#I still think that the revival will be a dragon but what if it’s just a cycle of death and revival between archons?

[iamnmbr3]

Hello, hope it’s okay to ask about more than one number for the headcanon ask: Draco – 12, 18, 29

Totally fine!

-12- skills and abilities

Oooh! Time for me to talk about one of my pet peeves. For this one I'm going to say Charms and Transfiguration. Could this question be interpreted more broadly to go beyond school subjects? Absolutely. But then I wouldn't get to rant about my pet peeve. See, it's really popular in fandom to treat it as a given that Potions is Draco's best subject.

And to each their own. I'm not trying to be the fun police. But also, this has no basis in the actual text. Draco is favored in Potions because Snape is friends with Lucius (or rather, pretending to be) and also because Snape hates Harry so that also sets up a dynamic where he is predisposed to favor someone who has an antagonistic relationship with Harry because he's viewing it through the lens of his own trauma at James's hands. Draco's not bad at potions by any means. He's a pretty good student overall. But Harry's not bad at potions either. When Harry has good instructions and a teacher who makes him feel comfortable in 6th year he's great at potions. Just as good as Draco was in the first 5 years. So it's not like Draco has any extraordinary ability in potions. He just has the opportunity to reach his maximum potential without someone undermining him at every turn. He also doesn't show any particular passion for it; during class he's usually messing around with his friends or trying to antagonize Harry. He just gets a pass for it.

He does however demonstrate extraordinary ability in transfiguration and potions. In book 6 he is able to perform a Protean Charm - a NEWT level spell that only Hermione has been shown being able to to do. Not only that, but in 4th year he's able to make the "Potter Stinks"badges, which is actually a pretty impressive piece of magic. Especially since, while most spells like that wear off after just a few hours, the badge Harry has saved inexplicably (well, inexplicably but for drarry) in book 7 is still working YEARS later. Not to mention, he's also able to fix the cabinet. (By the way, this makes it even funnier that he messed up his Charms OWL in book 5 because he got distracted looking at Harry and thus completely failed to perform a hover charm - despite being shown to be able to do so easily the beginning of 6th year).

As for transfiguration, he is shown to be able to conjure a snake on his first try in book TWO despite conjuring being something that isn't taught till the NEWT level. That is hugely impressive. And it's rarely mentioned. Draco is legit super talented. Just at different things than than Harry is.

He also shows great ability with nonverbal spells too (though I think that's more linked to his tremendous Occlumency ability; this is another topic but I think he's easily one of the most powerful Occlumenses in the book).

-18- beloved or important items or property

His wand. Draco grew up with a lot of possessions that he enjoyed. But his wand is something he prizes above almost everything else.

At first it used to bother him a bit. Unicorn core. Not really what he'd hoped for is it? His father never says anything about it, but he could tell that Lucius was surprised and a little disappointed when he saw what wand had chosen his son. Dragon heartstring would have been so much more fitting. Or phoenix feather. But unicorn? Soft. Weak. Not enough. And hawthorn wood - difficult and complicated some say, treacherous and unlucky say others.

But the wand feels so warm and right in his hand. Like a friend that understands a part of him he didn't even know he had. And it serves him well. And he grows to like how no one else can get it to work for them right on any of the rare times he's momentarily lent it to someone. And unicorns are powerful animals too. And aren't there whispers that the Dark Lord used unicorn blood to revive himself? If he did that then why can't unicorn hair be just as suitable for the types of magic required for his service as any other wand core?

It is isn't. And neither is Draco. They can force themselves through it. When they have to. When the alternative is suffering themselves, but both their cores rebel at it at some fundamental level. It's like having your soul twisted inside out, hurt, sullied. Worse in a way than the alternative. And the Dark Lord surely know that.

And then Draco loses the wand to Potter. Or gives it to him. He can't be sure. He wanted to fight back - to pull his hand away, to shoot a spell to defend himself - but something in him rebelled and he let Potter take his only weapon and companion from his limp and unresisting hand. And he can't quite bring himself to regret it, for all that he's doomed himself and probably his family too.

Potter does the impossible. Of course. He comes back from the dead. He uses Draco's wand to do what Draco never could have and kills the Dark Lord and releases them all from terror and tyranny. And then come the trials. Potter is there and Draco avoids prison miraculously. And then there is a year of probation with no wand at all, lost out in the muggle world which is loud and strange and frightening. Potter is there too, somehow. At first Draco thinks Potter must be there to investigate him - probably regretting his inexplicable choice to speak for Draco at his trial and trying to fix his mistake. But he's not. He's there to help.

