#I don’t know why I feel this way. sometimes I wonder if I’m a system or something but I don’t really feel like a system

[disasterhimbo]

[ID: an illustration of a young goat with black line work and colored in with red colored pencils or maybe crayons. The coloration is uneven, and there are solid red spots on the goats’ knees, as well as its horns and the tips of its ears and nose. The inside of its ears are pink and its one visible eye is yellow. There’s a speech bubble above it that says in all caps, “I can’t help but feel like everyone around me understands something about being a person that I don’t. I don’t understand it at all.”]

[jazzyoranges]

Saw you take requests!! Can you do a fluffy Wednesday x Shape shifter!Reader (no smut please) where it's Wednesday's writing time but she can't think of ideas so reader turns into a cat and curls up on Wednesday's lap? Basically helping Wednesday by making sure Wednesday can't get up until she writes a chapter. Thanks!

Orange kitty - drabble

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Words: 0.8k

A/n: i feel like we as a fandom haven’t been putting the orange cat x black cat trope in enough fics. this is me advocating for orange cat!r

“I feel your eyes on me, (Y/n).”

“I’m not allowed to look at my friend anymore?”

“It’s distracting. You’re inhibiting me from writing.” Wednesday isn’t fully lying. She just doesn’t add how you give her an odd feeling. An odd feeling she doesn’t like.

“Aww, do I make you nervous, Wens?” You laugh, deciding to ignore the glare she sends your way

“Keep talking and I’ll remove your voice box.”

“Please, I think you’d miss me too much” You roll your eyes, stretching on Wednesday’s bed

You turn into a cat as per Thing’s request, and you two start to play tag around Wednesday and Enid’s shared room. Thing happily bragged that you and him were better friends once. His hubris only resulted in Wednesday taking away his favorite lotions for an entire week.

The Addams girl huffs when she, yet again, makes a mistake on her typewriter. This was unlike her. The tiny trash can under her desk was nearing being full only after one or two hours of her failed attempts at writing. Wednesday put her hands in her lap after she realized her words only became futile

The abrupt stop of clacking keys makes you turn your head, giving Thing the perfect opportunity to tag you back on Enid’s bed. You quickly turn human again with almost a cartoon-ish pop, and ask Thing if Wednesday was allergic to cats

“She’s not, why do you ask?” He signs

“Do you think she’d kill me if I sat on her lap?” You sign back, not wanting Wednesday to hear

“As a human, most definitely. But if you were a cat maybe she’d tolerate you. No promises, though” Thing somehow shrugs using his thumb and pinkie finger as arms. God, you loved the weird appendage

“I can hear you two talking. I’d prefer if you’d leave me in silence.”

“Writers block?”

“No, I’m merely thinking of the correct words to use.”

“Maybe you should ask Enid for help. The woman can reach over the Twitter character limit in like… three seconds. Two if she’s really excited”

“Recommend such a horrid idea again and I’ll release you in my pen of hellhounds.”

“We both know I’d win” You cockily smirk, again ignoring what looks to be annoyance on Wednesday’s face. Then again, she always looked annoyed

“Your hubris is laughable. Let’s see how you suffice when your digestive system is ripped open.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather stay here with you”

You can only assume Thing listens with watchful… fingers? You execute your plan to him, and a quick pinkie-promise indicates he gets to bury you if Wednesday decides to kill you after the stunt you’re about to pull

“Hey, Wens?” The Addams doesn’t show any form of talking but you decide to keep going

“Did you know people say cats can lessen anxiety?”

The Addams hums in acknowledgement, so you continue

“Well, I don’t exactly believe it”

“And why is that.” Wednesday sighs. Sometimes she wonders why she indulges in you

“I dunno, just seems fake. I was wondering if you’d do an experiment with me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Great! Thanks, Wens” You give Thing a quick wink after turning into a cat and hopping up onto her desk. Turning your head to the side as if you were asking a question, you looked at Wednesday for an answer

You were crazy, but not crazy enough to do something to make Wednesday hate you

For some reason, the Addams girl doesn’t even have a second chance to think before scooting back her chair. You’re about to jump into her lap with a paw over the edge of her desk, but you glance up to make sure Wednesday was sure. You receive a small nod

The action is enough to make you whisper a small “thank you” but it only comes out as a small meow

You circle around her lap for a good area to lay, and you quickly take your spot with a tiny smile that makes your eyes close. Wednesday scoots her chair back in, and she has absolutely no idea what to do.

Only when you start to purr a shiver goes up her spine. The vibrations are light, and something about you happily laying on her lap makes you chip away at Wednesday’s walls the tiniest bit. She contemplates where to put her hands before Thing scurries on top of you to scratch behind your ear. Wednesday shoots him a deathly glare in return, but your favorite Addams (don’t tell Wednesday) stays put

As if showing Wednesday how to pet a cat, Thing gets off of your back and points a finger in your direction. Hesitantly, the Addams girl copies the actions Thing showed her

And you? You were having an amazing time. Wednesday’s fingers were cold but every stroke of her hand was calculated. She took note of which spots you purred louder, and continued her movements

Fuck you and your ability to get what you want, Wednesday thinks. Of course your smug ass knew cats lessened anxiety. Of course.

But Wednesday can’t help being addicted to your tiny purrs and vibrations

With her left hand fondling your ear and her right on her typewriter, she decides maybe a cat could be arranged in her novel.

[wittlesissyb4by]

Why do we keep letting these pigs get off scott-free? They think they can come in, play with our hearts and our heads, then cut and run and do the same to some other poor girl! Hell, sometimes they’re doing it to multiple women at the same time!

Well, I say “no more”! No longer will we let these immature men run around and take advantage of women! It’s time we take a stand! Starting with little Benjamin here.

Benny tried to slip a little something in my drink at the club last week and thought I wouldn’t notice. Little did he know, I’d already been watching him, planning a little bit of payback after what he did to my friend Lauren. She cried for weeks over this guy.

So when Benny wasn’t looking, I did the ‘ole switcheroo, he was out like a light 2 hours later.

Ohh you should have seen Benny’s face when he woke up for the first time! His hands and feet were chained to his new crib, and he kicked his little legs when he saw (or felt) what he had on. Every flail of his body only made his fresh new diaper crinkle louder and louder. He whined and cried and screamed as much as his gag would allow. But Benny had no idea that was just the beginning.

He thought, he really thought he wasn’t going to have to use his diaper, that it was just there for funsies. The way he moaned and groaned as he clenched and tucked his legs, trying anything he could to quell the painful throbbing coming from his very full bladder. I told him to save himself the torment, that all he was doing was delaying the inevitable, but still he resisted. To his credit, he made it a whole ‘nother thirty minutes before he sighed in relief and flooded his diaper for the very first time. His whimpers and whines after were pathetically adorable.

He drank the bottle out of desperation. He was obviously starving, and I made it clear he would not get out of his (now *very* wet) diaper until he finished the whole thing. I wonder if he could taste the laxatives and hormones mixed within? No matter, he certainly seemed to notice the effects about an hour later when he started fussing and complaining about the cramps.

“Just get over it,” I spat back at him, something I’ve heard way too many men say when they learn a woman is on her period, “just don’t be such a bitch!”

When I tell you: the man cried. Like, full-on bawled like a baybee when he couldn’t hold it anymore and started shitting all over himself in that diaper. He continued to cry for the next 3 hours when I refused to change him. I made him sit and wallow in his own filth while he thought about his life choices.

Reluctantly, his diaper was eventually changed, but so was his outfit. His eyes were wide as saucers when i held up the pink onesie and frilly skirt, but they closed soon after once the drugs kicked in. He woke up halfway through me doing his make-up, and seemed less than thrilled when the wig was put on.

Now, one week later, he’s mostly silent in his crib. I’m not sure if it’s the cocktail of hormones in his system messing with his brain, or he has finally accepted that this isn’t all a dream, that this isn’t going to stop, and this is his new life now. Any attempts to run will just lead to the thousands of pictures I have of him ending up all across the internet. The livestreams of him pooping his pampers notwithstanding. He’s quite docile now. He knows to keep that pacifier in his mouth otherwise it will delay his diaper change by several hours. It only took him a few rashes to learn to comply.

Lauren is now on her way over to get a look at the so-called “Man” that broke her heart. I highly doubt she’ll feel any sort of anguish now. Knowing her, she’ll have even more fun with him than I have.

So this is a call to all women, it is high time we put these deadbeat little fuck bois in their place. Take back what is ours. Let’s fight the patriarchy and turn it into a true Matriarchy, one pathetic little pervert at a time!

[freedomfireflies]

Four to Go*

Summary: The fourth part to One for the Money*

Mr. Styles, your boss (and the CEO of the company you work for), offers to help you expand your OnlyFans business.

But can he watch you sleep with someone else?

Word Count: 7.8k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

Mr. Styles is calm as he slips off his jacket, unfazed by the curious look on Max’s face.

“Uh…all right,” Max replies, sneaking a second glance at you for confirmation. “So, you…you’re just gonna…be here? Or…?”

Mr. Styles nods, taking a seat on the lounge chair near the wall, loosening his tie as he sits. “See, Peach always tends to need a little…encouragement. So, that’s why I’m here.”

He smiles at you, and your heart leaps.

“To give it to her.”

You have absolutely no idea what to say. What to think or feel. Part of you is somewhat comforted by his presence and the other part is wildly confused by it.

“Okay…” Max clears his throat and cocks an eyebrow up. “Well…we were just gonna go over some ground rules—”

“Excellent.” Mr. Styles beams as he leans back. A hand is waved as instruction to continue. “By all means.”

Your lips press together into a thin line.

“All right. I was just gonna ask how you feel about kissing,” Max begins, returning his attention to you. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Sometimes it can make things feel less serious, but it’s up to you.”

“Oh, I’m fine with it,” you say, shrugging once. “It’s just a kiss.”

Out of your peripheral, you catch Mr. Styles tilt his head.

“Okay. And condoms?”

“Yeah, I brought some.”

“Perfect, and I’ve got some, too.” Max looks around the room in thought. “Uh—oh. The safe word. I know we agreed on the color system, but if you have a particular word that feels best…?”

“Color system is fine,” you agree. “I trust you.”

Mr. Styles coughs under his breath.

You look over.

He smirks.

Amused, Max moves for his camera. “All right, then. Do you wanna go over the scene one more time?”

“Uh…honestly? Maybe we just…get right into it,” you answer, slowly slipping your coat off. “I have a tendency to overthink.”

You hear a snort from behind you, and you don’t even have to look to know who it came from. 

“Got it,” Max chuckles, surveying the room one last time. “Well, then…I guess I’m ready when you are?”

Your pulse skips a time or two as you nod and allow your covering to fall away, revealing the outfit underneath.

Another one of Mr. Styles' sets. A soft, pastel peach color. It felt fitting, and the room grows oddly quiet as both men take a moment to drink you in.

Max is the only one with a comment to make, smiling gently as he says, “Nice. And it’s comfortable?”

“Very. Yeah, my investor did an excellent job.”

Mr. Styles smirks at your sly comment while Max laughs.

“Ah, so this is the work of the mysterious gentleman in the corner?”

“Indeed.” You nod as you step closer to the bed. “Turns out, he’s incredibly picky.”

Another scoff but you pay it no mind as you shoot Max an innocent grin and take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

Max fiddles with the camera and the lights a moment more before he clears his throat and claps his hands together once. “All right, I think we’re ready.”

There’s a weird flutter in your stomach as you straighten up and prepare to begin, unable to resist sneaking a glance at your boss.

He’s expressionless. Stoically sitting in his chair, relaxed, yet seemingly uninterested.

It’s not unusual for him, but even still, you wonder where the man who dominated you in your bedroom has disappeared to.

And if you’ll ever see him again.

“You ready?” Max calls gently, smiling his encouragement.

“Yes,” you reply, voice oddly timid as you scoot back toward the pillows. “Ready.”

With that, a little red dot begins to blink from the device, signaling the start to the video.

No going back now.

Max makes his way around the tripod, approaching the bed with a confident gleam in his eye. “Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, rather seductively, and your breath catches. “’S’about time we found our way here, yeah?”

You nod again, lip disappearing between your teeth as he kneels onto the mattress and begins to crawl closer. 

“Look so fucking sweet,” he continues, letting his eyes trail from your face to your thighs, appreciating every thread on your lingerie set. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You fight the urge to look toward your boss, swallowing thickly as you whisper, “Yes.”

His hands find your hips, smoothing over the curves and dips with ease before slowly guiding your legs apart. “Gonna let me have a taste?”

You feel breathless. Wonderstruck by the fingers inching closer to you, the anticipation building in your gut.

“Yes,” you repeat, nails curling into the silk bedding beneath you as he moves in.

He hooks onto the material and slowly begins to pull it aside, allowing him access to your cunt. Then, his thumb outstretches, ready to swipe across your clit when the sound of a throat clearing echoes across the room.

You and Max both still, exchanging a curious look before turning to sneak a glimpse of the man responsible for the interruption.

Mr. Styles stares back, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, is that it, then?”

Max pushes up onto his knees. “Pardon?”

Your boss leans forward. “You have her all spread out, ready and willing, and this is the best you can do?”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as Max tosses you a curious expression.

“I mean…this is what we agreed on,” Max replies slowly. “A little foreplay before the rest of it.”

“And this is your idea of foreplay?”

Max blinks. “Uh…yes?”

“Interesting.” His fingers strum against the arm of the chair but he says nothing more.

A little rattled, you shift beneath Max and wait for him to continue.

Tentatively, he does, pushing through your folds with intense focus. He’s slow with it, letting the air hit you just so until you squirm, hand pushing your thigh open.

Vaguely, you feel a pair of eyes studying you from the corner of the room, taking note of each breath and quiver of your limbs.

And you know he’s watching you. Know he’s observing the technique. And while you don’t mind being watched by him, something about this feels odd.

Max straightens up and moves in to kiss you, slotting his knee between your legs as a hand wraps around the back of your neck.

His tongue is in your mouth before your eyes can close, and you whimper a bit at the aggressive force behind his touch. 

He’s quite good. One of the better men you’ve been with, and nothing has even happened yet. You take this as a good sign, allowing yourself to melt into the gesture as his fingers fiddle with the buckle on his belt.

There’s another condescending snort near the wall, and Max sighs against your cheek before turning around. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” There’s a touch of innocence behind his response but the look in his eye reads anything but. “That’s just not how she likes it.”

You feel the blood drain from your face as Max smirks and looks back at you. “Sorry, Peach. Is that not how you like it?”

