) and centered around one of its holy places, Mt. Qingcheng, which just happened to be quite close to Dujiang Yan.

Though in the Northern Song dynasty, the state-recognized Erlang was still "Li Erlang", the Taoist Zhao Erlang had proven himself to be a strong competitor by the Southern Song and Yuan dynasty, thanks to a massive amount of opera plays.

First we have SJSSDQ (三教搜神大全, Yuan Dynasty), an encyclopedia of Buddhist, Taoist and Confucian gods, where his traditional backstory as an ascended mortal official was combined with the dragon-slaying feat to nudge Erlang toward a more warrior-esque image, a hunting god who appeared on a white horse with his entourage of hunters.

-We also got the first mention of what would become his six/seven sworn brothers; the "Seven Sages" who jumped into the water to assist him in the dragon fight.

Then we have two Yuan-Ming Zaju plays, "Erlang of Guankou Slays the Jian-jiao"(灌口二郎斩健蛟) and "Erlang Drunkenly Shot the Demon-locking Mirror" (二郎神醉射锁魔镜), in which many traits associated with JTTW's Yang Erlang could already be seen: first, his three-pronged weapon, seven brothers and bow/arrows, second, the naming of his brothers as the "Seven Sages of Mt. Mei" and his ability to shift into a "true form", aka the monstrous giant form he used in JTTW.

(The plot of the second Zaju is exactly like it sounds: Erlang and Nezha had a drunken archery competition, accidentally broke the Demon-locking Mirror and released the Bull Demon King + Hundred-Eyed Demon, and spent the rest of the play doing damage control.)

3. The Little Sage, "Yang Erlang" (JTTW)

Key words: Jade Emperor's nephew, cleaver of Peach Mountain, SWK's true equal in battle

Weapons: Three-pronged, Double-bladed Spear, slingshot, bow and arrows, axe

Power: transformations, Cosmic Body, divine sight/Phoenix Eye(?)

Pets: a celestial Xiquan, literally "Thin Dog"

"First time we met, and that monkey made fun of my origins as a conversation opener. Could you believe it."

The Man, The Myth, The Legend! As I said before, a lot of his traits were inherited from "Zhao Erlang", including his Taoist title, his temple at Guankou, etc.

However, Erlang being Jade Emperor's nephew seemed to be mostly popularized by JTTW: the only other work that might have given Erlang this backstory was The Precious Scroll of Erlang, previously dated to the 1560s, though a Chinese paper published in 2018 proposed a later creation date (1620s).

Much like JTTW Nezha, his backstory was somewhat barebones: we knew from SWK's taunt that his mother was the Jade Emperor's sister, who got chummy with Yang the mortal, gave birth to him, and was presumably locked under the Peach Mountain for that, bc Erlang then rescued her by cleaving it in half with an ax.

(Sounds familiar? The same backstory would later be copied over to Erlang's nephew, in the Lotus Lantern legends)

His other notable feats include falling 2 phoenix with his slingshot, as well as slaying the "Seven Demons of Mt. Mei ''. Out of pride, he chose to remain in Guankou instead of associating with his heavenly relatives, and did not answer to general summons to court from the Jade Emperor, only taking special assignments (听调不听宣).

Apart from his famous fight with SWK, Erlang also appeared in JTTW chapter 63, where, together with his sworn brothers, he helped the pilgrims fight the Nine-Headed Wyrm, son-in-law of Bibo Lake's dragon king. His dog continues to be the MVP in this fight, biting off one of the demon's heads, leaving it wounded and fleeing toward the north sea.

Though the description of his battle with SWK implied that he did have some sort of supernatural sight, at this point in time (Ming dynasty), Erlang wasn't yet depicted with a third eye in artworks and literature.

There are a small amount of evidence that suggest the third eye thing might have shown up in statues of this period, though.

4. Master of the Ninefold Mystic Way, "Yang Jian" (FSYY)

Key words: Disciple of the Taoist sage Yuding, veteran of the Investiture War, Nezha's comrade-in-arms

Weapons: Three-pronged Spear, slingshot

Power: Ninefold Mystic Way, 72 transformations, invulnerable to physical attacks, Samadhi Fire (in FSYY it's on the same level as a D&D wizard's Fireball spell)

Pets: Howling Celestial Dog, unnamed white horse

"I fought a transforming monkey demon too!"

Fun fact: the guy whose name was most often taken as Erlang's "real name" by pop culture was never actually referred to as "Erlang" in his debut novel. Could ya believe it.