He probably still has Draco's wand. Draco doesn't ask. It's not like he's ever going to see it again. It belongs to Potter or else it's in a museum somewhere as an important historical artifact - the wand that killed Him. They're not going to give it back to a disgraced former Death Eater. He'll be lucky to ever have any wand again. He hopes Potter still has it. He'd rather that, somehow, than it just end up gathering dust imprisoned in a lonely Ministry vault or behind glass in a display being gawked at by uncomprehending strangers. Being with Potter would be the happiest fate and just feels right somehow.

Eventually, against all odds the Ministry ends his probation and lifts the restrictions on his magic use. Harry seems suspiciously unsurprised though he claims ignorance. Maybe someone else would believe him - Harry is an impressively good liar - but Draco knows his expressions far too well. Still, he doesn't push it. Harry is presumably trying to spare his feelings when Draco already owes him so much.

The wand returns to him by floo the next day, along with its most recent owner. Harry thanks Draco for letting him "borrow" it. Draco jokes that he's surprised Harry was able to stand the wand's troublesome nature but Harry tells him it's a good wand, that it worked perfectly for him. He holds it out and Draco takes it. It feels like coming home, like seeing the core of himself and finally finding it enough, and in that moment he finds the courage somehow to admit the feeling that's been inside him longer even than he's had the wand - since that disastrous first meeting in Madam Malkin's - though he didn't realize it at the time.

.... ok that got away from me. but tldr Draco and his wand have been thru a lot and I think he feels a deep bond with it. Especially due to having been separated from it and being very glad to get it back. And after they get together he and Harry absolutely sometimes casually switch wands tho because they are super compatible. It bothers Ron because it feels like some sort of weird PDA that he can't even complain about.

-29- quirks and personal habits

I mean, so many. But one thing I headcanon is that after the war Draco develops a nervous habit of fiddling with his left sleeve and making sure it's all the way pulled down, especially if he's feeling nervous or self conscious.

Headcanon ask game here

[zelda]

One Dragon Ball writing oversight I will never be able to accept is the complete eradication of the Saiyan race from the overarching plot of Dragon Ball. Vegeta always talking about "Prince of all Saiyans" this, "Where's your Saiyan pride" that; how many chances has Vegeta had to gather the Dragon Balls to make a wish that revives those very people he was born to lead, rule over & liberate from the oppressive regime of Frieza. Isn't that just the epitome of masculinity. I find that so embarrassingly performative. It cheapens Vegeta's entire character when he has the ability to change the fate of his entire race & yet chooses not to. What are the subconscious implications behind that decision? Vegeta is a tyrannical ruler that sacrificed the future of his entire race in pursuit of his own personal power. It implies Vegeta fears that inevitably someone born on Planet Vegeta will surpass him, Which has already been surmounted by the existence of both Kakarot & Broly so the suppression of his entire race is something he condones to relinquish his responsibility, protect his ego & adhere to hedonism. Vegeta still refers to himself as Prince even though his father died resisting the subjugation of Frieza. Internally he has not accepted the responsibility of King Vegeta; displaying the mentality of a juvenile. Saiyans do have a history of barbarism; however, Vegeta has accumulated so much more power in the decades of their non existence that it would be an effortless endeavor to overpower any who deviate from the enlightened path that Vegeta envisions. I want to see Vegeta reform the Saiyan race & show them another way of living as their King, making the hard decisions of culling those who take the revival of the Saiyans for granted & refusing to subvert from the primitive ideology that lead to the destruction of Planet Sadala. It makes absolutely no sense to me how much simping there is in the Dragon Ball fandom for Frieza. It almost seems artificial & contrived. So you're meaning to tell me that Vegeta believes more in the redemption of Frieza than the redemption of his entire warrior race? Dragon Ball characters are also more spiritually attuned to life after death, how can Vegeta be so ignorant to the feelings of the deceased Saiyans to be collaborating with the entity that denied them their entire future & ever reaching their true potential as a Super Saiyan. Think of all the Saiyans that died before ever experiencing that bliss. Prince Vegeta, Where is your Saiyan pride?