“It is,” you confirm, shooting a peeved look toward the chair. “Ignore him, I’m sorry.”

Max smiles gently before pressing another kiss to your bottom lip while tugging his pants down.

He manages to get his boxers around his knees before there’s another noise, and you audibly groan.

“Now what?” Max calls, slightly annoyed but attempting to maintain a bit of calm.

Mr. Styles lifts one shoulder in a relaxed shrug. “Just think it wouldn’t hurt to slow down.”

Max lets his head drop, chin meeting his chest as he sighs before replying, “Is that right?”

“Nobody is watching this video for you,” Mr. Styles continues. “They’re watching it for her. They want to see the way she reacts. How she feels. Your cock is nothing more than the sideshow. She…is the main event.”

There’s a weird sort of flutter in your stomach as you let your focus drift to the man near the wall. 

Max exhales beneath his breath before straightening up. “All right. Then how do you suggest we proceed?”

Not needing to be asked twice, Mr. Styles stands to his feet and saunters toward the bed. “For starters…” A hand comes out to grasp onto Max’s jaw, tugging his face to the side. “…that’s not how she likes to be kissed.”

Wincing some, Max shoots him a glare while attempting to yank himself free. “Yeah? And how would you know?”

A rather excellent question, and your breath hitches as you await the response.

Mr. Styles doesn’t even look at you as he says, “I’m her fucking partner.”

Another tense silence flitters around the room before Max is finally released.

“And let me guess…I’m touching her wrong, too?” he counters, leaning away from you as Mr. Styles straightens up.

“Yes.” A simple response but the bite behind his tone makes you shiver. 

Max scoffs to himself, head shaking with disbelief as he pulls his boxers back up. “Well, maybe it would just be easier if you did it, hm?”

“It would. But then it wouldn’t be your video, now, would it?”

“Mr. Styles,” you begin in a gentle murmur, “please…it’s fine—”

“Doesn’t look fine,” is his only retort, nodding at the gentleman still kneeling above you. “Is this what they pay you for, then? Mediocre sex and cheap camera work?”

“This is what Peach and I agreed on,” Max reminds him. “All right? This is the scene that we created—”

“Nothing about this scene was constructed for her benefit,” Mr. Styles replies. “And if you knew anything about her content, you would know that her audience likes to see her squirm.”

“Well we’re not just catering to her audience, okay? This is about my audience, too—”

“Last time I checked, her subscriber count doubled yours. The majority of viewers won’t be for you. They’ll be for her—”

“Right, and that’s why she’s the one in the frame, all right? I know what I’m fucking doing—”

“No.” Another straightforward answer, and it makes your head spin. “No, you don’t. And I don’t think that’s fair to her or her subscribers. They shouldn’t have to pay for your incompetence.”

Max looks to you. “Is he fucking serious?”

“I—” You push up onto your elbows, feeling a little exposed in your see-through garment. “Mr. Styles, I appreciate the thought. But he’s right. This was part of the plan—”

“Your plan was to fake your orgasm just so he could nut on film?” 

Both you and Max still as this reply hangs in the air.

Then, Max crawls off the mattress, and stands to his feet. “Okay, you know what? I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

“Max…” you attempt to call, feeling rather embarrassed as he begins gathering his things. “Look, he doesn’t mean it—”

“No, I do,” Mr. Styles interjects, ignoring your peeved look of warning.

Max ignores you both.

He strides around the hotel room, throwing things into his duffel before turning the camera off and packing it up.

You attempt to shoot daggers toward your boss, a silent scold, but he simply meets your eye with relaxed indifference.

“Listen, Peach, you seem nice,” Max sighs, moving for the door with his things while shooting you a sympathetic grin. “And I appreciate you for even meeting with me. But…these things never work when the boyfriend gets involved. So, just…enjoy the room. It’s all yours for the night if you’d like it. And…I look forward to maybe working with you in the future.”

Your stomach drops as you nod and watch him exit the room, disappearing into the hallway until you’re left with the perpetrator.

All of fifteen minutes he’d managed to keep his mouth shut, and you huff as you sit up. “Seriously?” you mumble the moment the door is closed.

He leans back against the dresser, regarding you with ease. “That was pathetic, and you know it.”

“How? He hadn’t even done anything yet.”

“Exactly.”

You frown. “Mr. Styles, I really appreciate all of your help. But you were the one that told me this would be good for my account.”

“And it could have been. Just not with him.”

“What was so wrong with him?”

“He wasn’t doing it right.”

“Why? Just because he wasn’t doing it like you?”

“If he’s not doing it the way I would have, he’s doing it wrong.”

Your lips part but you find yourself without a response. After all, what exactly does he expect you to say?

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But you can do better than him. Even in porn.”

“Right,” you snort under your breath, settling against the headboard and pulling your knees to your chest. “Well…guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ll just go back to my vibrating cock. Seems to be the only thing people really like.”

You’re attempting to lighten the mood, but Mr. Styles only offers you a rather contemplative look.

“Is that right?” he calls.

You suck in a quiet inhale and nod once. “Yeah. I mean, technically that wasn’t the only thing they liked, but…”

His brow raises.

You clear your throat. “You. They liked you.”

This seems to amuse him, his perfectly pink lips pulling up into a coy grin. “Me.”

“Yeah.” You glance down at your nails. “They, uh…liked your voice? And your…hands? And the way you talked? I guess? It was, um…the main feedback. They wanted to see you in more videos.”

The smug bastard is much too pleased to hear this, practically beaming as he studies you. “They did, did they?”

“Mhm.” You nod, cheeks warming. “So…you’ve got fans.”

“How nice.” He runs a hand along his jaw in thought, smile still much too wide. “And were you happy with the video?”

The million-dollar question. Truth be told, it’s the first video of yours that you’ve ever willingly watched more than once. You can still hear his instructions ring between your ears. Can feel his hands on your thighs. Can taste yourself on his fingers.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, shifting a bit in your spot. “It was…it was really good. I like how it came together.”

“You watched it?”

“…yes.”

“I thought you didn’t like to watch yourself come.”

“Yeah, well…this was different.”

His head tilts. “How so?”

You toss him a frown. He knows exactly why, and you hate his insistence on making you spell it out. “Why do you think?”

“Could be a number of reasons.”

“Except it’s not, and you know it.”

“Perhaps. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You huff again. “I just like what we did, okay? It was a nice video, a nice scene, and a nice sound bite. Happy?”

Once again, that dark eyebrow dances up, his expression twisting into one of curious intrigue. “Sound bite?”

Shit. Your eyes flicker back down to your hands. “I mean…yeah. You do have a nice voice. Sounds…sounds great on film.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like listening to me talk?”

Again, you feel your pulse skip over its own rhythm as you attempt to convey nonchalance. “Sure.”

But he’s unconvinced by your casualness, pushing off the dresser to step closer to you. “Is that why you were watching the video, then? To listen to me?”

You want to respond but your whole mouth has gone numb.

“Were you using my voice to get off, Peach?” he murmurs, the scent of his cologne finally reaching you as he approaches the bed.

You don’t have to answer for him to know that he’s right. And perhaps you ought to be ashamed of such an admittance, yet…the strange darkness in his expression suggests otherwise.

“Yes,” you breathe, moving your gaze to the white button up clinging to his chest. It’s a rather sheer material, allowing you to see just a taste of his tan skin beneath, and the faint markings of ink from potential tattoos. “Couldn’t help it.”

“No?” He reaches the side of the mattress where you reside, sitting near your feet as he watches you. “Just had to listen to me while you touched yourself, hm?”

He’s so close. So fucking close to you, and the adrenaline you felt that day in your bedroom triples until you feel a bit faint.

“Yes,” you repeat, but it’s strained and airy. You don’t mean to sound so weak, but he always seems to leave you this way.

“How?” His attention to your face pulls you back. “How did you touch yourself? Did you do it the way you always do? Or did you do it the way I do?”

Your focus falls to your lap but he quickly takes hold of your chin to hoist your eyes back up. 

 “Peach,” he warns, “need you to tell me, yeah? Need to hear you say it.”

And you want to huff. Or scream. Or ball your hands into fists and pound on his chest in retaliation.

Instead, you whisper, “Touched myself the way you told me to.”

A look of pride flashes across his face. “Did you?”

A soft nod. “Yes. Imagined you there with me.”

He drops his attention to your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sit up, desperate to bring yourself closer to him. Magnetized by this invisible pull. “Thought about your voice. Your hands. What you would have asked me to do. Wanted to make you proud…be good for you.”

He releases a deep breath, lashes fluttering as if working to keep his grip on his self-control. “Peach…”

“Almost called you,” you admit, fingers outstretching for his knee. “Almost asked for your business advice.”

He tightens his grip on your jaw, leg pushing into your touch.

“Watched it over and over and over.” Your palm glides up his thigh. “Thought about you through every fucking second.”

His expression grows stern as the vile language leaves your mouth, and you can see his dominant demeanor slip through the cracks.

“Just wanted to feel you, Sir,” you whimper, and his breath hitches. “Wanted your cock. Not the toy. Not his. Just you.”

It’s dizzying how quickly he manages to take hold of your hips and force you onto his lap, lacy cunt grinding against his covered bulge.

You both make a noise of approval, your forehead meeting his as you steady yourself by his shoulders.

“Is that right?” he finally speaks, but it’s coarse like gravel.

“Yes.” Your nails dig into his jacket. “It’s not the same when it’s just me.”

“No,” he agrees instantly. “No, how can it be? Such a pretty little thing doesn’t know what she’s doing. Needs someone to do it for her.”

You’re tugging on your lip to cover a whine, nodding quickly in agreement.

“Needs someone to take care of her, yeah?” His nose nudges into yours, taunting you with a kiss that you aren’t sure he’ll actually give you. “Tell her how to make Daddy happy?”

Your thighs are dragged over his for a second time as he grinds you down, forcing another wave of pleasure to roll over you.

“Wanna make me happy, don’t you?” he asks, and it’s so cruel of him to expect your coherence in a moment like this. “Always want my approval. My permission. Wanna do anything I fucking tell you, hm?”

“Yes…yes, please—”

“Please what, hm?” A beat as he inhales you. “What do you want, honey?”

You press your chest into his, gasping when the rings in your nipples are harshly stimulated. “Want you to tell me what I want.”

And he grins like this is the best thing he’s ever heard, hands tightening around your hips rather possessively. “Think you want my cock, don’t you? Want someone to do it right.”

You do. Have never wanted anything more, and it nearly makes your stomach ache from the thought of finally having him in a way you never thought you could.

There’s a brief moment of pause, the implication of your position and request dangling in the already tense air.

His lips are so close, taunting you with a taste, and it takes everything in you not to surge forward and take him for yourself.

He shifts, cock bucking up into your cunt as you sigh again, and just when you think this is the moment the dam breaks, he says, “Did you bring your camera?”

With a racing heart, you nod quickly, glancing toward your bag in the corner of the room.

He doesn’t move, at least not for a moment, instead breathing you in as he thinks. “Where is it?”

“There,” mumble, chin jutting toward the wall.

This time, he nods, squeezing your hips once more before taking a deep inhale and moving you off his lap.

It feels like the end of the goddamn world to have him rip his body from yours, and your chest nearly caves in as you watch him move for your things.

He rummages around in the bag until he finds the camera and tripod, moving to the other side of the bed to begin setting up.

It’s a different angle than Max had picked, and something tells you this is intentional. Whether this is out of spite or because he genuinely disapproved of Max’s camerawork, you aren’t sure. 

You study him as he straightens the device and faces the lens toward the bed. Wonder yet again who this man really is. What his motivation is. What his intentions are. You’ve seen a side of him today you weren’t sure existed and despite yourself, you’re becoming addicted to it.

But is this just a ruse? Or is this who he really is?

“Look at me,” he calls, and it’s a dark, sensual instruction. “Good girl.”

He focuses on your face, making sure everything that needs to be in the frame is, and once he’s satisfied, he straightens up.

“I’m gonna hit record,” he tells you while your heart leaps into your throat. “What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and you scoot back into the pillows. “Okay.”

The moment the red dot begins to flash, the air in the room shifts.

Your pussy practically comes to life as he side-steps into frame, slowly pulling his suit jacket off.

“Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, and your eyes zero in on his shoulders as they’re revealed to you. “Been a while, hm?”

Exactly one week and two days.

Not that you’ve been counting.

You stay silent as he approaches, desperately enthralled by his body as more and more of it is exposed.

He tosses the covering toward the other side of the bed before flicking the first couple of buttons on his shirt open.

“Know you missed me, haven’t you?” he continues, his back to the camera as he kneels on the bed. “Needed someone to take care of you.”

Your chest rises and falls with labored, anxious breaths. It’s torture the way he slowly crawls from the end of the bed to where you wait, taking his sweet time like if you aren’t about to pass out from anticipation. 

 Glimpses of his tattoos peek from beneath the collar of the white cotton fabric, teasing you with ideas as he finally reaches your legs, forcing your attention back.

“Isn’t that right?” he asks, just loud enough for the mic to pick him up.

“Yes,” you mewl, correcting yourself when you see his stern expression. “Yes, sir.”

“I know.” His fingers curl around your ankles, tugging your thighs apart to make room for his body. “Shame you didn’t ask me sooner.”

You consider this. Consider if this is part of the scene or an actual comment from Mr. Styles himself.

Either way, it makes you pout. “Should have,” you agree. “M’sorry, sir.”

The extra helping of compliance in your tone makes his mouth dance up into a proud grin. 

He settles himself between your legs, reaching now for your wrists to bring them to his chest. “Take off my shirt.”

And it’s an instruction you don’t need to hear twice as you shoot up and begin pawing at his buttons.

Despite your shaky fingers, you manage to pull the tie over his head and free the shirt from his body, anxious to shove it down his arms until you can see his chest in full.

When you do…the world changes.

Colors are brighter, sights are sweeter, life is fuller. The body before you is that of real beauty. Sketched by the steady hand of an artist, each line, and ridge, and curve telling a story you desperately want to read.

It’s as if he were painted on a canvas and brought to life, your own work of art sitting right before you on this bed, asking you to indulge him.

Without thought, your palms sweep down his tan skin, drinking in the dips and edges that make up his torso. 

He’s strong, and warm, and effortlessly sturdy. The ink littering his collarbone is delicate yet expressive. Two sparrows on each side with a butterfly just below his sternum. 

It moves when he breathes, wings fluttering with the rhythm of his heart. You can’t tear your eyes away, and even though you feel him watching, you can’t move past this moment. Can’t fathom anything else but the divinity of the man between your thighs. 