Quick, dirty summary of FSYY: kinda like the Chinese Iliad, about the overthrowing of Shang dynasty and its tyrannical King Zhou by King Wu of Zhou, with a dash of Taoist infightings, and almost everyone who died in the fight got revived as gods and became part of the celestial bureaucracy, thus "Investiture of the Gods".

Under the order of his master, the Taoist sage Yuding (literally "jade tripod"), Yang Jian makes his first cameo in chapter 40 to assist his senior, Jiang Ziya, in the fight against the Four Generals of Clan Mo.

A master in the arts of the Ninefold Mystic Way and 72 transformations, he has the same divine title as Zhao Erlang and is considered "A Sage in Flesh" after the end of FSYY.

As such, he's able to survive getting eaten by a monstrous weasel, a metal whip in the forehead, graphic disembowelment, etc. and used his transformation skills for some SWK-style "beating people up from inside their stomachs".

On one very notable occasion, he transformed into a beautiful palace consort to dupe Tu Xingsun ("Earth-traveling Son") and capture him.

Oh, and also, on his way to get Tu Xingsun's master, he ran into this random demon in a lake, who led him into a cave. After he got inside, the demon just disappeared, leaving him with the Three-pronged Two-bladed Spear, as well as some nice bling.

Then two kids burst in, accused him of stealing the bling, and...instantly became his students after learning his name? Yeah that was a weird sidequest.

However, Yang Jian's most iconic battle is probably his fight with Yuan Hong, the White Ape of Plum Mountain...who also practiced the Ninefold Mystics, used an iron cudgel, and were sworn brothers with six/seven demon kings.

Only with the help of Nvwa's magical painting, the Shanhe Sheji Scroll, was Yang Jian able to capture the ape, and subsequently, let Jiang Ziya decapitate him with Sage Luya's Immortal Slaying Flying Knife.

When the Three Demonesses were caught and executed at the end of the book, he was the one responsible for slaying the Nine-headed Pheasant Demoness, which is a neat parallel with JTTW.

His Howling Celestial Dog appears in chapter 47, and is even more of an MVP in fights: 12 immortals and demons have been bitten by this dog, which was "as large as a white elephant and as swift as an owl".

Funnily enough, every time Yang Jian summoned his hound, it is described in the same way as, say, other immortals may summon a flying sword, and my mental image is just him yeeting his giant monster dog at the enemy like you'd throw a Pokeball.

(A list of everyone Xiaotian had bitten in FSYY: Zhao Gongming, his sister Bixiao, Xinhuan, Deng Chanyu, Zhou Xin, Hua Huan, the Winged Immortal, Yuyan, Lv Yue, Yu Hualong, Dai Li the dog demon, the Nine-headed Pheasant Demon.)

Conclusion:

-The way I see it: Li is the Erlang of regional worship, Zhao is the Erlang of Zaju plays, and Yang is the Erlang of vernacular novels, who becomes super popular and overshadows his two predecessors.

-And Erlang's depiction in premodern Lotus Lantern tales is what we in the business call "a whole new can of worms". But that's a series for another day.

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

All-Star Superman and Lois Lane

After being discovered by the US government, baby Kal K. was given to Agents Martha Clarke and John Kent, raising him as "Ma" and "Pa" Kent. However, operation head General Sam Lane couldn't foresee two eventual problems: Clarke and Kent's legitimate affection for the child, and his own daughter's whistleblowing on the his illegal activities. Helping the young couple escape, Clarke and Kent sacrificed themselves to give Kal the chance at a real life.

Kal and Lois spent months on the run, eventually falling in with The Planet, an activist group working to disrupt the activities of the Apex mega corporation, itself tied to the captivity of Kal and others like him. Lois's journalistic skills and Kal's superhuman abilities--speed, strength, able to leap miles into the air--proved a powerful combination, drawing other activists like Suzanna Hawke (The Green Arrow) and Arthur Shin (The Aquaman) to their cause.

At the same time, Kal discovered a new aspect to his powers: he could access a "Phantom Zone" brimming with ethereal beings. They would impart knowledge and power to him, bolstering his physical strength with strange visions, superheated beams of light, and eventually the power of flight. Chief among the phantoms was someone or something named Zod, and he had vested interest in Kal and the secret of his origins.

Kal shared that interest, but he had more important things on his mind. Namely, working to assure a better world for his partner and the child they were now eagerly awaiting...