#I mean given the way that freeze force acts

[catcatb0y]

Is it a conspiracy theory (crack headcanon) to say that Freeze Force was probably the one taking out Burning Rescue members?

Like Kray tells Galo that he sent him to the division withe the highest casualty rate- which notably is NOT Freeze Force (not surprising, given the fact that they are largely shown going up against non-combative Burnish with excessive force), but rather Burning Rescue.

The team that Vulcan says uses "old tech," the team that is well known and loved throughout Promepolis, the team that DOESN'T HAVE COMBAT GEAR (and is not authorized to fight against Burnish)-

Also CONVIENTLY the team that all sees Burnish as humans-

You know, it's odd. Burning Rescue CERTAINLY does dangerous work... but the "highest casualty rate"... In addition to the way that Freeze Force treats ACTUAL (non-Burnish) civilians- with Vulcan trying to arrest Galo in the first scene, the way that he arrests Pizza Guy (Burnish) AND Pizza Owner (Non-Burnish), the very blatant criticization of the Police Force ("That's for the law to decide")

Not only was the Burning Rescue not invited on to or told about the migration, they show specific sympathy for the Burnish, and CONVIENTLY have the highest casualty rate despite Freeze Force- allegedly- being combatant (compared to Burning Rescue risking Freeze Force fury by engaing with Mad Burnish) in ADDITION to Freeze Force (and Kray Foresight) having no qualms putting innocent non-Burnish through the same treatment as Burnish (I.e. it's less a matter of anti-Burnish discrimination and more of a mass dehumanization moment)

Like... yeah, Burning Rescue does dangerous work. Yeah, it's understandable that Galo would get injured and come back. Possibly coincidental that Kray assigned Galo to the same division as Ignis (who has SOME clear history with Vulcan/Freeze Force), Aina (Heiris' younger sister), and an entire team of Burnish sympathizers (one of which (Varys) has a mutation of his own (super strength)), but at the same time there are a LOT of human rights violations (and police critique) both explicitly stated and heavily implied.

I'm just saying... Ignis knew how to deal with Vulcan rather well for that being a "first time" situation... Vulcan being all too happy to use his authority to arrest non-Burnish civilians... A non combative team somehow having the highest casualty rate...

[astralis-ortus]

when it's less-than-ideal

✱ boyfriend!bc x gn!reader

— you can't judge a relationship only based on its good days.

w.count → 0.9k genre → comfort, a dash of comedy at the end warning → chan referred to as chris, babe, my love; reader referred to as baby and babe; kind of sad but it ends well♡ a.n → basically i'm projecting what kind of relationship-slash-communication style i want in a relationship, so... yeah. think i'll be on my own for quite a while, lol. anyways! i also have an announcement here about requests, commissions, and fanart shop, do check it out♡ ⋆ if you're enjoying my stories, do send me a ko-fi ⋆ see masterlist

chris has been acting weird lately, and you don't know why.

you're usually not one to mind—given the way his schedules these days barely even spare the time for him to rest, you understand that your boyfriend is bound to be less like his usual self. you've sat down with chris to talk about it early in your relationship—the expectations, the ideal and less-than-ideal situations, the how-tos, and 4 years in, everything has all worked out just fine.

lately, however,

chris has been acting really strange.

"babe, i'm home," chris' voice softly echoed through the apartment, followed by the rustling of what you could assume is the layer of jacket and hoodie you got him to wear to battle the dropping temperatures of november seoul. "where are you?"

"kitchen!" you chirped, swiftly rinsing off the pots and pans you've been battling against for the past 10 minutes, "i'm still washing the dishes. are you hungry? i made some curry for dinner, it's in the—babe? are you okay?"

the cheeriness in your voice immediately turned into worry when you felt chris' arms around your waist, holding you tight as he allows himself to melt onto you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

after all the years of being at the receiving end of chris' special mix of physical affection, you've naturally learned to differentiate the meaning in your boyfriend's touches—is he just being affectionate? or is he trying to tease you? is he jealous of the interaction you had? or did he sense something and is trying to keep you safe? you have always been able to read chris just from the way his skin grazes upon yours, and so far you've barely ever been wrong,

but god, you sincerely hope you're hitting far from the mark this time.

"hey," you softly called out upon the absence of chris' response, quickly disregarding the dishes to rinse your soapy hands before turning to face chris' tired features, "is everything alright, my love?"

instead of an answer, chris simply leaned onto your touch as soon as your hands came to cradle his cheeks—ones freezing from the cold weather he just escaped moments ago, and only then, you realized just how long it has been since you've properly seen your boyfriend.

how come you haven't noticed the dark, looming shadow in his eyes? or the way his skin had lost its usual glow and instead grew dry with the season? how come you didn't see the way the corner of his lips had grown heavier, or the way his curls you oh-so adored had adopted its long forgotten frizz?

how come it took you so long to properly see chris?

"i'm sorry, baby," running the pads of your thumbs across chris' cheeks, you forced yourself to swallow the lump of guilt lodged in your throat, "i just realized i've been too inattentive to you, and i'm sorry. have you been wanting to talk it out with me?"

and only then, you saw the faint glimmer you fell in love with, peeking between the grey clouds in chris' eyes.

"yeah," despite the hoarseness in his voice, you could hear the warmth returning in the words chris uttered as he nodded, "but i just… i didn't know how to bring it up since i knew you've been dealing with your own stuff as well."

chris quietly exhaled, soft breath grazing your lips when he leaned his forehead onto yours and let his eyes fluttered close, allowing his walls of self-protection to finally crumble as he speaks, "i'm sorry, baby. it was never my intention to let this fester for this long or to make you feel bad in any way. i just didn't know how. i promise."

you know you're not perfect, and neither is chris—but you also know chris has always made it his life mission to make sure you're the happiest you've ever been when you're with him. one honest mistake will never erase the efforts and sacrifice chris has ever made for you, and you'll never let that happen.

"i know, baby," you hummed, lightly dragging the tips of your nails against his scalp when your fingers found the dark locks of his hair, "i don't blame you. i shouldn't have assumed about your condition and let it slip too. i won't let it happen again, i promise."

and you can feel the way chris' shoulder relax at the words you utter,

because just like him, he knows you'll do everything in your power to keep every single one of your promises.

"thank you, baby," chris pulled you into his embrace, completely engulfing you in his warmth while he pressed his lips on your forehead. "i promise i'll try to be better at this too, and thank you for being patient with me. i love you."

it didn't matter how many times have you heard chris whisper those three words in your ears, or how many times have he held you like you're everything that ever mattered to him,

chris will always make your soul feel the most alive it has ever been.

"i love you too, baby," you finally allowed yourself to smile as your arms found their way around your boyfriend's waist, holding him close as you listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat—

"…babe?"

"…yeah," chris sheepishly nodded while rubbing his stomach, "i haven't had lunch too, actually…"

a protest involuntarily slip past your lips along with the forming lines of frown between your eyebrows, perfectly portraying your disapproval of chris' course of action.

"go sit down, i'll fix your plate for you," shaking your head, you turned towards the pot of warm curry on the stovetop in faux disappointment before you continued,

"and we'll talk about whatever's been stressing my christopher out, okay?"

oh, you can definitely confirm,

the sound of chris' soft chuckle will never fail to bring a smile to your face.

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ TENDING TO THEIR INJURIES ( part iii. )

ଓ.° ・ cyno ･ alhaitham ･ tighnari. genshin impact. repost. ・ ・ ・ pt i. pt ii.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ cyno

the role cyno plays is a heavy one : judgement & justice hand in hand in an act of righteousness as he deems another to fate. how quick it is for one's wrongdoings to meld into something deeper, deserved, and decayed into a sin they will learn to shoulder for the rest of a lifetime. you hold back a sigh, brows furrowed only the slightest bit in suppressed concern as you discard sanguine drenched gauze. you almost forget the danger that lurks in the shadows, expression growing grim as the seconds pass. cyno notices, smiles ever so faintly as he calls your name in gentle tones and meets your gaze.

"i guess someone--" he pauses, dramatic, and perhaps the final straw in your relationship lies in the moment he pulls a genius invokation card from behind his ear, "decked me."

you stare at him, deadpan. he stares back, also deadpan. this is far too unsettling.

"oh yeah? got decked in your bleeding knee, huh?"

"oh. well, you see-- i actually scraped my knee--"

"falling for me?"

cyno pauses again, clears his throat so incredibly loudly you wonder if it hurt doing so. you roll your eyes, don't bother to even hide the way your lips curl in amusement as you pinch his cheeks. his words of protest die down when you kiss him on the nose and you almost think you will hear them again with the way he frowns once you pull away from him.

"i don't love you, dearest general."

"okay, well that actually hurts to hear."

you laugh, feel his arms wrap around your waist as he looks at you expectantly. you press a kiss to his temple, see the way his countenance lightens at your affection.

"kidding, kidding. i do. i'm glad you're okay."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ alhaitham

you almost wonder if alhaitham is human -- a silly thing to ponder, truthfully, but you do not think you've yet encountered someone who seeks logic in all things and seldom succumbs to feelings and instinct. & it's unfortunate, almost -- to feel anything remotely close to love for someone who does not know the heaviness of it.

there is a strange feeling that brews in your chest : a nervousness, a knowing anxiety, and so you clench your jaw in frustration, place your focus elsewhere as to seek haven in denial of such foolishness. you wrap the bandages around his hands, try to ignore the foreign and comforting tenderness that sends shivers down your spine every time your fingertips brush.

"you are worried."

his voice cuts through steel air, forces you to freeze in your movements. you swallow hard, look him in the eye. you wish you could understand. you wish you could read him, know what lies in a dormant heart. but you don't. you don't, and it doesn't mean anything, not really, but somehow, it hurts anyway and you think you hate that the most.

"i'm not." you tell him, ignore the way he raises a brow at the short response. "it's a few scratches on your hands, nothing major. i'm only doing this out of courtesy."

"that's not what i'm talking about." alhaitham studies you further, makes you feel too seen and understood without a single explanation. you think to resume wrapping the bandages once again, but he grabs your hands, prevents you from moving away. you still, hold your breath, feel the way his hold tightens if only by a slight amount as if testing the waters.

"enough tending to me." he leans forward, closes the distance that separates you. "tell me what's on your mind."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ tighnari

"so... did you know that plant was alive?"

you imagined this would happen one day, given the nature of the forest watcher. a peaceful day turned to chaos, a leisurely exploration turned to a rather stressful yet memorable lesson. tighnari winces as you rub the ointment into his skin, red and pink patches adorning his body. he throws you a strange look, almost finds himself distracted from the pain at your words.