He smiles, pushing his body into your hands before grabbing hold of your hip. “Gonna show them your little surprise?”

Your head moves up and down wordlessly as he takes hold of your lingerie set and pulls the material down.

As it falls, he scoots to the side, allowing the camera to find you as your tits are revealed to the audience.

The rings shimmer in the light flittering through the hotel curtains, the initials—his initials—like a badge of honor to claim you to the world.

“So pretty, Peach,” he tells you, not for the first time, yet it makes your ego swell the same way it had before. “Like being mine, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say without pause. “Wanna be yours. Always.”

He hums, and it’s delicious. Soft green eyes like grass on a summer day.

He kneads your breast in his palm, letting his thumb ghost over the piercing until you keen, back arching from the bed.

He makes another noise, soft but urgent, and you can see that his attempt at dragging the scene out is all for not. 

His other hand moves to your cunt, rough fingertip pressing into your clit through the lacy fabric until you’re squirming. He swallows your whispers for more, for mercy, and his brows furrow when he feels how wet you’ve become.

“Lay down,” he nearly grits, practically tugging you onto your back. “Let me see you.”

You settle into the mattress with ease, lashes fluttering when he maneuvers onto his stomach. His hands curl around your legs, forcing them further open to make room for his head as his nose brushes down the fabric on your stomach.

He’s moving for your pussy, lips sweeping across every inch of you he can reach before hovering over where your clit lies. 

His tongue comes out and presses into your cunt, despite the covering in the way, and you whine when you feel him. Warm, and wet, and pointed as the tip slides up just to tease you.

“Sir,” you gasp, but it’s his name you’re desperate to say. His real name, the beautiful H still shimmering from your chest, seeming to taunt you.

He hums, and the vibrations echo into your nerve endings, setting each sense on fire. You attempt to move away from his mouth, but his strong hold keeps you cemented to the bed and his firm expression keeps you submissive.

He creates a pattern of licking and sucking. Rhythmic yet purposeful. And the skill behind each nudge of his nose or flick of his tongue far exceeds what you expected of him. 

His nails sink into your heated skin, practically forcing you against his lips until the flesh tears, crescent-shaped indents now littering your thighs. 

And he’s so close to tasting you but not quite close enough. You’re not sure who this tortures more, but you hate the way he keeps you from what you truly want. What you need.

Your hands find his curls, sweeping through the auburn strands as he makes another noise and nuzzles into your touch.

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s a futile attempt at begging but even still, Mr. Styles seems pleased.

More than that, he seems just as unhinged as you feel, rutting into the bed beneath him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

You imagine he might come just from this little act of foreplay, spurred on by your sounds and pleas. But you need to feel him, and he needs to feel you, and there’s no goddamn way either one of you will be leaving this room until his cock has been inside your cunt.

 “Sir,” you try again, tugging on his hair until he looks up. “Please…need you to fuck me. Need it, please—”

He shoots you a displeased sneer, palm slapping into your thigh as punishment for the choice in language.

But you don’t care. Not when he’s this close to conceding, and you know it’s hurting him just as much as it’s hurting you.

 Despite his disapproval, he sits up and begins tugging on his belt, yanking it through the loops before ripping the zipper down.

Your greedy hands reach for him, trailing across his large arms and broad shoulders. Fumbling with his pants in an effort to push them down his legs. Slipping into his briefs just so you can get the faintest feel of his cock.

He’s outrageously hard, already leaking when you find him, and despite his conviction, he bucks into your palm.

The slight twitch makes your head spin, and you whine as you scoot closer.

“Please, please, please,” you beg breathlessly, legs spreading once more as he pulls himself free. 

The cool air sends a wave of goosebumps from your neck to your toes, but it’s the sight of him in his own hand that really does it.

Pumping himself with delicate precision, he hisses between clenched teeth, “S’this what you want, Peach? Want Daddy’s cock?”

The voice inside your head is screaming but your mouth merely mumbles, “So bad, sir. Need you to make it better.”

He pushes on your leg, cementing it to the mattress while his other fingers hook onto your outfit to pull it away from your dripping pussy.

He seems mesmerized by the way your body reacts to him, and you have to wonder why he’s so surprised. You imagine it should be obvious the effect he has on you, yet the fascination in his eye leads you to believe he never considered this to be a possibility. 

“My perfect peach,” he whispers, letting his finger drag through you. You jolt, moaning deep within the back of your throat as he brings his cock closer. “Gonna feel so fucking good for me, aren’t you? Can already tell. Gonna be my good girl.”

He spreads you, studying your pussy with fascination. Allowing his touch to move up and down your soaked folds while he plays with you. As though you’re a toy, meant only for his amusement. 

And he’s so wonderstruck as he moves your arousal around, letting it web between his fingers before teasing your hole.

One digit is sweet, but two is ecstasy. Reminding you of just how empty you really are. How badly you need him. All of him.

He works himself in and out for at least two minutes, just to see you stretch for him. And the way he watches you makes your ears ring, your cheeks growing hot.

He could keep you here forever, you imagine. Could make you come from this alone, and you have half a mind to let him.

But you enjoy the feeling of his fingers curling inside your soft walls. Enjoy the way he strokes you, pets you, presses into you. You want to kiss his hand for being so wonderful. For being so generous, and maybe you want to kiss him, too.

The faster his fingers move, the harder you sink. Your muscles dissolve into jelly, and you nearly disappear through the bed when he places a knee onto your thigh.

He’s using his weight to trap you, keep you pliable, keep you submissive. And it works because you don’t consider doing anything else as he finally removes his hand and lines himself up.

“Breathe,” he orders, taking hold of your hip to steady you and angle you up. “Easy, honey. Gotta open you up for me, yeah?”

He pushes in slowly, inching forward with great restraint as your walls stretch around him, mold to him, invite him in. You’ve gone quiet, jaw dropped open in an empty, soundless pant. But he knows what this means, and the bastard smirks as he continues.

Halfway in, and your cunt has latched onto him. Squeezing him so tight, you can see the torture of it on his face. He’s trying to take it easy, be gentle. Make this at least somewhat pleasurable for you but he’s only a man. An older gentleman at that, and it seems as though he wasn’t expecting to lose himself so fast.

“More,” you mewl, wiggling down. “More, sir, please….please, just…go.”

You greedily reach for his shoulders, his neck, his hair. Wanting to wrap your arms and legs around his body and hold him inside of you until this ache goes away.

And he seems to want this, too, driving in a bit faster than before as if to satiate you.

“M’almost there, Peach, be patient,” he scolds, but you can tell the threat is empty. “Gotta make this pretty pussy mine, yeah? Gotta show you what a real cock feels like.”

And maybe his cock isn’t purple, and maybe it doesn’t vibrate, but my god does it scratch that itch. Reaches places inside of you that a silicone one never could and it’s his. The only thing that really matters.

He smells like money and expensive aftershave. Addicting in every sense of the word, and you whine again when he stills.

“Easy,” he warns, attempting to shoot you a stern look, but it dissipates when he sees how ruined you are. “Be good, my love, come on.”

And this nickname makes your heart burst as you whimper and melt into the silk sheets.

He’s almost there, maybe an inch or two from being completely sheathed within your cunt. But he throws all decorum to the side when he decides to ram himself forward, filling you to the hilt as his lips suddenly crash into yours.

The kiss is salty yet oddly sweet. His tongue has traces of you, but it also tastes like him, and both of you together is something you couldn’t have anticipated. 

It’s a messy connection, wet and a bit uncoordinated for only a moment before he figures out a rhythm he likes. 

You scratch down his scalp almost as if to discourage him from leaving you, moaning while your body works to accommodate his size. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t attempt to pull back before you’re ready, and you’re grateful for this courtesy in a moment so heated. You aren’t sure if you’re in control of your own mind anymore, but you enjoy following his lead.

You always have.

When he nips at your bottom lip, you’re reminded of how bad you need him. Need that release, and you slip your free leg around his bare hip. “Please,” you whisper, nose nudging into his cheek. “Please, Daddy.”

He groans at the nickname, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he eases back, just gentle enough to torture you.

And so begins the languid but deviously hard pace. A cadenced set of thrusts so deliciously slow, it makes your lungs ache. 

Each pull out and push in seems to rip you in half, introducing you to the kind of pleasure you’d only ever heard about.

It feels as though this is what has always been missing from your life. This kind of sex, this kind of understanding, this kind of prowess. 

And maybe it’s just his cock, or maybe it’s him, but it doesn’t matter because you’ll take it. Take anything this man offers you, and you’ll thank him for it.

Perhaps a rather uncouth thought, but you’ll correct yourself tomorrow. 

Today, you’re his. 

“Taking me so well, Peach,” he grunts, hips knocking into yours as he slips an arm beneath your waist. “Look at you, honey. So fucking wet, you hear that? Hear the way you sound for me?”

And you do. How could you not? It echoes around the room, bounces between the walls, and fills your ears like a harmony. 

You imagine this might be your favorite part. Listening to the way your body has welcomed him in. You can feel it dripping down to your ass, can see it on his skin, can practically taste it still on his tongue.

Your back arches, chest knocking into his, and the brush of the rings makes you writhe. A squirmy movement that benefits you both as he growls beneath a strained breath and drives in at a harder pace.

“Bet it feels good, yeah?” He captures your mouth with his. “Bet it’s so fucking good. Bet you’ve never had someone fuck you like this, have you?”

With a fervent shake of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and move to kiss down his jaw. “No, Daddy.”

The arm beneath you coils a bit tighter. “I can tell. This poor, pretty pussy just doesn’t know what to do, hm? Can’t do anything but take it.”

Sweat trickles between your bodies, and it’s salty on your taste buds as you lick the spot below his ear. 

You almost swear you hear him purr from the feel of your lips, and it makes your heart soar to know he’s so enamored.

“Show them,” he seethes, the blades of his shoulders rippling beneath your hands. “Show them how good it feels to be fucked right.”

Your head drops back, heavy from the weight of your lust before you manage to look toward the camera.

Already you can see the influx of comments about the man between your legs. Praising him, idolizing him, thirsting after him.

And with your eyes on the lens, you lift your mouth to his, sucking on his tongue with great purpose as you remind the audience who he really belongs to.

After all, his initials are emblazoned across your chest. His mark, his claim, his property.

Whether or not that follows you both outside of this room doesn’t matter. Right now, right here, in this moment…he is yours.

His hips snap forward and he’s losing the battle fast, unable to keep himself from fucking into you with a fervent need for release.

But you certainly don’t mind because the angrier he gets, the harder he goes…the more infatuated you become. 

And he’s hitting that spot over and over and over. Like it’s his job, like he always knew where to find it, how to please you. Stars scatter behind your eyelids and you’re drenching his cock and the sheets and his fingers the moment they attach to your clit.

The room fills with sex and whimpers and determined thrusts that have the bed shaking. Nothing else exists but this. Just this. Just him.

“Come on,” he breathes, pinching you between his fingers, tweaking the sensitive nerves until you nearly scream. “Come on, Peach. Let go for Daddy. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

“Please,” you cry because it’s far too overstimulating for you to think straight. It almost hurts, and you writhe beneath his hand. “Please, can’t—”

“But you will,” he tuts, thumb pressing into your clit as though punishing it. “You will because you’re my good girl. Aren’t you? Do exactly what I say, don’t you?”

Your head rolls back into the pillows, spine arching as you whisper, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He removes his arm from under your waist so he can go back up to your chest, pulling on your tit until tears actually gather in your lashes. “Go on, then. Fucking give it to me.”

You can feel the cool brush of his rings against your skin, but the moment you look down at his hands, it hits you.

Unraveling faster than you ever have, you clench around him, and finally release that scream. It’s the strongest one you believe you’ve ever experienced, and it seems to last an eternity as he continues fucking into you. 

Then, his hand is on your jaw, tugging something fierce until your eyes meet.

“Look at me,” he whispers, knee still digging into your thigh as his weight keeps you caught in the pleasure. “Look at me, honey. Let me see you come.”

Tears fall from your cheeks and into his hands, almost burning your skin as you shudder around his cock.

You can see the repercussions of it on his face. Can see how connected you two have become in this singular moment.

He’s seconds away from following, and just when you begin to revel in the thought of feeling him fill you…he pulls out.

Straightening up, he takes his cock in his hand, and with a quick, firm pump, he comes all over your tits.

Nothing will ever be able to describe the wave of adoration you feel as you watch him release himself. The knitting of his eyebrows together in pure, unadulterated bliss or the flush in his cheeks as he groans.

His lips are so very pink and swollen, and the expression on his face, like something out of a museum. Structured and beautiful and the perfect showcase of exactly how good he feels right now.

And you watch as the nipple rings—his initials—are drenched in the sticky substance. It looks like art, painted across your chest in featherlike strokes. 

The camera catches everything, allowing the audience the best view of his contribution. You imagine it’ll be something you’ll rewatch for years to come. A screenshot engraved in your mind for the rest of time.

You hum contently, eyelids growing heavy as you admire his work, and just when you think the moment is dwindling down, he dips down.

His tongue swipes over your breast, collecting himself on his lips as you groan and push up into his mouth.

He makes a noise himself, both hands gluing to your ribcage as he pulls you closer and keeps you still.

He licks at you like you’re a popsicle on a hot day, smearing his come over your skin, your lingerie set, and his chin. 

“So good, Peach,” he murmurs between sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Could fucking stay here all day.”

Once again, your fingers brush through his curls, lazily this time. Almost as if trying to relax him. Thank him.

“Please do,” you whisper, almost as if to yourself, but the softening of his expression tells you he heard.

With one final kiss to your tit, he moves back up and takes hold of your jaw.

His fingers press into your cheeks, right beside your lips as a silent instruction for you to open. 

You do, immediately sticking out your tongue for his offering as he leans down.

The spit and come dribble down deliciously slow but the moment they make contact, you whimper.

He keeps his hold on your face, watching as it sits in your mouth, seeming to enjoy the sight of your full submission. 

Then, he squeezes. “Swallow.”

You do, quite greedily, and the second it’s down your throat, he’s kissing you again.

And it’s different this time because he’s no longer inside of you. No longer fucking you or showing off for the camera.

He’s kissing you just to kiss you and it makes your head spin as you disappear into his unspoken display of affection.

“My sweet girl,” he says against your lips, and it makes you smile. “Sweet like a peach, hm?”

You giggle into his cheek, nuzzling into him as though his touch is the only thing that can save you. 

And maybe it is.

“Thank you,” you finally say, nipping at his earlobe until he smirks.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Fucking me?”