[notthemonthbutmarch]

Small Natlan theory for your consideration

So Mavuika definitely looks like Himeko, but is also based on the Māori fire deity Mahuika. Mahuika is the little sister of a goddess named Hine-nui-te-pō, who’s the goddess of the night and receives spirits when they die.

In Natlan, there’s a place called the Night Kingdom and currently the Abyss is invading— which will negatively affect Natlan proper as well. The competition also has a thing called the Pilgrimage where contests seemingly go to the Night Kingdom and race to the exit, and if they fail to make it out in time they kinda just stay there?

Death also isn’t final in Natlan, instead they go into the Scared Flame, so it seems like for Natlan there’s something else that contributes to death. Something like a goddess… mayhaps?

What I’m saying is if Mavuika is based on Mahuika and Genshin and has all these extra elements to death, then that means a Hine-nui-te-pō is possibly also canon.

And if Mavuika looks like Himeko, then is it possible that Hine-nui-te-pō could look like Kiana Kaslana?

[neixins]

[ID: panels from chapter 267 of “yona of the dawn”. jaeha says, “don’t worry about me, if anything, it’d be a good work-out exercise for my core.”; gija adds, “that’s exactly right! even if we lose the right, we still have the left.” and jaeha remarks from out of frame, “let’s train your left hand, shall we ki-ja?”; sinha says, “yona, i don’t care. even without my eyes, i already have what’s important to me!”. meanwhile, yona is covering her face with her hands as the dragon gods are saying, “crimson dragon, let us return.” end ID.]

feeling very emotional over how disability is being talked about here…. like they’re obviously downplaying the situation for yona’s sake but considering how much the fantasy genre loves the magical cure trope i love that when the dragon gods try to use “fixing” them as a bargaining chip they just go “no need <3”. i might’ve cried a little.

[maliro-t]

some game design thinky thoughts.

[tonycries]

Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now. 

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be. 

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What? 

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird. 

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer. 

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street. 

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing. 

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.” 

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation. 

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?” 

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?” 

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from. 

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.” 

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now. 

“Alright. Plan B, then.” 

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you? 

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner. 

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head. 

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.” 

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly. 

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house. 

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins. 

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app. 

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo. 

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least. 

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in. 

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner. 

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in. 

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual. 

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed. 

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside. 

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you. 

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking. 

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner. 

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit. 

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you. 

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders. 

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now. 

Gathered here - for you. 

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them. 

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.” 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second. 

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane. 

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.” 

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily. 

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up. 

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru. 

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold. 

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to. 

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list. 

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain. 

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands. 

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod. 

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight. 

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting. 

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it. 

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.” 

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~” 

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.” 

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours. 

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table. 

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before. 

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

 Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today. 

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic. 

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.” 

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.” 

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave. 

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.  

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it. 

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were. 

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.” 

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.” 

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip! 

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically. 

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub. 

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard.  “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. 

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.” 

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please. 

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him. 

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-”  You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want. 

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue. 

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear. 

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time. 

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. 

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now. 

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all. 

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back. 

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.” 

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard. 

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything. 

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot. 

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock  like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be. 

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy. 

“Close?” 

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper. 

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now. 

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him. 

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[massiveladycat]

i will never get over people laughing at octavian's death personally,,, he was SHOT INTO THE AIR!!! thats so painful. all the burns and the impact, plus being flung from a cannon and probably slamming into gaia (literal earth goddess) plus festus (gigantic metal dragon, i bet that HURT) and leo (pretty sure leo was burning)

he was a kid and he was annoying to some people and he was usually antagonized but he didnt deserve to die OR go out in that way. the gods are a thousand times worse than octavian, and apollo told him that he'd be a savior of new rome, but people still justify them. not to mind there are much worse people in the PJO universe (gabe, LUKE)

octavian ily they could never make me hate you EVER. idc what you say he could have been redeemed. did he do bad things? yes. but he was so deeply influenced and the day meeting with leo and the others, in which i remind you octavian literally was watching new rome get blown up (no wonder he was livid, his home was on FIRE).

like come on. octavian is a complex character and people aren't willing to admit that he could've been better and he was just a literal teenager in the sake of hating him because everyone else/pjo characters hate him.

