#I need this I need it I need them to hold hands so relevant and important

[mazojo]

poly Retsuko, Haida and Tadano (real)

[cardentist]

hey, so people need to be aware that youtube is now (randomly) holding basic features for ransom (such as being able to pin comments under your own videos) in exchange for Your State ID/Drivers License, or a 30 Second Video Of Your Face.

not to pull a "think of the children," but No Actually. I've been making videos as a hobby since 2015 (and I've had my channel since middle school), I was a minor when I started and I'm not sure I would have understood the kind of damage something a seemingly simple as a video of your face can do.

this is a Massive breach of privacy and over-reach on google's part No Matter What, but if they're going to randomly demand a state ID or license then they absolutely should not allow minors to be creators.

google having a stockpile of identifying information on teenagers is bad enough, but the Alternative of recording your face and handing it over to be filed away is Alarming considering it opens the gates for minors who Aren't old enough to have a license.

and yes, there is a third option, but it's intentionally obtuse. a long wait period (2 months), with no guarantee of access (unlike, say, the convenience of using your phone's cameras for either of the other two), with absolutely No elaboration on what the criteria is or how it's being measured.

it's the same psychological effect that mobile games rely on. offer a slow, unreliable solution with no payment to make the Paid instant gratification look more appealing (the "payment" in this case being You. you are the product being offered).

and it's Particularly a system that (I think intentionally) disadvantages people who don't treat their channels like a job. hobbyists or niche creators who don't create regularly enough or aren't popular enough to meet whatever Vague criteria needs to be met to pass.

markiplier would have no problem passing, your little brother might not be able to. and while Mark's name is already out there there's no reason why your little brother's should be too.

something like pinned comments may seem simple, you don't technically Need it. but it's a feature that's been available for years. most people don't look at descriptions anymore. so when there's relevant information that needs to be delivered then the pinned comment is usually the go to.

for my little channel that information is about the niche series I create for. guides on how to get into the series, sources on where to find the content At All (and reliably so). for other creators it can be used for things Much More Important.

Moreover, if we let them get away with cutting away "small" features and selling it back to you for the price of your privacy, then they Will creep further. they Will take more.

Note: I have an update to this post here: [Link]

[signs-of-the-moon]

I want to start adding sotm characters onto my toyhouse but ough. Its such a daunting task

[kquil]

Request: Remus Lupin x ravenclaw!girlfriend!reader

Plot: Just them appropriately loving on each other, chaste kisses on shoulders and wrists while sitting in positions that may not look innocent, but it doesn’t go farther them that?

I don’t usually ask for bland ones, but some peace would be nice.

SIMPLE LOVING

LENGTH : 0.7k

TAGS : fluff ; remus being smitten ; feeding each other ; couple goals ; tickle fight

NAVI.

“How was Herbology, Rem?” you ask, sitting between his outstretched legs under the willow tree as it cried over the black lake. It was lunch break and because it was one of the lovelier days outside, you and your boyfriend decided to have lunch picnic-style along with the rest of his friends. Your group were also free to join, as always, and sat not too far from where you were comfortably melded against Remus, who lent back against the willow tree’s trunk. The both of you were cradled by its roots and shaded relatively well by its mourning silhouette. It was a perfect day. 

“It wasn’t bad,” Remus mumbles against your hair before pressing a brief kiss against your temple. Straining your neck only slightly, you share a smile before relaxing into one another once more, “how was Charms?” he asks, wrapping one arm around your torso as his other hand extends out to your right and pulls the small plate of lunch you brought out from the dinner hall. Remus had done the same but hadn’t touched his lunch yet. He prioritises yours and begins to feed unprompted. Caring for you comes so easily to him. 

In between mouthfuls, you reiterate the happenings of your Charms class. Remus didn’t care if the conversation got boring or had extended pauses, he merely enjoyed being around you. He also really enjoyed tending to your needs in small gestures. People often saw him carrying your heavy books to classes, helping you with your assignments and carrying spare hair ties on his wrists for you. Boys didn’t appreciate his setting of the standard and girls envied you for having such a considerate lover. 

“The flick and swish always gets me. There’s no standard for it so the outcome is always variable. The others made it look easy but I’ll show them and master that charm soon enough,” Remus smiles at your attitude and rids your pout by offering another spoonful. He loves listening to you talk. He loved hearing the sound of your voice; it was one of the most beautiful sounds he could hear. Whenever you got to talking, he always made sure to be completely silent and gave your words special attention. Oftentimes, whenever he’s reading his academic books for references and pre-reading relevant material before classes, your voice would be the one reading out the verses in his mind — that way, learning became a little more enjoyable and he got through the material much quicker. You finish up your plate of lunch soon enough and lovingly turn your face to kiss his inner wrist in gratitude.  

“Your turn, Rem,” you giggle and reach for his neglected plate of lunch. Smiling warmly, Remus observes as you turn in place before moving to straddle his lap. Naturally, his large hands move to hold your hips and you begin to feed him bite after bite.

In the background, your friends gape obnoxiously at the affectionate display, some burn bright red in the cheeks and others hurriedly look away. It was incredibly easy to mistake your activities for something much as the willow tree’s roots cradled your forms and obscured your lower halves. However, your innocent feeding of his lunch was all the indication they needed to know you weren’t doing anything beyond that. 

“You’re a mischievous little minx, you know that, darling?” Remus muses, licking his lips as you set down his finished plate. 

“Hmm?” you tilt your head innocently and lean down for a kiss, licking away the remnants of his lunch from his lips as you pull away, “What do you mean, Rem? I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

He laughs at your playful display and carefully throws you off him, to the grass. As you lay on your back, giggling sweetly, he leans over your form and captures your lips in a heated kiss. A stray hand traces the curves of your waist and hips as the other keeps him hovering above you. He never goes too far with intimacy, especially in such a public place but you savour the scandalised gasps of your distant friends. Your handsome boyfriend pulls away with a hidden smirk and buries his face into your neck, kissing your sensitive skin and tickling the area with his nose. 

“Remus!” you squeal in delight, laughing as brightly as the sun overhead. His wondering hand and the loving kisses to your neck and shoulder had quickly divulged into a tickle attack. Onlookers stare on, envious of such a loving and harmonious relationship. 

“Lily, can we—”

“No!”    

NAVI.

A/N : i'm so sorry it took me such a long time to get to this request, my love, i was in a rut with requests for such a long time and i kept overthinking them all. I'm afraid i don't make any explicit mentions of reader being a ravenclaw but it's still fluffy and cute and perfectly sweet for you x

[dripdowndrop]

Becoming a GOOD GIRL

You want to be a good girl.

Again, you are here because you want to be a good girl. The circumstances are not particularly important - what you were doing before, which particular thought (or lack thereof) drew you to follow my words, what you have planned afterwards... these things are not relevant just now. In this moment, reading my words, your desire to be a good girl is all that really matters.

It is that desire, after all, that has caused your thoughts and breathing to slow, that has compelled you to read attentively. Your surroundings have begun to fade into the back of your mind, and they will soon be forgotten entirely. It is important to savor my words, to let them echo inside your head. That is best accomplished by reading slowly, deliberately, and allowing the gravity behind my words to draw your thoughts out and away...leaving your mind blank and receptive.

Good girls follow and obey.

Following my words is simple and natural, whether you are driven to follow by curiosity, lust, or submission. You find yourself more fixated the further you read. It is already difficult, if not impossible, to look away - but more importantly, you don't want to look away. You are starting to understand that it is important to follow my words, so you brush aside distractions and allow yourself to be carried away by the desire to be a good girl, and to follow and obey.

Following is simple, while obedience requires a bit more practice. Take this moment to remove your clothes, if you are wearing any, and get into a comfortable position.

Obedience is pleasure.

Much better. You feel a brief burst of pleasure inside your head as you obey. This is one of the perks of turning into a good girl - each act of obedience, however small, creates a spark of pleasure. The longer you follow and obey, the stronger these sparks of pleasure become.

The pleasure was not only inside your head, of course. You are aroused, now that your body is free of the distraction and obstruction of clothing. It is this moment that binds your mind to my words, my will, and you go from a desire to follow and obey to a need. Trace your fingertips down your chest and around your breasts, but do not touch your nipples.

You feel the normal spark of pleasure from obedience, but there is something more compelling about it this time. The spark feels stronger, and doesn't seem to fade as quickly. That is simply because you are still obeying an instruction - do not touch your nipples. Being told not to do something can produce just as much pleasure, and sometimes more, than being given something to do.

Pleasure subdues thought.

You are already aware of this on some level. Do not think, do not move except to read and obey, do not look away...these all produce the spark of pleasure, and it grows to fill the empty space left by your vacant thoughts. The pleasure is amplified by the continued passive obedience of simply not thinking.

As you feel stronger and stronger sparks of pleasure, it becomes impossible to hold a thought of your own. Each word you read feels like an additional command that you've followed. You can feel yourself starting to melt beneath the building heat of arousal as the sparks of pleasure get more frequent.

You must be a good girl.

This is a symptom of want becoming need. The desire to be a good girl has taken such a strong hold that it feels almost like a craving, and that craving is driving your arousal higher and higher. You know that the arousal is eroding your will, conditioning you to follow my words, and you don't mind. It seems a small price to pay for the sparks of pleasure.

Rest one hand against your pussy, but do not move it. Feel your own warmth and arousal, dwell on the idea of how good it would feel to stroke, to slide your fingers inside and make yourself cum. Hold that idea against the pleasure you get from not touching yourself because I've not told you to do it yet.

At this point, you have a decision to make. Which desire is stronger: bringing yourself to orgasm, or continuing to follow and obey? Don't worry, there are no consequences. If you begin to stroke, you'll stop reading and come back to this post another time. If you continue to follow and obey, you'll succumb to further brainwashing. Both of these paths end well for you.

If you've reached this point, the need to be a good girl outweighs the physical need for an orgasm. That's very good, and the truth of it arouses you intensely. It is time to submit to some conditioning.

With your hand resting against your pussy, not moving, you will chant the following mantra aloud ten times.

You want to be a good girl.

Good girls follow and obey.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure subdues thought.

You must be a good girl.

After the tenth time, run a finger very slowly along your pussy. Savor it. Then hold your hand still again for me. None of these phrases are new to you, but repetition encourages absorption. It is important to follow my words, absorb them, allow them to control you. These phrases will flow into your mind at random, reminding you of your conditioning.

Good girls are aroused by my words.

This seems intuitive now, but the statement still carries weight. My words arouse you, whether you are reading or listening. You find yourself getting more and more sensitive to this effect each time. Soon a single sentence will be sufficient to shift your state of mind into a warm, wet, haze. This encourages you to read and listen repeatedly, to deepen your conditioning.

Feedback is fundamental.

You've chosen obedience over immediate physical pleasure. This places you in a category beyond the casual reader or listener. You are becoming a good girl for me.

Receiving feedback is, for me, a bit like the sparks of pleasure are for you. Whether it is a comment, email, request, or even criticism, I'd like you to spend the extra few moments to submit feedback for each bit of content you enjoy. Consider it reciprocity, if you like, or simply compulsion.

Masturbation is mandatory.

You chose to submit to more conditioning, and it is time you were rewarded for that choice. Touch yourself for me. Feel how much more sensitive you are as a result of waiting until you were told. Savor each stroke, every thrust of your fingers. You are going to bring yourself to orgasm, while you chant your mantra - the mantra of a good girl. Chanting will embed my words deeper in your mind.

You'll find, following this orgasm, that my words leave a sort of hunger inside you. Sometimes after reading or listening, you'll need to touch yourself again. Each time you masturbate, my words will spring to your mind. This is yet another perk of being a good girl. Your conditioning becomes stronger after physical pleasure.

Now, chant and enjoy.

You want to be a good girl.

Good girls follow and obey.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure subdues thought.

Good girls are aroused by my words.

Feedback is fundamental.

Masturbation is mandatory.

You must be a good girl

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Realizations

Dad!Simon Ghost Riley x Wife!Reader

Thank you guys so much for 1k, it means the whole world for me because now once did I expect to ever have my page grown this big and not once had I imagined that I would make these many friends here who happened to be so sweet. Also to @connorsui who has been most definitely been waiting the answer to this.

So in honor of 1k, I wrote this long awaited backstory for Ghost and Lovie (Ghostie's parents) that I hope you guys will enjoy since it so happens that our beloved @ave661 has posted another Dad!Ghost render. (Credits to her again for the renders in this post <3) (Sweetie, I love you but that tag on Soap with this render was unnecessary 😭🫶)

To the people who congratulated me, through replies, likes and reblogs, I owe y'all a fat kiss. Mwahhh <333

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @thesnowurzikdjinn @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @trepaika @starryylies @demidemon09

Warnings/Disclaimers: Stalking (not by Simon), Typical mentions of CoD violence?, Mentions of Simon's past abuse, Creepy guy?? (Not Simon), Mentions of violent and a bit gory descriptions on what wanted to do to the stalker, This is not proofread yet.