He laughs as he smooths his palm down your side, drinking in your feverish body as the camera watches.

“Just trying to be a good business partner,” he retorts, and it makes your stomach flutter.

You lean back to meet his eye, already feeling sheepish. “Mr. Styles?”

“Hm?” His focus drifts to your forehead as he absentmindedly brushes back your hair. 

“I wouldn’t be…opposed to doing that again,” you admit with a sheepish grin.

And for a moment, he’s amused, staring at you with a look you aren’t sure you recognize but absolutely adore. 

Then, his smile falls, and a frown settles over his face. A sad kind of expression that changes the afternoon on a dime.

Suddenly, he’s sitting up and scooting back, tucking himself into his pants before snatching his shirt from the bed.

You watch, confused and a little unsure as he begins packing his things in the same way Max had. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” you venture timidly, arms crossing over your chest in an attempt at covering. 

He doesn’t reply. He simply turns off the camera and redoes his belt, eyes trained everywhere but you.

“I was just…I was kidding. We don’t have to do that again, I just…I thought—”

“It’s fine.” His tone is clipped. Short and straight to the point. He sounds the way he always does yet it makes your heart sink.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you try again, but his head merely shakes.

“You didn’t.” Another vague and frustrating answer. “I just have somewhere I need to be.”

However, you know his schedule inside and out, personal and professional, and you know that he specifically kept today wide open.

Still, he pulls on his jacket and runs a hand through his hair, attention drifting toward the door. Eyeing his escape.

You bite back a sigh. “Uh…okay, well, thank you. Again. For your help.”

He nods, finally glancing over. But he’s not looking at you the way he was before. Now, it’s hollow. Void of any understanding and care. “I told you I’d help, and I meant it.”

“Right.” And now he’s done. “Sure, yeah. Okay. So I’ll…see you Monday?”

Another nod, this time quiet. You can see that he’d like to add something else, but his lips purse together, keeping his secrets locked away.

“Monday,” he finally repeats, moving for the exit. “I expect you to be on time.”

You stare at his back as he opens the door, silently pleading with him to turn around. To look at you one last time. Not leave like this.

He hesitates, hand gripping the handle, knuckles going white. He’s halfway into the hallway and your breath hitches.

Then, he disappears through the frame.

And the door slams shut. 

ONE MORE PART, I WILL BE SOBBING TBH

Next Part:

~ Five to Go Live*

Previous Part:

~ Three to Make Ready*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

And a shout-out to @fkinavocado for helping me plan! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @indierockgirrl @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @likeapplejuicenpeach @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever

(If your name is highlighted it's because Tumblr won't let me tag you, it's very weird and I don't understand it but I tried, I promise 😭💞)

[mykoreanlove]

Channie 🥺

Sleeping with your boyfriend was one of the hardest things to do. Why?

Because that manic workaholic rarely ever slept. And if he found himself in the comfort of his big comfortable bed with you in it, sleep was off the table.

Your relationship was still fresh, the lingering hormones all in the air.

But sometimes when the exhaustion of everyday life took over, you found yourself embraced in his strong arms, peacefully dozing off to sleep.

„Channie?“, you whispered quietly.

No reaction. You felt his broad chest behind you heaving up and down, accompanied by small snores.

„Channie?“, you asked again while wiggling your butt softly.

He let out some unrecognisable sounds and kept on sleeping.

You smiled warmly to yourself, feeling utterly protected and loved. It hasn’t always been like this, you always had wondered if a love like this would ever be possible after all.

Chan didn’t know that about you - yet.

„Channie“, you softly whispered, still engulfed in his embrace.

„I haven’t told you this before and the only reason I’m telling you now is because you’re asleep. Maybe you’ll hear me in your dreams, I don’t know but… I wanted to tell you that I have never seen this coming.“

You paused for a second, checking if he was still asleep. Only silence and Chan‘s heavy breathing filled the room.

„I am not as experienced with relationships as you are. In fact, I only was in one. And ever since all I knew was rejection. So naturally, I didn’t think you and I would work out.“

Flashbacks of all the past heartbreaks you had to endure flooded your mind and clouded your soul in sadness. At one point you gave up on men, up on love entirely. You remembered the first dates with Chan and how nerve-wrecking they were. Would he leave you? Would he break it off? Would he ghost you and vanish like the others? How much time did you still have left?

You didn’t notice him wake up as you were too engulfed in your memories, recollecting them all.

„Dating seems so easy for you but it’s not to me. I get insecure so easily. I always went crazy when you didn’t reply fast enough or sounded dry. I know that’s so stupid but that’s how I was..“, you chuckled ashamed.

Chan didn’t dare moving, he needed you to think he was still sound asleep.

„And I was terrified of opening up to you and letting you in. I was so terrified you’d break my heart like all the others. And I tried guarding my heart..“

Now Chan was the one having flashbacks, remembering all the times you acted out of line, making him wonder if you liked him at all. Up to now he didn’t understand why you acted that way.

„But I couldn’t. Something about you just made me jump into this. And this thing between us, the past months I mean. To others that doesn’t seem like a big deal but to me it does… you didn’t leave me.“

A heavy silence was hanging in the air, perfectly accentuating the boldness of your words.

„You didn’t ghost me. Or exchanged me for someone else. You stayed. You actually stayed.“

You whispered the last part, barely audible.

Chan‘s lips, delicately placed on the soft skin on your neck, startled you.

„I’m planning to stay forever, babygirl.“

Your cheeks turned red as embarrassment flooded your whole system.

„Oh my god, you heard all of that?“, you whined.

„Only the last part, baby.“

„I feel so embarrassed..“, you blurted out.

„I know“, Chan stated as he pulled you closer, tightening his grip on you.

„But that doesn’t change a single thing. I want you y/n. And I am here to stay. Forever. Get used to that, okay?“

You relaxed back into his warm embrace.

„Okay.“

[natalievoncatte]

This was it, the moment of truth. The plan was going flawlessly, and in a few minutes, Lena would have what she needed to complete and launch Non Nocere. She was about to save the world.

(You mean your master plan, Lex’s voice snickered in her head)

Lena shook it away, as she had so many times already. When Kara glanced at her, Lena played it off as the cold. She was, after all, standing outside in the actual Arctic, brutally aware of how underdressed she was even in a heavy woolen coat and doubled up leggings.

Even here at the roof of the world, Kara was gorgeous. The sunlight glared off the ice and yet it only seemed to make her more radiant, her sun kissed skin practically glowing, blue eyes the color of the sea darkened by a distant storm.

“I’ll never understand why your cousin built this place here,” said Lena.

“He didn’t. There was an ancient Kryptonian outpost here from long, long ago, when my people were more expansionist. They abandoned any plans to colonize other solar systems thousands of years ago.”

Lena looked at her, damning her own curiosity. Kara, for her part, looked far away.

“Why?” said Lena.

“They decided they’d done enough damage to their own world.”

Lena blinked. Turning away, Kara inserted the key into the locking mechanism and unleashed a series of heavy grinding sounds as the doors parted.

Within, it was warmer.

(At last I walk these hallowed halls, a conquerer)

Not by much, though.

Lena drew in a breath and looked around, allowing herself a moment of unrepentant awe. The ceiling arched high overhead where the crystalline walls joined to form a peak, giving the Fortress of Solitude the air of a great cathedral. This gave a reference to the statue of a handsome man and beautiful woman, pressed side by side with joined hands and expressions of fear and hope as they gazed off into some distant star.

“That’s Jor-El and Lara, my aunt and uncle.”

Superman’s parents, Lena thought.

“Don’t your family have statues?”

“Kal-El created the memorial,” said Kara. “He didn’t know about my family until I told him.”

Lena huffed.

“I have a hologram of my mother,” said Kara. “It’s really just a computer interface. She doesn’t… I remember them in my own way.”

Kara cleared her throat, and Lena saw tears welling up in her eyes. A twist of pain turned in her stomach and her hand fell on Kara’s shoulder.

(That’s it. Play to her emotions. Use them like she used yours.)

“I hate this place,” Kara whispered.

Lena pulled her hand back.

“Why?”

“I thought I’d be excited to show you. There’s just so much I’ve always wanted to share, but this place is a tomb. When I’m in here, it’s like home, but not. It’s just a reminder of everything I’ve lost, and it makes me feel sick how much I want to go back.”

“Of course you want to go back,” said Lena. “It was your home.”

Kara let out a low, shuddering breath.

“It was, but it’s not anymore. I’ve lived on Earth now longer than I did on Krypton.”

She was looking up at the statues, or past them, perhaps. Lena couldn’t help but study her profile, the curve of her jaw and the soft lines of her face. How could someone who could crush coal into diamonds with her hands and kill with a glance be so angelic?

(Such an innocent face to hide such betrayal)

Lena swallowed, trying to still herself and tamp down the sympathy she felt.

“I envy him.”

“Who?”

“Superman. My cousin. He’s so lucky. He only gets the good part, the blessing from my uncle and the special heritage. For him, this place is joyful. It’s the answer to all his questions and full of strange wonders and joys. He tries to mourn them but how can he mourn something he’s never known?”

“I’m sure it must be sad for him, wondering what they were like.”

“He never knew them to disappoint him, either. It want his father that created Medusa. Sometimes I just wish I could forget it all. This place reminds me I don’t really have a home.”

Lena turned to her sharply.

Kara sighed. “My home is still out there. Argo, I mean. It’s basically a new Krypton. I could go if I wanted. Kal is there with…” she trailed off.

“Lois,” Lena added. “I pieced it together pretty quickly after you told me your identity. He’s Clark Kent, isn’t he?”

“You’ve always been too smart,” said Kara, and she sounded so genuine, so admiring, that it made Lena briefly wish she didn’t have to do this. That it had been real.

“I can’t go back there. I can’t be part of that society anymore, where people don’t get any choices in what they do, or…” Kara looked directly at Lena, dragging out the pause a beat too long. “Who they love.”

“What do you mean?”

“On Krypton, we had what I guess you’d call arranged marriages.”

“So you’d never have been able to be with Mon-El.”

“I wouldn’t have been allowed to choose him, no,” said Kara, “though thinking back, really thinking about it, I don’t think I would have in the end.”

Lena looked at Kara, who still stared up.

“Why?”

“We were only together because…” she let out a long sigh. “Because I don’t have a home anymore, not really. I can’t go back to my own people and I don’t belong here.”

“Of course you have a home, Kara,” said Lena, lightly touching Kara’s arm.

“You’d don’t know what it’s like,” said Kara, choking back a small sob. “No matter what path I take I have to kill part of myself. I can’t be Kryptonian and human, no matter how hard I try. The Kryptonian side keeps taking things away from me. I can never be my whole self with someone.”

Lena swallowed.

“Just look what it did to us,” said Kara, turning to Lena. “I almost lost you because of it, because of the lies I let myself tell.”

“Kara,” Lena lied, “I’ve forgiven you. We don’t have to re-litigate this.”

“Maybe you have, but I’ve never apologized to you properly. I’ve just been trying to smooth it over and fill in the cracks and I know how hard you’ve tried but it’s not enough for me to just let you do all the work.”

“Kara…”

“I was such an asshole,” Kara said, and Lena blinked. In any other circumstances, she’d have made a joke and chided Kara for her unusual profanity.

“I mean about the Kryptonite, but about other things, too. I shouldn’t have treated you one way while I was in the suit and another way when I wasn’t.”

“I’m still not sure which one was real,” Lena blurted.

(No! No, what are you doing? You have to make her think all is forgiven so she’ll take you to the armory!)

“They both were,” said Kara. “I was angry about the Kryptonite, and I was scared. I admit it, Lena. As much as I trusted you then and I trust you now, I didn’t know what to think. My best friend was making a poison that only hurts me.”

“I didn’t know it was you,” said Lena. “If I’d known…”

Kara swallowed.

“I know.”

“If I’d known, I would have come to you about Sam. I would have come to you about a lot of things, Kara.”

Kara tried to blink back tears and failed. Something about seeing her cry openly while wearing the suit made her seem so small and delicate.

“I wish I could be human,” said Kara. “I wish I could just be the person you thought I was and we could just be us.”

(Us? Lex snarled. You’re nothing more than a dog to her, that can be put down when she’s done with you!)

Lena’s throat tightened and tears stung her eyes.

“You know, when I was fighting Red Daugher, Lex’s clone of me…”

Lena looked at her sharply.

“I… I couldn’t beat her. I was losing. She… she killed me. My heart stopped. I was gone.”

Lena choked out a soft sob, unable to restrain it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I knew I couldn’t go. I had so much to stay for. I don’t know how I did it but I dragged myself back from the other side, I just… I thought of Alex and J’onn and all my friends and everything I have to live for, everything here, on Earth, my home. Even that wasn’t enough.”

“What was?”

“You,” said Kara. “I couldn’t go without making amends with you, or at least trying. You’re my lodestar. I’ll always come back to you eventually.”

(She’s just trying to keep you in line. It’s a lie. It’s always a lie, she’s all lies!)

“I’m glad. I need someone around to safe me from assassination attempt number 547,” said Lena. The joke turned to sand in her throat, her voice on the edge of breaking.

“I’ve spent weeks trying to think of a magic combination of words that will make it better, but there isn’t one, is there? I can only tell you how sorry I am that I did what I did and promise I never will again. I’m so sorry I hurt you. It’s the worse thing I’ve ever done.”

“Kara…”

(Just let her trust you. You’re almost here. Myriad is here. The answer is here. Fuck her sentimental bullshit. She-)

Kara slowly reached out and caressed the back of her fingers against Lena’s tear-stained cheek.

“It’s crazy how dying made me realize so many things.”

“Like what?”

“All the things I never knew I wanted to do, until I knew I’d never do them.”

Lena swallowed, hard, fighting the urge to lean into her hand and press the warm skin to her own.

“Like what?”

Kara leaned in, filling Lena’a space, and Lena was acutely aware that she was the only warmth in this frozen place. Kara’s other arm swept around her, Kara’s fingers spread wide across Lena’s back.

“Is this okay?”

(No! NO NO NO!)

“Yes.”

(You can’t do this! You killed me, Lena! You killed your only brother for her and she’s a liar and a-)

Kara kissed Lena the way she did everything: Fully and completely. As Kara drew them together, Lena tipped back just a touch, as Kara seemed to tower over her, surrounding her in a warm embrace. Their lips met softly, chastely. Lena felt like she was in middle school again. It was as if she’d been rewound back to before her first clumsy, lip-pinching kiss in a boarding school bathroom.

