#I preach rest and self care

[soaps-mohawk]

I get the feeling the poor girl not gonna be able to walk for at least a week maybe a week and a half. Also I wasn't able to tell at the end of the chapter if she was calling out for Price or calling Simon alpha lol.

Also your work is just absolutely wonderful Love, keep up the good work! Also prioritize your health before all we can wait for updates❤️

Mhm mhm Dr. Keller bring a wheelchair our omega can't walk. nothing's wrong, Simon just fucked her so hard she lost all ability to use her legs.

I answered this already and missed this one, but it was Simon. Simon got the big A this time.

Aaah thank you!! I'm planning breaks from now on since that two days I took last week healed something in me surrounding this blog so...🫡 finally taking everyone's advice and taking breaks

[smileysuh]

ride night

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader I ft. Johnny

🔮 preview. “You always told me you had a thing for older men. Said I wasn’t your usual type- not daddy enough for you, well, here you go, baby. Let daddy hear you moan for my cock.” You seriously can’t believe this is happening. All you can do is try to relax while Hyuck fucks you stupid in some dive bar bathroom stall, your core still throbbing and desperate after six orgasms from a vibrator while on his bike. The fingers on your oversensitive bud are unrelenting, just like your boyfriend, and at this point, you can’t even bring yourself to care that his ride night dad is listening in, only a few feet away. 

tw/cw. Exhibitionism, riding a Harley with a vibrator inside of you, multiple orgasms, fucking in a bar bathroom while someone (John) listens in, overstimulation, unprotected sex, vibrator as a ball gag, voyeurism, dirty talk, praise, choking, brief pussy eating, Hyuck has tattoos, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 4.9k

🍭 aus. Established relationship au, motorcycle au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. The I love Harleys saga continues but this time with NCT

You met Lee Donghyuck in the winter of your life. It was all cold weather, windy days and rain streaks against your apartment window. When you bumped into him at a bar, and he’d pulled you over to tell you that you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, things began to get brighter.

It’s been five months now, and the warmth of spring turning into summer matches the heat Donghyuck has brought into your existence. He’s enthusiastic, and so so good at making your day sparkle. 

A self-proclaimed ‘motorcycle skid man’ with tattoos and a generally bad attitude toward others to match, Hyuck has been raving about how excited he is to finally have a girl to take on his Harley night rides, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as stoked to be joining him in this aspect of his life.

You’ve been on his bike a handful of times since the riding season started, and while you’re getting used to the loud, vibrating engine, you’ve never been a backpack for more than fifteen or so minutes with the speed he goes at. This will be your first time on a longer trip, as his friends usually take a scenic route two or so towns over to get drinks at one-off dive bars.

He pulls infront of your apartment, and your entire body is thrumming with an excited energy you can’t even put into words. When he takes off his helmet, and shakes out his shaggy dark hair, you swear he looks almost godlike. The tattoos on his hands and neck are visible, but the rest of his intricate inkings are covered in a hoodie and ride gear. 

“Hey, princess,” he grins, pulling out one of his bluetooth earbuds to hand to you. “Are you ready for this?”

“Uh huh.” You accept the earbud, slotting it into place.

“We’re going to stop at my bike dad’s place to get you proper gear,” Hyuck explains. “He called me earlier and gave me a talking to about not being too much of a dick head with you on the back.”

Your Harley lover has found a family within his motorcycle fanatic friends, one of which, is a man named John who you’ve met twice. He’s always preaching about safety, as he’s been in the motorcycle scene for much longer than your baby rider boyfriend, who’s only been riding for two or so years.

There’s always a risk involved with motorcycles, and John has had too many friends who’ve gotten into accidents, too many close calls for comfort. 

The first time you’d met John, Hyuck had darted off to get drinks, and in the loud seclusion of a corner in the bar, John had warned you not to let Hyuck take risks with you. “He’s only brought a girl around once,” the twenty-nine year old had explained, “and even with that, he’s the only guy I know who goes faster with a backpack.”

You’re not surprised that John would insist on proper gear for a ride of this caliber. When you and Hyuck pull up to his townhouse, he’s standing in the garage with three different jackets laid across the hood of his new black ram truck. 

“Hey, Speedy Racer, hi, Princess,” John smiles, pulling you into a hug that lingers before assessing Hyuck as he’s taking off his helmet. “You excited for this?”

“So excited,” you respond, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hold onto this one,” John says, addressing your boyfriend, “she’s not a scardey cat like the last girl.”

“Trust me, I’m planning on holding on,” Hyuck promises, coming up behind you to wrap you in his arms. 

“So… is this the gear?” you ask, assessing the jackets on the car.

“Yeah, I bought these for my ex.” John runs a hand through his dark hair. “Figure they need a new home now.”

“Why don’t you get your own girlfriend?” Hyuck teases, squeezing you roughly.

John only sighs at your boyfriend’s antics. “Anyways, try them all on, see which one you like best.”

You shrug off your own wind breaker, picking up the first black leather jacket. It looks nice, but it’s a little large, and John explains that it’s usually meant for a hoodie underneath, which he can grab for you if you’d like. 

The second one fits a little better, but it’s still not as snug as you’d enjoy. 

When you pick up the third jacket, a white leather piece with black detailing, you can already tell from the feel of the material that it will be your favourite. As you put it on, you note the small amount of padding, the way it hugs your body. 

“That’s the one, princess,” Hyuck muses, looking you up and down.

“It looks good,” John offers you a smile. He turns, heading for a drawer, where he pulls out a pair of black riding gloves. “One last touch,” he explains, passing them to you.

When you put on the leather gloves, you finally feel like an actual motorcycle girlfriend.

“Are we good to go?” John asks.

“I just need to go piss first,” Hyuck says. “Princess, come with.”

John cocks his eye brow, but doesn’t say anything as Hyuck pulls you into the townhome, leading you down a hall to the first floor bathroom.

“What are you doing?” you laugh when he closes the door behind you, locking it securely.

“Got you something,” Hyuck tells you, reaching into his jacket.

Your heart thumps at what this present could be, and it lurches into your throat when he takes out a pink, egg vibrator.

“Hyuck, this isn’t a good idea-”

“Are you kidding?” he grins. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had, come here”

You don’t fight him when he reaches for your hand, tugging you closer. His lips meet yours, and you eagerly kiss him back, his tongue swiping against your own. His mouth quickly moves to your throat, and his breath tickles when he whispers, “You’re going to love this.”

He gets down onto his knees, quickly pulling your pants and underwear down. The cool air of the bathroom makes your skin tingle, and your boyfriend leans forward, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin just under your belly button.

“Hyuck-” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Be good for me,” he tells you, spreading your thighs as much as the pants by your feet can allow. It’s an odd angle, but your boyfriend somehow gets his skilled tongue licking at your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit. 

One finger enters you, then two. He pushes at the spongy spot that has your toes curling in your shoes, your legs shaky. Then, to your disappointment, he pulls away.

Hyuck looks up at you, watching your reactions as he brings the internal vibrator to your pussy, gently pushing it inside.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, breath hot along your sensitive inner thighs.

“Good,” you respond, swallowing thickly.

“Perfect.” He kisses your stomach, then pulls up your jeans. “This is going to be the best ride you’ve ever been on.”

The three of you had arrived at the dealership with ten minutes before the kickstands-up start time. Hyuck had introduced you to friends you’ve not yet had the chance to meet, and he hadn’t turned the vibrator on yet.

But when everyone gets on their bikes in preparation for the hour ride ahead of you, Hyuck reaches into his pocket, at first, you think it’s just to turn on music for your Bluetooth earbuds, but that’s when the low setting of the toy kicks into gear.

Your thighs immediately squeeze around him at the stimulus, your grip on his hips tightening.

Hyuck tosses you a look over his shoulder, then flips his visor down, turning to face the road and revving his engine.

The vibrations from the Harley and the toy have your entire body tingling with delight, and you realize that while this might be the best ride of your life, it’s definitely going to be the longest, in more ways than one.

You do your best to focus on the sight in front of you rather than the vibrations. There must be over twenty Harleys on this ride, and it feels momentous in some odd way to be a part of this. 

Your group comes up to the turn light outside the dealership, after this, you’ll be on the highway. The riders are in two columns, taking up one stretch of lane. When you turn your head, you realize Johnny is pulled up beside you. He pushes his tinted visor up, flashing you a wink while you all wait.

Hyuck turns to stare at John, and as the light shifts, they both begin to rev their engines. You can’t help the giggle of delight that bubbles within you, it’s as if the two are caught up in some type of pissing match, and others soon join in.

The first two riders take off as the turn light switches on. Hyuck shifts into gear, and the motorcycle pulls forward, your knees digging against his thighs for grip as you prepare for the speed that’s about to come now that you’re on the highway.

You’ve heard John and others call Hyuck ‘Speedy Racer,’ and you know your boyfriend has a reputation for breaking limits, but in your short experience backpacking, nothing could have prepared you for how fast all the bikes are moving the moment you’re all clear of the turn.

You can see the way the men are feeding off of each other. They’re respectful of those in front of them… to a point, but everyone looks like they have something to prove, or maybe it’s just a love for the extreme.

Either way, you can only hold on as the outskirts of the city flash by you faster than they ever have before. 

The music playing through your earbud shifts, and as ‘Or Nah’ by Ty Dolla $ign comes on, you realize Hyuck’s making you listen to his sex playlist. 

Fuck- Your pussy clenches around the vibrator, your fingers digging into his hips.

You watch Hyuck’s grip tighten on his handlebars, his veins flexing under numerous dark hand tattoos that always turn you on way more than they should.

His engine revs aggressively, prompting the rider in front of him to go even faster and close the gap between the person two bikes up. 

John matches Hyuck’s speed on your left, turning to look at you both. 

It feels suddenly very dirty - and exhilarating - at the same time, to be doing this.

If only John knew what sinful music is ringing through your head, what dizzying vibrations are coursing through your pussy-

There are small district type suburbs outside of the city, and you somehow make the fifteen to thirty minute stretch to the next closest one in what must be only five minutes. You’re breathless by the time you get to the next light, one of two on the highway in this zone, and even though you think you’ll be able to catch a moment of reprieve, you’re wrong.

Hyuck reaches into his pocket, dialing up the intensity of the vibrator.

Your legs shake around him, your breaths coming out in hot pants inside your helmet.

John is looking at you again, and he motions for you to lift your visor.

Sure, any rider watching you practically hyperventilate at a red light would suggest lifting the piece of plastic keeping your face contained in your helmet- but that’s the last thing you want to do right now.

Hyuck lifts his own visor, looking over his shoulder at you then back at John. He leans a little to the left to get closer to his friend, and John’s the one to ask “Is she good?”

“She’s perfect,” Hyuck shouts over the sound of engines. His hand finds yours on his hip, rubbing you gently. “Aren’t you, princess?”

Taking a deep breath, you lift your visor, managing a small smile at your boyfriends ‘bike dad.’

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure John, but your voice is shaky.

Before John can say anything else, engines catch your attention and all three of you look forward, where the light has turned green.

“Visors down,” Hyuck warns you, knocking his own back into place before booting his kickstand back up. The bike lurches forward not two seconds later, and you’re left scrambling to adjust your helmet before latching back onto your boyfriends waist.

There’s a sissybar at your back, and you know logically that it will keep you from sliding off the end of the Harley, but you’re still not used to this type of speed. You can’t help but hold on like Hyuck is your life line, and with your mischievous speedy racer of a lover in control of the vibrator wedged between your sensitive walls, he kind of is. 

Lucky for everyone taking part in ride night, the second light in this small town is green, and your group flies through, the signs noting the speed increase back to normal highway regulations- although, you’re sure everyone here is going way over what’s posted.

You can’t see Hyuck’s speedometer with his body in front of yours, and part of you doesn’t want to see it.

You close your eyes, giving in to the onslaught of sensations. 

The air ripping at your tight riding jacket, gravel buffering your knees ever so often, music ringing through your helmet, the powerful vibrator in your pussy, and the even more powerful machine that Hyuck maneuvers like a God-

If you focus too hard, if you allow yourself to enjoy all of this, you might just cum, and part of you wants to resist that, so you open your eyes, looking over at John on the bike next to you.

Hyuck might be the notorious dare devil, but John’s not all that angelic either. The man is standing straight up on his foot pegs, his butt raised completely off his seat. The wind is tearing at his leather jacket, and you can’t even imagine the pressure of the air he’s cutting through, battering at his body-

Even so, he looks as free as you’ve ever seen a man look.

Your pussy pulses pathetically around the toy and you grip Hyuck’s hips, legs shaking around his own.