"all plants are alive, technically."

you sigh.

"remember when you ate that mushroom and didn't sleep for three days?"

how was he supposed to know that plant was particularly carnivorous? there's a trial and error with these things-- a system of sorts. not that he has the most optimal methods of research and learning, but he gets things done at the very least, so who can complain?

( him, probably. he is truly suffering right now. who knew plants had such sharp teeth? )

"for research. someone has to learn these things." he stares at the ceiling, entirely absentminded, until a flicker of seriousness graces his expression. "this was also for research, too, by the way. in case you were wondering."

"i wasn't."

"you are now."

"i was wondering about something i already know the answer to?"

"yes. your quiz will be tomorrow morning, pass or fail. i expect only the best results."

you scoff in disbelief, but the grin on your face betrays your seemingly annoyed visage. a quiet fills the air as you continue to attend to the numerous rashes, touch gentle as not to irritate them further.

"thank you for your help." tighnari's voice is softer now; you would have completely overlooked it had it not been for the blush on his cheeks.

you nod, silent, offer a timid smile as you press your lips against his for only a moment.

"i lied. that was your quiz. you pass."

"stop ruining the moment, tighnari."

[krypticcafe]

When you call them "babygirl" (COD:MWII)

rating: mature

characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price, John "Soap" McTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, König, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Hound

warning(s): language, a smidge of suggestivness

a/n: calling them bbygirls>>>>>calling them fictional crushes. also, my personal Roach hc is that he's a selective mute that took up ASL to communicate.

EDIT: there's now a reversal! What if you were called babygirl 👀

Gaz

His eyebrows raise almost impossibly high

"Did I hear that right or did you just..."

He's not upset, just... surprised.

Pleasantly surprised.

He doesn't mind it but man... it might've sparked something inside him. Might've.

You've given him nicknames before, both teasing and affectionate, but he never expected to be called that before. It's a new feeling.

You don't use it too much with him, but when you do, it gets the cutest laugh out of him. Gets him acting like he doesn't like it, but you know he absolutely does.

If you catch him off guard, he'll tilt his cap down and try to stifle a laugh to distract himself from how warm his face feels.

"Fuckin' hell, the things you do to me..."

You cheekily grin in response and give him those adoring eyes because you know that he knows you do it because you love him just that much to torment him :]

Now you only use it to amuse and tease him just to hear that golden laughter. You don't think you'll ever get tired of it.

Price

First time you said it, he nearly choked on his cigar.

"Sorry, what did you just say?"

He doesn't mean to be rude, it's just that you caught him so off guard. Give the poor man a break.

You repeat it to him and he chuckles, a little awkwardly because him? Babygirl? He can't see it, at least he doesn't see if he even has the qualities for such a title.

But oh, do you disagree. In fact, you start using it more, regardless of what he thinks.

If it's in front of the other task force members, it usually gets him to stop in his tracks and let out a knowing groan, shaking his head and trying to get the team to focus back on whatever they were doing before.

Which is extremely hard with how Gaz and Soap are trying to fight back their giggles.

When you're alone, he sighs but leans into your touch a little more.

He's actually amused by it and has even tried to give you something equally cheesy or teasing just to bite back at you.

It works.

He knows he's egging you on to use it more but truthfully?

He can't bring himself to get actually upset over it.

Soap

You decided to test his reaction on a whim one night at a visit to the pub after a successful mission, walking up behind him and greeting him.

You've never seen his head whip around so fast, and you wonder how he didn't snap his neck.

Oh and there it is.

The classic McTavish SmirkTM.

He's grinning so wide, leaning into your side and wrapping your arm around his waist.

"Would'ya mind repeatin' that, love?"

You're starting to regret this, seeing as he's enjoying it a little too much.

Then again... it could make this night a little more rewarding.

After that, he practically pushes you to use it more, says something about getting butterflies or how it "rolls off your tongue so well"

Either way, you don't mind it, seeing how it makes him happy and how he seems more obliged to listen to you.

And every time you do, he's always got that adoring glint in his eyes and an excited grin on his lips because fuck yeah,

He is your babygirl.

Ghost

He freezes so badly, the only movement being his shallow breathing.

To be honest, you were a b i t nervous to try, but you figured there was no harm in it with how far your relationship was.

But now you're starting to regret even trying, wondering if you've crossed a line or-

"Say it again."

Ohfuckohfuckohfuck-

You do as he says, and it gets a dry laugh out of him. He shakes his head and brings a hand to his forehead, mumbling about how stupid it is.

Except you don't miss that softened look in his eyes, the one weakness of his mask.

So you start rolling it out slowly and steadily, mostly in private because god knows he would strangle you for using it in public.

Much to his dismay, the 141 still overhears it thanks to you "teasing" him with it as a "joke".

Regardless, you don't mind limiting it to being used in private because you're the only one that knows and uses the fact that the Simon "Ghost" Riley secretly loves being called your babygirl.

Specifically in a soft or smooth way that gets him to just fucking melt on the spot. Even a simple, "How's my babygirl doing today?" in passing gets him all worked up at the idea of him being yours and yours only. It's even worse when you use it in bed.

So use it wisely!

König

He's looking around as if you're talking to someone else. Poor thing's all confused.

When he finally figures it out that it's him you're talking about, ohhh the way you wish you could take a peek under that hood.

The man's got his face buried in his hands, gripping and pulling the hood down on his face as if any inch of skin would further reveal how flustered he got.

Though you can already imagine it for yourself, his face burning brightly with his lips pressed tightly, causing all his stammering and sputtering.

Even worse, because of that, you add it to the list of various nicknames you have for him.

What you didn't expect is for him to adjust so well to it. At some point, he just sheepishly laughs and smiles whenever you use it, and of course, he's still a little shy about it,

But he starts leaning into it more, responding to it like he would any other name. Loves it like any other nickname when he just buries his face in your shoulder and cuddles you while you whisper reassurances to him.

Just be careful using it around the others, he'll implode if they find out.

Roach

What surprises you is how quickly he accepts it.

You had called out for him, and he just turned and responded with a signed "Yes?"

It kinda caught the both of you off guard.

He snickers and signs again, "Would you want me to call you something similar?"

You know where this is going, and before you can do anything, he starts calling you "hot stuff".

So now the two of you keep coming up with a bunch of corny, cheesy nicknames to sign to each other, some of which don't even make sense.

It's until that you call him it again he's like Soap in that he goes, "You know what? Yeah, I am your babygirl!"

Now he wears the name loud and proud. Almost too proudly. Pretty much the whole base knows it by now.

He got a goddamn name patch of it.

Occasionally, you'll get other 141 members commenting, "Looking for your babygirl?" or "Surprising that you don't have your babygirl with you today." with emphasis on the nickname.

So basically, what was supposed to be you teasing him was now him teasing you.

Hound

They first overheard you using it when you were conversing with some other force members, mostly talking about Hound and you. To many, it was a strangely unlikely relationship come true. He didn't think too much about it. You probably fumbled with your words.

Then he overheard it a second time. Then, a third. Then it came to a point where they just figured that it was now another term of endearment for them.

In all honesty, he's confused why you specifically like using that of all names, he simply can't see how such a cute, loving name could fit someone like him

You explain to them how it's kind of your way of showing them as yours, that they're your baby, and to you, they're one of the sweetest things to exist.

He melts at that.

So now when he hears it from you close or from afar, his head perks up, and he'll give a quick glance in your direction.

Sometimes, you use that fact just to get his attention, and he knows that, but he never minds when he gets to see you grinning so brightly.

[sktrhoon]

nap time ; park sunghoon

idol!sunghoon x gn!reader

warnings: arguments (very brief), talks of self-doubt & being over-worked, that’s it really ??

wc: 614

synopsis: you simply wish sunghoon would communicate with you more

“Sunghoon!”

“I don’t know what you fucking expect from me anymore, y/n,” Sunghoon paused to let out a dry laugh before looking back in your direction. He was never quite making eye contact with you, as if he was avoiding it. “You want this one second, this the next, I’m too fucking busy.”

All you could do was feel yourself freeze at the sound of his words, they stung in a way you don’t think you can articulate. You were aware of the sacrifices you made two years ago when you started your relationship with the idol, and you deemed every single one worth it. You had Sunghoon, that was all you needed. Oh, how naive you were.

“I’m so sorry for wanting my boyfriend to act like one,” you paused to collect yourself in an attempt to hold back the poison-filled words threatening to leave your mouth. “You’re never home, Sunghoon. I know this is your job and dream, and I’m so happy you get to experience it. But I want to see you for more than thirty minutes in passing in the morning.”

You watched Sunghoon’s flat expression falter before he spoke, still avoiding any form of eye contact, “I can’t stop doing this now y/n and you know that. You know that better than anyone. I- I’m getting solo activity opportunities and I just, I can’t turn them down.”

“Why, Sunghoon? Why can’t you turn them down?” You finally took a few steps closer to the man in front of you, forcing him to make eye contact with you.

“Can’t let the boys down, can’t let ENGENE down, can’t let myself down, can’t let,” Sunghoon paused for a second before continuing, “let you down.”

“Do you really think you can let me down, Hoon?”

“I- yeah, and for myself, I have to say yes to every opportunity given. I have to be grateful and do it, no matter the cost,” his face fell flat once more.

“But what about your health Sunghoon?”

You reached to grab his hand before holding it between both of your own, “Don’t you think the boys, ENGENE, and myself care about your wellbeing more? This isn’t even about me, Sunghoon. When I say let’s go out to eat, let’s watch a movie, whatever- I say it so you’ll have a proper meal, you’ll relax, just something.”

“But the company-”

You cut him off before he could even finish his sentence, “Yeah, fuck that.”

Sunghoon couldn’t help but finally smile at your remark, glancing down at your intertwined hands, “You know it’s not that easy…”

“But we can pretend it is.”

Hoon couldn’t help but laugh at your words, “I wish it was that easy love, I really do…” He removed the hand that was glued to his side to wrap it around your waist to pull you even closer to him.

“How about this, promise me instead of acting like everything is fine, bottling it up, and running yourself into the ground, you’ll talk to me. Even if it means nothing changes for a while, but you at least talk about it, hm?”

You remove both of yours hands from his to run one through his hair, purposefully ruffling it up with a smile on your face.