She wasn’t sure whether it was Kara who deeepened the kiss, or her. In the end, it didn’t matter. Kara escalated by degrees, pausing as if to murmur an apology at any moment. Lena grasped her like was the only solace in a raging storm, feeling those steel cable muscles flexing beneath her suit.

Then she squeaked in Lena’s mouth when Lena grabbed a handful of ass, and Lena giggled.

“Do you want this too?” said Kara.

(You killed me!)

Yes, Lex, and I would again.

“Yes,” Lena admitted, and it was as if some great heavy weight had fallen from her shoulders.

She threw herself into Kara, shivering.

“It’s cold in here.”

Kara pulled Lena tight, wrapping them both in her cape.

“Let’s get what we came for and go home.”

[keurimi]

[ 23:58pm ] — i love you. remember that.

you and haechan were polar opposites. he was sociable, outgoing, popular, and charmed every person he crosses paths with. he was very ambitious and hardworking and was probably voted most likely to succeed in high school. you, on the other hand, preferred to keep to yourself most of the time, essentially satisfied with mediocrity, and an overall one’s usual plain jane.

you never understood why he liked you in the first place.

the insecurities in your relationship with haechan rarely clog your mind, but when they do, they hit you like a truck. you tended to distance yourself from your boyfriend, wallowing in your own self-pity until he maybe notices and coaxes you out of it.

you wonder how long until his patience with your negativity runs out and leaves you for someone else. someone better.

“you ok?” haechan’s voice snaps you out of your downward spiral. you blinked a few times out of shock, then responded curtly. “yeah, i’m alright.”

haechan narrowed his eyes at you, obviously not believing a word you’re saying. “penny for your thoughts?”

“it’s nothing, hyuck. go back to playing.”

you used his real name. haechan let out a quiet sigh, took off his headphones and squeezed himself next to you on the bed. you swore you could hear jaemin and jeno yelling at him through his headphones for being afk, but before you could point it out, haechan already has you locked in, his arms snaking around your waist and his legs tangled above yours.

“have i ever told you that you’re pretty?” he whispered.

“sometimes.” you hummed.

“maybe i should be saying it more.” he quietly chuckled.

“you don’t have to.”

haechan scooted almost impossibly closer to you, his breath fanning your neck, the distance between your bodies disappearing.

“have i ever told you that i love you?”

you pause for a moment, guilt creeping into your system. “always.” your boyfriend was one who never shyed away from expressing his feelings. he made sure you felt loved, you hear that you’re loved. his one question was a message to you – ‘i love you, yet why do you feel that way?’ why do you feel so insecure in your relationship when he has never failed to appreciate you? to love you?

“i love the way your forehead scrunches up when you focus.” he started, his fingers softly touching and gliding over your bare arms.

“i love the way you get excited when i come home with cheesecake.” he lightly laughed at the thought as his hands travelled up to your face, cupping your cheeks and making you face him. “i love the way you’re so goddamn bad at valorant, yet you play with me when i ask you to.”

“i think about you all the time. your smile, your hands, your face, your laugh. i think about you before i sleep, the moment i wake up, everytime i eat. it’s you that i see. you’re running through my mind all day it’s . . “ he let out a somewhat exasperated sigh. “you’re the only person who makes me this insane, y/n. really.”

“i love you, y/n. you and only you, just the way you are. forever and always.” his voice was much quieter now and his grip around your waist tightened.

“i’m sorry.” was all you could croak out

“it’s okay. i love you. remember that.”

the two of you were silent for a moment. the guilt in your system slowly subsided into feelings of gratefulness – you were thankful he noticed something’s wrong with you quickly, and you were also thankful he knew how to snap yourself out of it.

“wanna watch a movie?” you suggested.

“i’d like that.” he giggled. he slowly snaked himself away from you to get the tv remote, but his movement halted when you called out his name.

“donghyuck?”

his real name. again. he turned back to face you once more.

“i love you, too. forever and always.”

he grinned, moved closer to you and gave you a light peck on the lips.

“i know.”

a/n: i have returned. haechan making me feel things lately god im so in love w him it’s insanejfksmd.

[sundrop-writes]

(Un)Intimidated

Derek Hale x POTSie!GN!Reader Blurb

Word Count: 600

Sundrop's Main Masterlist

Warnings: the reader is gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; mentions of the reader having a 'girly' room (elements of pink and having stuffed animals); the reader has POTS - it is the main 'plot' of the fic (Derek can hear the reader's heartbeat). This is mostly just very self indulgent fluff.

A/N: So - again, I am on hiatus. But self indulgent fic ideas are getting to me. If you follow my main blog then you saw this one coming. Originally, my idea was to write something about Derek listening to the reader's heartbeat and catching them before they faint, but this fic is what happened when I started typing. Maybe I will write the other idea sometime, idk. Also, shoutout to the fact that I was writing this while having chest pains due to POTS. Wild

...

You had been assigned to ‘babysit’ Derek. 

What a glamorous role: sitting in your bedroom with a man on the run from the law (only because Scott had publicly (wrongfully) accused him of murder). 

When you first met Derek Hale, you had been intimidated by him. It was impossible not to be. He was more than six feet tall and impossibly broad - a giant wall of muscle that could have ripped you apart in seconds if he wanted to. But soon, you came to realize that he was… softer than other people gave him credit for. He had lost his entire family, and he was alone in the world. Of course he protected himself from that loneliness with bitterness and anger. But you saw glimpses of something else beneath. 

Especially now, when he was sitting in your bedroom on your pink beanbag chair, among a pile of stuffed animals, reading a YA romance novel that you had given him to entertain himself - he was almost… cute. 

He let out a gentle huff, seemingly frustrated, and you wondered if he had gotten caught up in the plot of the book - which would have been entirely amusing. 

“You okay?” You asked, putting down the pen you had been using to doodle with in your journal, giving him your full attention. “I can get us a snack or something if-” 

“Look, I’m sorry.” He mumbled out, so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words. 

“What?” You gaped, wondering if you had misheard him. 

“I said: I’m sorry.” He repeated himself, slowly and a bit louder. 

Unfortunately this confused you even further. 

“What for?” You asked, moving to the edge of your bed and putting your feet on the floor, directing even more of your attention toward him. 

“I know Scott and Stiles are making you stay with me, but you don’t have to stay here if you’re going to be… scared.” He explained slowly, quietly, choosing his words carefully. “I know I’m not exactly the friendliest person-” 

“‘Scared’?” You repeated his own words back to him, unsure of what he meant. “Why do you think I’m scared?” 

“Your heart has been racing for the past hour - ever since I arrived.” He explained. “I know you must be afraid of me-” 

You let out a gentle laugh, shaking your head. 

It was Derek’s turn to be confused now. 

“I - I forgot that werewolves can do that.” You told him, putting a hand to your chest and feeling your own rapid heartbeat. “Scott told me, but…” You trailed off, and then you switched to a different line of thought completely. 

“I’m not scared of you.” You announced, entirely firm. 

With your heart thumping at the exact same rapid pace, Derek couldn’t tell if this was a lie or not. 

“But-” He tried to argue, and you cut him off. 

“I have a medical condition.” You explained. 

He looked at you with curiosity, and you continued. 

“It’s called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. It means that my entire nervous system is whack - and my heart speeds up or slows down when it’s not supposed to. Because the part of my brain that controls my heart rate is… broken. It also causes me to faint. Way too often.” 

Derek hated to hear you speak of yourself as ‘broken’, because he saw you as such a kind, perfect person. But he chose not to say anything about it. 

A hint of sadness, pity, drifted across Derek’s features - anybody else would have missed it, but since meeting him, you had focused on seeing beneath the surface of his bruteness, and you had started picking up on everything more than the toughness he projected. 

“Do you… need to go to a hospital?” He asked, concerned about the fact that your heart had been racing for more than an hour now. 

“No.” You assured him. “It’s like this all the time. I just need a lot of water - and rest.” 

He nodded. 

“So - you’re not afraid of me?” He confirmed gently. 

“No.” You nodded. “You’re really not that scary.” 

You flopped back onto the bed in order to lay down, but you didn’t miss the tiny uptick at the corner of his mouth - the small flash of a smile that he gave you at these words.

[yureichi]

I’ve gathered quotes from twk and qon of Jude being in love but pretending she wasn’t bc why not. let’s gooo.

“My body has acclimated (to poison), and now it craves what it should revile. An apt metaphor for other things.”

“(After the crossbow incident) I am shaking, I realize. The aftereffects of believing someone tried to assassinate Cardan, of realizing he could have died.”

“I wish I could think of a place he’d be safer.”

“I look into his eyes. His hand slides to my hip, as though he might pull me closer. For a dizzy, stupid moment, something seems to shimmer in the air between us.”

“I still feel the warm pressure of his fingers against my skin. Something is really wrong with me, to want what I hate, to want someone who despises me, even if he wants me, too. My only comfort is that he doesn’t know what I feel.”

“Our gazes meet, and there’s a shock of mutual understanding that our bodies are pressed too closely. […] I am aware of the warmth of his neck beneath my twined fingers, of the prickly brush of his hair and how I want to sink my hands into it. I inhale the scent of him—moss and oakwood and leather. I stare at his treacherous mouth and imagine it on me.”

“Then his mouth is against mine, and my lips part. I close my eyes against what I’m about to do. My fingers reach up to tangle in the black curls of his hair. He doesn’t kiss me as though he’s angry; his kiss is soft, yearning.”

“I’ve wanted this and feared it, and now that it’s happening, I don’t know how I will ever want anything else.”

“I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel.”

“I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”

“I like him better than I’ve ever liked anyone and that of all the things he’s ever done to me, making me like him so much is by far the worst.”

“She loves him, I realize uncomfortably.

His fingers trace their way down her arm to the back of her wrist, and I remember vividly the feeling of those hands on me. Kiss me until I am sick of it, he said, and now he has most certainly gorged on my kisses. Now he is most certainly sick of them. I hate seeing him with Nicasia. I hate the thought of his touching her.”

“I wonder if I will ever be able to look at him again without remembering what it was like to touch him.”

“It occurs to me that maybe desire isn’t something overindulging helps. Maybe it is not unlike mithridatism; maybe I took a killing dose when I should have been poisoning myself slowly, one kiss at a time.”

“[…] All I want to do is walk into his arms. I want to drown my worries in his embrace. I want him to say something totally unlike himself, about things being okay.”

“The offhand implication that he’s not alone most nights bothers me, and I hate that it does.”

“I cannot look at him as he goes out. I am a coward. Maybe it’s the pain in my leg, maybe it’s worry over my brother, but a part of me wants to call after him, wants to apologize.”

“I hope Cardan misses me.”

“I wonder what would have happened if I’d admitted he wasn’t out of my system.”

“But when I think of the night he was shot at, the night he did coin tricks, I can’t help recalling him gazing up from my bed, intoxicated and disturbingly intoxicating.”

“I am unnerved to find myself here, in the new High King’s new bed—one I am still too human to lie in, beside someone who terrifies me the more I feel for him.”

“But there is also a weakness in me, because I dreamed of him kissing me for all my time in the Undersea, and now with his mouth on mine, I want to sink my nails into his back.”

“I don’t want to think of someone else standing beside Cardan in my place.”

“The very thought of being there (Elfhame), of seeing Cardan, speeds my heart. At least no one is privy to my thoughts. Stupid as they are, they remain my own.”

“I want another bite at the everapple, another chance at power, another shot at him.”

"He looks every inch the spy from the Court of Shadows, down to the sneaky smile pulling at a corner of his beautiful mouth."

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

saw ur vents abt dungeon meishi and while I haven’t read the series yet or watched the anime I have seen bits and pieces and already saw the blowup scene where Toshiro attacks Laois and like. even I with zero context didn’t totally hate him. It sucks majorly that it had to happen but like. Toshiro is going through his own shit and plenty of other characters ALSO don’t like Laois! I think people just see that scene and project the amount of times that’s happened to them with someone in real life, which like. I get it. I’m autistic and reading that scene hit like a gut punch bc it was something I had experienced directly in real life: trying to be friends with someone, thinking you are friends, only for them to reveal one day that they couldn’t stand you and hated your guts from day one. You wonder why the fuck they pretended and let you hurt even worse than outright initial rejection. You wonder why they’d put themselves through enduring you. It makes you feel like you can’t trust anyone, makes you feel like utter shit. I 100% get why it bothers people. But you can’t project real life people you experienced onto this character that does not align at all except for this one moment. Also knowing about the author, she probably put that in on purpose as commentary for how autistics in Japan generally have to go through shit like this bc of the way their social culture is. She’s made plenty of autistic commentaries before, I doubt she stuck that scene in there for no good reason. The fact that Toshiro kept quiet and didn’t say anything until he couldn’t take it anymore is VERY indicative to me of the ways Japan’s typical social system is a struggle on all sides. Not to say these are problems unique to Japan, but the nuance needs to be understood. Toshiro isn’t being a dick just for the sake of it. I want to read it sometime so I can better understand the guy, but I don’t want to hate him based on one scene where he was an asshole. Laois is an asshole plenty of times himself, being very overtly written as autistic doesn’t absolve him from the responsibilities of being an adult.

TLDR: People tend to infantilize Laois and demonize Toshiro, which comes down to the prejudices preconceived for both of them: people see Laois, as an autistic man, as an innocent sweet guy who needs to be protected. They see Toshiro, as an Asian man, as someone who should be “polite and honorable” or whatever and are appalled when he acts like a fallible human being and not some appropriation of a fictional romanticized samurai. I understand feeling betrayed and angry seeing a character be a genuine asshole about something (social expectation does not completely absolve Toshiro of his own antagonizations however much of a reason he had) but when it’s so damn one sided, and especially in a series where almost NO one is without complete asshole qualities that round them out, I find it kind of gross that people hate on him for that. Anyway. Just wanted to send a message of support and understanding. Hopefully after I read more I can offer more analysis to corroborate with you on.