His hand lands on your thigh, squeezing, as if to say ‘cum for me,’ and your body can’t help itself this time. You release all the pressure, your muscles going slack for a moment of peace before contracting from the power of your orgasm.

Your core throbs desperately around the vibrator, your eyes closing to enjoy the sensation.

Hyuck takes his hand away from your thigh, revving the engine and kicking into an even higher gear. The bike purs below you, as if she - like her master - is amped up from the energy of your release.

John sits back down on his bike to match Hyuck’s acceleration, and you can feel his eyes on you. Another pang of pleasure erupts through your form, your visor fogging up from how hard you’re panting.

Hyuck makes a motion at John, and with your vision obscured, it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s saying. However, when he forms his hand into a fist and shakes it aggressively to emulate a vibrator, you can almost picture the look of recognition behind John’s tinted visor.

You can’t bring yourself to think about it too hard right now, your orgasm still throbbing through you like white hot summer rays.

It’s hard to gauge time on the back of a bike. With the world going past you at what feels like a hundred miles a minute, it could be an orgasm that lasts five minutes, or five seconds, you’re not sure.

All you can do is hold on, allowing the pleasure to overtake you until it subsides, your muscles slowing the contractions around the vibrator. 

You don’t know it yet, but this will be your first of six orgasms on the back of Hyuck’s bike during the hour and a half ride to the bar.

Hyuck had turned off the vibrator at the first red light you’d reached after entering the town that will be your final destination. You’d slumped like a limp rag doll behind him, trying to catch your breath the rest of the way.

When the group of Harleys pulls into the bar parkinglot, you’re honestly not sure you’ll even be able to stand, and your legs are wobbly as you nearly stumble off the back of Hyuck’s bike.

You fumble with the straps of your helmet, tearing it off and taking a big gasp of air.

Hyuck’s much more graceful with his movements, bending down to pick up the earbud that’s fallen to the ground with the force of the removal of your helmet. “You good, princess?”

You narrow your eyes at him, knowing your cheeks are flushed and you probably look like a mess.

“I’ll make it better,” Hyuck promises, standing and pulling you into a breathtaking kiss. You can’t help the way you react to him, leaning against his chest and completely melting. It feels so good to be touched, finally, after over and hour of what feels like torture. You can almost forget about the gang of bikers whistling and howling at the sight. 

Hyuck pulls away too quickly, putting his helmet on his bike before grabbing yours to do the same. Then, he latches onto your hand. “Come on,” he says gruffly.

You want to ask if you should wait for the rest of the riders to park properly, but when Hyuck begins to tug you toward the bar, your words get caught in your throat.

The dive bar hostess’s eyes widen when you and Hyuck approach. “Hey, I’m with the group that just pulled up, my girlfriend’s been needing to piss since the last town, can we just use your bathroom real quick?”

The girl stammers, but Hyuck’s already pushing through with a gruff, “Thanks.”

It’s clear Hyuck’s been here before, because he knows exactly where he’s going. As he pushes you into the men’s bathroom, doing a quick look around to make sure it’s empty, your heart begins to thunder in your chest.

“Hyuck-”

“Come on, princess,” he shakes his head at you, tugging you into a stall, “I didn’t toy with you for over an hour just to leave you high and dry. You want to be filled, properly, don’t you?”

His breath is hot against your skin as he corners you into the small stall, pinning you against the black plastic wall. 

You don’t have it in you to wait for him to fuck you till you get home, but you don’t have it in you to speak much either, all you can do is whimper and nod, clutching at his hoodie to pull him into a kiss.

He groans against you, and the sound goes straight to your core. Hyuck’s lips quickly move to your throat, teasing by your sweet spot while you moan and thread your fingers through his soft hair.

When his teeth graze past the collar of your jacket, you push your hips forward, silently begging for more friction. He rewards you by pushing his thigh between your own, allowing you to grind down on him while his nimble fingers tug down the zipper.

For a moment, a scene flashes through your mind's eye. You envision John in a very similar position to where you are now, some faceless lover, adorned in the jacket that’s now keeping you from Hyuck-

 Your boyfriend buries his face in your exposed tits now, holding the leather open so he can access the cleavage pushed up by your bra.

“Hyuck, please-” you whimper, acutely aware that you’re in a public restroom.

“So needy,” he chuffs, nipping at your collarbone.

His hand slips to your pants, undoing them before roughly tugging the fabric down.

“Can you push the vibe out for me baby?” he prompts, thumb circling your clit.

The mere graze of his digit against your throbbing bud has your core clenching, following through with his command. Hyuck catches the vibrator as it falls, grinning at you. “Now say ah.”

“What?”

“It’s to keep you quiet, plus, I need this shit clean so I can put it back in my pocket.”

He’s such a fuck, but you dutifully open your mouth for him, accepting the toy.

The taste of your own pussy on your tongue has you mewling for Hyuck, reaching down to fumble with his belt.

You can feel his cock pressing against his jeans, and you’re practically drooling around the makeshift gag ball by the time you get him free of the denim.

Hyuck grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for a haphazardly sinful kiss. He licks at the toy, groaning from your slick that coats the plastic vibrator. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls, staring you in the eyes for a moment full of tension.

Then he flips you around, pushing at your back so your chest is pressed to the wall of the stall.

“Spread your legs for me, princess,” he instructs.

You do as you’re told, and he rubs the tip of his cock along your pussy lips a moment later. You moan around the vibrator, closing your eyes. 

God, you need to be filled so fucking bad-

“Always so wet for me,” Hyuck murmurs by your ear, his mouth teasing past your throat. “You came what? Five times on my bike? Six? You’re gonna give me one more.”

He pushes his cock into your wet hole, bottoming out immediately while your toes curl in your shoes, your nails clawing against the plastic wall of the stall.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips. 

“So fucking big,” you retort, and it’s true. Hyuck is around 5’9, maybe 5’10 or 5’11 on a good day in his work boots- but where he’s lacking - arguably - in height, he makes up for in cock. He’s probably around seven, seven and a half inches. And he’s girthy too, stretching out your tight pussy in a way a vibrator only wishes it could.

This is what you’ve been needing for over an hour.

All the toys in the world, but nothing, nothing, is like Hyuck’s cock. He sure as hell knows how to use it.  

Hyuck begins to rut into you, lips hot against your throat. The layers of leather covering your form are making you sweat, but then again, you’ve been sweating since that first orgasm. You can’t even bring yourself to care about the uncomfortable nature of this, because you’ve been desperate for Hyuck, and nothing is going to tear you away from this experience.

Nothing-

Except the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Hyuck freezes momentarily, then he slaps his hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds that have been escaping past the vibrator.

He picks up where he left off, railing into you even harder while your eyes roll back into your head.

Fuck, at this point, you feel like you’re possessed, spiritually, and physically.

No other man in your life has ever tempted you to be in a situation like this one, but Hyuck’s nothing if not a guy who broadens your horizons.

“You two are such animals.”

John’s voice makes your skin tingle, your eyes opening. You turn your head, meeting Hyuck’s gaze behind you. He only laughs. “Easy for you to say old man,” he calls.

“A vibrator in your girl’s pussy during ride night,” you can practically hear John shaking his head, “funny, I never thought of that.”

“Do you have something to say to me, or did you come just to chat and listen to my girl get railed?” Hyuck asks, irritation and amusement laced in his words.

“I got to watch her cum on your bike a couple of times, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it, I figure, might as well have some audio to burn into my memory too.”

Fucking hell.

Your pussy clenches desperately around Hyuck, and he laughs, kissing your throat.

“Oddly enough, John, I think my princess is into that. Open your mouth baby, let’s give John the vibrator to hold onto for now.”

You do as you’re told, spitting the toy into Hyuck’s hand and staring at him with a question in your eyes.

“You stay right here,” Hyuck instructs, pressing his hand to the back of your head to force your face against the wall. His motions have stopped, and he reaches behind himself to open the door. From the angle of where you are against the stall, John can’t see you, all he can do is reach in and accept the vibrator from your boyfriend. “Clean that off for me, will ya?”

You hear Johnny chuckle to himself, and then Hyuck’s locking the door again.

“Okay, baby, no need to hold back now. Put on a show for John, I know you want to.”

The first whimper that escapes you makes you claw at the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold plastic. Your eyes close, your teeth gnawing at your lip.

“Are you…” you swallow thickly, stifling a moan. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, princess? It’s only John.”

“Fuck-” you whine as Hyuck reaches around your front, his fingers toying with your clit. 

“You always told me you had a thing for older men. Said I wasn’t your usual type- not daddy enough for you, well, here you go, baby. Let daddy hear you moan for my cock.” 

You seriously can’t believe this is happening. All you can do is try to relax while Hyuck fucks you stupid in some dive bar bathroom stall, your core still throbbing and desperate after six orgasms from a vibrator while on his bike. The fingers on your oversensitive bud are unrelenting, just like your boyfriend, and at this point, you can’t even bring yourself to care that his ride night dad is listening in, only a few feet away. 

“You sound so pretty, princess, show John how pretty you sound, stop holding back.”

Hyuck begins to suck on your sweet spot, and you gasp loudly, eyes closing. Each thrust of his hips has his cock hitting a place deep inside of you, making your toes curl. Then he pinches your clit, and you suck in a strangled breath.

“Want you to cum for me, baby, show us that you’re a good girl.”

“Hyuck-”

“Now’s not the time to talk.” His free hand wraps around your throat, and you shiver with anticipation. “Good girls listen to their boyfriends, don’t they princess?”

When he squeezes your neck, your core throbs, and a few more circles of your aching clit has you seeing stars. You let out a strangled gasp, grabbing at Hyuck’s tattooed wrist, keeping his hand around your throat while your pussy clenches tight on his cock, your orgasm washing over you like a waterfall.

“That’s it, princess,” Hyuck coos. “And you’re going to take every drop of my cum too, right? I know how much you love being full.”

“Please-” you whimper.

“Fuck.” You hear John groan just outside the stall, and another wave of pleasure erupts through you, goosebumps fleckling along your flesh. You’re delirious at this point, overcome by the high that’s tearing through every fiber of your being.

“Okay, princess, I’m there- take it, take it-” Hyuck squeezes your throat even tighter, and you gasp when you feel his cock twitch inside of you, filling you up with warmth while his hips stutter with effort.

“Hyuck-” you whimper, beginning to struggle in his grasp.

He releases your neck, tilting your head so he can lean over your shoulder and press his hot lips against your own, tongue invading your mouth while he finishes.

You’re both gasping by the time he stills inside of you. He rests his forehead against your own, breathing deeply and looking at you under heavy lids.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers, pressing a shockingly chaste kiss to your lips.

Hyuck pulls away, helping you sit down onto the toilet so his cum doesn’t get on your clothes. He quickly wipes his cock. “We’ll give you some privacy,” he winks, exiting the stall. “Come on, John.”

Both men leave, and you’re free to pee in peace, trying to catch your breath.

When you’re finished up in the bathroom, you find Hyuck waiting right outside. His arm slings around your shoulder and he leads you onto the covered patio where everyone is already seated and enjoying drinks.

John waves the two of you over to a table, and you find it difficult to meet his gaze when you sit down.

It’s clear from the way John and Hyuck dive into a conversation with one of their friends that neither of them intend to discuss what just happened, and that’s fine by you. There’s always another time, and there’s always another ride night. 

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! He's never going to see this, but I just wanted to gush for a moment about how much I appreciate my significant other. For years, being a fanfic writer has been a touchy subject with prospective partners, but my boyfriend right now is so stupidly supportive of what I do here on Tumblr. I'm so blessed at all the ideas he's given me since we started dating, and this fic is just one of the many ways I've been able to creatively interpret aspects of our relationship into fiction so we can all enjoy even a slice of the joy that he gives me every day.

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🔮 preview. “You’ve been good, cum for your boyfriend, bet he’ll love it when you make a mess on his tongue.” John is so suave- he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to be respectful but still an active verbal participant while Hyuck takes you to the edge. The combination of dirty talk and Hyuck’s motions on your pussy have you clamping down with a whine, your muscles clenching hard around Hyuck’s fingers while you cum.

cw/ tw. Vibrating anal plug while on a Harley, exhibitionism, voyeurism, threesome, unprotected sex, protected sex, double penetration (cock & fingers), anal, dirty talk, praise, spitting, pussy eating, multiple reader orgasms, dom/sub dynamic, hand job,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) Princess, baby. (Hyuck’s)  master. (John’s) daddy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 240

🌙 starring. Hyuck & Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

Riding with a toy inside your pussy is one thing, but riding with a butt plug is an entirely other arena of sensation. It’s been two months since your first ride night, and in those months, you and Hyuck have discussed allowing Johnny to join you for some fun. Hyuck had only agreed if he would have complete control, and part of that control, is stretching you out like this.