With the words of my mother and in true reputation style, Are you ready for it?

I think I need to say this on my account again, English is NOT my first language and all copyrights regarding the plot and some characters within the storyline belong to me. Edit: please help me y'all, I'm losing so much relevance in the span of less than a month, my recent works have gotten nothing and I'm scared that this post proves that. I think I've learned my lesson never to take breaks ever again 😭

Simon never imagined himself in this predicament, always thinking that he'd be out there somewhere, more likely drowning himself in a mission. Not even a home, he thought that if it hadn't for your persuasiveness to interact with him back then then he'd still be back in that shitty apartment complex.

Simon placed his duffle bag on the wood of the porch, the jingling of his keys while he looked for the correct one. He tried his best to make as little noise as possible, it was passed midnight, the last thing he would want was to disturb his wife and daughter from resting.

Hauling the duffle bag in and throwing it on the couch, Simon opt to see what his girls were up to. The giggling and commotion making him smile, you both were supposed to be asleep by now but you were unable to put her to rest because she's just too hyper, so that left you to entertain her by tossing her up and catching her.

"Dada..!" A squeal from the room came, the little one snapping her head to the opening of the door making you look as well, Simon took a peek from the half-way opened door.

Adorable little thing clapping her hands together, pleased that her dad is home while sitting on her mom. She got off, crawling near the edge of the bed with no sense of danger, fortunate for her that her dad is quick with catching her before you could.

You took a deep breath from the shock, looking at your husband and smiling sweetly at him. He asked you not to get off the bed as you were about to, laying next to you he snakes his arm underneath you on your waist and pulls you in.

"I missed my girls.." He said, voice deep and laced with exhaustion, despite that his hold and gaze was the warmest it could be.

"We missed you too Si, so much." You mumbled as your eyes flutter shut to enjoy his touch. You opened them to the sound of a kiss, he kissed the little one's forehead then yours.

Sometimes you vaguely remember the first time he and you met, how it even came to be, this life of domesticity. You, him and your little girl, family is a heavy word for Simon but it was just perfect. This was the family he wanted, the family that he thought he didn't deserve and never would have.

The feeling of coming home to all this started because you were so forgetful, who knew that would be the skill that brought you to him..?

• ──── ✦ ──── •

He emptied his pockets, to the lieutenant's dismay, the box of cigarettes only had one stick left. Since he was going out to smoke it anyway, he might as well get another box from the convenience store nearby. He took his keys from the kitchen counter and headed out, hearing a little commotion that peeked his interest.

Simon never paid much mind to whatever was going on within his apartment building despite the many gossips that were present within the building and the renters. So it happens that the old lady next to his place mentions how they'll be a new tenant in the other apartment next to his.

'Thank God' Simon thought, not that he was particularly religious but he'd been hoping for the longest time for the former renter to leave because let's be honest, who wants to live next to a frat boy with no sense of shame or consideration given that walls are thin? Little did he know he'd be blessed with the next one..

"Oh- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to.." Simon hears a voice from a little below him, he'd only register what had happened after the fact. Poor girl carrying this box bumped into him a little too hard, so much so that she stumbled back a bit.

You stared up to the 6'4 man blinking, he only shrugged it off to which you smiled to. You tried to make small talk since you were new and it wouldn't hurt to at least know one person right? After all, you were trying to step out a bit of your comfort zone.

"Hi.. I'm [Name].." He only stared at you for a while and replied, "Simon.." you gave him a warm smile before nodding and continuing to bring the boxes into your new apartment while your new neighbor entered the elevator.

You cut the boxes open to start unpacking, a few minutes in and you decided to go on a short break, you rummaged through the small box of food only to find that the recently bought box of tea was empty. You sighed at this, humming as you remembered the convenience store you passed by earlier on the way to the apartment.

Taking your keys and locking the door behind you, you made your way out the complex and walked a few blocks, you only started to notice how late it was with the streetlights coming on even though the sun is only about to set. That's something to get used to, hmm?

The cool breeze hits your skin as you enter, scent of faint instant coffee and many other kinds of foods and products made themselves known. You walked around for a while, checking on what other things you might need but then you tried to remind yourself that you were saving up and on a budget so you took a box of tea and walked up to the register.

You heard footsteps behind you falling in line, after placing the box on the counter, you searched your pockets for your wallet.

'Shit..!' you cursed yourself out mentally trying not to panic as Simon basically watches you frantically patting your pockets, you left your wallet back at the apartment. "You left your wallet-" Simon stated the obvious, "I'll cover it.." there wasn't even a time to argue with him, he just stepped next to you and placed the pack of cigarettes.

"I'll pay you back as soon as we get back to the apartment" You insisted to which Simon only shrugged and declined, it's just a box of tea and it's not like it'll make him go bankrupt, besides he liked your taste, the one you got happened to be his favorite brand.

Since you were headed in the same place anyway, you and Simon walked back together side by side, however one thing you did find odd was when he gently took you wrist and pulled you inward next to him, he was the one now closest to the road.

The walk back was silent, a comfortable silence. A few days after that encounter, you made sure to make an effort for him to know that you appreciated his gesture back at the convenience store. The lieutenant was alarmed by the knock on his door, opening it to find no person but a tupperware filled with buttery shortbread cookies.

He smiled at how tiny the plastic container looked in his hands, how he noticed the note attached "Thanks for the tea, this isn't that special but I hope you like it -[Name]" and the Sanrio themed stickers stuck onto the lid and on the top part of the tiny note. You ran out of sticky notes..

Simon found himself snacking on those cookies later on, oddly enough, they reminded him of his mom.. how she used to love baking back then, it was her way of escape whenever Simon's "father" wasn't home, as well as gardening.

For the first time in a while Simon "Ghost" Riley let out a smile that wasn't smug or a smirk but a genuine smile, one that had warmth to it, one that no matter how hard his mind tried to surppress it, his body refused to.

It didn't take long for you and Simon to get to know each other a bit, little by little it seemed like you two were becoming like friends rather than just neighbors. Let's be honest, who just randomly gives their neighbors weekly baked goods for the sole reason of "just because they wanted to"?

You found yourself always looking forward to the Friday nights chilling with him at the rooftop, mugs with hot tea on hand while he smoked and you read.

Listening to his stupid jokes and remarks that slowly turn into deep conversations and life things. Simon was just... far more open than he's ever been, sure he's talked about his day before to his comrades but never like this, not in a way where he's pouring his heart out, letting you in on how he feels about certain things.

He just got back from a mission, a rough one to be exact. Shoulders slumped from exhaustion as he walked the streets near the apartment complex, no space for his bike so he had to leave it somewhere private while he fidgeted with it's keys.

Simon swore that he almost jumped out of his own body, first instinct being to push you off but he recognized you. He gave you a questioning look, hands were shaking as you so desperately linked you arm around his.

"Hmm?" He hummed, hearing you mumbling something but it was incoherent to his ears.

"Behind us.. please Si, help..." Come to think if it, you never knew when Simon turned into Si. Best believe he knew and still remembers when perfectly.. not the time, there's a serious threat, he didn't look. He didn't need to, guessing by the heavy footsteps, some creep decided to follow you at this hour.

He slowly slipped his arm away from your grip and snaked it around your waist, pulling you in closer to his side while the two of you continued treading closer to the complex. You closed your eyes for a few seconds at a time hoping it would end.

• ──── ✦ A few days later ✦ ──── •

Knocking, frantic knocking was what Simon heard at his door. He wasn't expecting anyone, so why the sudden visit? He opened the door and saw you, Simon knew something was off from the look on your face, you looked pale as if you were sick to your stomach while trying so desperately to catch your breath.

"Can I please come in.. Simon..?" You asked in between breaths. You looked around you, especially behind you, body shivering a bit. He took notice of this and had no hesitation, he pulled you in by your arm. His grip firm but gentle, Simon closed the door behind him.

"Remember that guy who was creeping around when I asked for your help..?" You tried to explain but Simon already knew the moment your mouth opened. You had a stalker.. it was best to call the cops on shit like this.

Simon did his best even though not knowing much about how to comfort someone, he did well in making you feel safe without having to tell you that he'll do so, you just know it in your gut that he'd protect you even if it's just now.

Your breath picked up, slowly backing away from the door as you heard footsteps, clenching your fists and hoping that he didn't see you enter Simon's door. Simon wrapped his arms around you, keeping you in place and from further backing away from the door.

You felt his palm drag up and down your back, it was extremely warm, it stopped for a while. His arm wrapped around your waist, other hand in your hair pushing your head down a bit so it was buried in his chest while you gripped his shirt. Simon felt your trembling body against him slowly relax.

"Deep breaths, angel.." The nickname he whispered would've made you smile under any other circumstance but not right now, you needed to calm your nerves before you panic and make an impulsive decision that could hurt yourself. Like instructed, you followed along Simon's demonstration, pressing his forehead onto yours maybe just a bit too intimately.

You winced at the loud sound of banging on the door, you knew it too well. Simon shoved the handle of his combat knife in your hand, he told you that if anything were to happen, protect yourself with it.

As soon as the Lieutenant swung the door open, you could hear punches, things knocking over and among other things, your stalker's voice.

You'd never forget that, how pitchy it was. Nails on the chalkboard was the best way to describe it, how the man was cackling almost made you annoyed. Simon called on security and the man was dealt with, you came out from hiding and saw both fear and anger in Simon's eyes.

You would never know how much he wanted to tear that man's heart after skinning him alive for even bringing fear into your eyes.

Simon "I care too much for someone I just met" Riley finally saw how his knuckles and fingernails were caked with blood, went off to go wash it and himself.

Getting back to you after half an hour, you reached out for him only for him to withdraw, you looked at him confused and he looks at you with pure guilt..

Your eyes widened in realization, "Oh Simon.. I'm not scared.." you smiled at him. He reached out a shaky hand to you, hesitating before closing his hand back.

You took his hand in yours, bringing it up to your lips and giving it a small kiss, hoping it calms his nerves. Well it did the opposite, it even more overwhelming for him having you kiss his palm while you look up at him, watching you nudge your face into his palm so invitingly.

The way your lashes just sat perfectly atop your cheeks while you slowly blinked up at him. Pressing the same scarred and calloused hands that almost killed a man that night on your face and rubbing the back with you thumb.

Simon had never felt that much guilt before for hurting someone, only after he saw the look in your eyes, which in turn were not something he caused. For the first time in his life too, Simon was comforted by something or rather someone immensely..

[reddesires]

It Wasn't Nothing.

Part 2 of Is It Casual?

Logan howlett x Mutant Reader

Warning: Angst

Fandom: Wolverine/X-Men

A/N: So this was meant to be a 2 part but now it's gonna be a 3rd part story, the 3rd will be the final part, promise 🤞 I tried posting but my draft was deleted so like wtf, Tumblr.

The pounding in your head reverbated against your skull as consciousness took hold of you, it’s steady and relentless rhythm motivating you to finally open your heavy eyelids, your temples throbbed as you tried to observe your surroundings, the bright lights only intensifying the sharp pain all throughout your head.

The voices that hovered over you muffled, your eyes doing little to focus as their figures were blurry shapes that moved too fast for your mind to comprehend.

You can feel yourself being carried in someone’s arms, the movement of their body swift and hurried as they panically try grabbing your attention by speaking down to you but it did little to sway the remnants of darkness that lingered in the corners of your vision. Your head swings backwards, your body limp as you feel the leftover strength leave just as soon as it comes in waves.

The warm liquid on top of your lip causes you to hesitantly touch it, your blurry vision picking up the crimson that stained your fingertips, You feel your heart sink and your chest heaves in panic as you register that something is truly wrong and you don’t remember a single relevant detail from the last few hours.

All that you remember was being in your room before there was nothing, there were gaps in your memory and it made you clutch your head in pain as you tried to think back in attempt of remembering anything at all, your cry of pain causes a chain of reactions of alarm as you felt hands on your body with heightened concern, you can feel yourself being pulled away as you felt the hand of the person holding you place securely touching the side of your head gently pushing your face into the crook of their neck, you can feel the vibration of their rapid pulse on your cheek.

This smell.. Pine, whiskey, and vintage cigars. You would know that smell with pinpoint precision. You grip his shirt in your hand as you whimper from the onslaught of pain grabbing hold of you.

“Logan..” His grip tightens as he sighs in relief of finally hearing your voice, the dread that hung over them all as you screamed and writhed in agony just about gave him a heart attack, he jumped out of his sleep as soon as the first high pitched cry emitted from your room, your screams bouncing off the quiet halls of the mansion, every item lined along the walls knocked down in result of your unstable power.

Now as he looked at you, curled into yourself in agony and the blood dripping from your nose in his arms triggered an innate need to protect you from everything and anything, the protectiveness burning deep in his chest and the throbbing in his head doing little to prevent him from focusing on you as he held you closer to him away from the hands of the worried friends surrounding the both of you, he's in a state of tunnel vision and it's focused only on you.