“Yeah… I can promise that,” Hoon finally pulls you into a hug and does his hardest to hide his face in the crook of your neck before pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

“So, can we go take a nap now? I think my Hoonie needs some very much deserved rest.”

All you heard was a short hum of agreement in response.

“Nap time it is.”

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

[milevenstancyendgame]

Eleven And Ableism

So I've been seeing recurring awful ableist views on El, all the way from old s1 posts to recent post-s4/s5-anticipating posts, and I won't have it.

People talking about El as though she was stupid. Because she barely spoke in s1, and in the following seasons still speaks like a child sometimes. Because she didn't learn a whole lot of things that children usually learn in our society, because she's lacking social knowledge.

This hurts me in a very personal way, because I have complex trauma too, with similar adaptations as El, and I've experienced the same discrimination, and still am experiencing it profoundly by the ableist welfare/medical system.

El doesn't talk much in s1, because she's traumatised, both in general, and freshly re-traumatised after being forced into the tank, encountering the demogorgon, opening the gate, fleeing the lab, seeing the first kind person to help her getting murdered, and then being bombarded with a ton of questions and unknown terms by a group of boys, the majority of whom don't seem very friendly towards her at first, but react to her like something abnormal/disgusting (wow, that's a lot) .

And she obviously was horribly abused during her whole childhood; objectified as a weapon and taught to not take up any space. She was just told what to do all the time. To only speak when spoken to.

She finds herself in a completely new environment full of strangers. Can you even imagine her level of fear, as a child who never was given any emotional safety, going outside for the first time and encountering strangers for the first time?

Of course, she doesn't talk much! Her whole life experience was a nightmare, why would she act like other kids?

Also, she has developmental arrest, meaning that due to the extremely unsafe surroundings she was born into, her brain couldn't develop as much and in the same way as that of other children, making her developmentally and emotionally younger than her physical age.

The crucial thing about human beings is that we need love to grow and thrive. Emotional connection creates new neural pathways in our brain. Learning is a social thing.

That is why she sometimes talks or behaves like an infant. Parts of her personality/brain are literally still that young.

Humans (and other animals) also do this thing called dissociation. It's a survival mechanism that makes you disconnect from your sensations and emotions (going internally numb).

Children who are repeatedly traumatised in infancy, rely heavily on dissociation, because a baby/toddler can't fight or run away.

A dissociative trauma response will paralyse (freeze) you or make you go limp (collapse). It also shuts down the verbal part of your brain (and other cognitive parts).

We see El going into freeze a lot in s1 when she's scared, but since it's fiction, it never lasts long, because there's no time.

And since El has been raised to be a weapon and therefore forced to fight, she taps into this trauma response frequently too.

All of this trauma-info-dump, just to give you a tiny glimpse of how incredibly intelligent El/her body/her brain is.

She went through all of this torture since she was a baby, no one loved her, and yet she survived, and yet she is still a whole person, a unique individual, a child who despite everything, is still capable of forming attachments and her capacity for love fully intact.

But people see a quiet/mute child, or a non-responsive child, and assume they are "stupid". I think it's pretty obvious who is the stupid one in this equation.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Violent Delights (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Warnings: Fluff. Pining, yearning, childhood crush. Mentions of sex, sexual thoughts, noncon (Baby reader catching Daemon in the act, it doesn't last long, adults intervene) all the usual Daemon warnings.

A/N: Meet dornish reader! I wanted to explore how Daemon can be in character and be with an actual age appropriate woman. Enjoy.

The first time you see Daemon Targaryen, you are twelve years old. Twelve years old and fascinated by the rain. It’s not something you usually see in Dorne, so as you trail your older brother around the Red Keep, you slip away to get a closer look.

You have never been good at orientating yourself, specially in such large spaces. You climb a stair and go in circles, before you decide to start opening doors. Unsure of which wing you are in, you decide to enter the first empty room you see.

Much to your delight, it is a sitting room with large windows. You choose the biggest one, underneath which a tiny windowsill will do quite nicely for a resting place. The window is heavy to your child self, a monstrosity made of a darker wood unseen in Dorne. You manage to pry it open with great effort and sit by it, one hand extended to feel the raindrops.

It's freezing. It feels just like running water does, but much colder. You close your eyes, committing the feeling to memory. In Dorne, desert and sand extends for miles and miles. When it rains, it's never like this. There are small drizzles, but nothing like this absolute downpour.

If it were to rain like this back home, panic would spread among the population. Crops would get ruined, houses would end up sunk in mud. But as you look down, you do not see hurried servants spreading sand or sawwood in the entrances, much less dragging furniture inside. Everything here seems to be built to withstand the climate.

You close your eyes again, feeling utterly at peace. The soft patter of the rain, so frightening at first, now feels much more calming. This is nice. You could get used to this, you think. Perhaps, when you are older, Qoren might marry you off to a kingdom where there is rain. You would like it, you think. It's a very marvelous thing. Majestic, even. There is a certain beauty in the natural forces making themselves known.

The door opens. You startle. When you look up, you are greeted by the sight of a couple kissing passionately. It’s a blonde man, tall and handsome, and a serving girl. Frozen in place, you stay quiet. You aren’t sure what the protocol is for this, if you should clear your throat or walk out quietly.

The couple parts. The man, young, around her age, pushes the woman down to her knees and starts undoing his clothing. He is a noble of some sort, you know it by the gambeson he wears. It's too finely crafted to be otherwise.

And sure, you are dornish. Someone has given you the talk about the birds and the bees already, along with some necessary knowledge of the feminine mystique. It doesn't mean you want to witness an unknown couple going at it.

As you get down from the windowsill, your shoes thud a little too hard on the floor. The woman doesn’t take notice, her mouth already… Well. But the man, blonde, Targaryen blonde, you think, looks up.

At first, it is as if he doesn’t see you. His face is contorted with pleasure, eyes nearly closed. He is beautiful, you think. His features stand out to you, specially because you are not used to people being so…white. The way he is lost in his pleasure, too, speaks to you in ways you can't yet comprehend.

Then, his eyes meet yours and widen. He is surprised at your presence, but it barely lasts. Without any ounce of shame, he gives you a superior smirk and winks.

You shriek. The serving girl pulls off him as if he were on fire. The man groans.

“Shut up, little girl.” He says, to you, as he pulls the serving girl back on. “In a few years, you too will be on your knees for a man.”

“My Prince!” The girl sounds scandalized. You can tell she is on the verge of placing herself between him and you. It's all over on the way she stands, blocking your view of his nakedness. You wonder if she fears damaging your innocence or what the man might do to you in a fit of temper. You have heard these Targaryens are quite spirited. “She is a child!”

“A dornish one.” The man, the Prince, shrugs. “Now, she can either stay or get out, but I am…”

Whatever he is, he doesn’t get to say it. No, because the door opens yet again, slamming against the wall. You startle, and so does the Prince. The serving girl starts quietly weeping, something along the lines of how she is sure she is about to lose her job.

Helplessly, three pairs of eyes shift to the door. There are guards, spears at the ready, at the forefront of it. One of them even drops his weapon, before shielding his eyes.

“What in the…”

The King and your older brother step inside the room, pushing past the men. Your brother's eyes are frantic, his hands reaching desperately for you.

The Prince still has his pants down.

Your brother takes one look at you, and one look at the Prince and loudly declares:

“We are leaving.”

Safe to say, Dorne does not join the other kingdoms that day.

There are many thoughts in your head about Daemon Targaryen after that. That he is handsome, and bold, and you always smile when told of his exploits. It's not a trait you should admire, as a second daughter, but you like his rebelliousness. When he gets the moniker of the Rogue Prince, you think it fitting.

You grow, during those years. You turn into a beautiful woman, sharp and bold, flourishing in the way women do when free to pursue their interests. But in your suitors' eyes, you have one fatal flaw: You live as you please and bed exactly the number of people you desire to bed.

In Daemon's eyes, though, you are a ghost. A memory that haunts him, every once in a while. He has heard of you, of your beauty and independence. He wonders if he was the one to initiate you into the world of pleasure, if that's why you have turned into such a siren. It's not often that Daemon does, but when he wonders, he recalls the face you had made when shattering your innocence.

But you don't know that yet. The more you grow, the more you forget him, even starting to feel a mild annoyance towards his house.

“You can never trust a Martell.” Or so King Viserys said, when your brother's offer to fund his side during the war at the Stepstones reached him. But he certainly finds it convenient because he pockets the gold so fast, one might believe him a dornish lover.

While it was true that you had an unfortunate habit of deceptiveness, it was not as if you changed sides as fast as a viper shed her skin. You only do it twice a year. Every six months is the perfect time to conduct an assessment of your investments.

Because that was what it was. War was no more than profit, for you, and most of the nobles in Westeros. The only difference is that you were much more honest about it than most.

It wasn't necessarily profitable in terms of gold. No, sometimes it meant gaining lands, or getting other kingdoms to respect you, so you could retain your freedom. But regardless of what you were gaining, you tended to look at things in a rather practical way. Some things were worth the sacrifice, some weren't.

Qoren lacked a business instinct. You had told him time and time again that the Triarchy was not a good investment. You would be losing men and funds, only to stick it to the Targaryens. Grievances aside, it was not worth it. You had to think about the good of your people.

Yet no matter how much you insisted, Qoren refused to see reason. Too proud. He had argued that the Iron Throne was going to scam you, in some way or another. When he had finally conceded to jumping ships, you had found out that he might be right.

While much more profitable than your time with the Triarchy, considering that you were now about to win the war, you were pretty sure you were being robbed. The funds you gave them slipped though their fingers faster than sand. They were either very dumb and got duped every time they bought supplies, or they were inflating the costs on purpose.

The deal had been clear. You would foot one quarter of the expenses for the lasts months of the campaign. But it seemed like you were footing the whole war with how much they were asking for.

While Qoren ruled Sunspear, you had always done your best to be involved in his politics as much as you could. Having been raised with the freedom most dorsnishwomen were, you had not been eager to make a political marriage or leave your home for a land that would think you too unconventional. Instead, to guarantee not being sent away, you had endeavored to make yourself as useful as you could.

But as you grew, you had proven to be much more than so. While he had made a good marriage, with a kind woman, she had not been raised in the way that you had been. You had turned indispensable in the ruling of Sunspear, his Lady in all but the fact that you did not share his bed.

It helped that, unmarried as you were, you retained your title. And as the Princess as you were, you didn't stand for being made a fool. That fact, aided by the hot-blooded nature of the Martells, had been what had prompted you to travel by yourself to the war camp.