The worst part is they’re not even going to fuck you at the bar. No, you’re going to be wearing this plug for hours, and only after everything is finished, will you be heading to John’s for the final pleasure of the night.

Hyuck had also chosen to give you a vibrating plug, and for the ride there, he’d kept control of it, but at the bar, that had all changed. Sat between Johnny and Hyuck the two had passed the remote back and forth discreetly, and whenever the plug would jump inside of you, your head would be whipping to figure out who had decided to tease you.

You’re accepting a glass of beer from the waitress when the plug begins to vibrate, and you nearly spill your drink all over yourself. First, your eyes shift to Hyuck, only to find his hands on the table, which means the culprit is John.

He flashes you a wink, and you think you might just die here and now.

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[aethelwyneleigh27]

Some Dad!Cod Character Scenario and Appreciation Post

Characters In Mind: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, König, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

The original creator of the picture, they also have so many works that are used in so many fanfics as well so please credit her. I found her account here on Tumblr (@ave661) and here is the post.

AFAB!Reader and used pronouns are "you"

Apologies if this is a bit too short but;

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

A/n: I've had a good but also bad week (good thanks to @puff0o0 and other extremely sweet mutuals), it's neutral, I'm not here to rant of any sort but my personal life has not been good. I understand that not everyone will like me but it feels as though everyone hates me, most of those people happen to be at school. Sure I'm not really going to do anything about it because I prefer avoiding conflict but those same people are trying to flip the story around as if I'm the one who hates them when in reality I don't and by being mean to me they're giving me a reason to dislike them. Sure I'm average academically, sometimes I have difficulty pulling my weight in group works and I'm not outstanding in reportings but we all have our difficulties. I just don't understand people who love to hate on others because they have nothing better to do.

This is a word of advice to everyone, don't let others let you feel insignificant, you aren't and you have many talents that make you different from them. (I don't really practice what I preach because I love self-deprication, however I don't want people to feel the way I do because I know what it can cause)

Disclaimers/warnings: OOC??, Pregnancy, Implied birth, Children (Pretty sure that was obvious from the title), People who don't want/hate children be warned.

Short note: This is also a dedication to all the Mistki and Hozier fans out there <3

He was so used to the smell of hospitals, the smell of medication, it always indicated death for him but this was a whole new feeling. It was the opposite of what he has seen most of his life

So much so that he refused to hold them, afraid of potentially hurting the fragile little one. He looked at you as if you were crazy when you tried to hand him the baby, "Come on now love, you can't just avoid holding them forever" you said to him as of it was a life or death situation.

Hesitantly letting you guide him through the proper way to hold them, he felt his breath hitch at the sound of cooing. The first time the baby opened it's eyes, the first thing they saw being their dad.

The moment he looked at the baby sealed it, he was going to protect them their whole life, he would go as far as feeling all the guilt of having blood on their hands again if it meant your baby would be protected and cared for.

The baby was so small that it's little head was practically the size of his palm, he didn't know initially what to do when the baby cried and shocked himself when he managed to make them stop.

Once the baby was old enough to crawl, he'd let the baby crawl all over him. The little one babbling non-sense while he just chuckled and replied as if he understood what the baby was saying. Gods be damned if he misses an important milestone such as their first word or their first time walking.

You'd often wake up to seeing him shirtless snoozing on the couch, the tv playing only ads for home appliances late at night while the baby only in a diaper having skin to skin contact with their dad, his huge hand big enough to support the little one from falling.

He almost cried the first time your baby reached for his face an touched it, resting it's tiny little fingers on his cheek, giving him a gummy smile. His little one unaware that they just healed something they never broke.

He NEVER wants to ever see your little one grow up, though sure it makes more memories with them, sometimes they just wish time stops for a second so they can enjoy the moment longer.

Initially was terrified that he'd pass his trauma down but he realized that wouldn't be possible and he will NOT ever let them go through what he did.

Eventually chose to resign from his work because the risk was far too much, what if he died? He'd leave you and your child to grieve over him? He won't be there for them growing up and he'd miss everything.

Sure he's worked most his life to get where he is now but nothing is ever worth more than spending a lifetime with you and your child together. He's been lonely almost all his life until he met you.

You are his family, his everything. He promised that whatever happens, he'll crawl home to you...

[thatbookgirl1118]

I cannot for the life of me find the original post (tumblr is a hellsite) but this was sent in an atla gc:

@the-badger-mole

and tbh i always kinda felt like kataang was weird exactly because of that one-sidedness??? like there's one episode of katara maybe sort-of seeing aang as a love interest (when the fortune teller tells her she'll marry a powerful bender), but then the rest of the show is her being passive in the relationship or actively pushing aang away (like their second kiss). and then at the end she just randomly decided "okay i like you i guess."

whereas aang got a bunch of pining moments and you actually believed he was in love with katara.

and most of their relationship was about how she helped aang - he did contribute to her character development over the course of the series especially as a bender of course but it didn't feel as emotionally/spiritually deep as katara's literal one episode sidequest with zuko.

but then someone else wrote "I would argue the opposite? Kataang is where Katara choose the peaceful nomad which subverts the trope presented where zutara is where she chooses the strong protector/combatant. Aang as a character is a subversion of the typical hero while zutara is like,,, coloniser romance idk"

and honestly... i kinda get that. aang was problematic in a lot of ways, but he was definitely a subversive protagonist, and i can see the power of allowing the woman to choose the pacifist vegetarian over the extremely obviously hot jock badboy. this is an incredible oversimplification of their characters of course, but the point stands.

Basically, Kataang is the ship we all logically want - the sweet, friendship-based, seemingly subversive one. But Zutara is the one that actually makes sense in the story, with these characters, not their tropes. Aang is subversive, but he and Katara are also kind of terrible for each other - he isn't mature or selfless enough for Katara, who needs someone to force her to take care of herself because she's always the one taking care of everyone else (wonder what that's like). That's why she and Zuko are so perfect, because he not only takes care of her, he makes HER prioritize herself. Aang... does not. He's pretty selfish, which yes is partially due to his immaturity (I personally don't count Korra as canon because it treated ALL the og characters terribly so I'm speaking purely from his 12 yo self), but it's also just a basic incompatibility thing. And Katara is actually equally bad for Aang - she enables him waaay too much, and he needs someone who doesn't. Who forces him to stand up on his own two feet and take responsibility. She's too much of a mother, and her relationship with Aang is too mother/older sister-ish.

With Zuko, on the other hand? Katara started out HATING him, forcing him to prove himself to her instead of handing him everything she had like she tended to do with Aang and Sokka. He had to earn her care, and as a result he appreciates it way more and demands way less of it. He's a far less selfish character generally for the same reasons, and is much more mature/has a better understanding of life and gray areas. Southern Raiders is a great example of this - he's down for whatever Katara decides because he understands that there's no one right answer, unlike Aang who simply preaches forgiveness. I'm not necessarily attacking Aang about that either - I do believe that grudges eat away at a person, and taking a life does haunt you, so forgiveness isn't necessarily bad advice. But it's not what Katara needed. Aang is great as a friend, but I don't think he's what Katara needs from a romantic partner. Zuko just... is.

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 1: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Headmaster Crowley is a nightmare, and Professor Crewel is, well, cruel. And to be perfectly honest, after meeting another dog-loving professor who doesn't treat you like absolute garbage, the Royal Sword Academy is starting to look a lot more appealing.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me!’

Crowley had chirped that very sentiment to you ad nauseum, with all the enthusiasm of an old raven eyeing a shiny penny.

“Do you really believe that?” you sniffled, angry, as you sat slumped over in one of his rickety office chairs.

People at this stupid school were mean. And yeah, school yard insults and casual accusations of being the House Wardens’ little bitch were one thing—but these assholes would go right for the throat. All of your insecurities—your fears—all laid out like a nice spread of hors d'oeuvres ready for the picking. You had endured enough sharp barbs for a lifetime, and the fact that your glorious Headmaster and self-proclaimed parental figure kept writing it all off as a ‘learning experience’ was driving you mad.

“Of course I do, dear child!” he beamed. “What sort of educator would I be if I didn’t practice what I preach! Words are but the wind, as they say!”

You nodded, sage, and shot him a smile so sugary sweet it could rot the teeth right out of his skull.

“I wish I’d never met you and I hope that all your feathers fall off one by one,” you chirped. “And I use the ‘Number One Child’ mug you gave me to scoop water out of the toilets when the plumbing fails.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open with a nearly audible clunk, and if he weren’t so wrapped up in all kinds of immoral, black magic, bull-shittery, you would have liked to imagine that maybe that had been the sound of his heart cracking in his stupid, embroidery-covered, chest.  

You popped up from your chair and breezily made your way to the exit. You propped yourself up against the intricate, wooden, frame and clapped your hands together like a bubbly preschool teacher addressing a room full of particularly dull children.  

“I’m glad we could get that out in the open in a completely pain-free way. Words really can’t hurt anyone!”

You managed to slip the door closed just as he started to wail.

.

.

That afternoon you made your way to Professor Crewel’s office, as had become your routine. It was nice. Sometimes you would help him grade papers, sometimes you would just nibble on fancy cookies and listen as he ranted about the incompetence of certain staff members which shall not be named.

Sometimes his dogs were with him in the afternoons—a pair of giant, lithe, wolf-like beasts that were most certainly of a very proud and expensive lineage. Jasper was the black one and Badun the white, and each had a coat so glossy and well-maintained that they could put your own hair care to shame. Badun was enthusiastic, charismatic, and would bound to greet anyone who entered. Jasper was more quiet, reserved, but he was secretly your favorite of the duo. Whenever you stopped in after classes, the shadowy hound would lumber over and rest his giant head in your lap.

“No puppies today?” you called when you were greeted with silence rather than a wave of happy kisses.

“They’re in for their groom,” Crewel mumbled, busy at work with his head bowed over some lab reports or other. Normally he would grouchily correct you that his two precious pooches were adults. Dogs. And should be addressed as such. He must have been really distracted today. Or maybe you were just wearing him down.

You settled into the lovely, plush, chair off to the side that you had long since claimed as your own, and set your bookbag on the floor by your feet with a thump.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence with nothing but the sound of scratching ink over paper to break up the monotony, Professor Crewel dropped his head into his hands with a miserable sort of sigh.

“You should not have spoken to Crowley as you did.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I of all people understand how frustrating the Headmaster’s antics can be,” Crewel continued, firm. “But you are still a student of this Institution—and one in a precarious enough position as it is. So you need to be mindful of your tongue.”

Indignation roiled through your gut, followed by a sharp prick of disquiet that you couldn’t quite place.

“Then he should be mindful to treat me like a student and not some—some pet project,” you huffed, kicking irritably at your patched backpack for want of nothing else to do. “And besides, what’ll he even do? Expel the one person in this entire college who mops up every single one of his messes? And I mean, it’s not like he’s running around the school crying or anything. I wasn’t that mean.”

Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose and you paused, mouth parting in surprise.

“Oh come on, he did not.”

“In the name of preserving our esteemed leader’s dignity I will say no more on the matter,” he grit out, and you fought the urge to immediately whip out your phone to message Ace, and Cater, and every other rabid gossip you could think of.

“Well, maybe he deserved it,” you snipped, crossing your arms stubbornly across your chest. A bit of cautious warmth spread through you and you nervously plucked at one of the loose threads on your uniform sleeve. “And besides,” you mumbled. "He can cry about me calling him a shitty father all he wants. You’ve been way more of a dad to me here than he could ever try to be.”

“I beg your pardon.”

You froze, fingers locking in place around the picked-apart edges of your jacket. The ice in his voice was unfamiliar and entirely unpleasant. It sent a frigid wave of worry curling through your veins. Had you overstepped? You’d thought—You’d just thought—

“I-I mean,” you spluttered. “I only meant that, well… Uhm… You’re really nice to spend time with. A-And, I just…” He made you feel like you were home again. Like even though Ramshackle was empty and cold, that you could still walk into this little office and say ‘I’m back!’ to an actual, real-life person and not just the shadows that lived in your foyer.

“Let me be perfectly clear, Prefect,” he sneered. There was an undercurrent of hostility running so sharply through every word that you were left wondering frantically if you’d unintentionally trampled over a sensitive topic. You hadn’t thought it was a big deal. You just—you just really, really looked up to him. And felt safe with him. And—And—

‘I’m sorry,’ you wanted to say. But instead you just let out an odd kind of choked squeak.

“I have no intention of playing parent to anyone,” he snapped. “Let alone an untrained brat who can’t even be bothered to play civil with the people who do attempt to care for them.”