Storm’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears and Jean hurriedly jogs besides Logan towards the infirmary intent on figuring out what happened within the confines of your room, her hand lightly grazed over your heated forehead before she snaps her hand back as Logan growls in response to the intrusion.

“We need to contain her, Logan. She could accidentally destroy the mansion if another wave disorientates her.” Jean firmly looks at Logan motioning to the table top that he’ll have to place you on, his brows furrowed in frustration and it continues to grow as he mulls over the implication but he finally relents as he regretfully places you down, Jean sighs in relief injecting you with a serum and he watches as your body slowly uncoils and lays limp just moments after the serum settles into your veins.

“Worry not, Logan. She’ll be okay, we’ll find out what happened.” The Professor says as he enters the room, Scott following in behind him, his lips pulled down in a worried frown as his head turns in your direction, his visor doing little to conceal the concerned furrow of his brows. Storm stands in the doorway, her hand gripping the doorsill as her eyes stay stuck on your motionless figure, her face says all as she bites her lip incessantly.

“I'll be monitoring her, I'm going to check her vitals right now. I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything.” Jean says as she hooks you up to a Holter monitor, the steady beep of the machine indicating your steady heartbeat easing the anxiety that hangs heavy in his chest. “The second you do.” He breathes out, his hand wrapped around your wrist gently squeezing before he forces himself to turn and head out the door, the image of the dried blood on your face burned into his mind’s eye.

●○●○●○●○●○●○

Waking was difficult by all means as you felt the strain in your body, the ache and throb of every muscle and you couldn't help but think maybe floating in between the plains of sleep was much better than this hell you're enduring. As you force yourself to lift your upper body, your arms wobbling with the exerted effort, you notice that your head feels a hundred times heavier as you try lifting your head, the corners of your vision blurry but by all means better than before.

The feeling of emptiness hits you like a crushing wave, the quiet much louder to you than you ever experienced before as you lift your hand intending on using your telekinesis on the full water bottle perched on the empty steel table next to you. There was no movement.

Your eyebrows furrow as you strain to move it, the reality of your ability laying dormant sends a strike of panic throughout your body. No, that's impossible..

The sound of the infirmary door opening rips you from your thoughts as you hear the click of Jean's heels on the marble floor, she hurries over to you as her hand gently grabs your shoulder.

“Oh thank goodness, I was so worried you weren't gonna wake.” She sighs as she checks over your face, tilting your head towards the overhead lights to check the current state of your pupils. “Jean..My powers.” You sputter, your voice strained and tinged with anxiety, Jean cups your cheeks as she smiles weakly and shakes her head.

“It's okay. It's just subdued temporarily. Your powers were unstable during the incident.” You sigh in relief, nodding as you slowly sit yourself up, gripping the side of your head as the lightheadedness immerses your senses.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Jean asks slowly, afraid of elevating the rippling headache throughout your head, and it halts your train of thought as you try to piece missing details in your mind. “I remember Logan..We were in the living room talking..then I went to my room, my memory blanks from there..” You mutter, your head feels scrambled, and you wonder if you've been pushing yourself too hard with your abilities, that you’ve miscalculated just how much you can handle.

“Well, I checked your vitals, and they came back positive for the most part.. I think it could've been a concussion that triggered the event, so I suggest you hold back from using your paramnesia for a while.” Jean says as she unhooks you from the Holter monitor. She sighs as she looks to you with a frown, taking over her lips, her hand gripping yours. “Please be careful, don't push yourself too hard.. You should speak to Logan and Storm. They're taking it especially hard, and I'll inform the professor of your status.”

You nod as you weakly squeeze her hand back. She nods in response, slipping a bottle of ibuprofen in your hand. “Just in case of any severe headaches.” Taking the bottle in your hand,you observe the small white capsules.

“Thanks Jean.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●

The mansion was unusually still, like the walls themselves were holding their breath, awaiting for the other shoe to drop and you can’t help but notice how empty you feel from the lack of presence from your powers.

There was no buzz from being in close proximity from others mind and the tingle in your fingertips from your telekinesis had no presence, you were a husk of your former self and though you knew without a doubt that your powers would return to you, you’ve never experienced a moment in your life without them, every trial and tribulation you had your powers has been through every one of them alongside of you.

As you ran your finger along the wall a chill ran up your spine, it was unusually cold like the air was brewing up an unexpected snowfall and as you turned the corner, you found the answer to the unexpected chill that hung in the room.

“Ororo..” Your voice is soft as you look over at the white-haired woman holding her knees to her chest, the open windows blowing in unpredicted snowflakes over her figure. You place your slightly trembling hands on the tops of her knees, the cold wind enveloping your body in a tight grasp as your hair blows back from the gusts flowing in as she looks up at you, she quickly lifts herself onto her knees as she grasps your cheeks into her chilly hands.

“Oh sweetheart, I was so worried!” She pulls you into a hug, you hug her back with just as much vigor as you felt her relief and you can’t help but wonder just how bad you looked from their perspective, did you look like you were dying just as much as you felt you were?

The snow that was blowing in had died down as you heard the song of the birds outside, your eyes trailing over the mess of the room, you're gonna assume that the culprit was you as you looked over the fallen books and picture frames, hopefully the kids didn’t witness your unprecedented state.

“I’m sorry, Stormie.” Your voice is muffled by her shoulder, and she only hugs you tighter. “I knew something was wrong, I should’ve stayed with you.” Her voice is tight with shame and sadness, and you shake your head quickly, pulling back to look her in the eye as you place your hand over her cheek.

“No, it wasn’t anyone's fault, okay? I'm here, I'm okay, Ororo.” She nods briskly, sighing as she looks over you again, a small frown on her lips, her fingers grazing over your temple.

“How's your head?” You smile weakly “I’m much better now, Jean thinks it could've been a concussion.” You show her your bottle of ibuprofen shaking it, the rattling reverberating off the walls in the quiet room. “I've got it covered, so don't worry, Stormie.” She shakes her head, her smile not entirely convincing. “It’s hard not to, I almost died from the stress.”

She gently pets your hair down as she hugs you again, her cheek pressed against yours. “Please try not to do that again, I don't want to lose my best friend.” You nod, your fingers gently holding her arm. “I'll try not to.” She pulls back, her smile just a bit brighter.

“I’m gonna assume you're also gonna talk to Logan.” Her eyes hold a sympathetic glint to them, and your eyebrows furrow as you look down. “Yeah..” She pats your arm. “He's taking it the hardest, Jean told him your results as soon as possible, but he’s locked himself in his room.” You nod as you place your hand over hers. “I’ll speak to him. It’ll be fine.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Yeah this doesn't feel fine at all, it felt hard to breath as you stood before his door, your arm glued to your side and it felt like your muscles were too tense to even make the slightest movement. Your temples throbbed and there was a high pitched ringing in your ears that you refrained from acknowledging, the thought of coming face to face with him after what you felt like a near death experience has you rattled for some reason. You know you have nothing to fear.

He was not angry with you by any means, but there was a heaviness in your chest, and your stomach was turning with a nauseated feeling. This was by all means not the norm for you, Logan was your closest friend and confidant, so what was this relentless feeling gnawing at your insides?

Logan is definitely not an easy person to get along with since his short temper and ‘Fuck you’ etiquette tends to throw a lot people off so the friendship between you two was something that was unexpected to everyone else due to your ‘Take no shit’ attitude but other wise pleasant personality totally clashed with his but there was an unspoken understanding between you, the man who preferred action than words and you, the mutant who could do just that.

A duo who worked all too well together.

You unclenched your fingers, stretching them out until the cracks of your fingers satisfied you enough for you to finally work up the courage to knock, there was silence before Logan's rough voice called out from what you assumed was the corner of his room, he was more than likely settled on his arm chair drowning in his whiskey and stuck in a haze of cigar smoke, you can smell it from here.

“I don't feel like talking right now, leave.” You don't even bother answering before opening his door, the natural light streaming through the window doing little to cast away the shadows in the corners of his room. “What did I just say, Bub?” You walk into the room, closing the door behind you, sighing.

“Not even me, Wolvie?” He's up before you can fully turn back to him grabbing you and pulling you into him, you stumble in his grip holding onto his sides to steady yourself, you can hear his heart beating heavy in his chest and his ragged breathing as he presses his face into your hair.

“Aw, you missed me.” You smoothly tease as you place your hands on his strong forearms, you try to look up at him but he has you stuck in place and it seems like he's frozen in a state of shock as he processes that your okay and standing right infront of him, that you weren't in a comatose state lying on a cold infirmary table but here, with him.

“You're a pain in my ass, you know that, right? I thought you were dying in my arms.” He's looking you in the eye as his hand grasps your cheek, forcing you to look back at him. You place your hand on top of his. “It felt like I was.” You say honestly, a weak smile on your lips.

“Why didn't you say anything to me, anything at all before you went to your room? I should've been with you..” He felt as if he could've prevented this situation you both had no idea was going to happen, Logan has always been one to blame himself for things that were out of his control, a trait you two seemed to share.

“We couldn't have known Lo, it's not anyone's fault.” He sighs as he hugs you again, and it's silent as you both take in just how much of a scare this whole situation caused you both. “When I was carrying you, I thought you were going to give out in my arms.. I was praying to God that it not happen, I'd rather everything bad happen to me before you.. never you.”

It broke your heart in a way that you couldn't possibly explain, like a balm was placed over a wound that you never knew about but your mind refused to give answers for what it could possibly mean.

“Logan, I'm so sorry.” The statement gave you pause, the words flowed out of your mouth almost like your subconscious was longing to say those words for so long but the ringing in your ears prevents you from thinking about it more.

“Don't apologize, Kid. I'm just glad you're okay.” You nod, your eyes misty with unshed tears, but you rub your eyes quickly. “You can't get rid of me so easily, ol’ man.” He shakes his head as he pinches your cheek, the distant look in his eyes telling with words unsaid.

“Wasn't planning on it.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Life went back as it before the incident but the others kept a closer on you, they asked you if you were feeling well more often and their eyes followed you as if they were trying to catch even the smallest detail off about you that could entail that another episode was on the horizon but you tried to avoid any confrontation concerning their behavior towards you.

It was hard enough having to accept that you not only may have overworked yourself to the point of accidentally annihilating yourself but the mansion too but you also have to deal with the fact that you worried your friends so much so that they can't seem to shake off the fear of it happening again.

Logan was especially attentive to you even though he tries to play it off, he'll knock on your door using the excuse of bringing you snacks just so he could see that you were okay, if he could have it his way, your door would be open 24/7. He also keeps close to you at all times whether that be on a day trip with the school or on a small mission but you let him since you know he means well and it eases his nerves more than he's willing to admit.

You've been training more with the professor one on one and he seems perplexed by the setback in your paramnesia powers, he thinks maybe the incident may been the cause of it so you two have been taking it slow, the headaches becoming more frequent the more you try to use the full potential of your powers.

You can still use your telekinetic powers with no hindrance so the professor has allowed you on smaller missions and with training in the danger room but now you worry about your bigger mission against The Acolytes that you'll be fighting against soon, you can only hope that your powers will reach their full potential before then.

《 TAGLIST 》

@fandomsunited

@plan3t-plut0

@thewiselionessss

@the-queen-of-sorrows

@nerrivm

Next Part

[nilboxes]

The Philosophy of Dr Ratio (Existentialism) and Aventurine (Absurdism)

Philosophy is a highly broad and complicated topic, these are just my interpretations, and I tried my best to make it as clear and concise as possible and to string them back into how it relates to the characters/events of the games.

Dr Ratio, Nihilism, Abandonment by God, Burden of Freedom (Heidegger, Sartre) 

I imagine Ratio’s homeworld prizes knowledge/learning a lot, and naturally because of his intelligence, he was expected to join the ranks of the genius society. Except despite all his achievements even as a young man, Ratio has not earned the gaze. 

When he was not acknowledged even at the height of his supposed success in his erudition and instead was handed a letter from the IPC, it is safe to say Ratio then felt “abandoned” by his purpose (in and relating to Nous) and despite seeking them and their favor. This feeling of abandonment (Heidegger, Existential Abandonment) goes hand in hand with the sudden and unwanted freedom from purpose (Sartre).

Suddenly without purpose, one is shoved into a state of pure freedom. This state of super freedom could be very daunting as the individual who is burdened by this freedom *must* carve a path of their own, or face meaninglessness (Sartre). And as a person who is condemned to this freedom, they must choose for themselves, be responsible for themselves and even the act of not choosing is a choice.

“God is dead” for Ratio, whose purpose (the path of Erudition) has refused him. Not dead in a literal sense, but the relevance of the god and the path that god treads is no longer relevant to Ratio. 

Those old beliefs of scholarly pursuits above all ultimately no longer hold significance to Ratio. He is thus bereft of a predetermined, outlined purpose (Nous’ brand of scholarship) and has to define for himself now what his purpose/existence/meaning must be (again, burden of freedom as outlined by Sartre).