If the lords loyal to the Iron Throne did, why couldn't you?

Much to your surprise, when you finally arrive at the Stepstones, it seems like the war is over. You find men pillaging the caves where the Crab King kept his few riches. A few wounded lay on the floor, others already taken by the Stranger.

You step in the sand, kicking a few bodies away to make room for yourself. The whole place is a mess. There are some fires going. Some men are rounding up the enemy’s soldiers, either killing them or placing them in chains. You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the smell of blood and burned flesh.

Slowly, you start to make your way forward. You have made sure to be dressed in the bright yellows and oranges of House Martell, to avoid being confused with someone else. The heavy, male boots you are wearing contrast sharply with the daintiness of your attire.

As you make your way forward, some men try to approach you. You gesture to your guards, a second son of House Dayne and a young man by the last name of Sand, to block their paths.

“Who is that?” Some men ask, dumbly. You roll your eyes. What sort of allies were these, that they didn't recognize your standard?

“Hey, Lady, you can’t be here!” And oh, the sheer stupidity of them all. If you didn't know their lords to be much more cunning, this display might have actually led you to believe that they were, in fact, being duped time and time again instead of inflating the cost of supplies.

“… The Maiden…” Now, that one was a bit better. You looked good in your traveling dress, despite the chunky boots.

“What is she..?”

You bat them all away, set on reaching the center of the smoking ruins. You know the men you seek must be there. The faint screeches of dragons tell you that.

Your knights locate a rock for you to sit on. They stand guard, their backs turned to you. You eye the carnage around you and decide that yes, the rock is precisely where you wish to sit. It's high enough that you get a vantage point to watch the terrain, but not too tall you will need aid to get up on it.

When you sit down, carefully spreading your skirts to not let them touch the dirt, someone sits by your side. You don't need to look up to know it's who you seek. Your guards wouldn't have let him approach if he wasn't.

“Quite the entrance.” He says, casually leaving his sword on the sand. “You have grown.”

Pretending not to recognize him, you look at your nails, casually. His voice sounds exactly as you remember it.

“Do I know you?”

“More intimately than you probably wished at the time.” He laughs, and you finally risk your first glance at him. Daemon Targaryen is still in his armor, covered in so much blood he looks positively feral. His hair, in intricate little braids, is as beautiful as you remember, even if limp and tinted red. A shame he will probably have to cut it now because by the looks of it, the blood and sooth are not coming off.

You are no longer a girl of twelve years old, and he is no longer the young Prince you once caught in the act. Yet, he is still disarmingly handsome. Despite the years and the self assuredness you have managed to cultivate, he leaves you weak at the knees.

How could one say this in a polite manner? Daemon had featured in quite a few of your teenage fantasies, as you grew older. After catching him in the act, you had had an interesting conversation with Qoren. It had opened your eyes to a whole new world of pleasure.

Twelve years old was an impressionable age, especially for young maidens. You had flowered not long afterwards your first exposure to sex. Back then, you hadn't understood what you had witnessed properly, but as you grew, your imagination did too. And Dorne was not a place for the shy.

As you started to look at the world with the eyes of a woman, you had experienced your first infatuation, and it had been on him. Never before had you met a northern that was as open-minded about pleasure as Daemon was, and that fact had made you wonder what it would be like to share his bed. And then, the war at the Stepstones had reawakened your teenage urges.

“You!” You play it cool, as if you had not set up this whole thing on the odd chance of getting to see him. Dornishmen were no strangers to pleasure, after all. And you had never been good at denying yourself of anything you wanted. “The boy in the sitting room.”

“The girl at the window.” Daemon conceded, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “And here I thought I would have to lower my pants.”

You snickered. Daemon looked perplexed for a second, before snickering too. You could tell he was impressed by your lack of a reaction to his joke, probably because he had thought it would scandalize you.

The moment is cut short, though, by his own sobering up.

“You shouldn't be here, little dornish girl.”

“Oh?” You extend your legs in front of you, getting comfortable. Will he mention the elephant in the room, or will you have to?

“These men have not seen a woman in months.” Daemon answers, lightly curling his hand over the pommel of his sword. You look around you, noticing that some of the men are, in fact, staring hungrily at you. It's not something that bothers you, any longer. Despite the nickname Daemon has bestowed on you, you are no girl. Younger than him by a few years, you are more of an old maid. You were used to men's attention. As the Princess of Dorne, you had come to expect it.

“And that concerns me, how?” Because there are much more interesting matters you wish to discuss, rather than the ogling of some uncouth northerns. For one, where was your gold going. Second, what were you having for dinner. Third, if he was going to join you.

“Do I really have to explain?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. Deciding to play coy, you give him a sweet look.

“Please. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of your opinions.” And if it comes out a bit ironic, Daemon doesn't seem to notice, too entranced by the way you are twirling one of your dark curls between your fingers.

“Plenty of hungry cats.” He says, as if in a daze. Apparently, Daemon hasn't seen a woman in months either, if seducing him will be this easy. “And you are looking an awful lot like a little mouse.”

You fight the urge to snicker. You were no mouse, but a viper, and you were ready to strike. But if he fancied himself the protector, you didn't mind playing into it.

“Well, good thing you are here. Now they think this little mouse is spoken for.” You run a hand over his arm, softly. Your hands lift a trace of the blood in his armor, leaving behind a drawing made up of empty space.

“Are you?” He arches an eyebrow, unbothered at the contact. You retract your hand, staring at your now bloody fingernails.

A scattering of images comes to mind. Maidenheads, bloody sheets. The girl you were at twelve. The man he is now. Your nails scratching lines on his back, biting at his throat, nipping at his lips. Unable to connect the thoughts, you let them go until only a pleasant smile remains.

“Are you a hungry cat?”

“No, little mouse.” Daemon tucks a loose curl behind your ear. As his hand comes down, he caresses your neck, lightly. It's barely a brush of his fingertips, yet your breath falters. He leans in, as if sharing a secret. His next words come out in a whisper. “I am a hungry dragon.”

Predictable, if a bit witty. Targaryens and their dragons. Despite it, you enjoy how much of an effort he is putting in. As a Martell, people often expect you to do all the seducing, not noticing you like being seduced as well. It's good that someone finally acknowledges it takes two to dance.

“That explains the never-ending appetite.” You tease, leaning towards him as well. The sun is starting to settle around you, some of his men lighting fires. They do not seem about to stop their pillaging. You wonder if Corlys Velaryon is near, and if so, why he doesn't stop them.

“You have no idea.” His voice is low and smooth. His hand is still on your loose curl, lower, this time. Barely touching your collarbone. His eyes are dark, and you doubt it is from the change in lighting. "A taste would never satiate me.”

“Shame. Little mice make for small bites, I think.” Your lips quirk up at the corners, barely suppressing a laugh. Expert in denial as you are, you know now is the time to retreat. You want him hooked on you so badly, he never sees your next move.

“I would make sure to do so very slowly. Savor it.” Daemon's thumb rubs just between your collarbones, tracing a path towards the valley of your breasts. You move away before he can reach it.

“Maybe, hungry cat.” You stress the last word, already knowing how you will lead Daemon into your trap. It will only take a few well-placed prods at his ego.

“Hungry dragon.” He repeats, a bit annoyed. The idea that you do not recognize him by his proper title upsets him. You laugh.

“Oh, but you look like a starved cat. A stray.”

“I am no stray.” Daemon complains. You arch an eyebrow, coolly.

“What else is a Prince doing fighting a war so far from home?”

Daemon stares at you. You are willing to admit it was quite mean on your part. Perhaps a tad too vicious. But you have yet to accomplish what you wish to, hence why you take it even further.

“You have until tomorrow to deposit the gold you have stolen from us in coffers.”

His whole face shifts, flirty expression replaced by a mask of indifference that is not fooling anyone. Caught off guard by your words, Daemon resorts back to his only defense mechanism.

“And if I don't?” He thrusts his chin up, defiant.

“You will find yourself at war with Dorne.” Your tone is even. Your voice doesn't waver, as if you were discussing the weather and not defying a kingdom much larger than yours.

“And you will declare war with two knights?” Daemon laughs.

“Have you met Dalton Greyjoy, perhaps?” You lean back on the rock, tilting your face up to the sun. Soaking in it. “Awfully young ironborn. Eager to prove himself, much more so if it's to beautiful women. Or so I hear.”

“You have allied yourself with the Iron Islands?”

You say nothing. Instead, you give him an enchanting tilt of the head, as if he was no more than one of your suitors. Your lips stretch into a coy little smile, one that tells him you have a secret he is not privy to.

“I do not believe you.” Daemon shakes his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, before uncrossing them and shaking his head yet again. Stunned. “No. Prince Qoren would never allow it.”

“Qoren would not?” You repeat, mockingly. “And pray tell, since when do you know him so well?”

“Do you know why he dropped the Triarchy?” The question is unexpected. Before this, you had not bothered to wonder about your brother's motives. Used as you were at things going your way, you had assumed Qoren had seen the wisdom of your advice and decided to take it.

“Because I told him it was a bad investment.” You answer, refusing to back down. What could Daemon Targaryen know of the motivations of a prince of Dorne? Nothing. He had to be bluffing, searching for a weakness he could exploit to get out of this.

“Because the Crab King, over there…” Daemon gestures vaguely in the direction of the corpses. “Had eyes that lingered too much on you. And if this Greyjoy boy is the same…”

You blink a few times. It makes sense. The Crab King had never tried to seduce you, yet you know men like that are not used to asking. Instead, they order. You can only guess the face Qoren made when faced with such a demand. He is as proud as you are.

Daemon could be lying, of course. Trying to make you doubt Qoren. Divide and conquer, and all that. You can't let that happen. Everyone knows the two of you are a team. Whatever grievances you have to air with him, they will be on private. You tuck away the piece of information for later, and focus on what's in front of you.

“If Qoren is willing to turn into a turncloak for my sake…” You narrow your eyes at Daemon, menacingly. You know as well as him that the easiest way to stop you is to hurt you. Kill you, perhaps. But it would mean war. “Think of what he will do to you, if you hurt me.”

“You will have your coffers tomorrow, Princess.” Daemon says, bitterly. He knows he has lost. You outmaneuvered him. House Martell has never bowed to dragons. If Daemon declares war on Dorne, his brother will pull the support from the Iron Throne. Corlys Velaryon will not want to get involved, no matter how much he has benefitted from their plot. He cannot wage war alone.