he is such a tragic character imo because he grew up in new rome and all he wanted to do was protect it (and he was highly ambitious and aiming for praetor, i won't deny the fact that he was selfish but that is a quality that can be REDEEMED) and sure the way he went about it was messed up but most of his actions (except killing that one centurion) were justifiable

btw im not saying octavian's like an angel or anything im pretty sure i remember him "killing" a 5th cohort centurion once but then she was revived which . . . what was the point of that?? was it just to like make us hate him more?? huh??? and then was it even ever talked about again?? also yeah he blackmailed hazel thats not good also judging from the wikipedia it only said frank suspected octavian because.. he didn't have his spear?? what?? reminder that there is proof that a lot of pjo characters are unreliable narrators and for all we know octavian could've screwed up somehow and left his spear somewhere (just saying i'd do that too ngl)

also "I am the savior of Rome! I was promised!" i didnt know why but that quote DESTROYED me but now i know that it was because he genuinely believed he was doing the best for new rome and he'd finally have someone's praise and they'd praise him like they praised percy and reyna. pretty sure his mental state was not very good in that scene either and nico and will just let him shoot himself out of an onager on accident. also are we just going to gloss over the fact apollo told him that and encouraged him he was doing the right thing?? of COURSE octavian trusted apollo on that and believed it was the truth; apollo was his ancestor and someone he worshipped as an augur and trusted in for omens and prophecies and allat

yeah. octavian's an asshole. but he was a kid and he couldve been redeemed. then again i am a huge octavian apologist and im not saying you have to have the same opinions as i do also i will not be responding to any asks in my inbox im 2 tired to deal with that!! anyways dont go and insult people or me if you think the opposite thats fine !! i was just bored and found this in my drafts so whats the harm of posting it because im not going to get sent threats over this right,,, right??????

[justpeaxchy]

'So My Darling'

A/n: I haven't finished my other wip's yet, so in the meantime, I decided to write this rq. Enjoy! 🐢

Warnings(?): none!

Hiccup x !fem reader!

-You realize the feelings you have for Hiccup aren't what a normal 'best friend' should have.

The day was coming to a close, the sun delicately edging the clouds in an orange tint, with a faint pink glow making itself visible amongst the remaining bright colors. You loved sunsets, to say the least; the sight brought a small sense of comfort to your mind whenever endless thoughts seemed to pour in, which was partly happening to you already.

There wasn't much of an opportunity for him to go far anymore, but your search for the past twenty minutes could've attested otherwise. Thinking you had used up all of your chances for finding him, your hopes were quickly revived as you finally spotted him a bit of a distance away, sitting comfortably on the edge of a nearby cliff side. You heaved a light sigh of relief, signaling for your dragon to land on the same area.

The very second your feet touched the ground, you spoke loud enough for him to hear: "And what do you think you're up to, Chief?" You suppressed a grin when his head turned to get a better view of your approaching form, a ghost of a smile tugging on his own lips.

"Oh, nothing.." Hiccup shrugged, "Just thought I should try a new...hideout. I'll give it to you, though, you found me in the same day I came here..!" An amused glint sparkled in his eyes, emerald iris's following you as you went to sit down next to him with a dramatic sigh. Toothless was off playing with your dragon as soon as you both arrived, the tree branch they suddenly found being the very thing that kept them entertained as they were engrossed in tug of war.

"Yeah...I think twenty minutes is a bit too long for me to discover your hideout.." You muttered, Hiccup still being able to hear every word you said above the passing breeze.

"Well, it's nice to know I'm on your mind that much." He said, sarcasm practically dripping off his voice. His words would be something he regretted, however, when you abruptly jabbed his side with your finger from where you sat. "Okay, okay, I take it back!" He raised his hands in surrender as you silently threatened to do it again, nodding in satisfaction when he admitted defeat.

"What a shame...you keep talking like that and you might be here all by yourself again.." You examined your nails as they suddenly became of more 'importance', using all the strength you had left in you not to smirk at the dramatic gasp Hiccup did.

"Oh, so it's like that now?" He straightened his posture from where he sat, his gaze not yet removing itself from you.

"Hey, you started it with your sassy attitude the moment I came up here." You shrugged.

Deciding to return the same jab you did, although it was much lighter than yours probably was, the Chief poked your shoulder, "Me? Sassy? You're the one who's been staring at your hands this whole time and not even looking at me once."