100% CORRECT thank you anon

i also understand the people who are sympathizing with laios bc that scene is very easy to relate to for many autistic or otherwise neurodivergent people (i also got a cold sweat when i was watching it bc. like. having someone you thought was a friend straight up tell you there are parts of your behavior that they can't stand is one of the worst things to experience of all time, ESPECIALLY if you were only showing that behavior around them bc you thought they were your friend and you trusted them) but it's so frustrating seeing so many people have such shallow opinions about toshiro bc of it. im on hands and knees begging people to consider the characters in three dimensions and/or develop better reading comprehension because like!! toshiro's official meeting with laios's new group literally leads with 'oh his name is actually toshiro and we never knew bc our leader had a misunderstanding and microaggressed him and he was too polite to correct him' laios is not an innocent party here!! he is not an innocent uwu autistic baby he's a grown adult man with responsibilities, in that whole time he was partied with toshiro he never learned his real name!! plus using toshiro's crush on falin as a reason to hate him, falin's adolescence was spent in a school and a social setting where she was expected to mask + her being a girl also means she is expected to mask by default -> she is better at masking than laios so why are people saying that toshiro hates laios for the same traits in falin bc clearly not?? also saw one person saying 'he only likes falin because she's hot' NO HE DOES NOT HE WOULD NOT RISK HIS LIFE HEALTH AND RETAINERS IN A DUNGEON ON A FOREIGN CONTINENT FOR THE SAKE OF A WOMAN HE ONLY THOUGHT WAS SEXY!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DUNMESHI FANS THINK WITH YOUR BRAAIN

the whole fight he had with laios where laios points out that their party is more serious about finding falin and resolving everything also drives me nuts because i've seen at least one take saying that toshiro doesn't care about falin as much as team laios because of this. which yes the fact that team laios understands the importance of health in pursuit of a goal is very very important but for many cases in east asian culture (and actually any culture with emphasis on capitalism and economic growth) productivity will get valued above all else which leads to neglect of personal health, i.e: what toshiro was doing. so this is just a clown take to begin with

also interesting to me that almost every character in dunmeshi thus far has demonstrated some kind of racial bias/misconceptions (i.e: chilchuck about elves, senshi about half-foots, etcetera etcetera) and laios and falin are no exception. race and racial differences and conflict and coexistence is also one of the underlying themes in dungeon meshi, with the elves of the west being considered a major issue to many dungeon-goers and the mayor hating dwarves and having to contend with those elves, and then marcille's motive for studying black magic and even thistle's motive for being the dungeon keeper. so it's real fucking ironic that the fans are really quick and happy to demote toshiro to 'asshole side character who is bullying our autistic rep' instead of, you know, using nuance and thinking about it

tldr; dungeon meshi has great commentary on what it's like as an autistic person in society. but dungeon meshi fans are too quick to write off toshiro as an asshole japanese guy who is ableist and getting in the way of their white woman yuri, therefore helping to promote this website's enduring legacy as the piss-poor reading comprehension website

[thelightsandtheroses]

and my soul has changed, and my heart

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Drabble Summary: Joel and Tommy catch up on patrol after word of Joel's date with you spreads around Jackson. Word Count: 1245 Drabble Warnings: mentions of past child death (Sarah) and grief, 18+ blog MDNI Notes: I'm here with another Joel POV drabble! Thank you so much for your patience with this update, I am partway through chapter four so hope to update that shortly. The title for this drabble is from the song Orange Juice by Noah Kahan

Previous | Series | Next

The patrol route is quiet. There’s not a sign of infected or people around. Joel rests the back of his head against the tree he’s leaning against, watching Old Beardy drink from the nearby stream.

Joel can’t quite stop that alertness, the background wariness in case of something changing. It’s not a curse, it’s kept him alive this long.

It’s peaceful though. The area is illuminated by dappled sunlight between the trees hitting the water, the sounds of water babbling over the rocks and nature around are inescapable - you could forget about the world for a moment here.

Joel remembers how Ellie had taken everything in with such childlike wonder when they’d left Boston, how a world he’d known and taken for granted had seemed so new to her. He hadn’t wanted to let her in there, wanted to define her as cargo, as the reason Tess was gone, as a means to an end.

He was different then.

Joel allows himself one more moment of reverie before he focuses again.  He feels the familiar pang in his chest as he realises Sarah would have loved it here, would have been scrabbling up the nearby rocks. For just a moment he’s back in Texas, hiking with her on a weekend and nothing’s changed, nothing’s happened. He can almost see her, but he’s afraid to encourage that, too many nightmares start that way and end with her bleeding out in his arms.

Joel shakes his head, makes his way over to Old Beardy, runs his hands on the horse’s neck.

“I reckon we should make our way back now,” he says calmly.

“Yeah.” Tommy doesn’t move though; he stands there looking at Joel with a growing smirk on his lips. “So,” Tommy starts and Joel realises exactly what this is.

He’s unknowingly walked right into his brother’s set up here - patrol, getting out of Jackson.

“Just get it out your system, Tommy, ” Joel deadpans, arms folded. He should have known going to the Tipsy Bison, having a date in Jackson, would spread around town faster than a virus.

“I’m happy for you, Joel. The idea of you and Ellie putting roots down here, building a life, that’s - that’s what it was all about right? What you told me about why you -” Tommy breaks off.

They don’t talk about it.

They don’t talk about the secret Joel told Tommy only days ago on a patrol. He had to tell Tommy, had to tell someone. Tommy understood. He was worried about that, especially with the baby - he wondered if Tommy would ever forgive him for that, for condemning his niece to a world without a cure. Or maybe it’s because of her that Tommy gets it.

“I have one drink with someone and -”

“Small towns, man.”

“Didn’t miss that.”

“Nope. You’ll get used to it. She’s friends with Maria, you know?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Joel pauses. “She’s … I don’t know, Tommy. I thought after - after Tess, after everything that was all gone for me.” He’d resigned himself to what his life could be - one better than he had expected over the past twenty years, but he hadn’t seen you in his horizon, hadn’t thought there could be a you.

“Fate works in funny ways, I guess.” Tommy pauses and looks at Joel quizzically. “I can see it, y’know.”

“See what?”

Tommy laughs. Sometimes it surprises Joel -  how easy his brother seems to live now and how foreign the sound of his laugh had become to him too. Getting to Boston, surviving those years … there wasn’t much humour. There was always laughter in the house before.

He can hear Sarah’s laugh faintly even now. The way she’d almost fold herself up with laughter sometimes, shaking her head furiously.

Since Ellie, since everything over the last year, it’s like he’s bleeding Sarah everywhere.

Every memory he’d boxed up and hidden away is here now, out in the open and sometimes they feel less like a knife, or shiv, in the gut and sometimes the loss is as raw as it was the day his world fell apart. There’s always a dull ache though. That will never fade.

You’re not supposed to have to bury your kid.

He tries to shake the memory away, to bring himself back to now and this moment.

Joel’s here. He has his brother and Ellie and these delicate tendrils of a future again - Jackson, you, a chance. He’ll take that.

“So, I’ve got to ask, brother, how did you even get talking to her?”

“You sayin’ she’s out of my league?” You are, he thinks, you’re different to him, if you knew what he’s done … would you let him sit with you at night? Would you have kissed him on your porch?

Would you get it? You’re a parent, maybe you would. Or maybe you wouldn’t.

“I didn’t say that,” Tommy says, “Just she usually keeps to the library and her home mostly, and you’re not exactly a voracious reader.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

It’s not like Joel has ever hated reading; it’s just it’s not been a priority. Escaping into someone else’s story is a luxury when you’re fighting to make rent, to provide for the people you love. After the outbreak, it seemed fanciful, foolish even.

“Maybe you have,” Tommy says with a weight and stare that says more than his words.

Joel knows what Tommy thinks. He thinks he’s softened in age, with Ellie and Jackson. He isn’t the man of those nightmares anymore, not a hunter, not dangerous. He broke down in Jackson to his brother after all, bared his soul on his age, his deafness, his fears. He’d all but begged Tommy to take Ellie then. maybe it was about more than that - maybe he was just putting up barriers. He did it though.

Tommy’s wrong though. That man hasn’t vanished, that man hasn’t changed. He’s still there under the surface.

You can never fully exorcise those demons.

To live and survive in this world, you probably shouldn’t either.

“So, how did you get talking?” his brother asks, “How’d this start?”

Well, I met her on a bench in the middle of the night in some secret insomnia club we’ve created because hey, I’ve not slept properly in months, years even. No, Joel can’t say that to Tommy.

“We bumped into each other a few times, got to talking.”

“She seems nice, from when I’ve spoken to her and she’s been around with Maria. I can see you two gettin’ on. I mean I really thought you and Esther could have had something though -”

”She had a Victorian doll collection, Tommy. That shit was scary before the end of the world.”

“Yeah, but other than that.”

“I couldn’t get past the dolls, they were in her goddamn bedroom, staring at me …” Joel shudders at the memory. The cracked porcelain heads, faded fabrics and unblinking eyes staring at him when he didn’t want their attention. Esther was a lovely woman but there were over twenty of those dolls in her bedroom alone.

Maybe they helped her. But they sure didn’t help him.

“Okay, I get it, I get it. What if -”

“She won’t have a collection like that.” At least, Joel hopes you don’t.

“Here’s hoping. We should head on back now.”

Joel nods, shifts his backpack, and moves to get on Old Beardy.

He takes in the scene around him just a second longer.

Peace.

Maybe it’s not so far away.

Tag List

YHIM: @orcasoul @pedropascalsbbg @yoursoulsunbreakable @iamskyereads @genetics4life @everyth1ngfan @frickatives @perennialdoll247 @joelsgreys @noisynightmarepoetry @pedrobaby @noisynightmarepoetry

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[frozenjokes]

CuteGuy Would Prefer Greatly If HotGuy Never Ever Had Any Nice Things, But Especially Not His Good Friend And Roommate Cubfan135 (1/3)

I absolutely refuse to go through an add italics to the tumblr versions of my fics but grian is so angry all of the time it was necessary in this case

next

“So let me get this straight.” Grian, well, CuteGuy stood over HotGuy, the hero’s head pinned under his own boot. It was times like these that Grian considered ditching the boots altogether; wrapping his talons around any hero’s face like this would be an absolute sight, but alas, he wasn’t trying to get painful calluses all over his feet. Grian was sure HotGuy could escape this if he wanted to; he’d just have to roll to knock Grian off, but he stayed still, staring up at Grian with those big, pathetic eyes. “You want my help with your romantic endeavors. You want to pretend fight so you can pretend win, yeah? Impress that special someone?”

Grian knew who it was, of course. Not because HotGuy announced it or because it was on the news, no, but because this certified idiot had set his sights on Cub. Cub! His roommate Cub. What could HotGuy even want from a guy like Cub- just a guy! A human, not even a conventionally attractive human, who hardly knew anything about heroes and villains other than their names! Cub, who worked a shitty job with a shitty manager, who basically did nothing but go on little walks and hang out at home- there was nothing about Cub that stood out, so why in the fuck was HotGuy so- Grian hissed, pressing a little harder on HotGuy’s head, who grunted. HotGuy didn’t get to have Cub. Cub wasn’t- HotGuy didn’t even know him! He didn’t get to take Cub- his Cub- and turn him into some kind of hero worshiper!

“Stop looking at me like that!” Grian’s anger reached its boiling point, though HotGuy didn’t flinch, looking more disappointed than anything.

To his credit, he did look away, pursing his lips, “So I take it you’re not a fan of the idea.” The infuriating amicable lilt to his voice stayed even despite his face being crushed against the pavement, and Grian wanted nothing more than to choke it out of him.

“What gave you that idea?” Grian snarled, and HotGuy shrugged.

“When you’re really pissed off you start drooling, and honestly, it’s quite gross. Are you stressed? Have you considered Xanax? Does wonders for me on bad days.”

“My insurance won’t renew my prescription and my doctor fucking sucks.”

“Ah, I feel you buddy. I mean, I basically live in a hospital, but sometimes I need some more benign stuff and it just feels like the whole system is out to get you! Don’t even get me started on before I got into the hero business, gosh. Well, if it makes you feel any better, you were far from my first choice. I asked The Goat, but he told me that would be a monumental waste of his time, Mumbo told me he wouldn’t be convincing enough and also to stop calling him he’s retired, I haven’t seen Worm Man for years but I’m still looking-“

“How many people did you ask before me?” Grian tried not to be offended, but honestly, he was very offended- HotGuy has the gall to ask favors then admit Grian wasn’t his first choice? Why not? He knew why. But why not???

“Anyone I could find, really. I mean, heroes are easy enough to track down, but a lot of them are busy and also don’t give a fuck, but villains kinda just wander around and cause problems wherever. Though, I figured if I stood here long enough you’d jump me like you did last time. Hey, by the way, if you see Poultry Man, will you tell him I’d like to talk?”

Grian seethed; he had seen HotGuy up on the apartment complex where they had fought last and assumed he was looking for Cub- was Grian really that predictable?

“The last thing Poultry Man would want to do is help you impress some guy you don’t even know- what’s the deal anyway? Don’t answer that, I don’t care.”

“Hey! I know Cub plenty! We had such a nice walk the night you broke my visor and then a lovely lunch date the next day! Well- maybe not a date. I don’t know, I never asked what he thought. I kind of don’t want to know, though. And I wasn’t going to ask Poultry Man to help me do anything, I just wanted to talk to him about all the chickens he released into the poor woman’s home- it’s not important-“

“Poor woman? She’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s not important,” Scar strained, and Grian felt the tiniest bit vindicated, “All I meant to say is that I would feel bad beating the shit out of Poultry Man, even if it was just pretend. He’s just a misguided guy in a chicken costume.

“Misguided?” Grian’s hiss cracked into a higher pitch, “Poultry Man is EVIL. Poultry Man could CRUSH YOU. What makes you think you’re any match against him, huh? Really.”

“I mean, his costume looks a bit bulky, not great for maneuvering. I doubt he can see very well out of the mask, too. I don’t know, maybe he’s like, secretly ripped or something, but I still don’t think he could do much damage.”

“You’ll regret underestimating him when you’re taking your last breaths under his claws.”

“Oh, I hope not! I just wanted to chat about where he got those chickens, but you’re nice for standing up for him! You’re a good friend, CuteGuy.”

“I-“ Grian felt his body short circuit for a moment, everything replaced with the type of fury that can only be released by picking someone up and violently shaking them. HotGuy was perfectly polite about it, enduring Grian’s fit of rage before hanging somewhat limply in his arms, not even using his own legs to stand after Grian was done. HotGuy stared. Grian stared back.

“You’re strong.”

“Fuck you.” Grian dropped HotGuy, who just collapsed, wholly unready to support his own weight. Fine. Good. With a few strong beats of his wings, Grian took off, leaving HotGuy firmly in the dust. Flying was good and the evening breeze was good and if shaking someone annoying wasn’t enough to make them stop being annoying, then it was time to let it go. Something Grian was famously bad at.

When he looked back HotGuy was still just laying there, INFURIATINGLY, just staring at the sky! He wasn’t even looking at Grian, he was just completely zoned out-! What was his damn problem?