You get up. You dust off your skirts.

“Good. And make sure you bathe before touching the gold. Wouldn't want you staining it.”

You do go back to Dorne with a chest full of gold, and then some. As it seems to be a tendency with Daemon, you almost forget all about him before he is barging into your life again.

It happens on an odd afternoon, while you are trying to broker a deal with a foreign King. The tart taste of the berries makes you scrunch up your face. It's more acidic than what you are used to, but good nonetheless. You smile at the King in front of you. He looks on the verge of drooling.

“I am glad you like it, my Princess.” He simpers. “I must say the shade compliments your caramel skin quite well.”

Caramel. Ugh. How you hate when men compare you to food. It's always your caramel skin, your cherry lips, your golden eyes. Can they get more unoriginal?

You beg to the skies for fortitude. This alliance is important, you remind yourself. Qoren needs them, Dorne needs them. They grow more fruit than you could ever hope for.

As it often happens, your prayers are heeded in a way you could not have expected.

“Princess.” A guard suddenly sprints into the room. “There is a situation at the gates. Prince Qoren needs you.”

You spring up from your seat so fast, one might think there were needles on your cushion.

“I apologize, my King. The berries were lovely. Perhaps you could send some more? For the people?”

“Oh, I understand.” The King gives a jovial laugh. “Duty calls and all. You are right, I shall send you…”

“Good.” You cut him off, and walk out of the parlor. As you start to reach the gates, you slow down your walk. You can't have Qoren thinking you rushed to his side, after all.

“Have you developed some sort of mind reading ability?” Qoren turns at your words. He is facing the gates, right in the middle of the watchtower. It's not an actual watchtower, but rather a ledge on one of your lower walls, right aside to the actual tower. Its slightly off center position allows for a better view of the gates, despite not being very high.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He asks, reclining precariously. Your stomach turns. This is a recurring occurrence, Qoren watching from places he is not supposed to. You often fear he will fall to his death, yet he has yet to even slip. He is noisy enough to not care about the dangers of the world.

“You knew I needed an out, I gather.” You keep your tone flat. While you enjoyed being his right hand, you disliked that so many of your allies thought flirting was the way to do business.

“I didn't. Come here and take a look.” Qoren sounds uninterested in your grievances, which is highly unusual for him. Whatever he is looking at must be fascinating. You start climbing the steps, aided by the guard that led you here. You try to do so gracefully, but it's daunting in a dress as the one you wear.

“How did you even get up here?” You huff, crouching on the ledge before slowly starting to stand.

“Invaders.” Qoren says, unbothered. You nearly fall off, shrieking. The guard pushes you upright again.

“At ease, Princess. We got you.” He says. “Look closer.”

So you do. You narrow your eyes at the horizon, and what you can see of the gate. You can barely make out a giant red blur. A dragon, perhaps? One you already know, by the eerie calm he is sporting.

You only know one dragon. It happens to be red.

“What did you do to that man?” Qoren laughs. Your mouth opens and closes. It has been almost two moons since you departed from the Stepstones, half of the gold you had originally given to the Iron Throne back with you.

You had gone on with your life. Taken a few lovers, here and there. Ate good food. Pawned off resources for alliances. You know, the typical. Daemon Targaryen, though, clearly has not. Because he now stands at the gates of Sunspear, dragon in tow.

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.” You reply to Qoren, still open-mouthed. “Is he trying to declare war?”

Qoren laughs at you, poking you in the ribs. You squirm away, before remembering you are standing on a ledge. You slap his arm.

“Don't do that! We could fall!”

“The only falling being done here is that dragon prince for you, dear sister.”

“Huh?” You frown, confused. What is he on about? Despite your desire to bed Daemon, you had walked away from the meeting with the certainty that he was not interested in you. You were not a maiden like the ones he chased, nor were you young, and you had done a good job of alienating him after threatening him with war. This could not be a mere visit, for you had parted on bad terms.

But Qoren doesn't answer. He only raises his voice slightly.

“Truss him up in chains!” The order is clearly not meant for you. “And place him on the Princess' solar.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, as the guards hurry to carry out his order.

“I'll give you a chance to deal with him.” Qoren says, mysteriously. “I think he is about to ask for your hand.” And with an agile jump, he is off the ledge and getting down the wall. You scramble to follow.

“Qoren!” You scream, nearly falling off in your haste. He is too fast for you, already entering the palace. The guard steadies you again, and you gather your skirts and run after him, but it's too late. You do not know which direction he has turned. “Qoren, what do you mean by that? Have you spoken to him? He asked you for… Qoren, dammit!”

His cheery voice reaches your ears.

“Do try to get rid of him, alright? We can't have our people thinking we have been invaded.”

You chase after the sound, but he is gone. You could follow him to the throne room, but you decide for the more amusing option. No matter if Qoren is teasing about the marriage proposal, you decide to go and freshen up a bit. It will take a long time for the guards to subdue Daemon, and to drag him inside. Plenty of advice for you to change clothes.

Be it for declaring war, or rejecting a marriage proposal, you like to be well-dressed for the occasion. You take your time choosing your outfit, strapping a tiny dagger to your thigh.

Only when an hour has passed, you walk towards your solar. There are a few knights stationed outside, one of them being your Dayne companion. He approaches you cautiously.

“The Prince left instructions for us to enter at your call. One scream, Princess, and we will be in there before he can draw his sword.”

He sounds worried. It's actually kind of sweet.

“Don't worry. He won't hurt me.”

But despite your words, as soon as you enter your solar, you are grabbed harshly by the arm. You look up to find Daemon not only free from chains, but furious.

Perhaps the guards thought it would not be very diplomatic to chain him up. A shame. You jerk off his grip, and go serve yourself some wine. It's a very neat trick, one you have learned from the men in your life. One must let the other do all the nagging while pretending to be entirely innocent, so they sound insane. Often, it leads to the person reproaching you actually thinking they are going mad. You only use it when you feel particularly cruel.

"You took your time.” Daemon follows you, stomping and huffing. “I have been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I was not decent. I had to change into my afternoon clothes.” You give a little twirl, enjoying the luxurious feel of the skirt against your body. You know it will only anger him further. “Do you like them?”

“You have some nerve.” Daemon scoffs. You offer him a goblet of wine, which he takes. “Do you know what men say of you?”

“Does a viper pay attention to the mumbling of worms?” Your voice is calm and sweet. In truth, you do pay a attention to what they say. Who doesn't? But Daemon doesn't need to know that for the game you are playing.

“You are hardly a viper.” His eyes narrow at you, in a flutter of pretty lashes and lilac. Good Gods, what right does he have to be so handsome. You hate him.

“I like to think I am one.” You drink from your wine, giving him a coy little look over the rim of your goblet.

“They say you are a witch. That you place your spell on them and have them dancing at your tune.” He complains, gruffly. So far, he seems very angered by you, which is fair considering the way you parted. What makes no sense is the fact that he has come this far to make his displeasure known.

“It's not my fault men are often led by their cocks.” You shrug. It's rather crass, but you are unbothered by it. If men are allowed to speak how they please, why shouldn't you?

“Perhaps not.” Daemon cocks his head. “But I do wish to ask something of you.”

“Oh?”

Daemon places his goblet down. He plucks yours from your fingers, all soft movements. He raises your hand to his lips, and kisses your palm. His eyes never leave yours.

“Remove your spell from me.”

You laugh. You stare at him as if he has two heads. You laugh some more.

"I'm serious. You have bewitched me. Ensnared me with your charms and feminine…” He lets go of your hand, angrily gesturing. The laughter dies in your throat. Daemon is not joking.

“I have what?” You repeat, confused. Now you are actually thinking him a madman.

“You have made it so I can't lie with another woman. I only get relief when I think of you. Remove your spell, or I shall…” And it's too good, too much of a joke not to laugh. You restrain yourself, knowing angering him more could be bad for your health.

“You shall what?” Despite your attempts, your amusement must show because Daemon grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a tiny shake. It's not enough to hurt you, but it startles you into seriousness.

“I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you.” His eyes do not show the emotion his words imply. While his face reflects need, Daemon has not drank nearly enough to have such a loose tongue. Something is amiss. “Let me have you. If you don't remove your spell, I need to have you.”

His eyes don't show need, but eagerness. He is trying to manipulate you. The thought of him implying that you must let him have you makes your blood boil. You are angered beyond belief. Has he really come all this way to make some half-assed marriage proposal, in the hopes of trapping you with him? Who does he think he is dealing with?

If you were another woman, more inexperienced, you would let this man manipulate you right into his bed. But you are not. You are old enough to know that lust can be cured with a few well-placed hot baths and enough time and distance. His excuses are a poor attempt. You almost prefer the other men's simpering.

“I am no witch, you fool. Now, out!” You point at the door.

Daemon straightens. He eyes you carefully.

“I need you.” He repeats. It's clearly a lie. You wonder what else is, too. Is it odd to feel flattered by him being so set on you, he is willing to manipulate you into marriage?

“You do not. There is nothing interesting here, go find a whore.” You cross your arms over your chest. Your traitorous heart seems to disagree. You don't want him to leave, says the heat in your cheeks. Not yet, answers the harsh ring of your pulse in your ears.

“I do.” Daemon steps closer. He seems slightly unsure and that is what gives him away. If you are trying to manipulate someone, you have to go all in. You can't hesitate because they call your bluff. His seduction techniques need serious work. “You have to let me have you.”

“I don't have to do anything.” You scowl at him, getting right up on his face. To you, it doesn't matter if you are shorter, you will put the fear of the gods in him or so the Seven help you. “And I do not believe a word you say. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have merely asked. I do not appreciate you trying to manipulate me. I do not need to be coerced into it, I am no maiden.”

“And if I were to ask?” His nose brushes against yours, tenderly. Daemon's eyes have turned dark, his body nearly vibrating in excitement at your anger. You had heard Targaryens had queer customs, but had not expected him to be so aroused after getting yelled at.

“Too late, out!” You push your index finger into his chest, hard. Daemon smirks. He takes a step forward, forcing you to back off or get your finger crushed.

“You said I had to only ask for what I want.” He gets closer still, backing you against a wall. “No more games.”

“No more games.” You agree, a bit shakily. He noses along your temple, softly. You look up at him, all big, surprised eyes. How has he turned the whole situation into his favor so fast? And when, exactly, did you lose control?