No longer hiding the playful smile that traced your lips, you spoke in a nonchalant manner: "Correction; it was my nails. Not my hand...sort of."

Hiccup faintly rolled his eyes, still pointedly keeping his fixed gaze on you, who was still not returning it. "Will you at least look at me, then..?" His voice was slightly softer than before, the action briefly taking you aback. Since you were known to give in easily when it came to him, you sedately started off with a glance in his direction before fully turning towards him.

"It's nice to know you want to look at me that much." You said, ignoring the exiguous warmth that dusted over your face. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to smile when you noticed his own lips pull upward in fulfillment.

"There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He spoke gently, although a hint of amusement was clearly heard by you when he noticed his own words were repeated.

You, who were so observant of Hiccup. You, who were one of the closest people he claimed to have by his side. People often assumed that the relationship you both had was one of a sibling dynamic; it was starting to rub off on you in the wrong way. Growing up on Berk, your attention would somehow always land back on the skinny teenager who tried to prove himself - over and over again. Despite that, you took it upon yourself to really know him, to know who Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third was. You hadn't expected to get this close with him, though.

If anything, he was the first person you had gotten into a genuine friendship with. There were others your age that you would spend time with, but it was different when Stoick's son came to be around you. You witnessed his bravery, his courage, his selflessness, and his determination when he discovered Toothless. It was always there, but it seemed to be stifled out by the whole village with every attempt he gave to show it. You, however, saw all of those traits - especially when you watched him defend his tribe that always looked down on him. He lost part of his leg because of it.

You were the only other person who knew about Toothless in the beginning, mostly because you found him trying to track the Night Fury when he shot him down, and he had no other choice but to practically beg you to keep the dragon a secret. You were reluctant, not knowing what the outcome might be, but you agreed nonetheless. You became more glad with each passing day that you did; it allowed the opportunity for your friendship to grow, to blossom and sprout into what it was now. However, one burning question still remained in your mind concerning that: what was your guy's relationship?

The immediate answer would be close friends, siblings that aren't blood related, two peas in a pod, everything a friendship should be.

Was that what you wanted?

You witnessed his sarcasm, his caring side, his good-natured heart, his tenacity, and certainly his stubbornness. He was complex, more than meets the eye, and yet he was also very simple to read when inspected close enough. He was like his map; there was always something more to look at when it came to him. He expanded on those traits of his as he matured into an adult, carrying the burden of his father as he became the Chief of Berk. He always reminded you that he was thankful to have you with him through it all, and you were as well, but something in you longed to be recognized as more than a best friend.

You didn't understand why, when, or how it started; that feeling which would always pick at the back of your mind. It grew with you as you left your teenage years, leaving you clueless as to what you were going to do for it.

"Actually, it was a bit hard...considering how you were acting." You muttered, sarcasm coating each word.

Hiccup lightly shook his head, briefly rolling his eyes as he shifted more comfortably in his spot next to you. "Okay, okay, enough of both of our attitudes.." He looked out at the sky around him, the mixing colors of orange and pink creating an ethereal sight while he talked lightheartedly. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you come here?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you kept a subtle gaze in his direction. "No need to sound so weird about it.." Your hand almost reached out for his, but you forcefully told yourself not to carry out those actions with a faint sigh. "I only wanted to...see what you were doing is all."

Hiccup's attention flickered over to your hands that had now started fidgeting, a gentle wind greeting the two of you from where you sat. "Hm. I can tell something is on your mind, y'know... Are you sure that's it?"

You took a deep breath in, relishing in the weather that seemed to be just right; it wasn't too cold like it usually was, but there was enough warmth to make it pleasant enough to stay outside for a longer period of time. Similarly, you often reminded yourself to be that way towards him; you wouldn't allow yourself to be too close with him in that manner, as the cold was barely noticeable, leaving a clement touch to those encompassed by it. However, there was also the warmth. The warmth that provided the comforting embrace of amiability, a distant affection that was still noticeable from afar. The heat balanced out the frigid air.

Nonetheless, the main question still stood: would he let you in? Would he let you in the unspoken of area in his heart that would've made you more than a best friend? The thought always came with a certain emotion of fear; fear that your friendship will collapse into mere dust if you barely mentioned what you truly felt.

"...Trust me, it's nothing important." You mumble, trying to sound as if nothing were bothering you. What came next was a little unexpected, though.