Grian’s boots cracked against the cement on either side of HotGuy’s waist, and HotGuy screamed, so genuinely frightened, Grian was pretty sure the noise would color his memory for the rest of his life. “Where are you meeting him?”

“What?” HotGuy squeaked, and the sound was just as beautiful.

“Where do you want me to be for your stunt?”

“I-I was going to meet Cub at the City Park-“

“Are you crazy? Are you trying to get me arrested? You’ll meet here, in the parking lot across the street at 9:00. And I don’t do play fights, but if you shoot me I’ll rip you a new one. And I want $500.”

“That’s- a lot of money-“

“You won’t miss it. You and your piece of shit rich friends spend that kind of change like it’s nothing on designer clothes and cocaine. And I want to see your sorry face when you’re forced to cough it up after I flatten your ass then steal your man.”

“You- why are you so mean to me? Hey- you are not allowed to-“ Grian didn’t let him finish, beating his wings hard enough to batter HotGuy’s face before taking off, definitively this time.

Perfect. This was going to be fun.

[chr0macide]

not my ass making a second oc for a dead fandom

Magdalena can have a boyfriend as a treat :)

Ok so I decided to name him Christopher Hawthorne, he’s employed at the police department as a detective (Bradley Beans is one of his coworkers) but he actually works for the purgers as an inside agent. When the purgers were arrested at the end of Break In 1 he was one of the people who helped them get out of jail, he released the ones who could be released and helped the rest of them break out in secret. I think Bradley would be suspicious that he might be a spy but he can’t find any dirt on him. I don’t think there would be workplace beef between them though, Bradley doesn’t seem like the type to beef with someone when he doesn’t actually know whether they’re an enemy asset or not. But anyway Christopher used to work for Larry before he was defeated in Break In 1, after that he was transferred to work directly under the Headmaster.

He really likes hunting and his house is in the same woods as the villain base. He hunts humans too sometimes, one of his jobs in the purgers’ organization is to hunt down and kill deserters and defectors. He doesn’t like nor dislike that part of his job, he feels that it is just something he has to do.

I headcanon a lot of purgers were born into the mob but Christopher was not, he didn’t go to Purge University either, but he’s the type of guy who joins whichever side he thinks is going to come out on top so he ended up here. In his opinion, the mob is so deeply rooted in the city that it would do more harm than good to try and take it down.

As for how he and Magdalena (my other oc) knew each other, she was arrested after the purge in Break In 1 and met him in the police station. She is a nonviolent offender so she was one of the people who he managed to release quickly, but she decided she liked him and kept hanging around him whenever she had the chance, which wasn’t that often because she was usually cooped up in the villain base tbh lol. So she wouldn’t leave him alone (cat distribution system real) but he didn’t realize she was into him at first, because Magdalena is so outwardly inexpressive. But he figured it out eventually

It would have thrown too much suspicion on Christopher if Magdalena kept showing up around him so he started visiting her in the villain base instead. Mary didn’t like him all up in her shit (I think she would tend not to like other people who answer to the Headmaster directly, besides the other Scaries maybe) but he has a high enough rank in the organization to show up whenever he wants anyway. At the end of Break In 2 when Magdalena fled the villain base, she went to his house. She told him the base got too dangerous after Mary’s defeat so she was just trying to get away for her own safety, but inwardly she was actually thinking about deserting. And he kinda knew she was lying, but he acted like he didn’t because he knew he might be ordered to kill her if/when it was found out that she abandoned the organization. This way he had some plausible deniability in case someone found out she was at his house and wondered why he didn’t kill her when he had that chance.

Ok I think that’s all the lore, ill put some things about his personality and other stuff

He almost never smiles. He’s not constantly blank faced the way Magdalena is, he just doesn’t smile. I’m sure he has a sense of humor of some kind but he doesn’t normally express it by laughing or anything like that

His default facial expression is annoyed/pissed

Despite his resting bitch face, he wouldn’t normally come off as an asshole when you talk to him, he would probably seem kind of aloof, but he wouldn’t be unpleasant to be around

He thought Magdalena was kinda creepy at first. When she is in love she gets a little bit weird about it, just a lil bit. One of the things she would sometimes do was stare at him vacantly for an uncomfortably long time and he didn’t get why at first, but it was because she just liked looking at him lol.

He’s ~6 ft tall maybe, built like a tank and he’s in his 30s, also he was born with poliosis that’s why he has the white forelock

He is nonconfrontational in a way. He works for the purge but he’s not a psycho (other than hunting deserters, his role in the mob is pretty nonviolent). He would try to resolve conflicts between the people around him. However, he tends to ignore it/brush it off when people try to start shit with him in particular, and he does in in a way that can make it seem like he thinks he’s above others. Plus, while he isn’t exactly a hermit, he can be picky about who he’s friends with and that also causes him to come off as a little conceited

This is not proofread we die like men (lmk if theres any spelling/grammar errors that make something completely unreadable tho lmao) here is another pic of Christopher I drew

[inklore]

I saw you post about how people should like to comment on writers work but I slightly sympathise bc some people are embarrassed and/or think that their comment/reblog would be useless. But more people are coming to this app to read a fic like another wattpad or an ‘easier’ ao3 instead of using their acc to post what they like yk

Srry for the rant <333

no need to apologize for the rant it’s always welcome here if it’s done in kind and yours was <3

i get what your saying about people coming to the app thinking it’s like all the other reading platforms but if we’re being honest i’d say ao3 is easier, better selection, plus when someone views your work your ‘hits’ go up and that can sometimes help more people find your work if they go by that / sort the fics on ao3 like that. wattpad literally has the same system of ‘views’ on your work that help boost it, but also commenting there is really big (as someone who was once on wp comments meant everything which is why i don’t get how ppl don’t understand that comments are everything here as well).

you could also say these other platforms make it seem like tumblr works the same way and it doesn’t, but even when writers try to spread the word on that fact not everyone wants to listen or sees it because people don’t rb (which tumblr was made for that let’s not forget).

but on this great app it doesn’t matter how many people view our work, read it silently, press the little heart, no one will see it unless you rb it. and being shy about commenting and thinking comments won’t matter is backwards thinking to me. how do you think writers feel knowing they have 100 notes and 10 of them are rbs and 0 comments? like we know there’s people out there reading our work and not even giving the pointless heart to it and there’s not much we can do about it, and yeah we are so grateful for all of it, but what we wouldn’t give to even have ONE PERSON comment some emojis on our fic. let us know that someone other than ourselves actually liked it. a ‘like’ can mean anything, it can mean nothing. it does nothing. it’s nice, it’s acknowledging, but that’s all it does. it’s a silent compliment that keeps our minds wondering.

if you weren’t embarrassed to read the fic you shouldn’t be embarrassed to comment on it. i’m not trying to sound harsh but it’s 2023, half the population reads fic. devours it. ppl are famous authors because of it now or get ‘tiktok fame’ over liking it. you commenting ‘omg amazing’ or putting two little emojis in a writers comments is only going to make them feel seen. feel great. feel like they’re not just posting stuff on here for bots. so i don’t super sympathize with people who are embarrassed because i just can’t wrap my head around it. but i’m also saying it’s okay and i’ve never once saw a writer get mad over anything someone has commented on their work (unless it’s been mean or a criticism they didn’t ask for or a ‘part two pls’).

if you like something on here reblog it!!!! comment on it!!!!!

[madam-whim]

The Gold Road Reveal and my thoughts on it

I’m gonna start this off by saying I love ESO. I have been playing since 2017 and I’m pretty much doing everything the game has to offer. Quests, dungeons, trials, antiquities, sometimes PvP. That being said, this post will include lots of criticism that I feel (or know) is shared by many other fans.

But first things first, let me start off by listing some of the things on yesterday’s stream that had me bouncing in my seat:

The new zone is absolutely stunning! There’s a lot of variety to it and it does look very pretty. Exploring it will undoubtedly be fun and a feast for my eyes.

Also, Fennorian will be there, so I know there will at least be one well-written character that my Vestige has an actual bond with.

The scribing system being more of a roleplay thing – I don’t know what some people were hoping for, but I’m glad it’s not some Big Damage For Those Who Are Good At Maths kind of system. It still allows for a more unique playstyle, and I suppose it’s going to turn out like always: Do whatever you want in open world spaces, but keep your bow backflip heal out of veteran content.

And maybe the biggest “Yes!” moment of the evening: Ed Stark being the zone lead for Gold Road. While I did not like High Isle as much (too predictable for my taste, but at least it had recurring characters), he was responsible for Greymoor and Murkmire as well. I thought Greymoor was fantastic (good quests, excellent new characters alongside very familiar recurring ones), and Murkmire… well, I think Murkmire suffers greatly from being “the DLC that came after the Daedric Triad” so to speak. It kind of fell into the void created by a storyline spanning a full year (or even more, if you count the setup for the whole thing, which really began with the Varen’s ghost and Darien’s letter in Wrothgar and the Gold Coast sweetroll killer quests). I think that’s why lots of people don’t seem to like Murkmire very much despite it having great storytelling. My point is this: I do have some hope that after the fiasco some recent DLCs were story-wise, Ed Stark will at least make sure Gold Road makes sense.

And now for the criticism.

Ithelia’s design (Whenever, wherever, I want to kill Hermaeus…)

… yeah, about that. As one of my friends put it, she looks like Shakira with wings.

They really could have done so much better. The way she is now, as @akaviri-dovah said, she really just looks like a Meridia clone who somehow stole Jyggalag’s crystals, which is funny on so many levels (more on that later). Suffice it to say that I personally think the design choices are kind of lazy, given that we already have an angelic-looking Daedric lady.

Also, what’s with this picture? This kinda makes it seem as if she originally looked. Um. A lil different from the way she is now. In any case, I’m just gonna call this a missed opportunity for something more unique. I do like the glass shard aesthetic, I just wish they’d taken it in a different direction.

Dragon Break Princess Ithelia, or something like that

Now I know Dragon Breaks have to work differently from what Ithelia does, but I am kind of wondering what the consequences of her fate-altering abilities are. How do you alter fate in a way that threatens reality (with reality consisting of past and present events, with all possible versions of the future being possibly-real until one actually happens) without altering the timeline? Just by removing a possible future? Then one could argue that any Daedra could do the same just by manipulating people. Granted, it’s possible that Ithelia sees all possible futures and can do whatever she likes with them, but even then, she’d only be influencing what can become reality, not what already is. So how can she be THAT dangerous?

Right now, it just seems to me that they needed an adversary for Hermaeus Mora, and since his big things are knowledge, secrets and fate, and they couldn’t very well make a Daedric Prince of Anti-Intellectualism or a Daedric Prince of Snitching, she had to be a fate-altering type of Daedra.

At this point I’m still wondering how she even works, because how does she not accidentally cause Dragon Breaks? And if she is that damn powerful, how on earth did Mora alone manage to pretty much remove any trace of her? Which kind of brings me to my next point.

Memory Issues

I know, I know, Ithelia is not the first “new” Daedric Prince. (Which makes her stolen Jyggalag crystal vibes rather funny if you ask me.) And I don’t mind her being crazy powerful either, because so was Jyggalag or else he wouldn’t have been cursed. But that, to my knowledge, required several other Princes, whereas Ithelia apparently got owned by Hermaeus Mora alone, who then erased all memory of her. Which is not only quite the feat given how powerful she has to be, but also a very weird thing for Hermaeus Mora to do. I kinda thought stealing memories was more Meridia’s style. This entire part does not quite make sense to me yet and seems a little out of character, but well. By the way, speaking of Meridia…

Meridia-baiting the players

At this point, ZOS have to know we’re getting tired of waiting for villain Meridia. Everyone I know who is even the least bit interested in ESO’s storyline wants to see it. And I’ve seen people get their hopes up in recent days (new Meridia/Dawnbreaker-themed music box, the Ayleid ruin hint on the fragments sent to streamers…). Even in the twitch chat, there were people hyped about what they thought was Meridia, and who were disappointed when they were told it was Ithelia. And yes, I am absolutely saying they did this and made her a Meridia lookalike on purpose. But I’m well aware that we haven’t gotten any new hints about either Meridia or a certain someone since Greymoor, and that chapter will be four years old soon. Even I am beginning to give up, as much as I hate to say it.

By the way, I really did NOT appreciate Matt Firor name-dropping Darien right at the beginning. If you’re not planning to do anything with him, just let it go. I know absolutely nobody who appreciates being fed very tiny hints for two years and then being left in the dark for four years straight. If you don’t want to pick that storyline up again, just stuff the man into the Old Life quest and be done with it.

Honestly, once again, I’m gonna say this is a MASSIVE missed opportunity right here. ESO’s 10 year anniversary is coming up, what could possibly be better than to go back to the roots now and reward all those loyal players with the story they are waiting for? I distinctly recall Molag Bal telling me to watch my step around Meridia, and the setup is all there. I’m honestly disappointed that there is no Meridia content at all. And this ties in with my final point, albeit vaguely.

“Recurring” characters

Ah, yes, we do love recurring characters. Sometimes. We do love it when a fan favorite comes back – a character who’s accompanied the Vestige over the course of an entire story arc or has made multiple appearances over the years and has become beloved by many players, and, most importantly, who is well-written, i.e. has a unique personality. And that’s why “recurring characters” is not always a recipe for success when it comes to getting people hooked on a story.

It is when it’s one of the five companions, or a Ravenwatch member, or your main alliance buddy (Raz, Naryu and – oh, wait, yeah, us Covenant babies don’t have one anymore). It also works when it’s a character we’ve run across several times already, like Alchemy, who I know tons of people love, or my favorite walking disaster Revus Demnevanni.

But it’s certainly not working when it’s a character we barely know anything about, and who isn’t a hit with the community. Like Eveli’s brother whom I had to google because I could not remember who he was. He’s from a prologue quest. Nothing more. That’s not a “beloved returning character”.

ZOS have several of those just lying around, and they’re just not using them. And even the base game had so many characters that were there over the course of several zones, that were well-written and at least memorable to the degree that people would recognize them with just a little reminder, like Indaenir or Holgunn and Walks-in-Ash or the Vanos siblings. Hell, we haven't seen good old Vanus Galerion in a while. They are ten years old now and deserve to be dragged to the surface again.

Okay, I’m done now!

This concludes my rant (because that’s what it is, I’m aware). I just want to say again that this is not be dragging ESO through the mud, this is just me pointing out that the devs (especially the writers) could do so much better if they listened to their lore nerds and story-interested players more.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 3: Adversary

“Hey, Chapman! The yooj?” Jill projects her question around me like a professional thespian, grabbing the attention of the startled customer.