“I want to know what is behind your eyes.” Daemon presses a soft kiss to your brow, then to your eye. You let go of the breath you are holding, eyes fluttering closed. Your lips tingle with the urge to be kissed, alight with the rush that comes from being seduced. But you do not intend to make it easy for him, no. He can't just expect you to submit just because he asks.

“No, thank you.” You duck beneath his arm, leaving behind your moment of weakness. He still tried to manipulate you, after all. He deserves a bit of suffering.

“What do you fear?” Daemon grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. He nuzzles your neck. “It certainly isn't modesty, you said so yourself. You are no blushing virgin.”

“I do not want to marry you.” You jerk free of his grip.

“Perhaps, you think I would enjoy you less. Or you fear I might not like what hides behind your eyes.” He kisses right behind your ear, softly hugging you to him. “The thoughts you have… The things you crave…” His hand traces an upward path, from your belly button to your collarbones. “To me, it only means you are already mine.”

“I'm not interested.” You say, but your whole body is saying yes. You just can't help it. His attention is overwhelming. His hands are gripping at your waist, your hips, everywhere. You shake against him as if you were an innocent still, and not a woman seasoned in the arts of love.

“I made you like this.” Daemon presses scorching hot kisses against your neck. You wonder if all Targaryens run as hot as this one. “Do you remember, little dornish girl?”

“You did not.” You pull away once more, and grab your wine again. You take a hearty sip. The memory you have obsessed over is one he has thought of too. Daemon had awoken something in you that rainy afternoon, and it's clear you had done the same to him.

“I taught you something, even if unwillingly. I always wondered, when I heard of your exploits, if you thought of me too.” And you have. Oh, how badly have you thought of running into him and bedding him, but you are not willing to admit it. You know if you look at him, you will give yourself away, so you keep stubbornly looking somewhere else.

Daemon chuckles.

“Let me see those eyes.” He gently grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. “Ah. So I was right.”

Furious at being caught, you place one of your hands on his hair and tug. Hard. Hard enough to force him to expose his neck.

“How do you feel about my eyes now?” You snarl.

“They are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Daemon's brows are pinched together, his back slightly arched. Your punishing grip on his hair is hurting him, and you are glad for it. Yet, his lips are parted as if experiencing the sweetest delights. “They are those of a woman in the throes of passion.”

“Do not test me.” You warn, forcing him to his knees. He goes willingly.

Daemon reaches up slowly, his much bigger hand curling around your wrist. He coaxes you to let go, softly massaging.

“I can taste the arousal cursing through your blood, Princess.” He pulls you into him, until both of you are sprawled out on the floor. “I see how your chest heaves, how your breath is getting heavier, how your lips plump… You are excited.”

“So what if I am?” You huff. It's all cornered animal. You cannot deny it any longer, you want him too badly for it.

“It means you and me… We are the same.” And he finally kisses you. His mouth meets yours in a hungry kiss, into which you pour all your frustration. But Daemon coaxes you to go slower, to kiss more passionately instead of hurriedly.

“I want you.” He says, when you part. His forehead rests against yours. “Let me keep you. Be mine. A woman as bloodthirsty as you cannot stay alone forever.” As he lays you down on the floor, as he gets on top of you and his hands pin yours down. “Let me keep you.”

And this time, you say yes.

[ganondoodle]

totk cataclysm event wasnt just a great (but utterly missed) opportunity to change the map in techincally little ways that has drastic consequences both in stakes and in gameplay (like i mentioned before, flooding the gerudo desert would have meant devastating consequences for its ecosystem- like imagine little islands of sand still poking out, acting as a sort of last doomed refuge for sandseals- but also cahnged the entire gameplay of it, good chance to introduce some neat new ways to surf on water like a new ridable creature or an ice shield freezing a path while you surf on it, the gerudo being forced to save the city from drowing in various means or now living on the roofs, trying to adapt by building boats ect - also call back to older games?? since totk loves that so much ..-, vah naboris serving as the savest refuge being high above the water, even if non functional; similarly takign away ALL water from the zora region, gaving it all dry out would imemdiately turn into something way different and could mean death for the zora- forcing them to move to the lower parts of akkala for example- maybe vah ruta is still halfway functioning bc the faith the zora have to mipha, dorephan and sidon is, while not enough to keep it fully functional, but enough to generate some water so the most stubborn or brave zora set up around it like a last oasis; i know its somewhat done with death mountain but the gorons dont really suffer from it bc their only problem is a drugged rock that makes them mean and lazy ..- what about collapsing or exploding it, leaving a large crater that over the course of the game could start to grow with plant life since vulcanic earth is so fertile- some never seen before ones that was dormant in the lava and now that its cooled off is springing to life, which might seem good at first but for the area and its wildlife means loss of their habitat; the rito freezing over, but actually having to move, maybe into the tabantha canyon, building their new makeshift homes in between the walls of it- generally just switiching things around a bit would have done so much wihtout having to edit every last detail ((seriously tho, how did this game take so long given that botw took similar but they did that ENTIRE main map as detailed as it is AND made it all coherent with itself and its themes- im ranting again ..)

-but it ALSO would have been the perfect opportunity to introduce new weather types created by the sudden change in environment, somethign like a super strong wind that slows you when walking agaisnt and lets you jump much farther when with it- a darkness thing that clouds the world in utter darkness with only little light getting through anything that is caused by mushrooms from the udnerground invading the surface and their spores snuffs out all light (which could explain the weird darkness in the ruins from botw too!!), or just simply mist! making everything misty changes the entire feel of any environment drastically- you could make vertain enemies spawn only in certain weather conditions, lessening the repetive overuse of them; and that is only on the surface- what if the sky had sunbeams so strong it sets anything on fire if you dare to leave the shadows- to comabt it get a armor with a giant hat!! the underground could have been filled with different environments in the first place, but then of course thered be those dark spores of mushrooms, an entire forest you have to carefully travers other wise making them release their spores and make it all more difficult, glowy mushrooms, MORE glowy mushroms, theres so many weird ass shrooms IRL you could take inspo from!! maybe soemthing like a forest of kelp, long flowy plants obstructing view and making you anxious by any movement- there could be one thats a mimic or infected with miasma, slightly off color and its knobs are malice eyes that open only if it thinks you cant see it

(also for the idea of taking botws stuff and recontextualizing it, the guardians or shrines, now non fucntional, could be infected my miasma sometimes, maybe randomly to keep you guessing- an overgrown shrine suddenly lifting itself up with hands clawing at you when you get too close or do sth wrong to distrub it- similar with guardians tho the effect might be less since you know them as a threat already- or sth i mentioned in another post, a tower being used as a weapon by a gigatic miasma monster- the one in the gerudo region with the bottomless pit for example, perfect for an arena for you to run around in the spiral while its swinging at you etc etc)

JUST taking what botw had and mixing it up, expanding on it, even if technically little change, it could do so much but in the actual game death mountain and rito is the only ones that saw anything of a change like it, and it largely .. didnt change anything or was reversible easily, and had no actual consquences that meant anything, neither stakes nor environmental or narratively (the gerudo felt like it at first but its also largely reversible, its just kinda .. adding a bit of city)

i hhhhhhhhhhhhhh have so many thoughts still, i am just better at holding them back .... also dont wanna annoy lmao

[xxsabitoxx]

Love, Don't Be Shy

Sweet like candy | Gojo Satoru x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Suggestive-ish content but mostly fluff

A/N: More Satoru fluffy domestic content to heal the soul.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k (exactly, may I add)

You sniffed yet another bottle of perfume, mildly thankful that you hadn’t given yourself a headache just yet. You were in desperate search of a perfume to surprise your boyfriend with, one that he would love and that would satisfy his insatiable sweet tooth. In hindsight, it would have made more sense to drag Satoru along with you. That way you’d know you picked the right perfume because he’d be there with you to tell you. But, you wanted to surprise him, so you set down the bottle you had just smelt and grabbed the coffee bean shaker yet again. Turns out coffee acts as a reset button for your nose, it was probably why you could still smell at this point. 

You reached for another bottle, grabbing a tester strip and spraying the contents twice. Shaking the paper so it would dry faster, you brought the strip to your nose and inhaled. You nearly gasped in the middle of the small store, immediately knowing that this perfume was the one. You grabbed the bottle, reading over the label and smiling as marshmallow, honeysuckle and vanilla were listed among other sweet scents. “Perfect…” you whispered triumphantly, knowing immediately that Satoru would love it. Within five minutes your two hour perfume excursion had ended and you were nearly bouncing home with the bottle in tow. 

You arrived home before him, giving you plenty of time to change into comfier clothes and practically douse yourself in the sugary sweet scent. As you threw yourself down on the couch, the front door to your shared apartment opened. “I’m home!” he called, not expecting you to be sitting on the couch. “Oh! Well hello.” he grinned at you, undoing his blindfold as he turned to shut and lock the front door. “Well hello to you too, mister.” you grinned as he tossed the blindfold on the dining table before striding across the room to practically tackle you with his affection. You laughed as he climbed on top of you, forcing you into a lying position as he nuzzled his face into your neck. You couldn’t contain your smile as you felt him freeze. 

Satoru sniffed once, twice, three times before pulling his head up to look down at you with creased brows. “You smell good, baby.” It was genuine but you could tell he was a little suspicious. “You think so?” you comment softly, hands reaching up to run through his hair. “I do, you smell really good, really sweet… I like it.” Satoru shamelessly bent down to drag his nose up your neck, smelling the perfume mixing with your natural scent. You laughed, the ticklish sensation making you squirm a bit before he stopped and placed a kiss on your jawline. “Did you buy a new perfume or something?” Still, Satoru wasn’t taking many breaks before his nose was somewhere else on your body. “I–ha–Satoru that tickles! I-I did buy a new perfume.” 

“Just for me?” he commented softly, placing a kiss on your chin, then your neck, shoulder, your sternum, inhaling each time he did. “Just for y-you…” you nearly hiccuped, having gasped in enough air to cause them. “That’s so sweet of you baby… fuck you smell amazing.” it seemed you had made the right choice, Satoru couldn’t get enough of it. “I’m so glad you think so, it wasn’t all that cheap.” you laugh again as he pushes himself up to hover over you, a goofy grin spreading across his lips as he looks down at you. “You’re fucking adorable, you know that?” That goofy grin only seemed to grow wider as you became visibly shy. “Cmon love, don’t be shy.” Satoru cooed as he leaned down to hover his lips just above yours. “You’re so perfect.” 