Hiccup slowly moved closer to your hand, gently setting his own on top of it as he tenderly gazed at you. "I don't think that's entirely what you mean..but I won't force you to say anything..." He paused, glimpsing at his hand as it soothingly held yours. "...Let me know when you're ready, okay?"

The Chief: so full of compassion and empathy; dynamic and firm when he needs to be, one who leads the people with courage. He was staunch, persevering, and everything else a leader needed to be. Oftentimes, he didn't even see that in himself, the very flaw he couldn't seem to get rid of. You wanted to remind him, despite if you already did, that he is those things. He is brave, he is strong, and he will continue to become a great Chief for Berk. In that moment, you earnestly wanted to be the one to tell him that, to be by his side when he thinks he can't do it, and to be the one he could find solace in.

To be recognized as more than a best friend.

"...Yeah, I will. Don't worry.."

Much to your surprise, Hiccup didn't let go of your hand, only giving you a small smile before he started rambling on of all the duties he was now getting used to. He may not have known, but you silently acknowledged that you really did have feelings for him, ones that probably wouldn't be going away for a while.

---------

[cherry-pop-elf]

Detox Day

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: It had been a long day of work, and your poor Hubby needed to detox a little. So, what better way than to have his loving partner help him out? First to put your son to bed, and remind him he deserves some self care

Warnings: 18+, So much fluff, gentle sex, domestic fluff, oral (male reviving) foot massages, kinda foot fetishy? This fic is very fluffy and playful, technical fem doming? ((George is EXTRA submissive in this one. Love me a man that whimpers. Mm))

“Dad’s home-!” Little Freddy shouted, the moment he heard the door open. Poor George hardly got a foot through said door, before Junior jumped onto his leg. Holding on for dear life, as if George would fade into a mist. Just never wanting to let go.

Despite being so bone dry tried, he just couldn’t resist his baby boy. He would take his dress suit jacket off, and hang it, before yanking his son into the air. Holding him high, and making him laugh. Squeals of pure delight filled the air, before he was attacked in kisses. Being held back just as tightly, as you watched.

“How was the shop-?” You asked, as you finished up dinner. Normally you helped out, of course. But George wanted to make sure Freddy had a stable life. Even as a baby, George made sure to have him in a sling around him. With ear protection, of course, while working in the shop. Not wanting to have a strained relationship. Much like what happened with his own parents. Seven kids isn’t as stable as people think. He wanted to make sure little junior always had a parent to love him deeply. When Freddy starts Hogwarts, that’s when you’ll return. That’s a promise.

<OH THE STORIES I HAVE TO SHARE WITH YOU> He would sign, so that Freddy didn’t notice, as he was busy hugging his father. Sounded, ironically, like he had himself a very bad day. One for little ears to not bear. As much as he didn’t want Junior to be naive to the world, he still needed a childhood just as much.

“Now come on over to dinner, you two. Still warm.” You gently encouraged, as Freddy was soon climbing onto his father’s shoulders. Quick to sit on them, and rest his head on the older man’s. Oh how identical they were. The same wild hair, same little smile. You loved them so much. Couldn’t stop yourself from joining in with the grins, as you rounded them up for a much needed meal.

For once, George had actually stayed rather quiet. That concerned you, as you ate. The meal wasn’t silent, however. Junior was more than happy to fill the quiet. Talking about the day he had with you. George was smiling at each word, but you could read him like a book. He was tired. So very tired. Not a need for sleep tired. That defeated tired. Suppose the weight of Fred no longer being in the shop was weighing on him again. His other half, if you will, no longer there for support. He felt alone, and tried to drown himself in work again. Guess you’ll need to fix that, won’t you?

“And then and then-“ But a yawn was quick to cut the little boy off. Poor thing talked himself tired again. A habit he’s developed. Just so full of energy. “Georgie, can you clean up while I put Freddy to beddy?” Was asked, as you hoisted the tot in the air. He whined, with the normal complaints of not being sleepy.

“Sure thing, love. Big boys need lots of rest.” George was quick to sooth. A gentle kiss to the little boys temple, and a squeeze to his little hand. “Love you, Junior.” He added, as your little boy smooshed his cheek against George’s. Reminded you so much of when Fred and George often did that. As a mock facade of ‘cute innocent little boys that could do no wrong.’ You don’t know how he picked up the habit, but a sneaking suspicion that there was a ghost at WWW wasn’t out of your mind.