Ouch.

“R-Right,” you spluttered, swallowing around the burbling lump in your throat and the warmth prickling along your lash line. “O-Of course. I’m sorry for assuming. I—I… uhm…”

‘I’ll just go then.’

But just like with failed apology, those four little syllables just couldn’t seem to make it past your lips either. So instead you just shakily snatched your bag from the floor and bolted from his office, burrowing your stinging cheeks as far into your collar as they would go. The last thing you needed to do was give anyone at this stupid school any more ammunition against you. And ‘Cry Baby Prefect’ sounded like another nasty nickname that would stick to you like gum to a flat-heeled shoe.

It’s fine, you whispered to yourself, voice wobbling far more than you would have liked. Grim hated when you came back smelling like dogs anyways.

.

.

“My goodness, are you alright?”

You blinked, harried, and glanced around yourself properly for what felt like the first time in hours. You were… not on campus anymore. Huh. What a trip. You’d never been so upset that you’d blindly run off into an entire new town before. But you supposed there was a first time for everything. You did remember feeling too nauseous to return to your little hovel for the evening, but you hadn’t really expected your frantic pacing to take you quite this far out of the way.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh. Someone was talking to you, weren’t they?

Standing in front of you was a tall, lanky, man in a tweed jacket. He was stooped down a bit to make eye contact with you, and those hazel eyes were creased with worry. His blonde hair was pushed half-off his forehead in a style that looked more haphazard than intentional, and the hand he was offering you was littered with splotches of ink. There were patches of white and black dog fur littered across his entire outfit like some horrible fashion statement, and the thought of puppies made your throat tighten up all over again.

“My name is Cliff Rogerson,” he said, steady and kind. “I’m one of the instructors at the Royal Sword Academy. Are you lost? Do you know how to get home from here?”

Do you know how to get home?

You laughed once, manic, and then promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, his heavy brow furrowing low with concern, and patted you consolingly on the shoulder. “Oh, dear.”

You were herded into a nearby café and directed into one of the quiet, corner, booths. The lights were soft and fuzzy in here, and the pleasant warmth of fresh pastries brushed gingerly along your frayed nerves. Mister Rogerson pressed a steaming mug of hot chocolate into your hands, and placed a delicately wrapped muffin off to the side of it. It was a tempting offering, and you decided to unbury your head from your hands long enough to partake.

“So how did you end up out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a student at Night Raven,” you mumbled into your cocoa.

You could tell he was doing his best not to look shocked, which was at least a dozen steps above the way the rest of your stupid school would just gawk at you in outright consternation.

“Forgive me,” he smiled, gentling his apprehension into something that was more polite curiosity that anything. “But you don’t really seem like one of their usual pupils.”

So you explained your situation—the Mirror, and the magiclessness, and the homelessness. You talked about your friends, and your new demon cat/evil baby, and how much you missed stupid things like good shower pressure and fuzzy socks. Mister Rogerson listened to all of it with an attentive sort of sympathy that you hadn’t seen since, well, probably since you were dropped face-first into a school full of burgeoning war criminals.  

“That sounds like a time and a half,” he said once you’d finally tired yourself out. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

You picked at your muffin. It was ridiculously fluffy and eating it felt like pulling bits and pieces out of a cloud. A very, very delicious cloud.

“Forgive me for saying so,” he hummed, pensive. “But your situation doesn’t sound particularly safe.”

You laughed. “That’s one word for it.”

Mister Rogerson frowned, another twitch of that uneasy worry playing across his face. He ruffled around in his jacket pocket for a moment and pulled out a neat, cream colored, business card.

“It may be overstepping of me to offer, but at the same time I do think as an educator it’s my duty to try and help every student that I can,” he smiled, kind. It crinkled the skin around his eyes. “The RSA is not overly far from Night Raven College. If you ever want to stop by—if you ever need an ear to listen, or just a space to get away from it all—my door will always be open to you.”

You took the little piece of paper carefully, like it was something precious. There were swirls of colorful music notes splattered across the backdrop of it—raucous bursts of neons that were as endearing as they were ugly.

‘Tacky,’ spat a too-familiar voice in the back of your head. ‘What sort of statement was this lowlife trying to make?‘ You could practically feel the phantom distaste emanating from wherever a certain two-toned professor had camped out for the evening.

Probably at home, you thought bitterly. Because he has a home, right? And you are not at all upset that you will never be welcomed into it. And that you will probably never get to cuddle his puppies ever again. Nope. Not at all.

You swallowed the little burst of unpleasantness that accompanied the train of thought, and pocketed the card with a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.”

.

.

.

Divus Crewel was many things, and unfortunately, being as cruel as his namesake was often one of them. He glanced back to the clock ticking on his wall for what was perhaps the dozenth time that hour. You hadn’t been by since his—ah—outburst a few weeks prior.

He had perhaps reacted a bit more unpleasantly than he normally would have. You’d just… caught him off guard was all. It was a bold declaration you’d made, and what? Had you really expected him to be overjoyed by the idea of forced parenthood? To swoon over the notion that someone had decided to latch onto him and his perfectly pressed suit like a leech despite the fact that he was so obviously thriving in his life of solitude?

And it wasn’t that he expected you to take his biting comments lying down. Oh no. You were fierce, and determined, and were most likely on your way here to bang down his door demanding recompenses for all your suffering. There was a tray of those too-expensive cookies you liked tucked away in his top drawer. Just in case you did show up and throw one of your tantrums, and he needed something quick to pacify you. That… That was all.

But each day that he waited for you to sneak back into his office was another spent in quiet solitude. Badun had taken to whining at the door and Jasper hardly got up from his bed at all—just tucked his black nose into his equally black paws and stared straight into Crewel’s soul. Like he was judging him.

He caught himself glancing at the clock again and forcibly turned back to his work.

This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And stubborn. And so, very, danger prone. Had something happened maybe? Was that why you’d disappeared—because you’d gotten caught up in some sort of trouble again?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—

He looked back at the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

His office door flew open with a BANG and he swiveled in his chair, ready to chastise you for making such a ridiculous entrance. Instead, he ended up nearly nose-to-nose with a weeping Dire Crowley. The man wailed into his clawed hands, looking very much like he might accidentally stab himself in the eye all the while.

“HOW AM I SUCH A FAILURE OF A PARENT?!” he bawled. “WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE TO PREVENT THIS?!”

“What?” Crewel gaped, head spinning. “What’s happened?”

Crowley let out another inhuman squawk and shoved a piece of parchment into the alchemist’s crimson-gloved hands. It was torn at the top, likely from where it’d been pinned to something before the raving Headmaster had swiped it. Crewel read over the familiar script with narrowed eyes, something unpleasant twisting in his belly.

‘The Ramshackle Prefect kindly sends their regards, but unfortunately has other commitments for this evening. Please contact Professor Cliff Rogerson of the RSA music department in case of an emergency.’

“MY BABY LEFT ME!” Crowley sobbed, nearly inconsolable. “WHO’S GOING TO DO MY TAXES NOW?!”

The leather of Crewel’s gloves groaned in protest as his hands tightened into fists—his nails biting into his palm even through the sturdy material.  

“What do we even do?” the old crow lamented, sounding so genuinely crestfallen it was almost unnerving.

Jasper and Badun circled their master’s ankles wearily, eyes bright and lips twitching with nervous whines.

“I think,” Crewel grit out, the note crumpling between his fingers, “that it’s well past time that we have a chat with the Prefect about the importance of personal safety. And of the consequences of running off with strangers.”

.

.

.

[flagellant]

I remember you being something of a scholar on christian theology. I have a question if you don't mind. My tumblr is full of people clowning on american conservative catholics that are angry that the pope basically fired that bishop in Texas, and the tumblr posters saying "lol u disagree with the pope that makes you disagree w/ god's word" or "that makes u a protestant" etc etc.

And while I do enjoy dunking on the trad caths, I think I heard at some point that the pope isn't always talking with his authority as god's most special boy on earth. That most of the time he is just being a human and therefore could be wrong/make errors. Not that I care about the jerk bishop losing his job, but I'm curious, how do we know when the pope is or is not talking with the authority of God backing him up? Does he have to say a special phrase at the start and end of the speech, or hold both hands up above his head, or something?

Okay so what you're referring to here is actually the concept known as papal infallibility, which is one of my favorite pieces of Catholic canon for one very simple reason:

You learn about it as being essentially the Pope is God's most special boy on Earth and what he says is always directly spoken to him from God and therefore is infallible. And if you are like me when you first hear about this concept, you will immediately get trapped in shower arguments for the rest of your life fantasizing about calling the Pope homophobic and arguing for the Catholic church to please stop being so goddamned homophobic all the time.

This is when you learn that papal infallibility is much more fallible than it is made out to be, and this is basically the source of the issue with Strickland, Torres, and any other Bishop that Francyman has decided to give the boot. See, papal infallibility isn't merely a divine play-pretend godmode button, it's a complex and intricate place within theological debate and Vatican hierarchical bureaucratic structure.

Without going into too much of a in-depth explanation, another way to think of papal infallibility is that it's essentially the Holy Roman Catholic version of the President of the United States declaring an executive order that bypasses the Senate. Infallibility is used for similar reasons--it's got a semi-strict set of rules attached to its usage, which means that the Pope is not constantly infallible, but rather that the Pope as God's chosen elect on Earth therefore commands His greatest attention, which allows the Pope direct intercession and communication with God on paths that the Church as a body should walk.

There are usually supposed to be bureaucratic machinations for dethrocking or deposing a bishop, much of which is directly connected to confirming and providing direct evidence for certain crimes that the Holy See would consider too serious to allow him to continue serving in his position. But the Pope is the divinely elected God-Emperor Best Favorite of Oily Josh and his Daddio Self, so generally speaking when it comes to the Pope, there's always the option baked in for him to say "Fuck you I'm the Pope and you're going to do what I say without precedent".

This is the core of the issue for the current Strickland debacle--there might not be hard-and-fast written rules stating that Strickland can be removed from office through traditional means, but Francis doesn't approve of what he's preaching and using his office for since it's causing the minorest of itty-bitty issues with his principled stance of being The Pope That Liberals Might Vaguely Not Hate As Much. So he's functionally exercising a form of papal infallibility by skipping over procedures and etiquette to tell Strickland "Fuck you I'm the Pope and you're going to do what I say without precedent", and Strickland is going "But I thought you would only do that to bishops who belong to brown countries :(", and here we are.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

If requests are still open could you please do a lottie x gentle reader? I feel like lottie is constantly comforting and leading others on their health "journey" and that must be exhausting. At the end of the day reader is the one to just hold lottie, reassure her of her place in the present and just let her be a person not a leader.

NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE

pairing: lottie matthews x reader

word count: 821

summary: you comfort lottie after a hard couple of days working at the wellness center, where she never allows herself a break

From the moment she returned home, you knew she was completely spent. She’d had a long week, you were well aware of that. New Years had taken its toll — the two of you had had fun in the celebrations around the wellness center, but a collective existential crisis was expected at New Years in any wellness center.

Lottie tried to hide her exhaustion, she always did, a bit of a hypocrite when it came to self care — always preaching it to others, especially to you, but never following through for herself. She claimed she didn’t need reassurance, she didn’t need coddled, but you always saw right through it, just as you saw through it now.

You watched from bed as she began brushing her hair after a shower at the vanity in the bedroom. Her movements were hurried and rough, you could hear pieces of hair snapping in her rush. It unsettled you because she took such perfect care of her hair usually, never this rough, never careless. Every stroke had intention, but not today. She wasn’t even sitting at the vanity, she was standing, looming over it. Trying to get her nightly hair and skincare routines done as soon as possible.

Silently you got out of bed and approached her. She must not have noticed your movement because she jumped slightly when you wrapped your arms around her from behind, pulling her into an embrace silently.

“Are you okay?” She asked. You could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

“I’m fine,” you said. “Are you?”

She nodded. You knew she wouldn’t voice her discomfort, not until she was so drained she had to relent to it. You wanted to make sure that didn’t happen.

You took the hairbrush from her hands, taking a half step back and watching her in the mirror. She was disheveled — maybe not physically, clad in black silk pajamas with her hair swept to the side, but emotionally — in a way only you were able to pick up. You guided her away, pulling her over to the bed and guiding her to sit down. You sat behind her, and gently you began to brush her hair, soothing the breakage she’d induced and carefully unraveling every tangle.

She sighed, leaning her head back ever so slightly, her eyes falling closed. She needed this. She needed a break. You were fully ready to give her one as you began to braid her hair carefully. She always slept with a braid, it kept her hair neat.