This time you made a noise, something like a squeak as he laughed softly. “I mean it, you’re adorable to go out and buy a perfume you’d know I like… which is also very impressive. You know me so well, baby.” Your eyes squeezed shut, unable to bear the teasing but genuine tone of his words. “Satoru…” you whined, head turning away from him just before he could slot his lips over yours. Instead, they landed against your cheek, causing him to hum in dissatisfaction. “I’ve seen every square inch of your body, I’ve been inside of your body, yet me calling you adorable, praising you, calling you love and baby has you turning into a flustered mess… I don’t get it.” He chided, laughing a little as you opened your eyes to look at him in surprise. “Satoru!” 

“It’s the truth! You get so shy when I praise you, which just makes you even more adorable.” this time he managed to land his lips on yours, humming in satisfaction as you easily gave in. It took Satoru a minute to process one other key thing, pulling away with a soft smack of his lips. “Vanilla lip balm… you’re full of surprises today.” you laughed again, smiling up at him with an equally goofy grin. “I know you love sweet things, Toru… I wanted to surprise you.” your eyes shifted over to a bag you had left by the tv stand, your empty perfume bag beside it. Satoru recognized  the bag color immediately, only one shop the two of you frequented had bags that color. “You didn’t…” he rasped out, cheeks turning pink. “Oh I did.” 

The bag was from your local “adult” store, flavored lubes were inside. “What ones did you get?” he questioned with dilated pupils, immediately intrigued by the idea. “Oh they have a ton, Toru. Salted caramel, brown sugar, vanilla, cinnamon bun, blueberry muffin, birthday cake…” he audibly groaned, shoulders shaking with laughter a moment later. “I love you.” it was so light and genuine that you could have melted on the spot. Giggling, you responded “I love you too, Toru.” You smiled as he kissed your forehead, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips before clamoring off of you to go look in the bag. “Holy shit you got them all?” all the flavors you had named plus a few fruity ones, just in case. “I did, the worker looked a little jealous.” You laughed as you sat up. 

“They had every right to be…” there was a new tone in his voice, one that had heat starting to pool in your gut. “We’re trying all of these tonight, I hope you know that.” You sighed, “Satoru, I have work in the morning.” but you knew that was a useless excuse. 

“Yeah? Looks like you’ll be calling out, baby.”

[theycalledhimastar]

I may love Kyle, but I can totally admit when he acts like a total weirdo (he doesn't, he's perfect).

☄. *.

Alright, for starters, man takes up all the counter space with his stuff. Unlike Simon, he is very loyal to his brands and he has a longer face care routine than you do.

Just look at his perfect skin and tell me I'm wrong because you can't, that shit's flawless and he intends to keep it that way.

Every towel in the bathroom smells like him whether or not he's used it and you will never ever figure out why.

(It's because he probably used it-)

"Kyle, did you use my towel after your shower?"

"No, why?"

"Because it literally smells like your bodywash."

"How do I know you didn't just use my bodywash?"

Don't make this about me, Kyle Garrick. You know what you did, you're just lucky your shampoo is easy on the senses. He's the one task force member that seems to be able to differentiate between what smells good and what is altogether too much.

The type of guy to have long, gorgeous eyelashes and always, ALWAYS complain about them getting in his eyes.

Like suck it up pretty boy, you're literally living my dream here with those baby doll eyelashes of yours.

He also knows it pisses you off so he tries not to mention when it happens, so you'll just catch him sitting there on the couch blinking like a madman. Trying his darndest to get the annoying eyelash from his eye without drawing attention to it. Although really and truly this just makes it more noticeable and kinda funny to watch.

Applies Chapstick in that really weird way that guys do it where they make a duck face, except he's fully self aware, he just knows it weirds you out so he exaggerates it further.

"Babe what are you doing, that's not how you apply chapstick."

"What do you mean, there's no right way to do it." :0

SLEEPS WITH HIS SOCKS ON BECAUSE HIS FEET ARE ALWAYS FREEZING!!!

Like thank you for sparing me from those absolute ice blocks, but like babe, that is unnatural. It is cruel and unusual and I will not stand for it!!

(Socks stay on during sex-)

Also prolly wears long sleeves and pants to bed regardless of how warm it is because he swears its more comfortable. Bro going to bed fully dressed, all he needs are shoes smh.

On a similar note, his hands are always cold, but instead of putting them in his front pockets or his jacket pockets like a normal guy, he walks around with his hands in his back pockets given the chance.

Doesn't think it's weird, but he walks around leaned back in order to do it and it looks goofy as hell.

Willing to advocate for you and it's really sweet, except it'll be for every single little thing. Like not just ketchup that you ordered but didn't get, if you off-handedly mention that whatever you ordered is kinda cold, he is on it immediately.

"Hey, uh, my Partner here says their food is a little cold, is there any way we could fix that please?"

Like he's not rude about it, but you still want to die inside because it's not a big deal and he doesn't seem to get that you really weren't complaining or trying to get him to fix it.

[polaris-stuff]

I get hating the arc with Nexus, I do too, but I'm honestly somehow more disappointed with Old Moon's return. Everything is normal. That's it, we're back to some status quo. Ignore the fact that Moon has said it's been like an hour for him, and the last thing he remembers is his family falling apart. Don't worry about how he somehow is a better brother now, don't worry that most of his main flaws are gone, the best version of Moon was always the original, ignore all the time's Sun has projected onto New Moon about this Moon's negative traits.

(I am salty we lost New Moon to this. Don't care what Dark Sun is doing, Nexus bothers me so much because why did everyone give up on him so fast.)

Sorry for ranting you make a lot of good points.

It's okay 🥺💖 Ty for saying I make good points, it makes me happy <33

I still don't believe that anyone in the family is actively not wanting to know what is happening or what happened with Nexus. I think the only ones who know that Nexus was launched into space are Sun and Old Moon, (plus Monty, Ruin and Puppet, but they are not part of the family tho).

It's just weird.

"Our brother started acting strange and hiding things from us, we confronted him but he said mean things so we instantly decided not to do anything else for him." (????

And that was just before Nexus almost killed Earth. There I completely agree with Earth for not wanting to know more about him, but it still saddens me to see how the family replaced him so quickly. New Moon was a good brother, probably the best brother Sun has ever had outside of Earth or Lunar, but something strange happens with him and Sun immediately thinks "Moon can hurt us." When New Moon has never had a history of violence against any of his family. New Moon LOVED his family SO MUCH.

And Sun saying "all Moons are toxic"? Sun, New Moon was nothing more than a loving and caring brother who cared about you, why is he suddenly toxic? Because "he grieved in the wrong way"? Because apparently everyone moved on with their lives after Solar's death but New Moon was the most devastated by that? You saw him cry his heart out in your arms until he fell asleep and even after that you only get jealous because Moon called Solar "his brother"?

Ah, and until Sun and Old Moon found out that Nexus was working with Dark Sun, Sun was thinking the whole time that New Moon was floating in space and didn't make a single effort to know if he was okay there (because, btw, machines in space freeze until they are useless, New Moon could have died there, animatronics are not built like NASA rockets to withstand the radical temperatures of space).

Anyway, the family has me disappointed. Even before the whole problem of wanting to kill Earth happened, they had already given up on New Moon.

"You can't force help on someone who doesn't want help." YES YOU CAN. Especially when it comes to a loved family member!! If New Moon didn't want help, them as his family should force him to take it! No letting him sink deeper and deeper into his loneliness until he snapped. Seriously, it worries me how much this fandom uses self-care as an excuse to not help others.

Sorry I ended up rambling, but tysm for the ask. I continue to hope that all this is the fault of a virus and that New Moon will be rescued one day because if not, the whole year we spent getting to know him was for nothing.

[the-bitter-ocean]

mira and sif's friendship means so much to me so thinking about post-act 5 ICAS makes me want to explode (POSITIVE)

on that note i wonder how the conversation at the clocktower went? it's not like leaving mirabelle behind is an option so they probably don't bring that up but. y'know. how's everyone feeling?

( ACT 5 SPOILERS ) Hello anon I am glad that you are enjoying my au! To answer your question, as you brought up you’re correct that the group wouldn’t suggest leaving Mirabelle. They wouldn’t because 1) that’s their friend and 2) they quite literally cannot progress in any meaningful way in the king fight / through the house without her. They would most definitely not make it. That being said nobody is happy with how Mirabelle treated them. Concerned that Mirabelle won’t say what’s wrong to her friends and upset about all the mean things she said when lashing out etc. I have not fully posted the act 5 clock tower convo yet (still in the process of drawing the CGS for it) but I do have bits of dialogue if you’d like to see it! Writing excerpt is under the cut:

TLDR: The group does talk about how Mirabelle is acting really strange and how her actions have hurt everyone. They all wish to talk to her about how they feel and ask her to let someone else in the group do the leading instead, since they feel like Mirabelle in the state that she’s in right now isn’t exactly fit to lead the party like usual. The group planned on still taking her but opted to give her more of a break and let everyone else do more of the heavy lifting so to speak ( believing that the main source of her stress is from taking one too many responsibilities all on her own + the pressure of saving the country ).

Mirabelle unfortunately after overhearing the conversation came to the wrong conclusion altogether. Mirabelle (incorrectly) assumes that after all this time she clearly was being selfish- that she “forced” her companions to accompany her journey to defeat the king and that they don’t trust her anymore. Mirabelle thinks that it should have just been her to defeat him. In her mind it makes sense: she’s the one with the time freeze immunity given to her by Euphrasie and she’s the one looping in time. The act 5 clock tower conversation just unintentionally reaffirmed her fears that she dragged innocent people into danger and will only get them hurt or killed. So she decides the best course of action is to take the orbs and run off to fight the king alone.

I’m sure it went totally great.

[undyinwxnchester]

‘Everybody knows that I’m a good boy, officer.’

(Officer!MaleReader x DeanWinch).

NSFW THEMES - SLIGHT AGEGAP

‘Everyone, and I mean. Everyone knew who Dean Winchester was in the force, FBI, and so on. And it seemed whilst pulling a black impala over, you just so happened to be lucky enough to pull him of all people over.

You weren’t aware of what he looked like, just name. So given the fake ID name you are thrown off guard.’

“yeh, names Ozzy Smith.” He says. Odd name, but you brush it off. But you have to still question him given the speeding and lack of paper work.

“Uh-Huh. Why don’t you step out for me, son.” You say in your usual tone, just keeping it stern but not so much to the point it’s going to scare the person off. He doesn’t as first, but complied after a moment. Even in your late 30s, your not dumb enough to think a kid a decade younger than you is going to be named ozzy.