“Love you to, Daddy.” He yawned, as you would bring the little boy to your chest. Humming away, as you escorted him to his bedroom. Rich in all that he loved. Tucked into bed he went, with his favorite little toy. A dragon plush from his uncle Charlie. Still smelled like soot, and that’s what soothed your tike. Snuggled in his grandmas quilts, and listening to you read him a bedtime story.

George would happily watch, as Junior gave him a sleepy wave. Along with a waving paw from the little dragon. George returned it, and gave a little finger wave to the dragon as well. Making sure they were both greeted. Seemed seeing him at the door way was what helped sooth Freddy to sleep. Out like a light, with his father quick to kiss his head. Doing his best to still be as involved in his life as he could. Even when so horribly tired. So much as just being physically there does wonders.

The door would be closed, with his night lights set, before George finally let himself drop his facade. The age in his face there in a blink. The sag, the exhaustion, the pale cheeks, everything seemed to just scream defeat. He learned to hide his emotions very well, after the war. Broke your heart to know it. He was just so damn drained.

“Go and sit down. I’ll grab you a drink, and you can tell me about your day.” You offered, with a kiss to his cheek. Earned you a crooked smile, as that sounded delightful to him. To just take a minute to let it all soak in. Get his muscles undone.

Into the comfortable arm chair he went. Just leaning back into it, and letting himself melt for a moment. Get off his exhausted feet, and breathe. Your poor hubby. Some Fire Whiskey is needed, and many other little TLC’s.

You would return with the glass, and bottle, to be placed on the table next to him. Along came a kiss to his cheek, before you were sitting at his feet. Your head in his lap, as you hugged his legs. Showing all your attention was on him. Making sure he knew you were there.

“Where do I even start-?” He groaned, as he would take the drink in one swift swallow. The way he rubbed his temples told you it all. A rough day at the shop. Your poor hubby. Not a day where he could just be playful and himself. A bullshit day of bullshit and more bullshit.

He would soon ramble about the day, as he poured another glass. Talking on about the parents, as you would work on untying his shoes. Placing them aside, and smiling to yourself. One sock being orange with purple stripes, and the other purple with orange polka dots. Never change, George. Never change.

“Then she asked for a refund. She asked for a refund, on a love potion, because the person she gave it to didn’t fall in love with her. It made sense, until she explained that he used it as perfume. That’s not how it works, and for the love of Merlin-“ He rambled on, as you would soon massage at his aching feet.

“Damn that feels good-“ He groaned, as he leaned back. Whatever else he was trying to say was forgotten. Just the comfort of being pampered. Not something he was used to. He’s normally the one drowning you in affection. So, you pulled a sneaky. You pampered him because it made you feel better. Get rekt.

“Poor baby. I can feel the blisters already. Such a hard working man. Even with magic, you just have to keep busy.” You tsked, playfully, as you gave his foot a hug. Making him playfully push at your cheek with the socked appendage.

“Got a thing for feet or something, you freak?” He teases on, as you gave a playful bite at his foot. “Freak of nature-“ He scoffed, but you both laughed. Hypocrite he was. Have to be a weirdo to think you could become one of the richest men in the Gaelic isles from a joke shop. Then prove yourself right.

“You are to be blamed for it all.” You egged on, before you would snuggled between his legs. Your chin on his chair, and looking up at him. So much love and devotion, returned in your own gesture. Those big brown eyes. You could stare into them forever. So full of spark, even after so many years. They were still so full. Despite it all, he was alive. Both physically, and mentally.

“Gonna just stare at me all night? Not complaining-“ He would smirk, as he would sway his cup of whiskey. A satisfying buzz on his tongue, as you were happy he was relaxing. He needed it, and you were going to make sure he would get some good sleep tonight.

With a grab of your wand, you gave it a flick. Casted a silencing charm, and an alert charm as well. In case Freddy needed either of you, but also warn you so you don’t traumatize him with what you were about to do.

“I have other things in mind.” You winked, as he rose a brow. With the wand set aside, as you would kissed his thigh. Taunting him, as you would rub at his calves. Getting him to give a blissful hum, as he closed his eyes. Just enjoying being touched.

Just something slow, and gentle. That’s what he needed. He deserved it. To relax, and for you to pamper him. You both loved it. To flip the script, and enjoy each other’s company. To hear each others whispers, and blissful sighs.