“You can talk to me,” you said. “If you need to. If you want to… I’m here.”

Lottie didn’t respond. Your concern grew. You crawled to her side, resting a hand on her back.

The braid unraveled.

After a moment she met your gaze, and you became immediately aware of how distraught she looked.

“Lottie,” you said softly, “what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. She looked genuinely at a loss for words, and she ran her hands through her hair in a manner slightly irritable, and silently you lamented over the tangles put back in her hair that you’d just brushed away.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, and for a second you thought she might cry. “There’s nothing more I can give.”

You pulled her into your arms, pulling her so that the two of you laid against the pillows. Lottie rested her head on your chest and took a few deep breaths, trying to regulate herself while you held her. You rubbed her back soothingly, allowing her to relax in your embrace.

“You don’t always have to let it get this bad,” you said. “You need to let yourself rest more. You don’t always have to be working for everyone else.”

“This place relies on me.”

“Exactly. It relies on you to set an example, and running yourself to the ground to suit others’ needs isn’t a good example.”

She sighed. “I hate it when you do that.”

“When I do what?”

“Outsmart me like that.”

You smiled, nodding. “I’m getting good at it.”

She cuddled impossibly closer to you, and you could feel her beginning to calm down. You could’ve spent eternity like this.

“I love you,” she said suddenly, when you were vaguely sure she’d fallen asleep. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I love you, too, but you’re the one taking care of all of us. It’s the least I can do to be here for you.”

“Can we stay like this for a while?” She asked, and you smiled.

“Of course we can.”

You’d stay like that for as long as she needed, holding her and comforting her and allowing her every moment of peace she deserved. You were comforted in the knowledge that you could be there for her in every depth of her need, and you knew that when the time came, she would just as quickly hold you as you so dearly held her.

[thyluvcupix]

Sakuatsu fic recs!

im very picky on what i label to be a 'good fic' most of the ones are amazing but only a few will get bookmarkerd by me and here they are! My ao3 acc that has many more book marks mostly nsfw i diddnt put here

1

A liar's truth 49k words

okay this one is just breathtaking? if you havent read this pls do i cried sm😭

summary:

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

2

I'll see you in court, motherfucker 2k words

its short and funny def worth a read if you wanna giggle

Summary:

“You’re still a fraud. You’re—you’re a scammer, is what you are. I don’t know how you convinced the hospital administration that you’re my husband, or that we even have a relationship, but I have—” Fuck, what’s the word? “Lawyers,” Kiyoomi says triumphantly, “I have lawyers, and if you’re trying to con me for some ulterior motive, I’ll have you know—” “Oh my god, Omi,” Miya says, sounding equal parts exasperated and horribly fond. “How can you be so cute?”

A pleasant side effect of being down one vestigial organ is forgetting the existence of your hot Olympic athlete husband

3

The 28 post cards you left me 8k words

Honestly, if i ever break up with someone this is exactly what i want from them? Like omg?? pls send me post cards, Super cute

Summary:

Atsumu takes texting your ex to a new level by sending Sakusa postcards in Animal Crossing instead.

4

The art of the thrist trap 4k words

naughty naughty, but other than that this fic is so funny? like ask ur brother how to rizz someone up

Summary:

“Samu, I’ve got a big problem.”

“Here we fuckin’ go. What is it this time?”

Atsumu needs to think strategically about how he’s going to phrase this. One wrong word and Osamu will hang up on him and Atsumu will be forced to wade through the hell of his own mind by himself.

“I jerked off to one of my teammates.”

Osamu hangs up.

5

Problem 5k words

super cute sleepy omi is something else

Summary:

Atsumu has a problem— somehow, he finds every version of Sakusa Kiyoomi adorable.

In which Atsumu realizes that Sakusa Kiyoomi gets very quiet and very adorable when he's tired. Things simply go downhill from there.

6

Take me where the music aint to loud 2k words

Protetive sakusa>>

Summary:

Winning against the Adlers must have meant something of a great deal to Sakusa, as usually he wouldn’t even consider going out with the rest of his team after the game.

Yet, here he is, in a somewhat crowded club, wearing a black button up shirt rolled up around his wrists and sweating a little under the bright lights.

Atsumu thinks he looks beautiful.

He wanders over to where Sakusa is standing with Meian, hoping that tonight, with a little bit of influence from alcohol, he might be able to get more conversation out of him than he can usually get outside of practice.

But of course, Atsumu can’t have anything good, ever. Because, blocking the way is his ex-boyfriend.

--

or; atsumu runs into his ex in the club, and sakusa has to rescue him

7

ROAD RAGE 2k words

This is funny on so many levels poor atsumu he fears for his life

Summary:

For a man who preaches at any given opportunity about the importance of good self-care practices, Sakusa certainly displays an astounding lack of self-preservation when behind the wheel.

Sakusa Kiyoomi has a driver’s license. Sakusa Kiyoomi cannot drive.

The two are not mutually exclusive.

8

The ascent to love (or descent) 3k words

Im always a sucker for hurt/comfort and this fic gives me that, its also funny as well so its a win-win type thing

Summary:

Stuck in an elevator with his boyfriend after a fight, Sakusa Kiyoomi couldn't think of anything worse. Working through their issues?  Maybe he could think of one thing.

9

Take me home 10k words

i just cannont stress how good this is, like its soul healing on so may levels gosh

Summary:

Turns out, Miya Atsumu never did a good thing in his life – his love was one-sided. And so, he was running away, hoping to meet some friendly people, take a bunch of pretty pictures and get over Kita Shinsuke.

In which Miya Atsumu is an exchange student in Italy, and Sakusa Kiyoomi is the only one knowing Japanese, forced to take care of the new student.

10

Hope is the thing with feathers 10k words

Two dummies taking care of some birds is honestly to good

Summary:

Kiyoomi wakes to Miya banging on his door, yelling words that put the fear of god in him.

“Omi-kun, get out here, we’re gonna be fathers.”

11

In the stars 1k words

In all honesty it made me think of the other side of love i never thought about

Summary:

Miya Atsumu is a romantic. He always had been. He believes in soulmates and destiny and true love in the stars. Sakusa Kiyoomi believes none of that.

My ao3↵

[writing-yarn-goblin]

GUESS WHAT, B*TCHES!

I’m baaaaaack!~

It’s March and I post whatever I fuckin’ want! Oh yeah, it’s a songfic!

Character: Sir Crocodile (a little bit of Katakuri Charlotte, but just a smidge)

Relationship: slight KatakurixXReader but also catching Sir Crocodile’s eye (and more)

Song: Sweet by Unlike Pluto

Warnings: forced marriage, drug mention, alcohol, Crocodile being himself

~*~

“Introducing for one night only! The beauty that pounds whiskey like a sailor and sings like an angel: (Y/N) (L/N)!”

You heard the crowd go wild.

The sigh that escaped your lips as you took a long drag of the almond-vanilla flavored cigar that was currently in between your gloved hands as you made your way to the stage.

The sway of your hips, the tight knee-high black dress with a sweetheart collar hugging your curves lusciously as your hair was kept messy, framing your face and to finish the look- a pair of Mary Jane kitten heel shoes.

Your lips were dark red but the rest of the make up was simple.

A little powder, cat-eye liner and blush.

A wink could decimate nations, said your fiancé once.

The lights on the stage were on you as the white fur coat you were wearing slid from your shoulders to your elbows as you gently gripped the microphone’s stand as your lips opened to do their thing.

“My baby and I like new silky sheets every night.

He buys me bourb' and whiskey neat,

And keeps on comin' every week…”

Your stare could only focus on the table were your lug of a fiancé was.

Charlotte Katakuri.

He seemed bored with his surroundings. Not really his scene but he had to keep up appearances as head of this town’s sweets factory. His mother made sure to pop out enough children to make an infuriatingly huge monopoly of different businesses just so she could have absolute control of most markets.

“Ooh, he wants the suburbs

When school's out for summer

And we live by his mother

I keep my drugs in the cupboard 'cause”

You could only look at him with a little spite.

“I'm only sweet when I'm high…”

You noticed that the normally serious face he wore suddenly made a move, his lips twitched downwards as he downed his LIT, completely in one gulp.

This finally got him.

He looked down at his drink as you kept singing your song, almost like if he was contemplating how guilty he felt to just have picked you from a line of potential wives his mother gave him and he just picked you.

Little, wild you.

You, whom he thought would be gracious enough to accept a marriage proposal out of the goodness of your heart.

‘What a shame’ he thought. ‘I thought this recent flight of fancy would keep her calm’ he argued with his head.

He didn’t noticed that he wasn’t the only one staring at the beauty with a savvy mouth.

He wasn’t the only magnate in this town.

“In class, I learned to lie

To pretty boys, to pass the time…”

She stared at him as she sang this particular verse.

How many times has she lied to him just to get him off her back?

How many times did she pretend to be okay in front of him?

How many times did her whispered words meant what they preached while he was in the passionate throes of sex?

He had it.

He stood up from his table and grabbed his coat, leaving on the table a shiny object with a scarp of paper that said “goodbye”.

He didn’t notice on his way out the door of the glare that was directed to him from the bar. Cigar smoke filtering out as he heard the man at the bar to bring the lady’s belongings to him, that he’d take care of her moving forward.

“'Cause I got that good shit, Alabastian pride.

Kiss the kids goodnight and take the Harley for a ride”

The man at the bar just grinned.

That seemed like Little Miss Sailor was in the market again.

Not that he had to do much.

She did it all her self in an act of defiance towards the softest yet most ruthless of the Charlotte’s. And she didn’t even get to the good part of this song.

The man at the bar was a tall man. Not as tall as Katakuri but still very tall. He had suffered the loss of a hand but that didn’t hinder him at all, he had prosthetics to make up for the loss of a limb, he just preferred the gold hook on his missing limb.

He saw how the lonely woman stared at the table bitterly, almost relieved that she didn’t have to talk to what he could firmly say was her boyfriend.

“Ooh, I get so bored, scrub the floors

Then get drunk while doing chores

Does he even know me…?”

He had enough of waiting.

“Waitress? I want that table.”

A woman like that deserved to be looked upon closely.

“Ooh, I'm never sure when he'll be home

Get into trouble on my own

I don't get lonely…”

You were still singing your little heart out as you batted your eyes to shake some of the tears. Katakuri wasn’t a bad man, but you would’ve rather to pick your own groom and wed because you wanted to.

Not because your own family wanted to have financial relief in these trying times.

Such was the life of the eldest daughter.

But no matter, you could firmly say that your groom-to-be was no longer in the horizon as he left with a disappointed frown.

“I’m only sweet when I’m high…”

You spoke the last verse, only to have the whole club erupt in howls and cheers.

With a bashful smile, you made your way behind the stage and down to the main floor.

You felt a little taken back when your things were on your usual table, but relieved when one of the waitresses directed you to your new table.

In the VIP section.

With your things.

You looked at how this dashing mystery man was taking a drag from his cigar and seemed to be pouring two glasses of champagne.

You had to be careful, however. This day and age, most men can and will do anything. But this man just massive and intimidating. The scar upon his face should’ve scared you but, you were used to men with…interesting features.

“Take a seat. We have a few things to converse about, Little desert flower.”

…to be continued?

[thrileikur]

you know what? maybe it is a detriment to the rummaging values that season 1 tried to seep in to the watchers that the carmy richie freezer argument was when the show really started to tip over. it is melodramatic even if my overall opinion on it hasnt changed.

but one thing i dont think thatll budge for me is richies side of the whole story. like, carmy had sent him to stage to ever to get some formal experience and it did way more for richie than i think either had expected, since not too long in the show we see him at his lowest point and brushing off the idea that he would be anything without the beef, and it was all being taken away from him because the rest of the staff wanted a true change of pace. i dont think we like the richie arc because of how differently it flipped his values on high end dining just because of carmy, it was the fact that it wasnt late for him to do better at his old age of 45 which is what im trying to get across here. so when they started arguing like in season 1 in a much higher stakes environment (basically without facing each other), he was doing it because carmy wasnt practicing what he was preaching to him at the start.

i think him being so unadulterated in the scene, with his remarks his old impotent patriarchal-like character couldnt replicate earlier on in the series had to have been caused by his lifelong frustration with him for having more of a ordered reaction to incidents he couldnt afford to have because how he was brought up. carmy is the youngest of three siblings which mustve put him in some place growing up that richie couldnt since we wouldve known if richie even has one by now (probably not). that makes me think, even though carmy was chewed out and became the one thing he wasnt enthusiastic at all to become, at least he had become a different person who inadvertently knew how to bring together people once upon a time, to which in richie's eyes, if he was able to do it in an environment no one would naturally want to work at, even carmy, then maybe, just maybe he'd look up for once and have some fucking self-awareness of the situation hed put everyone he thinks he cares about in. the donna comparison was very shittily delivered when you give it context but like richie said, someone had to tell him, and he was dry out of options at that point

does this make sense? its very stream of consciousness and is almost a direct reaction to some of things about season 3 ive been seeing lately, but i just cant let the argument scene in s2e10 be caught in the crossfire with people saying that it was the start of the fall of the series or whatever. imo it was written exactly how it shouldve been within the timeline of things

[green-alien-turdz]

What are your headcanons for the main five, if you dont mind answering. I really like your take on all of them (Especially Kyle!!) and id love to hear more of your takes on them, aside from what you include in your art.