Even if he had shit parents name him. Your sceptical.

His hands fidget in his pockets, a clear sign of something off to you.

“How old are you?”

A simple question he should be able to answer. Still his ‘ID’ in hand, he’s been caught out.

At that - it’s not a surprise he ends up in cuffs, not knowing his supposed age on the ID by heart seems silly. You end up in his trunk, plenty of fake ids, weapons. Everything you don’t want to find in someone’s car.

Hes trying, so hard to do something. Swoon and beg his way out. The flirting is new, for men anyway. But it doesn’t work anyway.

“Oh come on man! Cut me some slack, I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

That’s all that escapes his lips, excuses. Dean is beyond annoyed - he hadn’t planned on being pulled over for little reason and he knows it’s going to be annoying to get out of this. Sams at some cheap motel an hour away without baby. And it seems this cop won’t budge.

He tries his hardest - his usual charm, being oblivious. His usual cocky ‘Fake manner’. But your not a woman, that’s not as easy. So he takes a latter when you’ve eventually got him in a questioning room, alone and cuffed to the table.’

You sit opposite him - your a small department and little of the others know how to question people. Especially people like him. They’d probably end up in tears or confused.

He’s seemingly tired - seemingly.

But acting odd, shifting in the chair and cuffs, before he asks the usual question.

“Need the’ bathroom.”

So, you provide the right like you’d supposed to even if you know it’s something fishy. Your correct. Soon as you unlatch him from the table; even with his cuffs still on.

Your pinned, he’s a big kid. Some muscle on him so it’s no so hard for him to do with you, as you grunt and the cuffs press at your throat you realise this probably wasn’t the best person to allow a bathroom right.

You struggle - eventually pushing him away and able to grab him, but in a rather odd place given he knew his way around a good fight. He ends up.. bent. Over the table.

Your body behind him and you sort of. Freeze. This doesn’t look good. At all.

His breathe hitches - this is a new position for him. Usually he’s the one bending someone over but - welp.

He bucks, tries to. But it ends up with him pressing his behind against your groin, you grunt. And just pin him more in response. This isn’t good at all. For either of you.

“You know- you could have bought me a drink.” He teases, of course when given the circumstances he will in fact still be a weird about it. He’s that kind of guy. Even though he feels.. odd. He’s not used to such kind of people near him.. but he’s not’

Opposed to it. So he uses it to advantage, even though it’ll probably get him into more trouble.

Before you can respond to his crude comment - he bucks again. But more, and more. He’s not used to doing this but he’ll do it for the sake of hopefully getting out of here. His rear moving swiftly, slowly but with a harsh push. You feel your cock twitch - its interested. Your head isn’t.

You move he gets away - you don’t move he gets his own way. Your screwed- oh it feels so good though. He’s not bad looking at all. A pretty kid.. and that ass is just. Speaking wonders.

—

You fucked it- your screwed. Your fired for sure. So sure. After his little charade you ended up giving in, he didn’t mind even though he sort of shit himself at first. Your cock deep into his hole as he’s leant against the table. Cuffs rattling with each heavy thrust.

He’s a heavy moaning mess - and your groaning behind him. As his tight behind sucks you in like no other, taking your inches generously. It’s a little dry, you only used spit but it serves well enough. You don’t care if it hurts him - he’s a criminal after all.

Your hands are tight on his hips, each pound earning you a whine as it barely pushes against his prostate. He’s so close. So close already. Cock leaking onto the table as it shifts with each movement from behind, leaking pre and swelling for some form of attention. It doesn’t get any.

You grind, and you thrust. He even meets your movements- back arching just that bit to move with you. Till he pops. His ropes of white lathering against the table. You continue with him. His orgasm ridden out and his hole just that bit tighter because of it.

Your closer now too. But need just a bit longer. This isn’t an intimate moment. It’s just a fuck. No words are or will be exchanged - or so you thought. He mutters, just barely with such a gruff husky groan, And you almost immediately finish as he does.

‘A-Hah- Right there deputy..”

He’s filled to the brim right after.

———

He leaves. You let him go - no questions asked. Of course you do.

He could just decide to snitch on you and it’ll cost your job, you help clean him up before he does go of course. Little words exchanged, glances at best. Before he goes though. He gives you - his number.

And your left with guilt and dread - fear of your job. But that all heavy feeling of lust and want for more.

You didn’t think The Dean Winchester would end up a good fuck.

——————————————————

Request anything if you want!

🫡

[incorrectinfinity]

I think about Narancia way too much

Yall ever think about the inherent horror of body swaps? I have been thinking about that quite a bit for no particular reason.

Things happen to you, things are taken or given or changed or broken - but no matter how you look at it, what its status is, if it has been changed, or how you may feel about it, your body is your own through and through. You will always have your body. So like. What if you woke up one day as someone else. That'd be, at least to me, an inherently horrifying and uncomfortable experience.

That's why I find Narancia's death so uncomfortable. Not only did he die, but he wasn't even given the grace of dying in his own body. And beyond him, imagine being Giorno in that moment.

You joined this group a week ago and you're beginning to find your place in it, despite the changes and losses you've been through you are now in some form bonded to this group.

Then you see a friend in your body become completely mutilated by a force none of you could've seen coming.

I literally would not be able to go on living. The sight of seeing one's own body dead must be fucking horrific, nevermind knowing that someone you care about died in your place. I wouldn't be able to live the same life, I'd feel like a person trapped inside someone else's skin, someone who deserved this body more than I do because if I had to give up my body for someone else's life I would readily do that without hesitation.

The first and only time we see Giorno cry is when he tried to heal Narancia.

Narancia Ghirga is a character that refuses to leave my head because I know him. He was in my class last year annoying the shit out of our teachers. He was an obnoxious Freshman in my year who would tick everyone off while genuinely meaning well. He's the gullible and eager to please Sophomore who tries his best to be friends with everyone. He's the Junior who got in with the wrong crowd and went missing in the middle of the year. He's the Senior who now goes to a different school.

He was a student, a thug, a mafioso, a goofball, a nuisance, an idiot, a corpse, a kid.

He's just a kid.

Giorno wasn't the only one with dreams. Narancia wanted to go to school, he wanted to reconnect with Fugo, he wanted to be closer friends with Trish, he wanted to follow Bruno wherever he lead him.

He wasn't able to do those things, he wasn't even able to die as himself. He died as the rando who joined this group like 6 days ago who seemed fun enough but had a goal in mind that he couldn't let go. He died as the person who he'd saved and who had saved him, a natural leader who was always determined to overcome adversity. He died as his stupidly creative friend who would turn cars into frogs and brooches into tongues, who couldn't even stand to touch Abbacchio when he died out of refusing to accept his death.

He died as Giorno Giovanna.

Narancia Ghirga wittnessed the death of someone brilliant. He wasn't much at a glance but once you uncovered his wit it was impossible to overlook. He was endlessly loyal and amiable, overflowing with empathy and the ability to see himself in others. He was able to see those for who they truly were, not for who they wanted you to see. He shined like a bright star, thinking fast and acting faster. Narancia Ghirga heard the drip, drip, dripping of blood on the cold ancient pavement. He felt the night air freeze with dread. He looked up and saw himself mangled, he looked up and saw Giorno Giovanna dead.

The body that won the war, the body that saved Trish's life, the body that became the new Don, the body that wielded the most powerful stand of the known universe - that body had no owner.

Because just as Narancia had, Giorno Giovanna died on April 6, 2001.

[rivalriotrenegade]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Random "I love you"

About fic: Slight comic references, so if you know you know and if you don't that's still okay. Technically monster Simon Riley x reader but can be read as human Simon also no monster parts described so you can imagine whatever you want. As the title suggests the prompt was "random I love you" so Soft Simon Hours. This fic is for @midnightxsecretary (because they asked for more!) also @luvergirl777 because I think they'd like this based off a fic they wrote. One that you should totally go read after this!

Word Count: 593 (Short read)

Warnings: None, but GN reader.

It’s weird really, to see Simon acting so domestic you think to yourself as you silently watch him wash the dishes. The usual uniform has been replaced with a T-shirt and jeans and the balaclava has been traded in for a black surgical mask instead. You smile softly to yourself as you lean the laundry basket against your hip. 

It had taken Simon months before he felt comfortable enough to let his walls down like this. He had constantly been on guard trying his best not to let you see him down, but eventually you managed to peek through the cracks and slowly he let you see more of himself. Despite the fact that there had been plenty of ups and downs in knowing Simon the more you learned about him the more you grew to love him. All the bits and pieces, broken parts and sharp edges, all the things that made him him.

“Hey Simon?” You call out. 

“Yeah?” He replied without looking at you, too focused on finishing the task in front of him to bother turning around when he could hear you perfectly fine like this. 

“I love you.” You say, smile evident in your voice before you continue down the hall to finish your chore. 

For a moment time seems to stand still as Simon freezes… and just like that, with three simple words, you have shook him to his very core. 

You didn’t see the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands grip the counter. You didn’t hear the deep breath he takes to calm himself and the emotions currently raging inside of him. You didn’t see the way he has to hold himself together to try and keep from crying. You didn’t see the hand he used to cover his eyes as he leaned over the counter because he wasn’t sure he could stand on his own two feet without his knees giving out. 

It had been a long, long, time since Simon Riley had heard those three words and to hear them so suddenly, for no apparent reason, hit him harder than any punch, bullet or knife ever could. 

He wanted so desperately to say it back, to tell you how much you mean to him. That if given the choice he’d take you over the very oxygen he breathes, because without you what purpose does his life have? He is a man who has lost everything. His mother, his brother, his sister-in-law, and nephew have all been killed for the sake of revenge. His teammates, his friends, have died in his arms. His very identity has been stolen from him, forcing him to live his life as a shadow, as a ghost. For the longest time he had lived for nothing more than to fight another day, to survive. But then you came into his life and for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to just survive… He wanted to live. 

But Simon couldn’t say that. Wouldn’t even know how to begin to put it into words. The strength and courage, the amount of vulnerability it would take to say something like that isn’t something he thinks he could handle. Someday, when he has found the right words and has steeled himself he’ll tell you. 

But that day is not today. As of right now he is doing everything in his power not to fall apart. Breathing in and out, washing the dishes in a circular motion, rapidly blinking his eyes and ignoring the stray tear that slips out. 

Hey! Hope you liked it. If not that's okay too. Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts, I love interacting with you all. Also feel free to send in your requests! Nothing too weird tho. Have a great day :)