Chapman jerks, looks up at her, and opens their mouth to talk, but takes a quick breath first. Then they look a little relieved but still rattled, and say, “Yyyyyeah. That’d be great!”

Their voice sounds like dark maple syrup, and I’m noticing the complexity of their hairdo this time.

It is a side cut, with the right side of their head shaved clean and showing off a tattoo of three fuchsias hanging down from the top of their scalp where their new hairline is. And the rest of their hair is short in the back and thick and long in the front and styled in a wavy pompadour, with a pointy and groomed sideburn that comes down half an inch below their left earlobe. And the hair is an immaculate dark hot pink.

Everything about them, their name, their voice, their haircut, all keep telling me to keep sticking to they/them for them, for now, until I actually learn their pronoun. Which I’m told is what I should do for everyone, and I try. But there’s something about their whole thing, what they’ve got going on, that transfixes me just a little bit more each time I look at them, and the sense that they’re probably an enby feels like part of it.

But now they look perplexed and still hesitant, like they’re trying to figure out whether they should try to solve a puzzle that’s been presented to them.

“Hey, Meghan, your drink’s ready,” Jill mutters at me.

Oh!

I’m in the way.

I make what I think of as a startled but cheerful sound and reach for my tablet to put it in my purse. But we all notice that the noise that comes from deep in my throat sounds almost exactly like the door chime. And everyone looks delighted and surprised by that, including me I assume.

Then I duck and fluidly bound toward my table, low, quiet, and way more graceful than I even want to be, my tail wiggling in behind me in the process. It’s embarrassing how it feels like my body is suddenly showing off for some reason.

Then I try to hide behind my table and bury my face in my drink.

But I can still clearly see Chapman in my peripheral vision and this display of mine does not seem to have unflustered them.

I may be new to physically being a dragon, and I may have a lot of trouble recognizing things like, say, flirting. But I’m not new to this. 

Whatever Chapman actually thinks of me, I feel like I’m in high school again. And I don’t even know what I think of Chapman, but my limbic system seems to have its ideas. I almost did a mating dance on the way to my table, and I really don’t know what to do about it, so now I’m remaining as still as possible now.

I have no clue what Chapman’s age is, as I watch them finally step forward to engage in their transaction. I’ve always been bad at judging ages. Humans all age at wildly different rates anyway. But also, we’re not even the same species.

Why am I reacting to them like this?

I find myself wondering if maybe they’re another dragon, just still disguised as a human, like I’d been just a week ago.

What if I’m only the first, and there’s more to come? Would I be able to sense the others, kind of in the way that Jill and Cerce already sensed these things about me?

Then I have a super wild thought, and lose myself in it as a way of distracting myself. What if there are no actual humans. What if we’re all mythical creatures waiting to shed our disguises, and that’s why we can sometimes recognize each other?

It seems as likely an explanation for what’s going on with me as anything else I can imagine. And I think I’d really like it to be true.

I decide I’m not going to pursue my feelings. They don’t make any sense. Not sexually, anyway. I wouldn’t mind being Chapman’s friend if they decide they can be friends with me. But I won’t try. They’re clearly unsettled by me, and I don’t want to impose myself on them in any way.

So the real challenge is just being normal when we’re sharing the same space, so I don’t make them more uncomfortable.

I figure that the best way to do this right now is to look around at the other customers.

There’s quite a mix of people today, and all of them are ignoring what’s going on in the front of the shop. They’re ignoring me. As usual.

And it strikes me, as I’m glancing around, now aware of my actual gender and how people seem to see me, that of all the variety of people who look like they might be women here, I share nothing in common with them.

So many of them wear some degree of makeup, and must have some sort of skin care routine. They wear jewelry of various sorts, and know how to put their hair up or get it styled the way they like. Their gestures and ways of speaking aren’t all the same, but seem like a myriad of ways of expressing femininity that I do wish I could mimic.

But, I don’t have hair. Or bare skin to apply anything to. I haven’t bothered with anything like clothes for four days now. And I don’t think I have vocal chords. I have something else that feels like it’s between my lungs. There’s no way I’m going to be using my tongue to craft soft vowels and breathy fricatives. No one alive right now is going to know how to give me vocal lessons.

And it doesn’t matter, because I’m a dragon and I really don’t have to adhere to common human beauty standards to be seen as what I am. But I do feel left out all the same.

And even if I still had a human body and was transitioning like normal, I don’t think I could stand putting stuff on my face to smooth out my complexion and adorn it. But I feel like I should.

I guess I’ve been raised by humans, and spent the first 50 years of my life soaking in human socialization. I shouldn’t be surprised I have this trouble.

Let’s say I decided to wear jewelry as a dragon. That’s something I could probably do. I could wrap necklaces or bracelets around my horns or something like that. I can’t decide if I’d be doing that for myself or to signal to everyone else that I’m female.

And at 50 years old, you’d think I’d be above this sort of quandary, because I’m well past the typical dating age. I’m settled. I’m disabled, too. I have my routines. I know who and what I am, and that’s all that matters. And what I present to the world is what the world gets. Like, other 50 year old women brag about how free they feel, no longer trying to be attractive to mates or meet societal standards.

Obviously, I’m not like other girls my age.

I turn back to my mocha to discover that Chapman is sitting at my table opposite me, composing themself with drink in both hands.

I recall seeing the movement in my peripheral vision earlier, but hadn’t made sense of it because I had successfully lost myself in thought.

I tilt my head to the side, eyes wide.

“Hi,” they say.

—

So I didn’t get a chance to compose my questions, and now Rhoda wants to hear all about Chapman while she tidies up my apartment.

As I knuckle out my explanation for Chapman’s interest in me, Rhoda is holding up things that are scattered around my livingroom and giving me a questioning look. I glance up and either smile or turn my head away, and she decides based on that whether to save it or throw it away.

So many things are just destroyed, and I have to let them go. But with anything that’s still intact, whether it’s useful to me or not, I just can’t get rid of it. I’ve got to have my things.

At certain point, she says, “Meg. Darling. We can’t store all of this in here. There isn’t room for your wings and tail, otherwise. Can you even afford a storage garage?”

In answer, I knuckle out the last few characters and then hit the talk button. “Autistic special interest,” I say.

She quirks her head and asks, “Chapman?”

I smile.

“Oh, that’s sweet. Maybe sie can help you figure out dragon things you might not otherwise know yet,” she says. We’d covered Chapman’s pronouns just a little bit earlier. Rhoda looks around at everything and sighs. Then she suggests, “What if we make your bedroom your hoard room, and turn the livingroom into your new sleeping den? I think the layout works better for that. I mean. Yes, your torso and legs aren’t all that much bigger than a human’s, but with those huge wings and that tail of yours, you know, well…” She gestures and nods at everything, “You do know.”

I acknowledge the truth of that with a gentle, tentative bob of my head.

“We’re going to need some help removing some of this wrecked furniture, too. But I’ve got a line on that. Don’t worry about it.” She tosses some obviously trashed things into the garbage and says, “OK. So. Chapman. Have you got another date with hir lined up?”

“Not date,” I respond. “Yes.”

“Sure,” she says, obviously not agreeing with my assessment. “What’cha gonna do?”

“Talk.”

“Where?”

“Park.”

“Oh, that sounds nice! Lots of room to move around. You can go for a little walk while you chat. I love it,” she says.

“Not date,” I repeat.

“I know,” she says. “My boy always liked going for walks with his friends. They'd all talk and talk and talk, and pace around the whole time even if they were just in the living room. But going places to connect and blab about anything and everything gave them all a sense of purpose, I'm sure. And stimuli and new things to talk about.” She organizes a few things, then continues, “He was autistic, too, you know. And pacing and walking was one of his stims. I wouldn't be surprised if Chapman's the same way.”

“OK, yes,” I reply. Then determined to delve into subjects of my own curiosity, I change the subject by asking the one question I do have cued up, “Why aren’t you freaking out about me being a dragon?”

Rhoda assesses me with tight lips, then replies, “It’s like you shed your old skin that night, you know. Maybe ate it in your sleep. Everyone could see this coming. It's just your new phase of growth.”

“Not you? You not do this?” I ask.

She blinks and wrinkles up her face and says, “Heavens, no! How even would I?” Then she holds up a finger. “Mind you, if I could, I would have. Ages ago! I saw how you were suffering. You were miserable under that old hide of yours. I imagine everyone saw it.”

So, I'm not getting answers from her. At least, not the ones I wanted to hear.

“Tell me,” she says. “What else are you experiencing along with this? Can you see things you couldn't see before? Are your senses sharper?”

“Yes. Thermals,” I reply.

Her eyebrows go up, “Can you fly?”

“Yes!”

“Fantastic!” she exclaims. “That must be amazing! I bet Chapman will love it!”

I’d roll my eyes, but I can’t. I do the big exaggerated head circle again.

“Oh come now,” Rhoda says. “I’m not teasing you about dating. I just genuinely think Chapman would appreciate a demonstration and you should give it to hir.”

She’s right, of course. And I agree to do so.

“In fact, I’d like to see you fly, myself,” she adds.

I look out one of my windows. I’ve got a third story apartment, two stories from the top. And there’s a small parking lot directly across the street. If I were to climb out the window and glide across that lot, I could catch the big thermal there and get some lift before wheeling out over into one of the streets. Some wing work, and I could probably get above the low buildings of that block. Without more experience, it feels really iffy, but I might be able to do it.

But I figure that a creature as big as I am is in real danger of seriously hurting itself in a crash. Too much inertia for bone density. Hell, starlings kill themselves on windows every day.

Intellectually, I know it’s a bad idea to test myself that way, but I find I’m not actually afraid.

I turn my head to look at Rhoda and open my mouth to talk, momentarily forgetting that I can’t really do that anymore, when I catch something big moving swiftly just outside my window.

My memory of it now is just a snapshot flash of an image, another dragon, wings, head, and tail pulled back, and all four feet extended outward to brace for impact with the wall between windows.

The very next moment of memory is bricks, plaster, insulation, wood, wires, and dragon billowing into my partially tidied living room and destroying it.

And I’m somehow turned 180 degrees, facing the monster who is picking themself up from the middle of the rubble of my apartment as Rhoda, who was safe in a corner near the outer wall, away from the impact and out of line of flying debris, shouts.

My tail is curled up awkwardly in the corner of the room near the door to the kitchen, and I’m already crouched and ready to leap upon the intruder, wondering how I got here, wings held tightly to my back.

And I’m also thinking that this maybe answers my questions about the durability of my body.

We are not exactly the same kind of beast, though.

Anyone looking at either of us would call us both dragons. And we have the same number of limbs. But that’s where our similarities end.

I’ve got iridescent blue and indigo scales with a pattern of diamonds down my back. I’ve got fiery orange and gold markings as well, and tan belly scales. I have a pair of horns that sweep back from my skull, and ear canals that are almost hidden behind protective scales. And I’m lithe and pointy, and look something like a cross between a gecko and a caiman, but with wings.

Then there’s this fuzzy brown asshole that looks like if you crossed a bat with a hippo and gave the result a feathered dinosaur tail. And I know that I cannot let that gaping maw anywhere near anything I care about.

I hear a rumbling that is as deep and soul shaking as you’d expect from an earthquake, and realize that it’s me. I’m making that noise with something in my ribcage.

Rhoda is pushing herself further and further back into her corner of the room, even though she’s already pressed up against the walls.

The moment my sudden adversary is free of rubble, they jump forward and let out a croak of a yawp.

In response, I jerk my head up and let out the strangest squawk that starts from the infrasonic rumble that’s been building in the depths of my body and rises to a cracking cry that sounds like an angry parrot. And then as I close my mouth afterward, a clacking noise like a raven’s comes out and I find myself jerking my head with each knock.

It’s not exactly involuntary, I just find myself doing what feels right. And I’m pretty sure the other dragon knows exactly what it means.

I’m not quite as big as my challenger, but my vocal prowess causes them to pause.

I don’t know why this is happening and I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but two things are extremely obvious.

I’ve got to do whatever I can to keep Rhoda safe, because she is squishy and cannot survive being squished by either of us dragons.

And I’m definitely not getting my damage deposit back.

Also, I decide that hesitating is bad and I want this fucker out of my apartment.

I do a little zigzag. I leap slightly toward the outside wall, to my right, in the direction of my opponent. Then, still accelerating forward, I bound left, pushing off the floor to launch at a spot on the inner wall, twisting my body to plant my feet there so that I can leap off that wall.

I never in my life imagined doing anything like this with my old body. It was just entirely inconceivable, especially as my chronic illness set in. But, I’ve spent countless hours visualizing this exact maneuver with a body nearly identical to the one I have now, in situations I’ve really only seen in action movies.

My tail acts as a springing counterweight that also pushes off the wall just after my hind legs have launched me in the direction of the flying hippo beast. My wings have also made a measured stroke to grab some air and swim through it without slamming into floor or ceiling, but I do feel them brushing surfaces and things in the process.

Head bowed and turned sideways, I slam the peak of my shoulders into the side of the other dragon, and then straighten my neck out and sink my horns into their haunch.

I manage to make them slide about two feet, and squeeze an agonized “grawp” from their throat.

It’s not enough, though. I need them out.

I get smacked repeatedly with their right wing as they try to twist to bite me. But I’m more agile and serpentine than they are, and I’m climbing over the base of their tail and wrapping my own around their legs, hooking my tail barb in one of their ankles and pulling.

Scrabbling and clawing my way to the huge hole in the wall, I manage to get them to spin in place just to reduce the pain caused by my tail barb.

A good nine tenths of the apartment is now flapping wings, dust, and enraged screaming and roaring the likes of which Hollywood has never managed to imitate.

And then I do the thing. If this asshole wants to challenge and fight me, let them do it outside, away from people.

I unhook my tail and leap from my apartment, rumbling and clacking the whole way, and dive across the street to the parking lot.

The sun is going down, so the air is cooling. But it’s been a long summer day and the pavement of the parking lot is still rising with heat, and I spread my wings as wide as I can to catch it.

The lift keeps me from slamming into a car. And, with a beat of my wings and a curve of my spine, I manage to clear a tree near the street and avoid becoming part of the mural painted on the nearest building.

I let out a cackling challenge as I work to gain altitude flying down the street and toward the bay, away from what used to be my home.

I don’t have to turn my head far to see behind me, and a flurry of movement in my peripheral vision tells me I’m being pursued.

Perfect.

How in the God damned hell can that thing fly?

---

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