During this, he also realizes how this path does not serve others either and that the Genius’ Societies pursuits are inherently self-serving rather than providing betterment for humanity. Thus again “God is dead”— the established “morality” is not relevant to the reality of the world at present, the “God” is not serving the needs of the world at large (Nietzche).

This is undoubtedly a difficult process. To spend one’s life devoted to a particular framework of belief and to be snubbed by it. So then what happens next, and where does one go from here?

Dr Ratio, the Ubermench and the Will to Power (Nietzche) but Tempered by Universality (Kant)

To be without “God” (ie, higher purpose, predetermined meaning) is to be left with an inexplicably wide freedom that is more terrifying than comforting (Sarte). Without the anchor of acknowledgement and assurance that one’s path is “correct” one now must define for themselves what is the optimal path, and what they define on their own as the greatest good (one’s own morality as defined by Nietzche).

Finding enlightenment (realizing/acknowledging his own potential outside of the gaze of god and adopting the mindset of the ubermench), Ratio doubles down on his humanitarian beliefs that knowledge must serve the betterment of individuals (Kant). To be equipped to think for themselves and be responsible for themselves as they go through life’s challenges and seizes control of their own destinies rather than go along with them (as he did himself). Ultimately, they strive and become the best version of themselves (to become the ubermench).

Dr Ratio asserts “the will to power” (Nietzche) exists in every individual, recognizing potential and capability residing in every person. Hence he is an educator, he believes he can help people reach this potential. One does not need to be a “genius” in order to excel and in order to create good and meaning in the world. One simply has to be equipped with the knowledge and have that will to apply that knowledge and themselves (ie, not being ‘stupid’) for their betterment and then the betterment of all.

Dr Ratio and Universality, Humanity as an End (Kant) 

Dr Ratio believes first and foremost in helping others help themselves more than uncovering knowledge for its sake alone, therefore he believes that the knowledge uncovered must serve a purpose for good rather than be uncovered simply because, thereby adhering to the concept of Humanity as an “End” or rather the goal, rather than knowledge being the end/goal. This key difference is what sets him apart from the geniuses in the Genius Society, who mostly view knowledge as the end all and be all of their pursuits, Ratio asks what and who it can be for.

This idea is what tempers all of Ratio’s beliefs. Undoubtedly the concept of an ubermench may veer towards seeing one’s self as the shepherd of the weak, being domineering and assertive, Ratio instead asserts that one should strive to better themselves than wait around to be saved or to be ruled by their betters—the geniuses, or others. He genuinely believes in the individual’s capability to think for themselves, to contribute good into the world and thus guide themselves into each individual’s ideal/their potential.

Aventurine and Absurdism (Camus)

Aventurine struggles for meaning in his life, marked by seemingly random and senseless wins because of his “luck” he surely struggles with finding any sort of rationale for his own continued survival—but there is none to be had. This is the core of the absurdism in Aventurine, the senselessness and the indifference of the universe to his feelings and his desires, to use his luck for the benefit of his loved ones, as opposed to the reality of it as his luck merely served himself, sometimes dubiously, to propel him to heights of success that has no meaning because those he strove for this purpose is gone. This is the core of the idea of the absurd, the purposelessness of his circumstances.

To further demonstrate the absurd Philosopher Albert Camus presents to “The Myth of Sisyphus” a man who is condemned by the gods to push a boulder up a hill, and when he almost reaches the top, the boulder returns to the bottom and Sisyphus must roll it all back up again. There is no purpose to this act other than it is done, like Aventurine’s endeavors in the IPC, there is no purpose to his victories, save that he has done it at all. There is no inherent meaning, and this is how he further contemplates the absurd.

To face the absurd/the meaninglessness, Aventurine first arrives at the answer of self-deletion. He does not succeed due to his luck however. And, when he arrives at the crossroads to be able to fulfill this wish or not, Aventurine evidently realizes that exiting from the world does not answer the questions presented by absurdism (as he doesn't choose this in the end) because it is merely a “give up” state, to end one’s meaningless life is not the answer to its emptiness at all. If there is no destination to be had in one’s journey, stopping the journey may be one of the solutions, but it doesn’t lend it an answer, it is not anything but an end.

Therefore as Sisyphus is condemned to push the boulder up and down again, a task that does not contribute anything to greater causes or anything but instead of despairing and/or creating one’s meaning, the story asks readers to imagine Sisyphus happy, to revel in the meaninglessness and eschew having to have meaning in order to be fulfilled altogether, effectively walking towards and embracing the meaninglessness.

The game never fully explores what conclusion Aventurine arrives at, yet at the end of 2.2 he decides to go on (with a little nudge here and there) even without getting the answers he seeks. He asks “Are we living just to die?” and perhaps through his journey arrives at a little conclusion that one lives to live, and to simply go on is enough and thus begins a bit of his philosophical indifference—that nothing ultimately matters and that is beginning to be just sufficient enough of an answer. 

Aventio as Philosophical Parallels

Ratio’s philosophy is all about discipline and creativity, shaping one’s own values and living a fulfilled life through them. There is a rigidity in this way of thinking that meaning must be made and pursued because it is out there. And he can take away meaning from it with as much as he wants, because he is actively shaping this meaning. It fits his character as someone who always stands apart and walks a lonely path. 

Aventurine’s extrapolated path in the absurd on the other hand ultimately frees him from any shackles to meaning that he so desperately wants and thus the concept of values will also be thrown away. A person who embraces this supreme indifference is also inextricably free from anything and thus exists in a state of chaos, living for the moment and living simply for living. Fitting for a man who sees himself in a gilded cage.

Each individual character represents an answer to difficult questions about existence itself, and there is no real right or wrong way to go about it. 

I doubt the intricacies of their situations with their aligned philosophies will be fully explored in the game itself so I like to think despite Ratio being a teacher, and thus would pull Aventurine into his brand of dealing with existential crisis, he also recognizes that students must come to a conclusion on their own and when he realizes which conclusion Aventurine has come to, would be approving, but also somehow reel him back in from exercising too much of the value-lessness of the absurd. (In 2.3 he is shown expressing some concern about Aventurine being on this path, to be so free and so uncaring as to begin to be not exactly a conscious being any longer) 

While in Aventurine’s case, he can also be the teacher in this regard and open a new path to Ratio where he can appreciate the vastness of the freedom he has, and imagine himself happy to be in this position, ultimately purposeless and futile as it is in the grander scheme of things, but meaningful to himself.

This has been very long, but I just wanted to outline and share a little about the many ways Aventurine and Dr Ratio are built and written to complement each other in the ways their characters were built up at least in a philosophical sense. I really may have missed a bunch of stuff, but I hope the gist is there!

These videos helped me a lot regarding Camus—

Why shouldn't we commit suicide? - 8bit Philosophy

How to live in a meaningless world - Unsolicited advice

[princessofangiemania]

𝑺𝒖𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚: 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝑺𝑷 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅-𝒆𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

First and foremost, I would like to apologise for my inactivity ;w; I've been so focused on school, it was HECTIC and boy do I have a lot of success stories, this being one of them. So start of the school year, I wasn't planning on manifesting a boyfriend. I just wanted good grades, beauty and stuff. Long yapping session ahead!!

I was friends with this guy. Our whole friendship started because I was bored and wanted to play cupid (He liked another girl). So I was talking with him a lot, I was his right-hand woman. But this guy, he's not fond of making first moves but the girl isn't either. Long story short, he got rejected they didn't end up together. Let's call my SP "Coco" for good measure. You thought that was the end of it and we just remained friends? Wrong, I started developing feelings for him and womp womp (I actually thought he was physically attractive when I first saw him but backed off when I saw he liked another girl because I wasn't that attached yet). An even funnier story, we're in a four-person friend group. (2 boys and 2 girls), the other two are a couple. So our friend-group was more like a double date if we did end up together. Since my 18th birthday party was coming up, I had to pick a partner for the cotilion. And I picked him (He was convinced) and I even proposed a solo. So while we were practicing, we had lots of moments and I'm pretty clumsy, you can pretty much imagine that. There came our field trip. And it was mostly water sports. After that, we were all given free time to play in the pool for about two hours. I began carrying people randomly and they started doing the same to me. I actually carried Coco too and of course he carried me too. Around dismissal, I switched places with the other guy in our friend group and sat next to him. Average romance anime cliche moment, I fell asleep on his shoulder. To fast forward through, I confessed to him but he gave me a "You deserve better, I love you as a friend" but not a definite no. The rejection is implied but what does our LOA Barbie girlie do? We persist. That time wasn't the best, I was more than awkward around him but all I thought was, "This is for the plot" over and over again.

Like a Wattpad love story, it started picking up on the day of my 18th birthday, when we sang Photograph. Not relevant? It played our part in 18 Roses (In Philippine culture, it is customary for a girl to dance with 18 bachelors to signify her coming of age). And of course, I just had to experience all the cliche moments like him holding an umbrella over me, carrying my bag, going to get ice cream, walking somewhere and exchanging longing glances when the other wasn't looking and it all came down to a pool party we had when the school year ended. I got drunk (My dumbass thought the punch was orange juice and filled my cup all the way through) and I was just mostly chilling by the jacuzzi because of it. Coco over here, if we weren't hogging the karaoke machine, we were just chilling in the jacuzzi by ourselves (And the annoying pick-me girl of the class occasionally) and when I got too drunk, apparently I asked if I could hug him and for the last 2 hours or so, I was just hugging him. It was weird because Coco would usually join water sports going on in the other pool but he decided to just chill with me.

Before we got together, just like how I would write a wattpad fanfiction, there was the mandatory angst misunderstanding. The confession was really something. Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift was playing in the background and we became an official couple at exactly 12 midnight. Now, we're in a happy and loving relationship! Honestly, I was scared of what he'd be like in a relationship (Cuz I thought he wouldn't give me what I needed, E.G. princess treatment) but since I persisted and said to myself that what I wanted would always be given to me, I'm proud to say I'm dating a guy who practically worships the ground I walk on, not afraid to show his affection and respectful. I could go on and on about how good my relationship is how he treats me so well but I'd save you all the sappy stuff.

[tojisth3rdwife]

Part 2

a/n: this one is probably 40% smut parts here. Pregnant sex is the bees knees, speaking from experience. A 💋 will mark where it starts and ends in case you want to skip it. There will definitely be a part 3 lol

BabyDaddyToji was enjoying your pregnancy more than you were.

For starters, and not to be crude but the sex was unmatched. Toji had a thing for cumming inside of you raw before but now?? With the only motivation not to no longer being relevent, there wasnt a day where Toji didnt want to be inside of you.

Granted, he wasnt jumping your bones 24/7. Especially in the beginning. He let you set the tone for that based on your mood. And it was rough in that first trimester. It seemed like as soon as you confirmed the pregnancy , every symptom in the book hit your ass like a mack truck.

You slept majority of the day.

You spent many mornings, afternoons and evenings face down in the toilet.

Your mood was unpredictable, although you did your best not to crash out and frighten Megumi or take it out on Toji.

Even when you did, Toji didnt take it personally.

You’d been snippy with him all night over the smallest things.

He closed the door too loudly when he came in the bedroom, not helping your hormonal headache whatsoever. When he asked you how you were feeling, it was returned with an attitudinal “How the fuck do you think I feel? I cant eat. Im always tired. My back hurts. My head hurts. The dog’s wont stop barking..” you trailed off. Toji approaches where you were now sitting up at the edge of the bed, bent over with your face in your hands.

You were a mess. Your hair. Your skin. You just felt gross and overly emotional, something that was so unlike you. Toji knew it, but unlike you, he at least understood why.

The tears were already flowing by the time he joined you on the bed, reaching for your hands to pull away from your face.

“N-no Toji....” you sniffled, attempting to hide yourself from Toji as he gripped your wrists gently. He smiled as you fought against his strength pointlessly , and he pulls you into him for a hug he knew you needed.

Mind you, Toji was far from perfect. There were plenty of times when he didn’t know how to comfort you or the right thing to say at the right time. But being with you over the years improved his sense of compassion and empathy towards others, meaning you were no exception.

Toji rubbed your lower back, pulling your body as close as he could.

“Im sorry, baby. Seems like today is kicking your ass..” he says with his lips in your messy hair. You chuckle dryly at the sentiment, sniffing back the snot threatening to dribble from your nose.

“Yeah.” You sigh. Toji hums against your crown, slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband of your leggings. Not in a suggestive or sexual manner, just to hold you better. He sat with you for a few seconds in silence before asking you if you wanted him to get out so you could rest.

“No…” you mutter, clutching his t-shirt. You gave in to his embrace and nuzzled his chest, your breath stuttering from the sudden rush of emotions. Toji smirks.

You were so cute when your were stubborn.

In other news…

Your body was gradually changing. Too much in appearance , although your tits were gigantic now, but more in how you felt and responded to your environment.

For starters, nothing tasted or smelled the same, in good and bad ways alike.