I'm curious as to which headcanons you're really interested in, but I will do my best to try and cover as much ground as possible.

Keep in mind that this is all teen headcanon's (so like 17-18)

STAN: Doing his best to not fall apart at any moment. Home life is still pretty ass and Randy is a dickwad like always. Sharon is a good constant in his life, and she's become much more lenient with him over the years, knowing that he's got a lot of shit on his plate. Is still in Crimson Dawn because it helps him vent his frustrations. Worked rather hard to not be an alcoholic, but doesn't turn down drinking with Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny. Genuinely making an effort to try and take care of himself and trying to get Kyle to do the same. He is also going to be narrowly graduating by the skin his teeth with help from Wendy (who is simply a friend), and Kyle. He also became much more into protest groups, but to the dismay of his friends who are forced to watch hundreds of documentaries and listen to him read articles. (The intensity of this passion came from trying to find a purpose in life when he was at his worst, mentally.)

/\ Both like one another but have no clue where to go from there \/

KYLE: In desperate need of anger management classes. The pressure of always trying to be perfect and excel at everything caught up with him in about 6th grade, where he'd start trying to control every aspect of his life in the worst ways possible. Sheila and Gerald are completely blind to any of this, seeing as the grades never dropped, so they assume all is well. Despite that, he does still preach about self-care and the importance of letting out "pussy emotions" to the rest of his friends, who are all well aware of his issues (sh + ed) but aren't sure how to fix them. He is also Crimson Dawn's biggest supporter and is usually wearing the same shirt because he finds comfort in it.

CARTMAN: Thriving in his own sense. He still has an insane amount of unwarranted confidence, but he does still have some insecurities (the narcissism often cancels it out though). He has become more barrable with age, but that's not saying much. Somehow, he still can't grasp why no one outside of his friend group even likes talking with him. Has a thing for Wendy again, but it's very on again and off again between the two, seeing as Wendy will usually get bothered by him and then dip. Genuinely does care for his friends (in his own way), but masks it with insults and fighting. May or may not purposefully drive away all of his mom's boyfriends, afraid of losing her care and attention. - EXTRA: Worked at the sewerslide hotline as a joke for about a week before getting fired -

KENNY: Can't take a single thing seriously because if he does, it'll break him. Takes pride in being the most comedic person in the room, always trying to one up the next guy, typically with gross out humour. Spends most of his time away from home, unless it's to take care of Karen, but he often takes her out with him, even to his jobs. He still works at City Wok, but also picks up other odd jobs around town. Stan will also give him a shit ton of Randy's supply to sell around to minors as a way to get some extra cash. Similar to Stan, he's not doing so great school wise, seeing as he spends so much time working, and would rather be with friends in his free time, but Kyle also helps him to make sure that he's going to graduate. When it comes to his friendship with Marjorine/Butters, he's the main supporter, doing what he can to help out. -EXTRA: While he doesn't have time very often to do so, he does try and go out as Mysterion when possible)

BUTTERS/MARJORINE: Get this bitch out of her household now. After many years of uncomfortable confusion, finally came to the conclusion that being Marjorine was what she wanted. Despite an unaccepting homelife, she is very openly feminine once out in public, getting dressed into clothes she likes in public restrooms. Going to graze over the home abu$e we know occurs. She mainly hangs out with Kenny and everyone else when she can but spends a lot of time grounded. Getting a job at the mall has helped with being able to get some time to be herself. She also really enjoys being the guitarist in Crimson Dawn and is one of the few times she'll actually let negative emotions out. Although there is still the occasional outing as Professor Chaos.

As a whole, they're all still dickwads who love going around town and fucking shit up. They are NOT well liked because they're so obnoxious, and they're very likely going to be the ones behind random destruction and vandalism. They still love scheming and ruining the lives of others, but try to be less open about it as to avoid getting in trouble with the law as an adult.

(If you have any specific headcanon's you were looking for, feel free to send an ask! I'm not sure what it was you were looking for, so please let me know if I missed anything you were curious about.)

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Would you ever write a modern AU one shot/headcanons that would include Varang in any way? I don't think I've seen anyone write anything about her in the modern world. Can you see any universe where she would date Quaritch and be Spider's stepmother?

I’m not opposed to it and as I thought about your ask I definitely got ideas that I’m excited to share!

First I’m personally not into the idea of Quaritch and Varang getting together. I think she’s going to be way more crazy and evil than he is pushing Quaritch more towards the good guys. I don’t think he going to have a redemption arc by any means (nor does he deserve one) but I think for the sake of Spider he’ll be a begrudging anti hero. Also I can’t deny despite the fact the actors are playing characters that our roughly in the same physical age range I can’t separate the actors massive age gap from their characters. If they got together I’d just be thinking about how someone in their thirties is making out with someone in their seventies and cringe. So yeah I just don’t want to see that.

As for some modern au ideas:

So I don’t think I’m really theorizing when I say Varang is going to be a cult leader. It seems pretty clear from everything we’ve learned.

So in a modern a.u she’d still be a cult leader. She runs a compound down in Texas that’s fully self sufficient and off the grid. On the surface it’s a utopia. She takes in every “lost soul” who comes her way. Drug addicts, homeless, queer people, gender non conforming people and just people disillusioned with life and wanting something better. And at first it is great. Everyone gets a room to themselves. They get to pick a job on property, farming, taking care of livestock, managing the power grid, making clothes, cooking, those kind of things. If they need medical care or mental health care they get it completely for free. There’s a real sense of community that most people have never felt before.

It creates the foundation for complete devotion to Varang. Varang saved you. Varang gave you a life. A family. And she is the head of that family. They worship her like their god every night. Listen to her preach about life and the way things should be. How the rest of the world is evil and cruel. How she is the only one that can protect them from that.

If you want to move up the ladder you have to show how devoted you are to Varang. The first step is getting Varang’s symbol branded on your body, typically on the shoulder or wrist. They wear bright red and all wear their hair in the same style regardless of gender identity.

Of course the cult gets into legal trouble every once in a while. Family members of cult members who are worried sick about their child, or sibling, or spouse and try to sue or involve the police to get them back. Varang orders her most loyal to send them a message. They send snakes and dead animals in boxes. Draw messages in blood on their driveways. Stand outside their work for hours to intimidate them.

Varang starts stockpiling weapons preparing for the day when they’ll have to make a stand against the government. It hasn’t come yet but they are ready. Ready for full on war.

As for a story since I write manly about Quaritch and Spider I have an idea set more in my Military Brat au where Quaritch is an overbearing dad raising his son as a single parent. He’s so strict and smothering that at age 16, Miles Jr, who he refuses to call by his chosen name Spider runs away from home. Spider having been raised like he was in the military is really good at staying gone, having no issue living in the woods, sneaking onto delivery trucks, trains and buses until he ends up in Texas. Quaritch is hunting him down the entire time terrified for his son.

While in Texas Spider gets found by a truck driver and the driver is pissed at his hitchhiker. Spider is running for dear life. The driver chases him with a gun. At some point in the chase Spider trips, falls down a steep hill and into the dense foliage at the bottom. On his way down his ankle catches on something and twists. Luckily he loses the truck driver but now he can’t walk. He wads up his shirt to bit down on while he sets his own ankle. Then he rips it into strips, takes some thick sticks and wraps it around his ankle to stabilize it. He painfully limps his way to the road. Cars pass him up for hours. It’s one in the morning he’s freezing cold and starving when a bright red car pulls up. There’s two people in there mid thirties inside dressed completely the same in the same shade of red as the car. It totally creeps him out but he’s desperate for help. He gets in the car.

The compound seems really nice on the surface but Spider’s stomach is still squirming. He’s immediately taken to the med bay to get his ankle properly treated. Then they show him to the bathroom so he can have a hot bath. A hearty meal and fresh clothes are waiting for him in his room. Spider stays there while he heals but of course he never gives into their brain washing. The nightly gatherings where they all worship Varang freak him the fuck out and everyone is just too docile. Like a heard of sheep. Once he’s fully healed he’ll run again. 

After some investigating Quaritch finds out Spider is there. He calls the cops to get his son back but they drag their feet. They explain to Quaritch that his son is in a dangerous cult. A cult that will violently retaliate if they go after them. The authorities know it’s them but they have no real evidence. But if they could get some evidence of wrongdoing then they’d have reason to shut the whole place down. Quaritch agrees to enter the cult to get back his son and find a way to shut them down.

Spider’s been there for months at this point and he’s completely healed. But when he tries to escape he’s caught and brought straight to Varang. Her voice is smooth like a cats purr. She seems so gentle and understanding. To the motherless boy it’s so inviting and part of him want to give into her. But theirs a cruelty in her eyes. A harshness in her smile that puts him off. He wants to try and run again but instinct tells him that’s a dangerous idea. He’d have to bide his time, be observant and wait for the perfect opportunity if he was going to get away.

But one day he’s sitting in his room trying and failing to read a book, daydreaming out the window. At first he can’t believe but when he realizes what he’s seeing he’s insanely relieved to sees his dad walking up to the main house flanked by two higher up. He almost can’t remember why he ran away as he races from the room. He’s scared of this weird creepy place and he wants to go home. “Dad,” he yells running up to him.

His dad wraps him up in fierce hug, sighing in relief. “There’s my boy.”

“This is your son,” one of the higher ups says, clearly unhappy and defensive.

“He sure is,” Quaritch says putting an arm around Spider’s shoulders, “of course I was terrified when I’d first learned where my boy had run off too. But as I learned more about your place here - it seemed like paradise. I want to start again. I want to serve Varang.”

Spider gives him a look that screams, “what the fuck kind of koolaid have you been sipping.” The higher ups are satisfied with this answer though. But this is such a strange situation for them that they take father and son right to Varang.

The woman stoically takes them both in as a subordinate whispers in her ear. There’s a sharp intelligence in her eyes as she mentally dissect them. “Well, now I can see where Spider got his good looks.”

Quaritch scoffs, “his name is Miles,” the boy’s shoulders slump, gaze going to the ground, “and he takes after my late wife not me.”

Varang clicks her tongue her eyes saying sure whatever . “It’s been a joy having Spider here with us. He was in quite the state when we found him…”

“State? What state?” Quaritch asks in a panic his attention going to his son. He grabs the boy’s shoulder trying to get him to look him in the eye. “Miles? What happened to you?” He mumbles a response making his father’s anger flare. “Don’t mumble, answer me like a man!”

“I just twisted my ankle!”

Quaritch automatically went into helicopter mode, “twisted your ankle! Which one! How were you treated! Are you completely healed?! I want x-rays! I want your medical record! I…

Varang clears her throat to get his attention. “Well I see why you ran away.”

Quaritch snarls, “he was just being rebellious.”

“Why don’t you let Spider speak for himself.” All eyes turn to him. Spider stays quiet. “Were you afraid of your father Spider?”

“What? No!”

“I’ve never laid a hand on my boy!”

Varang raises a skeptical eyebrow, “well how was I to know? People who feel loved, safe and supported typically don’t run away from home.” Quaritch growls. “I have a proposition. I don’t believe that you are here for the reasons you say and I do not believe that you are as decent of a father as you think you are. But I would love to be proven wrong. So, tonight, unburden yourself.”

“What?”

Spider’s blood runs cold. He’s heard people talking about the “unburdening”. You sit around a fire and tell everyone your deepest secrets. It sounds simple but he’s seen it at a distance and it looks freaky.

Varang explains a simple version of it to Quaritch. He agrees to go through it.

That night father and son are led out to a field. The fire is already burning bright. Drummers are playing a stirring beat. Varang and her closest followers are decked out in bright red but more notable Varang is wearing a terrifyingly impressive head dress while everyone else is in horrific masks. On instinct Quaritch pulls Spider into his side. Spider happily accepts the protection, feeling like he’s about to be a human sacrifice. “Sit on opposite sides of the fire,” Varang purrs. Quaritch is reluctant to let go of his son but he does. They stair into each other’s eyes through the flames. Varang throws some kind of powder into the fire sending up a purplish red smoke.