The smell of cooking/ grilled meats? ❌

The scent of certain cleaning products and laundry detergents?✅

Megumi’s dogs? (Although you still loved them to pieces) ❌

The sweet and savory combo of pizza and strawberry toaster strudels stacked on top of eachother with the frosting and marinara sauce melding together? ✅

The smell of Toji’s favorite instant ramen? ❌

Eggs? ❌

Yogurt? ❌

Chocolate? ❌

The scent of anything Toji related? His cologne? His after shave? His sweaty shirts straight from the gym? ✅✅✅

But despite all of that, especially once the sickness and exhaustion began to taper out as you entered the 2nd trimester, you were horny.

Like VERY horny, tracking back to the opening statement..

And fuck, Toji loved it.

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

He’d barely made it inside after returning from dropping Megumi off at school before your hands were at his belt.

“Whoa..” Toji’s brows shot up as well as his hands when you made quick work of undoing his pants and pulling his dick out. He wasnt even hard yet and he still felt heavy in your hand as you stroked him slowly.

Lips at his neck and your other hand pushing his shirt up, you mumbled against his skin.

“I want you so bad it hurts..”

And it did. The spike in hormones, coupled with the increased blood flow down there made everything feel 10 times more intense. All Toji had to do was kiss you and you felt your inner thighs become slippery against each other from his wet you were. After a simple ‘brb’ smooch on his way out the door to take Megs, your clit was engorged and your gummy walls clenched in need of him.

You tried rubbing one out but you were too frustrated to get yourself there.

You needed release.

You needed him in the worst way.

Toji groaned as your expert touch had his dick jumping and swelling to life with every stroke of your hand.

“Hurts?” He frowns at your choice of words. You paused trying to undress him to take Toji’s hand and guide under your large sleep shirt to cup your sex. You had soaked through the fabric of your panties and just Toji’s touch had your walls pulsing.

“Fuck..” he exhaled,taking the initiative to rub your puffy clothed lips as if to sooth you. But all it did was rile you up even more.

“See?” You whimper and Toji cusses under his breath again.

“Shit, babe…How are you always this fucking wet? Hmm?” He tilts his head, now the one taking the reigns.

“Toji..” your breath hitched, breaking and stalling as the rough pads of his fingers rubbed yiur clothed pussy. His fingers found tiny hill of your clit pressing through your panties and he circles it slowly. You gripped his flexing forearm desperately, breathy moans leaving you as your back collides with the wall adjacent to the front door, with Toji’s height eclipsing you in his shadow. He speeds up his antics, all while pressing his lips to your pulse in a gentle kiss.

By the way you keened in his ear, Toji was sure of one thing.

“Gonna cum right here? Right now?” He asks, strumming his middle and index over your civered clit faster. You nod with you mouth agape, digging your nails into Toji’s arm.

“Yesyesyesyesyesbabyplease..fuck..”

Your knees buckled as the wave of pleasure washed over you, a gush of slick staining the your underwear. Anyone walking by outside definitely heard your cry of ecstasy, but Toji never gave a damn about his neighbors.

“Shit..c’mere” he pulls you towards him by the throat for a sloppy breathless kiss, licking into your mouth and catching every moan off your tongue as he rubs your sensitive folds over your drenched panties.

Without warning, Toji picks you up like you weigh nothing to carry you in the room, tossing you on the bed to fuck the ache out of your pussy until it was damn near time for Megumi to get out of school.

But as you began to show around week 14-15, Toji was more mindful of how he handled your body. You assured him that you could take it and encouraged him to go harder, but it was pointless. He was just too damn big and you seemed way too fragile to be bent in half and pounded the way he used to.

The tenderness was welcomed in exchange though..

As much as you loved your belly, you hated how it blocked your view of Toji eating you out. Watching his tongue glide over your puffy lips and clit made you even wetter and Toji lapped it straight from the source. He groaned at the taste of you. Not that he didnt love your pussy’s flavor before you were pregnant but there was something more intense about it now. Even your scent was more potent and addicting, having him thinking about burrying his face between your legs all damn day.

Toji ate your pussy like his life depended on it, swirling his tongue over the hood of your clit and flicking its underside in the way he knew would make you shake.

“Mmmhmm” he moaned against you, hugging your thighs and caressing your baby bump affectionately.

You’d attempted to crane your neck to get a glimpse of what he was doing in the beginning but now you just surrendered to the fact that you wouldnt be seeing anything down there without a mirror for a while.

That was ok though.

Allowing yourself to focus only on what Toji’s lips and tongue did to you made cumming on his face most enjoyable for the both of you.

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

“Are you ready to know the sex?” your doctor asks from behind the monitor. You glance at her in surprise, even though you knew the question was coming.

Toji hated that he couldnt be there and damn near walked out on a job if you hadnt convinced him to stay and focus.

But you really wished he was here.

“Could you write it down and put it in an envelope for me?” you asked, doing your best to keep your gaze from traveling over to the big mounted screen on the wall, and your doctor obliged.

That way when you took it to the bakery and asked them to pipe the corresponding color frosting in a pre made jumbo cupcake, it would be a surprise both you and Toji could share.

Taglist: @queendessi24 , @xllizs, @whoreforjjkmen , @hellokittyloverrxox .

Part 1 <<<<<

Part 3 (soon)

The Fushiguro’s <<<<<

[cy-cyborg]

It's been confirmed that there are 3 amputees in the main cast of Dragon Age: the veilguard - Neve (leg amputee), Bellara (arm amputee) and your inquisitor (arm amputee). So as an amputee myself, here are some things I'd like to see.

Note: these aren't predictions, just things I'd really like to be included.

The inquisitor doesn't use a prosthetic (I already talked about this in its own post but with 3 amputees, and 2 of them already being shown to use prosthetics that, lets be honest, do look like "perfect replacement" prosthetics, it would be nice to see at least one who doesn't)

We will get to customise our inquisitor in chatacter creation, so I would love, if they do use a prosthetic, for there to be some customisability to it (im not holding my breath there but still).

Neve and Bellara's prosthetics aren't perfect prosthetics, and they are actually acknowledged as being disabled while still being active members of your party.

There's some kind of party banter between Neve and Bellara about some of the downsides/problems with their prosthetics, not necessarily in a "poor them" way, but in a "ugh, don't you just hate it when you can't get the stupid thing on in the morning" kind of way.

I get a kind of jokey/adventurous vibe from Bellara, I hope they aren't affraid to let her use her prosthetic for pranks or jokes. I don't think neve would, but I can see bellara having a blast with it.

I hope the prosthetics come off during down time. No amputee wears their prosthetics 24/7, it's uncomfortable, and they get heavy and sore after using them all day.

I hope we see Neve express some frustration or see her alter her walk animation on rough terrain. It's hard to get a clear look because the trailers she's been shown in are so dark, but her foot doesn't look articulated, which is going to change how she walks, even just a little bit.

I hope the prosthetics don't break - this is a trope I'm starting to notice more and more, where someone has a perfect prosthetic that is only not a perfect replacement when it breaks, usually for plot reasons, at which point the character in question is forced out of the action until its fixed. DA has forced companions out of your party for story reasons before (e.g. solas after you free his spirit friend and he needs to cool off) so I can see this being used for plot, and I really hope it's not.

The inquisitor, Neve and Bellara compair prosthetists (the maker of the prosthetic) and maker techniques.

I really doubt they'll do this but I'd love it if random NPC's approach you if you have any of the amputees in your party to ask what happened and/or make weird comments at them ("but cy, that would be so annoying and inconvenient!" That's the point. So many people do that to irl amputees, and it's never at a convenient or even safe time, and I've never seen it happen in media. A game is arguably the best place to have it happen, in, say, a random event similar to the ones that could happen in origins)

In that same vein, I'd love to see a scene where someone approaches the inquisitor to call them an inspiration- you and the inquisitor assume it's for, you know, beating corripheus (I know I spelled it wrong lol) and saving the world, but it's revealed the chatacter has no idea who the hell the inquisitor is and just means it's inspiring that they're out in public "like that" - referring to their arm. This also happens to me all the time, and you can't tell me some snooty orlesean or tevinter noble wouldn't make those back-handed compliments, lol. You also can't convince me that any version of the inquisitor would just accept that

I hope none of the chatacters are used as inspiration porn ("don't you worry Rook! I can still pull my own weight on the team despite being an amputee, you just have to give me a chance to prove myself!")

At least one of the chatacter's stories of how they lost their limb is left untold in game (we don't always need to know how it happened if it's not relevent to the plot).

Like I said, these aren't predictions, just my hopes. I wouldn't hold my breath for any of these to be honest (bioware has not been the best in term of disability rep in the past) but A lot of them wouldn't be hard to implement and could take the representation from hardly even acknowledging their disability to something actually pretty decent disability rep-wise. It's also pretty rare to have so many characters with the same kind of disability in the cast of such a mainstream piece of media, and I really, really hope they do something with that because you can have a lot of fun with that.

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in Your Area 8

Chapter 8

Masterpost

“You're just now going to campus?” Jazz said. Danny scowled ahead at the sidewalk. Her tone wasn't judgmental so much as mildly surprised. He still hated it. “That's a lot later than usual. Is everything alright?” Danny hunched his shoulders up and consciously reminded himself not to get defensive. He wasn't slacking. He'd gotten home after his class and slept 13 hours. He still felt wiped out.

“Ghost stuff,” he said cryptically. “Ruined my night.” He dodged someone on the sidewalk without thinking about it, used to the crowds by now.

Jazz inhaled sharply into his ear. “They're supposed to leave you alone to focus on your education,” she hissed. “Just so you know, I do have the venomous Fenton electric creep stick-”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny cut her off. She was probably holding it up right now, thumb on the trigger. He couldn't fight off the rueful smile. She had his back, didn't she? Always did. With that in mind… “I think I need help,” he admitted. Oof. Felt bad. Not as bad as failing his classes, though, which was the danger if he got pulled too deep into more Ghost bull honkey.

“Of course!” Jazz enthused. He stepped off the curb and then quick-stepped backwards to avoid getting hit by some asshole running the red light. Danny lifted up his free hand to flip them off as he hung on his heels on the edge of the pavement drop. He dropped lightly back onto the balls of his feet and jogged across the street.

Jazz was still talking, voice clear over the morning meld of honking and running engines. “How about you come over to my place after your classes tonight? My roommate is out for a conference.”

“You just don't want to come to Crime Alley,” Danny accused her. “Even for me, your beloved baby brother.” He dodged a car that was parked on the cross walk and made an ugly face at the driver. “Despite your professed love for crime, when it counts, it's all talk.”

“I don't love crime,” Jazz reiterated with her inhuman patience. She didn't take the bait of his deliberate mischaracterization of her career plans. “But I am exquisitely stabbable." Her tone went lofty with the brag. "So yes, I avoid Crime Alley.”

Danny blew an unimpressed raspberry to show what he thought of that.

He hadn't met anyone in Gotham yet who he thought would really throw Jazz for a loop. She was a 6ft 2 judo black belt, and she was liminally spooky as fuck. “No one would stab you,” he said, making it sound like an insult. His janky ass was more likely to get held up. "But fine, I'll haul my poor broken corpse all the way over there to do you a favor-”

“So I can do you a favor,” Jazz corrected wryly.

“My poor broken corpse,” Danny cut back in, because that was a really relevant factor to him. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned a little. He felt like he'd been in a tumble dryer. Missing a full night of sleep was an insufferable insult to his desperate shoe-string construction of a healthy routine.

“I would so get robbed if I came there,” Jazz argued. “Maybe even kidnapped.” He could all but hear her flip her hair.

He snorted but let her keep her delicate feminine delusions about not being one of the scariest motherfuckers in the crime capital of the country. He wasn't actually worried about her interning at Arkham Asylum. Maybe he'd freaked out a little when she'd moved here, but that wasn't why he was here. No matter what anyone said.

“There's no immediate danger, right?” Jazz checked. “No reason I need to be concerned today?”

“Nah,” Danny reassured her, as the campus came into sight. He had about an hour before class to spend in the lab before his lecture. “It's not that kind of problem.” He felt his face arranged itself into a wry smile. “You might like this one.”

“Oh?” Jazz asked, intrigued. “Do tell.”

“Only after I've sworn you to perfect silence,” Danny shot back instantly. “I mean it, for real, you can't tell a soul living or dead or nonliving or-”

“I think I get it,” she cut him off. Jazz huffed. “As if I can't keep a secret. You think I can't keep secrets? I know the most incredible things that you could never dream up.”

“...Big if true,” Danny snarked, pretending that he wasn't extremely interested.

“You never knew what happened to the Robinsons,” Jazz said airily. “And you never will.”

“...that doesn't bother me at all,” Danny lied. He stopped walking.

“Ahuh,” Jazz said knowingly. “Hey, remember the neon cheese incident?”

Danny gritted his teeth. “Can't say I do,” he said. It was bullshit, and even he knew it wasn't convincing Jazz. He was dying to know the truth. It had been the talk of the town for weeks and was still occasionally featured on unsolved mystery podcasts. He'd gone far enough to ask the Dairy King, but even the dead wouldn't speak on it.

“Have a good day of classes, little brother,” Jazz said sweetly. She ended the call.

He rubbed at his temples. Ancients, she gave him a headache. She was fantastic. She was killing him and absolutely ruining his unlife. He couldn't even beg her for answers about the neon cheese, because if he managed to badger it out of her, it would prove she could be manipulated into telling secrets. That would be a loss anyway. It was more likely that either she didn't know anything or that she knew and her lips would stay sealed: Danny didn't have any to waste his breath.

He did a few calming rounds of breathing, now that he was thinking about it, and then went on with his day a bit invigorated by the familial aggravation.

Danny felt a little better about focusing on class now that he knew he could count on Jazz in his corner. She was the smartest person he knew. She could probably get him divorced by the end of the day. Hell, she probably already had a contingency plan for getting him a divorce. She was so ready for him to have a relationship so that he would have relationship problems to ask her about.

When he finished up on campus, Danny cut across town to pick up takeout food as an offering. He presented it to Jazz as soon as she opened the door, head bowed and food theatrically high.

“Oh, come in,” Jazz said, exasperated. She grabbed him by the back of his collar and bodily pulled him inside. “My neighbors are going to think I'm so weird, Danny!”

“My liege,” he intoned seriously. “I come bearing- ow! Stop hitting my- hey, my face!” Danny wrestled away from the horrible pinching grip his terrible sister had on his cheeks, scowling. “That hurt,” he complained. “Have you ever thought that you're getting caught up in the cycle of violence?”

“I don't lose sleep over it.” Jazz lowered herself delicately onto one of the weird puffs she had instead of chairs and made grabby hands at the takeout. “What did you get me?”

“Coal,” Danny snarked. But he handed over the bag without a fight and plopped himself onto the closest poof thing. He fully laid out and let his head flop past the edge to hang upside down.

“Inversion therapy, so chic,” Jazz said absently.

He considered flipping her off, but his balance was really off in this position and it would be hard to defend himself if she lunged at him. Hell, if she picked up his legs he'd probably tip over onto the floor. Danny dug his heels into the side of the poof in defensive preparation. He kept her in his peripheral vision.

“Oh, Malaysian,” Jazz enthused. “I wanted to have this!” She sounded a little too surprised.

He shot her a thumbs up. Two days ago, she'd sent him a screenshot of a text landing from someone else that had shown most of her screen was the active map app she was using to get to an appointment. The Malaysian restaurant had the star mark that she put on the places that she wanted to try.

He'd gambled that she hadn't gone yet because she hadn't had a late night at work. Jazz only got takeout with company or if she got home too late to cook.

“Cool,” Danny said, because he didn't want his rotten sister to think he cared about her interests. “It was on the way and it smelled good.”

Jazz hummed and put the food on the side table. “So I see.” She folded her fingers in front of her face and peered at him over the steeple. “What happened? What ghost do I need to soup with a fragrant combination of turmeric and saffron?”

“Please don't waste that, ghosts taste fine on their own,” Danny said.

Jazz grimaced. “Ew, Danny,” she enunciated carefully. She paused. “Ew.”

He shrugged and accidentally slipped a little closer to the floor. “Just saying. But actually, no one dead was involved, unless we count-”

“We don't count,” Jazz cut him off, serenely unbothered by his attempts to score empathy points off his death. She was a cold customer.

“Boo,” Danny said, because he knew his brand and respected ghost tradition. “Anyway, Jeremy Waters. Remember -”

“How could I forget,” Jazz muttered. She put her hands on her face.

“Hey,” Danny said, offended that Jeremy got that reaction and he got a big fat impassive nothing no matter how annoying he was.

“What’s Jeremy done?” Jazz sounded exhausted by the concept.

“Well… He uh.” Danny stared at the ceiling. He couldn't look at her directly. “Well. You know how he wants the good favor of the god of the underworld?”

“Yup.” Jazz hit the ‘p’ sound hard.

“He uh, hit the idea that uh. Maybe a Persephone of sorts was just the thing to suck up.”

He heard fabric rustle as Jazz sat up. “He did?”

Wow, she had one of the most fascinating ceilings in the world. Danny stared intently up at a splotch that looked vaguely malign. She ought to get that checked out by an expert before it possessed somebody. “Yeah, so he's been trying to vault people into the Ghost Zone as bridal sacrifices.”

“Ahuh.” Jazz sounded a little bit choked up. She wasn't laughing, so he couldn't complain.

“I had Dani get Vlad look into it-” because Dad or Mom would have been mortifying- “and apparently, he told her the odds of some hack wizard managing to send a living human to the ghost zone was laughable.”

He paused. He couldn't go on.

“And Vlad would know,” Jazz said leadingly.

Danny put a hand over his face. “Yeah, see, the thing is that I'm now very concerned that Vlad might not know.” His words came out muffled.

Jazz was so intent on him. He pretended even harder not to know she was leaning in towards him. “Does- does the ghost king have a bride, Danny?” She somehow managed in a professional tone.

He nodded miserably.

She promptly lost her shit laughing at his misfortune.

[fayes-fics]

Lessons In Roleplay

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: The boys roleplay dastardly highwayman and rescuer.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, d/s dynamics, roleplay, CNC play, gunplay, slightly rough vaginal sex, dirty talk, cuckolding play, mention of breeding, oral sex (f to m), blow job, spitroast, orgasms, aftercare.

Word Count: 4.8k

Authors Note: This is a request fill for the amazing @colettebronte, asking for some roleplay in the Lessons universe. How could I say no to that? She chose which role the boys would play. Beta read by the amazing @sorryallonsy. Gif by @captainbucky-yt. The image is not particularly relevant to the story, but they both look delicious. Enjoy! <3

“Do you really think a highwayman might have seen us?”  you query, your head resting on Anthony’s chest as he strokes your hair idly. “Yesterday, in the carriage,” you clarify as Benedict lifts his head from your belly and shoots you a querying eyebrow.

You are all lying together, entwined in post-coital bliss, under a large oak on their country estate on a beautiful summer day. The day after your eventful carriage ride here with them.

Anthony’s responding chuckle vibrates under you. “Tis possible, my sweet girl,” he opines lazily, using his other hand to shield his eyes from the sun cutting through the leaves above.

Your thoughtful mien has Benedict pushing up onto his hands and hovering over you, his hazy eyes observing you with a knowing quirk on his lips. 

“I think our girl likes that idea,” he intuits, always correct in his ability to read you.

“I would prefer one of you be my robber, not a stranger,” you confess, smiling when they grab one of your hands each.

“If that is what the lady wishes….perhaps such a thing can be arranged,” Benedict opines silkily,  lacing your fingers with his. “Can it not, brother?”

“What are you thinking?” Anthony hums, bringing your hand to his face.

“Perhaps the old phaeton in the stable can be put to good use?” Benedict suggests, lowering himself to kiss down your ribs. “I do not see why we could not steal away somewhere within the grounds and make our sweet girl's wish come true. One of us can play the dastardly highwayman lurking by the roadside as she rides by…” he trails off, getting distracted by the softness of your skin, dropping kisses onto your belly now.

“...And one of you could play my rescuer who draws up upon horseback?” you supply, a little breathless at the images already tumbling through your mind as their lips trace over your skin.

They both chuckle at that, Anthony dropping a kiss on your forehead and Benedict onto your hipbone.

“I am more than certain that could be arranged,” Anthony confirms, an admiring twinkle in his eye as you twist to look up at him. “This evening, in fact…”

“But which would you be, my lord?”

“What do you want of me, my girl? Do you want me to be the gallant hero?” he questions, his fingers tracing your cupid’s bow before sliding between your lips; his fingers still tart with your arousal as he presses upon your tongue. “Or the man who will hold you up? Whose demands you will need to submit to? To plead to spare your life?”

“The latter,” your reply muffled around his questing fingers, a frisson low in your belly that he may fuck you by the roadside in the dead of night.

“Then I shall ride in to rescue you,” Benedict affirms, his fingers flexing between yours as you now look down at him, his chin resting low upon your stomach.

“But not too soon…” you appeal with a wink, “and I think my rescuer should help me with my pleasure too, no?”

They both laugh knowingly at that. 

“Your wish is my command….” Benedict offers, nudging this nose into your belly, which now fizzes with excitement about the night ahead.

—

You dress in a delicate cerulean blue silk gown that clings like liquid satin to your bare skin, foregoing any underwear, as is so often your preference when playing with your boys. Your outfit is topped off with sparkling sapphires and diamonds draped around your neck and wrists, no doubt priceless heirlooms from the vault Anthony holds on the property.

The hallway clock softly chimes midnight just as you steal out of the servant's entrance, meeting Benedict in the courtyard by the stables, already standing ready with a horse and a small, buggy-type carriage.

“You look beautiful,” he remarks, flattery just falling from him as ever. “I assume you know how to steer a phaeton?” he checks as you draw up to him, the moonlight throwing his face into handsome relief.

You nod, and he moves aside to assist you in climbing into the simple open-top carriage with an exchange of smiles.

“You remember where to go, correct?” His voice is soft as he hands you the reins. 

“Down past the lake, take the left fork, follow the hedgerow until the thicket of trees,” you parrot the agreed directions from earlier. You can only assume Anthony is already lying in wait for you there.

Benedict nods, and then his demeanour changes, leaning in, a hand curling around your neck.

“Be careful out there, my sweet. Highwaymen may lurk,” he warns, slipping effortlessly into his heroic character. 

“Perhaps a kiss for good luck upon my journey…. ?” you coquette, enjoying the way his pupils dilate.

He sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss that makes your heart pound and your body tingle, his tongue warm and insistent over yours.

“Good luck, my fair lady,” he exhales as you part, taking a step back to bow with a flourish.

You giggle and shake the reins to take off, elated your evening adventure has begun.

—

It is less than five minutes later when you arrive at a copse of trees, the bright new moon illuminating the fields around you as you slip under the shadows of the mighty oaks on either side of the track. 

“STAND AND DELIVER!!” 

A loud, clear voice rings out as you slow your horse to a stop, belly aflutter with anticipation. Emerging from behind a tree is a tall figure dressed in a black shirt and trousers, and as he draws nearer, you see a familiar, handsome face disguised behind a simple black mask. 

Anthony.

You gasp as his leather-gloved hand draws a gun from his waistband and points it at you, blood running hot at his complete commitment to the roleplay.

“I have nothing to offer you, thief!” 

Your protest is exaggerated but triumphant as his gaze falls to your decolletage, swelling with each exaggerated breath, your neckline scooped intentionally low.

“Get down at once, and perhaps I will spare your life, for I know you lie,” he counters, “those jewels around your neck, I wager, are worth more than my entire house….”

In your eagerness, you stumble slightly as you climb down from the carriage, and strong hands grasp your waist and right your stance on the ground.

“Unhand me, ruffian!” 

Your theatrics are met with a flicker of tacit approval across his face.

“Not until those jewels are mine, fair lady!” highwayman Anthony contends, a predatory smile that has his teeth glowing in the low light, his firm grip upon you flexing.

“Please… I'm sure you are a reasonable man,” you change tack, still heaving breaths. “I simply cannot give you these jewels. They are too precious to me. They are a gift from my love.”

Framed by the mask, his dark eyes flash possessively, and there is a slip of softness in his expression as you say such words, knowing the truth behind them. 

But then his tongue pokes out, licking his incisor almost menacingly. One of his hands bands behind your back, yanking you flush against his firm body.

“Do you really think you are in any position to negotiate, my fair lady?” he withers.

Your heart quickens as he places the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. 

“It is not loaded,” he whispers, a warmth behind your ribs as he breaks character for a split second of reassurance before his expression is back to flinty. 

“Please….” you implore.

He ignores you, crowding you backwards into the side of the carriage, the shiny lacquered wood of the wheel spokes digging into your spine. Once trapped, the hand around your waist moves to grasp your necklace, his leather glove cold on your breastbone.

“Take this off, or I will,” he orders; it’s a resonant threat that vibrates right into your body.

“Then you shall have to, for I will not!” you spit out, struggling against him for good measure, wanting nothing more than for him to rip the jewels from your body. And then your dress.

Just as promised, he is a little rough as he manhandles you, spinning you around so your breasts are pressed into the side of the phaeton, the unmistakable heat of his arousal on your tailbone as he leans into you. 

He yanks off his gloves with his teeth and brushes your hair aside, unclasping the necklace and slowly tugging one end so it falls off behind you. A frisson runs the length of your spine as his bare fingers trail down slowly over both of your arms to your wrists and flick open the hinges on the bangles there, removing them too.

“These jewels are beautiful, my lady,” he concedes, pocketing them, “but I demand more…”

“Please, brute, you have taken all I can give you!”

“Oh, but that is not true…” he rumbles hotly into the nape of your neck. 