Quaritch wants to run to cover Spider’s mouth. The boy is asthmatic and this smoke could cause him to have an attack. But he stays put. He has a sneaking suspicion that some kind of drug is in this smoke. He takes short slow breaths. He doesn’t want to get so stoned that he lets slip all the reasons he’s there. “Breathe deep,” Varang says. Neither do. A whole ten minutes of pounding music go by, the others gathered dancing around them. Spider is so dizzy. Quaritch isn’t as bad but he’s feeling it. Finally Varang asks, “Spider, why did you run away?”

“Because of my dad,” Spider says his words slurring. Quaritch knew that deep down. He just made excuses for himself and blamed his son so he didn’t have to deal with the pain of rejection and failure.

“What did your father do?”

“He’s so fucking controlling! I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I can’t hang out with my friends, I can’t join clubs or go on school field trips unless he’s chaperone. He tracks my location. He won’t let me eat junk food. He has a schedule for every day of the week. It’s down to the fucking minute! I can’t even express myself! He won’t use the name I picked. I can’t wear the clothes I want or style my hair the way I want. He wants me to be a mini him! And I couldn’t take it anymore! I couldn’t….”

Spider starts crying. Quaritch’s heart is breaking for him. “I just wanted to do what I thought was best for you…”

“This is what’s best for me! I feel like you’re crushing me! You reject everything I want to be! Can you even love me if I’m not like you!”

“Of course I love you! Don’t you ever think that I don’t!” It has to be the drugs getting to him because now Quaritch thinks he might start crying. “Every day you were away from me all I wanted was to have you back. God, I laid awake all night stairing at disgusting motel room walls thinkin’ I’d give anything just to know that you were okay. I don’t care how you dress or if you go hang out with your friends. None of that matters to me anymore! I just want you to come home.”

Spider is sobbing now, “I want to go home too dad!”

“But you are home,” Varang says dangerously sweet, “right.”

Quaritch is having trouble thinking through the fog around his brain. Focus he wills himself. “Yes,” he slurs, “we’re home now. We’re going to start over.”

“Excellent.”

“No dad!” Spider shrieks, “I want to go home! Please! I can’t stay here!”

“It’s okay son. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.”

The ceremony ends. It’s eerily quiet without the drums. Everyone is still. “Help them to their new home,” Varang says.

They’re brought to a decently sized two bedroom apartment. The furniture looks like it was all made by hand. Everything is painted in warm dark browns and bright reds. It’s not super inviting but it has everything they need.

It takes a couple hours but they eventually sober up. The first thing Quaritch does is checks the place for cameras and microphones. Sure enough he finds them in every room but the bathroom. He takes Spider in there to talk.

“Let me get a good look at y’a,” Quaritch says gently. Despite their reunion earlier in the day Quaritch feels like he’s really seeing his son for the first time. He cups Spider’s face in both his hands. He’s not my little boy anymore. It’s a painful realization but he’s looking at a young man. He’s lost a little bit of weight without his father’s workout regime and hearty protein rich home cooking. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a band t-shirt. His hair has gotten really long. It’s pulled back in a ponytail but Quaritch takes it out combing the curly strands with his fingers. His son looks insanely uncomfortable probably thinking his dad was about to go for the scissors. Quaritch smiles softly at him, “it suits you.”

Spider brightens, “thanks dad.”

Quaritch’s hand move to the back of Spider’s head. He pulls him in close so their foreheads touch. “I’m so sorry. For everything. I love you so much Spider.”

Spider feels like he might cry again. “I know. I love you too dad.” They stay like that a moment before breaking away. “You don’t seriously want to stay here right?”

“Fuck no. But they’re not just gonna let us walk out the front door. This cult is dangerous. Even the cops won’t mess with them. So we need to be quiet and careful. We’ll play along. Get evidence of any laws they might be breaking. That way we have something to use against them when we escape because you know they’ll come after us when we do.” Spider nods determined for them both to get free.

They move to the living room where they cuddle up on the couch. Quaritch wants to see Spider’s recently twisted ankle so Spider lays it across his lap. He turns it this way and that determining that it actually was well taken care of. Then they just relax together, happy to be together again. It’s a nice moment of peace despite the danger surrounding them.

And I’m going to end it there! I know how I would end this but I always love hearing from people. You all have given me some great ideas before and made me think about things I never would have on my own so feel free to reach out. 💞

[fiiniaofficial]

GACHA GACHA GOTCHA!

Thank you everyone who joined the two art streams and followed along on the process of this with me!

I am so happy with how this came out and wish I could have this as a poster to hang up.

It was a long process and since I hadn't touched twitch in a while, I am happy to see that some were patient to watch despite the audio issues. I was unaware of them until after the streams!

We went from this to this in two streams last Monday and Tuesday!

Since I didn't know what stickers I wanted to draw, I ended the stream on that point and continued the rest off stream from there.

A trans sticker

Keep your cats sticker

A quote sticker

Trans sticker

The world is rough on trans people, and I see a lot of negativity constantly regarding it. Being yourself is brave, tough and honestly insanely cool. Gal, dude or pal... be your real self just like they preached in all your childhood cartoons and teen movies!

It is no one else's business but yours how you present yourself, dress or look!

Nature makes mistakes all the time, so it's a good thing that we live in a modern world where you can fix that mistake.

Cat sticker

In Sweden at least some families who go to their summer cabins buy kittens over the summer for their children or them to play with, but then leave and dump in the forest when summer is over and they're going back to their homes.

It is information that has pained me since I was very young that there are people out there who do this and feel nothing about it. Those kittens will not survive in the wild, especially not when you've taken care of them for 3 months and they have learned that their house gives them food.

And the cats at highest risk is black cats as "they do not look good on photos for social media".

Be a decent human being. Treat others, humans and animals, as you wish to be treated.

[fumifooms]

You mentioned being open to marchil fodder, right? Well, let me ask you this how do you think these dysfunctionally functional lil guys would handle one or the other being sick, not with anything major but like a light flu or cold type situation.

Yanno things with chil kinda parenting marcille a bit or marcille lowkey panicking like chil is gonna die but he won't. What's your take on it since it's a common hurt comfort type premise?

Thank you for the ask!! I’m gonna start by talking about the clues that canon gives us because I have no self-control, but you can also just skip to the hc part and you wouldn’t miss anything about the meat of the topic heh~ Both of them would handle it really differently, both surprisingly well and surprisingly not

On Chilchuck’s side:

Chilchuck does have some nursing in him, but usually in small, casual ways, like how this dad compilation of him shows lol. He has no problem helping his party members around, and even scolding Marcille and warning her not to work herself sick. But, if he worries he tends to suppress it/not show it, and overall he’s pretty nonchalant over it. As seen with Marcille being hangover, unlike Laios he’s not worried over it at all and preaches the good old method of "drink water and rest!". I think he’d be a rather by the book caretaker, would do all the classic things for someone who has a cold. It bears remembering that Chilchuck is a father, a father of three even. Even if I’m sure he tended to leave most of it to his wife, he’s no stranger to loved ones being sick with colds and such, and would know the basics of homely nursing. With the second page I put above, I wanted to show though that while I think he certainly can nurse, he tends to leave that to others. When Marcille is out of mana, he stays out of the way rather than doing things for her. He’s someone big about roles, "My job is the rogue so don’t expect me to fight I’m here to help you get around, also no talking I’m just here for my job" "you’re the healer so get to safety because if you die we’re fucked" etc etc, and I think he tends to relay the responsibility of caring after someone sick onto others he thinks are more suited to it. Though as we see with his dad moment compilations, it’s not like he doesn’t feel the urge to care after people at all.

In this last picture, he leaves the comforting to others, which he probably think are "more suited for it" besides just being "yikes I’m staying out of that", much like Izutsumi here. He tries staying out of emotional talks.

There’s also a fun scene where Chilchuck is like "Healers having to be so in contact with people is a problem you know, it complicates relationships and is bad for a party". Take that as you will for how he likes/dislikes being nursed, though in this case he’s mostly referring to the touch aspect of it in a social situation with a group.

On Marcille’s side:

Whereas Chilchuck is pretty laissez-faire and competent though somewhat stays distant, Marcille would fuss and do too much.

Interestingly, Marcille is rather desensitized to wounded people. She’s also not shown worrying over her party members when they’re hurting over "recovery pangs". She’s shown healing Chilchuck a couple of times.

What’s interesting in her case is that she’s a healer, she’s very familiar with treating wounds and injuries with magic, but magic doesn’t heal illnesses much. Which, illnesses would def be a source of existential despair for her with her trauma, so I definitely can see her stressing over it a lot.

All that to say that she’s no stranger to nursing people, just not in the way that would really matter when it comes to treating a cold instead of a broken bone. On top of that, she’s a mom friend that naturally seeks to care after her loved ones, nurse them and take care of them. She’s shown being a real worry wart, fussing over Falin, from the time when she thinks Falin got stolen away by Laios to mid-canon, and we see that habit of caring after others with Izutsumi too. The only times that can qualify as her taking care of someone sick I think would be Laios with his kraken parasite, which since she could just physically heal the wounds it left she didn’t stress over it much, and with her dad which she was too young to really do anything about.

All that to say that unlike Chilchuck, the caring role suits her just fine, and that unlike him she STRESSES. She has the best of intentions, but she can try to do too much or go about it in a clumsy way, tends to be overbearing.

Headcanons time!

If Chilchuck was sick:

Since Marcille is shown to have some misconception about short-lived races/half-foots in canon, I def think it’d be possible for her to be like "half-foots have a frail health!! Even this cold might be grave!!! AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" but I think that in that case, she’d run everywhere, getting him a cold compress and buying him the best quality take-out food and throwing herself at the feet of his bed sobbing and Chilchuck as soon as he’d pick up on it, while his snot goes everywhere and he looks 10 years older from his eyebags and his voice is raspy and he’s feeling dizzy from the fever, he’d explain that he’ll get over it soon and there’s no reason to overly worry about it, "so just get me some soup or something". And Marcille would go "Well you SAY that but you’re known to not take care of yourself enough and make yourself work too hard so I can’t trust you on this", but he’d be serious and comforting about it so she’d eventually relent and be more chill about it. But she’d still 100% take the day off from work to stay with him as much as possible, and would be ready at any second to jump to fulfill his every request. It’d end up being a pretty cozy day. She’d sleep hunched over the foot of his bed/his side or leaning back in a chair in the corner of the bedroom with a blanket. If it’s that bad, she’d stay awake and change his cold compress every hour or so and dab the sweat off of his skin with a damp rag. She’d stare at his sleeping face a lot, tired and worried but also feeling comforted at watching him breathe. Maybe in the dead of night after a day of caring after him frantically, she’d muse about illness and how fragile life can be, how there are bumps in the road and things can go unexpectedly, but it’d be like pressing on a bruise for her instead of sharp stabs, and she’d push the thoughts back, holding his hand for her own sake.

She’d 100% tuck him in and take some enjoyment from getting to nurse him too. Since Chilchuck doesn’t like showing his needs, being vulnerable or relying on others much she really doesn’t get to treat him in such an overtly caring way like this, his pride gets in the way of that. She’d spoonfeed him his soup and Chil would ONLY mildly complain. She’d rub his back as he pukes in a bucket, while he fumes at having her seeing him like this, like a mess. Can’t very well keep his usual bravado of cool and composed in such a situation, and he’d grumble and be frustrated about it. Marcille resists the urge to give him pecks-kisses to not get sick too. That has to happen at least once in their relationship lol, and then Chilchuck gets to be a little condescending and vindicated like "Told you so". Chilchuck complains every time she does it but he secretly enjoys it, he’s just like "gross, you’ll get sick too" (give me one more pls…). Her lips would be cool to the touch and he’d also really enjoy it if she were to put her hand to his cheek, if he’s feverish enough he’d more transparent about it but if he stil has his wits about him he’d be his typical tsundere and act totally unaffected.

In Chilchuck’s pov, he’d be frustrated at being sick for sure. He hates feeling unproductive or weak, at first he might argue that he can still do work, but at some point he relents and realizes that he might be undermining it, he does know that pushing yourself when sick only makes it worse after all, which doesn’t help productivity in the long run. He’s not fully a workaholic anyways, so he would partially enjoy the opportunity to kick back and relax, even if he can’t have alcohol… Being malnourished and underweight def doesn’t help sicknesses, so maybe it actually WOULD be more dangerous than people would assume, though I def think he’d stop his harsh diet post-canon. If he has enough headspace for it, I think he’d bring small chests and such that he has to unlock for his job, and it’d be like casual little puzzles to keep him busy as he tries to picklock them open. He’d like that sort of puzzle fidget toys I think. But if he shivers and his agility his reduced/it’s difficult he’d get really frustrated over it not being as easy as usual and being more tedious so he’d end up flying into a gamer rage and cussing and maybe even throwing the locked things away unless Marcille is there and soothes him lol.