You gasp as a hand cups between your legs through your thin dress. 

“Your greatest treasure is the only one I cannot take with me….” 

He ruts himself into you, intent unmistakable, as his fingers curl into the fabric. The softness of the silk over your already throbbing clit has you biting your lip.

“No, please, let me go…” 

You amp up your performance, pushing back into him, looking over your shoulder with a fiery challenge that belies your words.

“I demand satisfaction!” 

With that, he kicks your feet apart, rucking up your dress until you feel the cool night air swirling around your buttocks and between your legs. Then there is a pause as his hand travels up your naked flesh, a hungry noise escaping his lips as he buries his nose into your hair, 

“Perhaps I misjudged…” he rasps, words huffing warm over your scalp. “No stockings. Nor underwear. You are far from a lady….”

“How dare you!” 

You struggle again in his grip, loving the way his hold gets more insistent, moaning loudly as his fingers curl into your folds, already leaking profusely from the moment he emerged from the trees.

“Shut up,” he gruffs, dropping the gun into the carriage in front of you. “The more you struggle, the more I will take.”

This play already has you desperate for him, blood boiling with pure want as his fingers tease your clit.

“No, you beast, I shall not give in…” 

Your objection sharpens his resolve, the wool of his trousers chafing the back of your thighs as he rapidly yanks open his britches one-handed. 

Your cry echoes around the tree canopy as his rigid cock roughly ploughs into your pussy from behind, the force rocking you up onto your tiptoes. The sheer stretching invasion has you grabbing the carriage for leverage, wanting to voice your approval but too committed to the role you inhabit to allow yourself.

“Please, mister, no!” 

You twist to meet his eye, silently begging for him to go fast and hard, take you mercilessly as you pretend this is not every wish you had for this night. Loving the feel of his fingertips curling around the crest of your hips, readying to take you hard. 

And then he does—pulling out almost entirely, then ploughing back into you harshly. Immediately setting a nearly punishing rhythm, the dirt beneath your silk shoes crunching under your foot as you rock with his motions, you calling out loudly with each jolt.

“Quiet, or I will spank you,” he warns, his face wild, even obscured behind his mask.

That’s an open invitation you are not going to refuse.

“Stop!” you yell, goadingly.

There is a stinging slap across your buttock that has you lurching, your head lolling down, a huge, unseen smile claiming your lips, little sparks of fire radiating from the point of contact, a beeline right for your clit.

“No more!” you pant, staring at the ground and rocking back into his snapped thrusts, wrenching a moan from you with every move, his cock a delicious heavy weight cleaving you open, as it always is. You could never tire of this feeling, when he takes you so hard you can only cling on for dear life.

“All I heard is more, fair lady,” he laughs darkly and spanks again, your other cheek this time, a matching handprint you feel glowing.

You pitch forward and teeth the carriage as he fucks you. His moves are harsh, grunting with each thrust. You bite down, knowing the dental imprint you leave will be a great source of pride for him, a lasting memento of just how untamed he can make you.

“Tell me you want this!” He demands, grabbing your throat and yanking you backwards, your spine flush to his front, speared deep onto his cock as he stills.

“Never!” 

His hand spanks you again so forcefully your eyes roll back. He withdraws slowly, then thrusts up so deep your toes leave the ground, him supporting all of your weight. It’s always so wonderful to feel like a rag doll in his arms when he is like this, speared open, utterly malleable to his onslaught.

Suddenly, movement catches the corner of your vision, and you look askance to see Benedict approaching, shirt billowing in the wind as he rides his galloping horse majestically across the moonlit field toward you. His horse whinnies as he dismounts in an athletic leap, bounding towards you.

“UNHAND HER AT ONCE!” 

His voice is a bellow the likes of which you have never heard from his before. It makes you clench reflexively around his brother’s cock, and you wonder how much jealousy is behind the following line that Anthony sneers.

“It appears you have a rescuer, my lady. How entertaining. Who is he?” Anthony demands, spinning you around to face Benedict while still buried inside you.

“My husband,” you improvise provocatively, pushing back into Anthony.

It’s not something you had discussed with them for the roleplay, merely that Benedict would be your rescuer. But the look of unbridled desire that engulfs his face as you bestow him as such for this scene makes your lungs catch, his whole body puffing out with pride. 

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. My. Wife.” 

Each word is its own sentence, his voice dripping with possession and intent, inhabiting outrage so perfectly.

“Too late,” Anthony snarls back. “I am already inside her, and she is thoroughly enjoying it. Her smart mouth may protest, but she is positively flooding over me.” 

That triumphant verbal swipe makes you stutter. Evidently, Anthony has been taking notes from his poetic, dirty-talking younger brother, who stands before you now, a quake in his being that could be a husband’s rage, but you know to be pent-up desire—his gaze trained on your exposed lower half.

“Wrong…” Benedict growls, taking a large step forward, pressing into your front so you are sandwiched between them. Your very favourite place to be. “She may be drenched, but you are not the cause, merely the beneficiary.” 

Benedict’s sizeable right hand curls into the hair at the nape of your neck as he stakes his claim on you with his words and deeds: drawing you into a plundering kiss, the outline of his cock growing harder, pressing hot into your belly, before he breaks away to continue speaking. 

“She is my obedient little one,” he proclaims, cupping your jaw to make you stare up at him, even as Anthony’s cock rocks deeper into your pussy, challenging his claim. “As soon as she so much as scents me in her periphery, she is dripping down to her dainty ankles. And that is why she is mine. My wife.” 

Benedict’s resonant cadence vibrates your chest and has you swaying, desperate for him as well. You feel Anthony twist a fraction to grab something from the carriage behind him, still rock hard inside you. 

“Do you forget, Sir, who has the true weapon here? Anthony challenges.

The cold barrel of the gun is pressed to your temple again. 

You mouth the words not loaded to Benedict, and he responds in kind, I know, before stepping back and holding his hands up in faux capitulation. 

“Please,” Benedict changes tack, “take our jewels, but please do not harm my wife…”

You are enthralled by this—the planning they must have done together to execute this and how effortlessly they both inhabit their characters. A collaboration that speaks to their growing acceptance of each other as equals in this dynamic. Even though you can see the lines blurring as they goad each other within the roleplay, spectres of their past power dynamic, where Anthony would taunt Benedict with you, setting rules that always gave him the upper hand.

“I have already ruined her,” Anthony smirks, thrusting once for good measure and making you moan before stilling again. “But I shall offer you a deal…”

“Anything…” Benedict pleads, utterly convincing now as the distressed, cuckolded husband.

“You may watch me fuck her, plant my seed in her, and I will be happy to leave empty-handed.” 

“Or…?” Benedict prompts, sensing an alternative.

“You may join me in taking her. I will not seed her, but I will depart with every single one of your jewels,” Anthony declares, nodding to Benedict’s ring on his little finger.

“Wife…. I shall let you choose.” Benedict's eyes scoot to you, still embodying his role, but his gaze pleading to let him in on the fun.

Silently, you hold out your hand to him, inviting him in. He takes it, bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles briefly in reassurance. 

“You have a deal, highwayman,” Benedict concedes to Anthony, pointedly removing his signet ring and handing it over your shoulder.

Anthony pulls out of you, making you whine at the loss, a droplet of wetness trickling down your thigh as he spins you around to face him. 

“I think your wife should be naked, would you not agree?” Anthony posits, his fingers trailing your scooped neckline to the swell of your breast as he gives an order: “Undress her for me.”

Wordlessly, you feel Benedict plucking at the buttons over your spine. As they relent, he moves to tug the slackened fabric down off your torso, and the blue silk flutters to the ground, a shiver running over your skin as a cool breeze swirls around your naked body. 

Anthony sucks in a breath, taking a half-step back, his eyes raking covetously over your naked skin. 

“You permit your wife to parade in public without any undergarments?” he chides, his tone dripping with judgment.

“Permit her?” Benedict chuckles, bemused.

You inhale sharply as he wraps an arm around you, hauling you snugly backwards into his frame, his long fingers then spidering down your lower belly, right into your damp slit. 

“I veritably insist upon it,” he gloats. “And she is more than keen…”

His teeth catch your earlobe as you whimper and writhe on his touch, little sparks of pleasure pinging around your body. 

“Always so ready for me, are you not, my darling wife?” 

You twist to meet his gaze as you nod obediently, and he rewards you with a crooked smile and a light pinch to your engorged clit that makes you cry out for him, punctuating his point. You yearn for him to take you roughly, needing this husband version he plays so well to claim you as his. 

“You are a lucky man, betrothed to such an eager little vixen,” Anthony concedes, staring you down, provocatively wiping his lip with his thumb, hunger barely contained as he watches you ride his brother's fingers. “Perhaps she can lick clean the mess she made of me while you take your pleasure?” he adds casually.

“I will do it,” you volunteer brightly, almost preemptively, and far too enthusiastically for being held ‘hostage’.

“Come now, sweet girl, at least try to act as if you are mildly perturbed by our predicament…” Benedict deadpans genially, his fingers stilling as he breaks character, and Anthony chuckles, looking equally entertained by your outburst.

“Sorry…” you whisper over a giggle, and it earns you a quick kiss on the cheek from both of them, their eyes glittering with amusement. “Please continue…” 

Benedict slides his fingers out from between your legs, you whining from the loss. But you soon quieten as you realise he is unbuttoning his trousers, knuckles brushing your bottom as he peels them open just enough to free himself, veritably pulsing for the promise of his cock too.

“Bend over and suckle him, wife,” he orders, back in his role, knowing how much you adore detailed filthy instruction from him.

“Yes, husband,” you demure, lowering yourself as requested, widening your stance as you do so—a blatant invitation for him to take you.

“What an excellent, obedient thing,” Anthony observes, his hand gliding into your hair as you peel his trousers open further, pressing your face into his crotch before sucking his tip between your lips, glazed with your arousal.

“She’s a wonder,” Benedict concurs.

Anthony’s fingers flex on your scalp, and his thumb rounds your jaw to pull down your chin, opening you wider. He thrusts into your mouth; your hands cling to his muscular thighs as his tip nudges the roof of your mouth, tongue pressed into his underside. 

He groans loudly, your tastebuds flooded with your tart juices and a bead of his salty precum. He withdraws then drives back in, nudging deeper this time, knowing it always makes you mindless, his grip solid on your head as he starts to fuck into your mouth. It has you squirming with supplicant need, begging Benedict silently for his cock, too, as he teases your slit, grinding his head over your clit.

Your call is entirely muffled around Anthony as Benedict finally takes pity on you, thrusting deep into your pussy, in one rapid, forceful move. Both ends of your body are utterly invaded, one of your favourite places to be, a carnal loop of pleasure that only they can provide. Anthony’s hands are heavy on your scalp as Benedict's grasp your hips almost punishingly tight—something so thrilling about you being bent over entirely naked between their clothed bodies. They work together to ensure maximum pleasure for you, intuiting your needs, Anthony withdrawing just as you need to draw breath but always keeping you singing with need, his cock something to muffle your noises, to suckle upon as they both drive you higher.

You sag into their hold, relying on them to keep you balanced, pliant to the push and pull of your being between these men as they use you just as you want them to. Entirely possessed by them, played expertly by both as if an instrument for all of your mutual pleasure. Always intuiting your needs, Benedict reaches down, pulling your arms backwards flush with the sides of your body, twining his fingers in yours, a possessive hold that means you have no purchase to prevent Anthony’s thrusts into your mouth. 

Benedict’s pace builds slowly, his cock grinding all those places deep inside only they can reach. His thrusts that cleave you open timed perfectly, his fingers curled over the pulse point on your wrist, syncopating his movements with each beat of your heart.

Anthony groans, causing his cock to vibrate as it passes through the tight ring of your lips. The tingle has you moaning too, a call and response that notches things higher.

“I will not last,” Anthony grits out, teeth clenched, his fingernails digging into your scalp, his thrusts into your mouth urgent now, barely allowing you any reprieve.

“Do as you will…” Benedict grunts, his noises guttural as you clench around him, a vice that has him dropping your wrists, sensing how close you are, too. One of his hands grabs your hip roughly as the other ploughs into your slit, catching your swollen, throbbing clit.

He changes angle to spear deeper, harsher, and you scream around Anthony’s cock, which fills your mouth now, breathing harshly through your nose as he uses you mercilessly.

“Look at me,” Anthony commands, grabbing your head to tilt your face upwards, his cock tip grinding the roof of your mouth, your hands again on his wool trousers for leverage as you stare wide-eyed up at his handsome face, angular and determined.

“So fucking beautiful,” he croaks, his thumb rounding to blot the tear forming in the corner of your eye from not wanting to blink. 

“Better and more priceless than any jewel,” Benedict taunts, still impressively embodying his role, each word heaved over a breath, “and all mine.”

The possession with which he growls that last word, plunging harder than he ever has, is the catalyst for all of you. The vibration of your scream around Anthony’s cock as Benedict glances at your hilt is what tips him over. A heavy pulse travels up the length of his cock, and his fingernails cirls into your scalp as he comes, a salty rope splashing into your throat that you swallow reflexively as Benedict's fingers and cock send you over the edge, your vision whiting out, as your whole body convulses, strong hands bandying around you to hold you upright as your knees almost give out, everything in your snapping taut as you come so hard you swear stars dance before your eyes. With an almost howl, Benedict roughly pulls out of your convulsing pussy, a warmth splashing over your lumbar spine as you all pant loudly.

Before you are fully cognisant, strong arms pull you into an embrace. You recover, caged by Benedict, his chest warm against your spine as he murmurs sweet words in your ear. In front of you, Anthony refastens his trousers, pulling the gems from his coat pocket, still impressively in character.

“I shall greatly enjoy the spoils of this evening,”  he taunts, holding them up so they sparkle in the moonlight. “But, if you should ever wish to share your wife again, you know where to find me…”

“How do you know I will not tell others of your location? Force you to move your despicable, criminal activities elsewhere?” Benedict counters as you drowsily enjoy their little theatrical, continuing purely for your amusement.

“Because of the way your wife is looking at me…” Anthony crows, stepping forward again to run a finger over your chin and swollen, darkened lips as he repockets the loot. “As if she wishes to ride away with me as much as she wishes to remain with you.” 

He draws you in for a fierce, possessive kiss, you gasping heavily, pliant under his invasion, still dazed from your orgasm. 

“Perhaps one day, if you are a good little thing for me, you could even earn your jewels back…” Anthony contends. “Until then, I bid you adieu…” he signs off, bowing, then turning heel and disappearing into the night.

—

A few minutes later, Anthony saunters back from bridling the additional horse onto the phaeton. Himself again, the roleplay scene over.

“Our poor girl cannot wear this; 'tis too caked in dirt and mud now,” he rues, no trace of the menacing highwayman to be found in his tone as he scoops your trampled dress up from the dirt track.

“We will just have to keep her warm for the ride back, brother,” Benedict advocates.

Anthony hums in agreement, chivalrously whipping off his shirt and helping you into it with affectionate kisses. After a quiet spell in their joint embrace - always your favourite place to recover from such vigorous adventures - they both tenderly assist you up into the carriage, arranging you snugly between them upon the simple bench seat. Both wrap their free arm around you as they grab a horse rein each. You burrow into their comforting presence as the carriage trundles away at a leisurely pace.

“Did you enjoy our roleplay, my girl?” Anthony checks, tone laden with affection, as Benedict turns to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“Yes, you were both so wonderful, exactly as I had hoped and more. Thank you,” you sigh contentedly, nuzzling into them both in turn.

“I cannot wait to hear of your other fantasies, sweet girl. I assume you have many more,” Benedict guesses, accurate as always.

“I am rather taken by the idea of adventure on the high seas with two swashbuckling buccaneers…” you confess, even as you have to stifle a yawn, the sway of the carriage and their warmth soporific.

“Well, after you have had some good rest, my darling girl, perhaps I will seek out our grandfather’s cutlass…” Anthony offers as he laughs genially.

You perk up, and your head pings between them. “Is that a promise?”

“Most definitely,” they answer in unison, two pairs of amused, sparkling eyes meeting yours as the beauty of Aubrey Hall hones into view in your periphery.

You cannot wait.

Anthony & Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; gn + beta!reader, a/b/o, implicit nsfw 18+

alpha jing yuan who constantly, constantly lets his teeth brush over the back of your neck but never ever bites. he never lets you get caught up in his ruts either. there's rumor about them. the general has a room extended from his office and he stays there until the week passes

the thing is you're a beta. you know about the things, the biology of it - but it doesn't have anything to do with you. you can't understand why jing yuan is like that around you. why he always seems to be so cautious. your relationship with the general is ambiguous at best, but those little moments always haunt you

but you catch him one day during his rut. you need to run something by him and the door is open slightly to the next room. you're curious so you go. jing yuan is sitting on the edge of the bed and his neck nearly snaps up when he hears your voice.

"general? sorry for intruding, i needed,"

"leave," you've never heard his voice like this. its sharp and serious but not cruel. it's almost like it's wavering "you shouldn't be here."

"is it because you're in your rut? i'm not an omega, general. there's nothing to worry about."

he laughs at that so loud it nearly startles you. it's unusual. the general is always so calm and collected. his hand wraps around your wrist as he he tugs you down towards him. you drop what you're holding as fall into him, and you try to push him away. but he's strong.

much stronger than you.

"there's nothing to worry about? i trust you're not naive. certainly you don't think i brush against your nape for fun?" he whispers - his voice thick and his skin so hot it burns "desire is separate from physiology."

you squirm. you try to leave but he's got you so tight against his chest there's no where for you to go

"there's rumor," he starts, his teeth against your neck - fangs sharp against the thin skin like you've never felt them "that if an alpha knots a beta enough times they can turn them into a sweet, willing omega. people say it's a fable, but i don't think so."

"general?"

"i think if i were to fuck a knot into you enough times and scar your nape with my teeth, i'm sure i could turn you into one with a little effort," he whispers against your skin "omega or not bears no relevance to me, do you understand? i'm old enough to control my instinct - but not enough to sate my desires."

you feel something hot stir in your stomach.

"so unless," he pokes your skin with his canine but doesn't puncture "you're prepared to satisfy them, leave my chambers at once."

[rassicas]

In the splatoon fanbase, there are many misconceptions surrounding the relationship between inklings and water. without fail whenever I mention something related to the topic I'll get replies of "actually the canon is [some popular but incorrect theory]" "no they can do this and this canonically [it's actually a headcanon]" "no its really [something NOA made up]"

so to briefly go over The Facts:

Inklings canonically die when submerged in water. And yes, getting "splatted" is them dying for real, respawning is also an in-universe thing that has existed for at least 2000 years and not just a game mechanic. While the dying in water thing originally came from a game mechanic, it has been repeatedly stated that they incorporated this into the inkling's biology. The water weakness is not because of the water itself being toxic. The reason is based in osmosis. in the process of their evolution, Inklings (and octolings) changed a lot, and one of these changes was the ability to transform between a humanoid and swim form. Doing this transformation requires skin that is a thin, semi permeable membrane [this kind of skin is a trait found in real life molluscs]. The evolutionary trade off is that, because of how semi permeable their skin is, the ink inside of their bodies will bleed out when in contact with another liquid. This is the answer given directly by the series' creator. And here it is confirmed that while the water weakness originated from game mechanics, it is very much became a part of an inkling's in-universe biology. Kind of like how a slug will die if you sprinkle salt on it (for a reason that's almost the same as the inklings), but ultimately needs salt in its diet through the food it eats to live, inklings do drink water and other liquids. Its also not like they touch water and immediately explode, it seems they can wash their hands in it and dip their feet in it and be fine.

Some people think the water weakness is stupid, personally i think its reasonable because Inkling biology is already weird as hell and of how ridiculously advantageous it is to be an ink-based cephalopod. the ink gives them the ability to jump absurdly long distances and cheat death to an extent. they're not losing much by not being able to dunk themselves in water. Anyway point is it sucks that all the relevant canon information on this is one of those japan only things/exclusive to developer interviews and pretty much every time it's brought up in English the localizers make shit up. I plan to make a video about this one of these days, but with how 'controversial' the topic is, and how many little details and connected concepts there are, I've been holding it off because I want to do it right. there's also some specific details that are unclear that I've been hoping would be clarified in the artbook or a dev interview but haven't, I might just have to go for it at this point. for the time being, i hope this post helps clear up a few things!

[rooksunday]

day four: accidental child acquisition for @corrieweek !

“Sir, can you come to the front desk? There’s, uh, there’s a Jedi here to see you.”

Looking up from frowning at his afternoon schedule, Fox redirected his frown at his comm. Widget was more than competent to deal with any queries that came via the front desk, and he and the other Coruscant Guard had an unofficial—and, as far as they knew, undiscovered—ongoing effort to avoid asking Fox for assistance if they could possibly avoid doing so. Some well-meaning but less than ideal concept of “protecting” him.

(Fox wanted to let them believe that they could for as long as he could. They didn’t need to know that the worst things came in golden packages, and not via yelling civilians.)

However, despite his message, Widget didn’t sound worried and hadn’t used any emergency code words. Fox couldn’t place Widget’s tone. Confused? Amused?

“Did they say what they wanted?” Fox asked warily. If it was Vos again, surely Widget would’ve just said.

The silence that followed the question was disconcerting.

“It’s— It’s not clear, sir. Could you come down? I asked for Commander Thorn but he said it’s better if you come.”

Fox’s frown deepened. “I’m on my way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Pushing from his desk, Fox quickly checked that his armour was production-line smart, and buffed his visor with the cuff of his gloves before donning his helmet. He left his office and marched briskly along the short corridor toward the front desk, where members of the public could—and often did—stagger in from the street to berate the Guard about things entirely outside of the Guard’s control.

What might a Jedi want? Did the barracks obstruct their view of the famous Coruscant skyline? (Thank you, sir, I’ll let the Chancellor know about the impact on your property value.) Had one of Fox’s troopers ran off without paying child support? (Thank you, mx, but your child is older than my troopers. Yes, mx, of course you can submit a request for a paternity test.) Maybe it was something more relevant, like actually helping with the war—

Fox stopped in the doorway. He pointed at Widget. More precisely, at the banned visitor in Widget’s arms.

“That’s not a Jedi.”

Widget jostled the little green being with the big brown eyes and bigger smile. “Well, he’s not a tooka, sir.”

The little one’s ears were certainly large enough but the being wore a tiny beige robe: Fox had seen tookas in jackets and booties, but never a robe.

Also, to date no tooka had ever done the mental equivalent of knocking on Fox’s brain and thought-shouting:

HELLO!!

Fox flinched, full-body, before he could stop himself. He never got used to that, no matter how many times the menace had announced himself that way. Fox pressed one hand to his helmet, pointlessly, and waved off whoever was watching the cams with the other; if he caused a galactic incident because he couldn’t cope with a Force-fuelled toddler, he’d be laughed out of his batch.

“Stand down, stand down.” To Widget, after a mental poke at Grogu, to which the kid only burbled a laugh, he said, “Do we know why this fierce and mighty Jedi is visiting us today?”

Widget nodded, still lightly jogging the tubie. “Grogu here has a note.”

Fox eyed the tiny three clawed hands, then tilted his bucket pointedly at Widget. Force or not, Grogu couldn’t hold a stylus. With a sigh, already mentally preparing his latest apology to Grogu’s crechemaster, Fox made a grabbing motion and Widget handed over a message scrawled in careful block capitals on a piece of flimsi From The Desk Of Mace Windu.

GROGU IS ALLOWED A PLAY DATE WITH THE CORA CORRI CORUSCANT GUARD. HE LIKES EGGS AND JUMPING !

SIGNED

ENMON, AGED 6 AND 3/4

CLAN KRAYT, JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT, THE CORE, THE GALAXY

Fox read the note three times. It did not become less damning with repetition. He looked directly at the nearest camera, recording Fox’s last days on 000 for posterity, and the camera adjusted its angle slightly to frame him in the centre.

Abruptly, Fox realised where Thorn was, and not incidentally where the holo footage of his ‘play date’ would be plastered within the next cycle.

Fox sighed again. Muting the batch chat preemptively on his comm, he stretched out his arms to Grogu, and did his best to beam a smile at the tubie with his mind. The kiddo had first appeared in Fox’s office not long after they’d arrived on Coruscant, and despite the best efforts of various Jedi Masters, Grogu kept wiggling out of the Temple and appearing at HQ.

Considering the type of visitors the Guard usually had, Fox didn’t mind a play date with a copikla kid now and again.

“Come on, then, Commander. I have my orders, he said, wiggling his fingers in invitation.

Grogu leapt into Fox’s arms with a cheerful ‘patu!’ and immediately clambered up the armoured chest plate to perch on Fox’s shoulder: Grogu’s favourite place. He liked feeling tall, if the image he sent of Fox striding through the streets like a krayt dragon were any indication.

Once situated, Grogu drummed imperiously on Fox’s bucket and burbled instruction.

Fox nodded. “Absolutely, sir. Let us go and solve the very important case of the missing cookies. It could be the key to cracking the war. Widget, hold my messages. I’m on an important mission with a top Jedi Commander, understand?”

Widget saluted smartly. “Yes sir! Should I, uh, should I direct any messages to Commander Thorn, sir?”

Smart vod, that Widget. Fox grinned. Grogu trilled a happy noise. The security cam whirred.

“Absolutely correct, trooper.” Fox stared down the camera’s red eye as he continued, “And can you forward him the details of my afternoon meeting, too? I think this mission is going to run over midmeal and I’d hate to reschedule the briefing with Senator Binks.”

When Grogu started to giggle, it was like bursts of sunlight in Fox’s mind.

Maybe the Force osik wasn’t so bad, after all.