In the aftermath, when he gets better, I think he’d try to treat her extra well. He’d bring her a nice eggs and french toast breakfast in bed and maybe they’d go out together that day. He’d be a bit embarrassed and grumbly but he’d thank her sincerely, probably hug her and sigh and be like "Sorry you had to see me like that." Marcille pats his back and is like "Don’t apologize come on. Yes I was worried and yes you were gross with puke on your chin… But also I got to see you being cute and depending me a bit while I nurse you ☆😋" cue pissing off Chilchuck and he retaliates and they end up bantering

Dish for sick people: Soup with pasta that easily goes down the throat with simple broth, sort of minestrone soup-like. She’d make sure not to put too much salt it soup hah, but she’d frantically remember Senshi’s lessons on nutrition and the importance of getting sick people nutrients and minerals, so she might go overboard a bit trying not to make it too barebones. I’m not good enough to do a nutrition traits wheel meal rating like in canon though haha

If Marcille was sick:

They notice pretty quick that she’s sick because Marcille loves to complain every time she feels a mild discomfort or inconvenience. At first Chilchuck brushes it off because, again, her complaining is common place, but one can only take so many "My throat feels scratchy" "It’s so hot in here" "I’m cooooold" (‘just put on a jacket’ ‘I have!’) "This doesn’t taste like usual :(" "Man why am I sweating so much today" "Chilchuck I feel bad" before they pick up on her having a cold. Her whining doesn’t end there however, even as he leads her to bed and gets her a cold compress and measures her temperature with a hand to her folder, she would dramatically talk about how she’s feeling and complain. Chilchuck even gives her a scalding diss of "you’re as whiny as my daughters when they were 5". "Chiiiiiil" she calls from the other room "What?" he shouts back, "Can you bring me my dog plush-pillow?" and he huffs but he does it. Caring for someone like that for a whole day wrings him out, but it does feel worth it when he goes to check up on her or bring her a heated pad or book at her request and sees her being all sick and mopey, yet still be her usual self. Unlike with Marcille nursing him, caring after someone like this does feel like work to him and there’s not one bit of him that’s happy to be doing it, but it’s work that’s worth it, work that leaves him feeling satisfied and content though tired out. He would care after her as many times and for as long as she’d need, and if he complains while doing it, well, it’d only be fair with how much she complains too. Although, he’s surprisingly gentle and quiet while she’s sick and caring for her, he still scolds when she does something less than ideal, like sitting up when she should stay laying down or puking besides the bucket, but he’s overall incredibly patient and lenient compared to usual, supportive rather than criticizing. While feverish and sloppy, unlike Chilchuck she wouldn’t try to maintain her composure at all, letting herself be a slob. She’d be eating her porridge and her hair would get in her mouth since it’s down, and Chilchuck would tie up her hair in a comfortable braid or other simple hairdo.

Chil nursing someone would be very by the book I think. He believes in home recipes and methods. Wouldn’t let her get out of bed, would make her basic porridge, would keep track of her temperature and such. He might skip over some fancier treatments or details though, like dabbing off her sweat unless it’s excessive. He would change her bedsheets though. He might even take a break from work and keep her company, and chat with her so she’s less bored and even hold hands. He’d even indulge her in a forehead kiss to bid her good night, telling her to call out his name if she needs anything during the night, and if they usually shared a bed at that point in their relationship then he’d sleep on the couch instead. Marcille would dramatically ask for a kiss but Chilchuck would ruthlessly refuse. He’d grumble about her taking her cold too lightly probably, but he also wouldn’t really worry about her. Being sick happens sometimes, and he knows she’s tough. It would pass.

Sick, feverish Marcille would be even more emotional than usual. Chil would cringe and brace himself for it every time she opens her mouth, but nurses her like a champ anyways with the patience of a saint. She’d go on rants, would keep telling him that she loves him over the smallest things. Her eyes would sparkle as she stares lovingly at him, and Chil def notices it but sweats and tries to ignore it all like :| If she gets delirious enough, at some point she would say "Chilchuck… I gotta tell you something…" "Hm-hm?" "I cheated on you." Glass breaking, Chilchuck falling over, "W-what? How?!" Marcille sniffles "The other day… An elf ambassador came to the castle… And I thought he was really pretty." She sniffles again, Chil’s heart is pouding, "And? What happened?" "And… He was really pretty! I’m so sorry. I thought he was really pretty, I’m not faithful!" and then Chilchuck realizes she’s just being dramatic over aesthetic attraction and he’s so PISSED, he untenses and his soul leaves his body a bit, he steps out of the room to go scream in a pillow because he knows he can’t take it out on her for having scared him. Pushing it even further if she in one moment can’t recognize him, and like he leans over her to give her a cold compress or something and suddenly her hand shoots out and push him away by the chin. "No! I am a taken woman…" and he’s torn between feeling touched and so over it, his neck hurts now. She calls him a tall and dark handsome stranger. Chilchuck considers calling for a doctor.

In the aftermath, Marcille is super thankful and keeps thanking him and praising him but Chilchuck is just like "I didn’t do anything special. If you want to thank me then finish cleaning up your puke bucket.". She wouldn’t stop though, making up for the time that she couldn’t cuddle and touch him while sick to be super affectionate. She’d be all over him and he’d be exasperated but also lowkey it feels nice too, he also missed her cuddles in the one day she was sick. Feels like getting your battery recharged. If people come by or like she goes to the castle she would tell everyone listening about how her lover was SO KIND and ATTENTIONATE and NURSED HER and is VIRTUOUS and COMPETENT and PERFECT and—

Dish for sick people: She wouldn’t praise his cooking skills then though. Chilchuck’s go-to for sick people is a bland af oatmeal porridge. It does its job. It’s easy to eat and keeps her alive well enough. She feels grateful over it and it gets brownie points from her because Chilchuck cooked it FOR HER with his HEART but she still can’t bring herself to rate it more than 3/5 stars aloud.

-—-

They would be so marriedcore 🙏 Now I’m tempted to write a fic like this ngl. I’d prob call it Chills bc I love puns and that sounds like smth I can work in prose about heheh. Could even do two birds one stone by having it start by Chil getting sick and then Marcille indulging in kissing too much then Marcille gets sick haHAH ohhh yeah it’s all coming together 🔥 This took me all morning thank you for enabling my brainrot 💕💕 This is what you call a uhh whump fic right. I did have a fic planned like that except it’s an injury and not sickness

[whentheynameyoujoy]

OK, fuck it, I have thoughts.

So I like Axiom’s End. Its theme may hit as subtly as a sledgehammer but it’s saved by the characters and the way it’s delivered. The whole point is about not truly being able to comprehend the mysterious Other, about communication and knowledge not being a panacea to bigotry and supremacism, about how studying the Other can often lead to the reinforcement of said bigotry as you confirm your prejudices and refuse to abandon your point of view where you’re the default, the morally superior and the Other at best a flawed imitation, at worst a contemptible aberration. And you arrive at this and the usual “wait, this is actually about our world, isn’t it” via the protagonists and their own personal failure to truly comprehend one another, even though at the same time they’re aware of their respective cultures’ atrocities. Again, unsubtle but it works.

And then Truth of the Divine comes and it just doesn’t. The theme is utterly divorced from the characters’ inner journeys. It’s literally a “wise accomplished guy sees further than the protagonist and informs her of the theme which they then spend the rest of the book trying to effect”. The idea that “if you deny rights to aliens, you create a legal framework which then allows humanity to keep indulging its centuries-long human rights abuses” isn’t even less on the nose than what the previous book presented but because it comes to the story as a monologue and the response is “oh I never thought about it that way, guess that’s what we’re doing now” it reads like a Medium article preaching to the choir.

And I absolutely am going to blame this on Kaveh or rather the way he’s designed. For the theme to be a result of a learning process, you really need someone like Timothy Snyder not realizing until his 50s that the U.S. healthcare system is a bit shit, because he’d never been affected by its shittiness before. You need a person of privilege. You obviously can’t do “I discovered racism exists” via an Iranian refugee who got his big break by exposing CIA torture sites in the Middle East.

But OK, fine, I guess that the world doesn’t need another white savior “I learned something today” narrative (let’s ignore it could have been Miranda having a leopards ate my face moment). But to really drive the final nail in the coffin, Kaveh isn’t even particularly complex as a character. He’s endlessly understanding and empathetic and soooo self-aware, absolutely would never use Cora to his advantage, no siree, he genuinely loves her and wants to take care of her and never abuses his worldliness and is a great fuck and exactly what she needs at this stage in her life and he never has doubts about anything and his demons are long behind him and only serve as a means for Cora to learn there is a light at the end of the tunnel and his connection to Nils doesn’t amount to much in terms of character flaws and he believes the idea of daddy issues is stupid and he opens doors to a better future for Cora and stands up for her and is loaded but his wealth doesn’t affect his worldview whatsoever and his dick is uuuuge and throbbing and oh my fucking god I get it he’s perfect I could not give less of a shit about him why is this Gary Stu taking up so much space.

And this, kids, is how momma found herself yearning for the tertiary CIA agent who most likely has a past of torturing people. Simply because he seems to have something, anything else going on behind what’s readily apparent.

[yumeka-sxf]

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 11

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

----------

When the "doggy crisis" is finally resolved and the Forgers are reunited, Twilight rightfully chews Anya out for running off by herself. But he then softens and asks if she's hurt, and when she tells him that Bond protected her, he makes sure to give the dog a sincere thank you for saving his daughter. As I said before, anyone who shows respect to animals gets character points to me, especially someone like Twilight whose line of work makes him distrustful of everyone and everything. It's not like he had any reason to gain Bond's favor at that moment – he genuinely felt gratitude for the dog and wanted to express it.

And of course, in classic Spy x Family fashion, Twilight's fib about being stuck in the bathroom the whole time causes the overly self-conscious Yor to assume it's from the awful breakfast she made (something that will have repercussions later).

When they go on their first outing with Bond at the park, Twilight muses to himself about life post-Operation Strix, something he hadn't done since he first adopted Anya. Compared to back then when he flatly stated that he'll send Anya back to the orphanage when it's all over, this time he says that the agency will do what they can for Anya and Yor even though he won't see them again.

It's obvious that Yor is attached to Anya, so he knows she would have no reason to abandon her even if he left the family. The terrorist crisis that had just occurred made him remember that his ultimate goal of ending the cold war is top priority. He reinforces his utilitarian view that this is what's most important for everyone's future even if it means sacrificing some happiness along the way…like Anya's, Yor's, and, though he won't admit it, his own.

Twilight does seem to feel regret about this as he recalls that he just told Anya that she has a responsibility to care for the newly adopted Bond for the rest of his life, yet he won't be doing the same for the child he adopted.

As for why he says he would never be able to see Anya and Yor again, in his mind, maintaining a relationship that's unnecessary for his work would just be a hindrance. I also think that he wouldn't want to put them in danger by having any association with him – they had just gotten dragged into the terrorist mission he was trying to take care of after all. I imagine he plans to do something like fake the death/disappearance of Loid Forger, or maybe say/do things to Anya and Yor that would make them hate him so he could easily break ties with them (hopefully that's not the case as that would be too heartbreaking! Of course, he wouldn't be able to fool Anya…but I digress). Either scenario would result in him not being able to see them again, at least not as the Loid Forger they've come to know.

Twilight reminds himself of this again soon after when he tries to help Franky woo the girl he has a crush on (which ends in failure). When they're drinking together at the bar, he tells Franky that people like them can't afford to have feelings for others as it would only end badly.

At this point in the series, we know that Twilight has at least some feelings for Yor and Anya (which will be pointed out by Nightfall soon) so perhaps he's saying this also as a reprimand to himself as well as a reminder to Franky? But Franky tends to be a "pot calling the kettle black," since he's the one who told Twilight back when they were pretending to be SSS agents to keep his emotions out of his daily life, yet Franky tries to pursue relationships with women left and right, without any emotional restraint (and will continue to do so even after he and Twilight have this conversation). And then there's Nightfall who, despite her constant poker face, does nothing but imagine lovey-dovey scenarios with herself and Twilight. Seems that, as much as spy people preach about keeping emotions out of the picture, emotions seep through even harder than normal. But while Franky and Nightfall don't lie to themselves about these feelings, Twilight does…will that make it all the more torturous for him when he can lie no longer?

Continue to Part 12 ->

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