“Let’s get you more comfortable.” You whispered, before starting to unzip his dress pants. The sigh of relief he gave, when you pulled them down, was just heaven to your ears. To admire the hard on forming in the orange fabric. You couldn’t help but kiss it, and appreciate it. The simple act of being aroused by someone he loved so much.

“Such a tease.” He muttered, as he enjoyed another lazy sip. Wasn’t something he normally did. Made him feel like some Head Of The House bullshit he hated. As being in a family of seven siblings, everyone played a roll. There was no real ‘boss’ of the family. Molly more so was the leader, than any boss. He hated the idea of hierarchy, but he knew you genuinely enjoyed these moments. Communication is sexy.

“Learned it from the best.” You winked, as he rolled his eyes. <SARCASTIC BITCH> He signed. Well, more so said Female Dog. Even with sign language, he was cheeky. You retaliated with a flip off. “Ah, how educated of you. I would think you were a pure blooded noble~” He fanned himself, making you snort into his thigh.

“Let me be sexy, for like two seconds-!” You begged, between your snorts. That had him laugh even more. It was hard to take things to serious, and that was wonderful. Most of the time. Just to be at a point that it’s just laughter, instead of awkward noises and averting eyes.

“Ok ok, be sexy. Go-“ He finger gunned, with a wink. That had you slap his thigh. “Gregory, please-!” Was just more laughter, as you tried to get back in the mood. Even if you couldn’t, the love of laughter was all that mattered. You loved how he found a way to make you laugh, no matter what. It was wonderful.

“Alright, I yield. Go on ahead. Be sexy.” He would fight his giggles, with another sip from his whiskey. Savoring the flavor, as to try and calm himself down. Along with not he sloshed, because he damn well wanted to enjoy the moment.

With your breathe caught, and tears wiped away, you were finally able to return to the prize. Had you biting your lip, as you admired it. After so many times, you still couldn’t help but get excited to. No matter the years.

You would tug down his underwear, and watched it spring to life. The groan of relief was sending a thrill down your spine, as he was able to get the relief of the air on his exposed cock. Chilling, but needed from the heat of the whiskey in his system.

“Now time for my drink.” You grinned, as you kissed the tip of his cock. A few gentle kisses down it, as it throbbed against your lips. Excited to be given attention. You were more than happy to give him such. Little kisses, up and down his dick. Just taking it easy, as he enjoyed the view.

“Wonder if I’ll be able to taste that whiskey….” You absentmindedly muttered, before you run your tongue up the side. That got him to shiver, as he would hold onto the chair. Just letting you take full control, as he enjoyed the buzz in his chest and groin.

He was just so cute. How his freckles looked like stars, on those roses cheeks. The way his eyelids fluttered, when you licked over his tip. How he bit his lip, when you gave attention to his balls. He had so many beautiful expressions. Who could resist a submissive man?

“Please…..” He almost whimpered, as he stayed a good boy. Keeping his hands firm on the arm rests, and letting you remain in charge. Good boys deserved rewards, and rewards were given to those good boys.

The head of his cock would slip past your lips, and he moaned in relief. The heat of his cock in your mouth was exciting, as his need for you was impossible to hide. How his heart was racing in your mouth, as you took more down.

“Fuck….Fuck that feels good-“ He moaned for you, as you looked up to him. How his face was even more flushed, and how his nose did its cute little scrunch. Oh how you loved when his nose would speak for him. Was just an adorable thing. Had you smile, as you would bob your head. Pulling out more moans of pleasure.

It was simple, like that. It didn’t always have to be complex. Nor hot and steamy. Sometimes, you just wanted to pamper your partner. Make love. Remind them how much you love them. Course, it’s also quite the bonus to hear all the sounds they made. Not distracted by the heat of the moment. All for you to enjoy.

After a while, you could feel his cock throbbing in your mouth. Had your eyes look up, and you could see the way he was trying to hold back. The way he was panting, with his pretty lips parted. His hair slightly a mess, and his eyes closed. Such beautiful lashes he had. Ever fluttering, when your rubbed your tongue over a vain.

He was close, and you wanted him to spill. Spill into your mouth, and watch him whimper your name. To breathe heavy, and drool ever so slightly. To just let all that tension leave his body, as you would take good care of him. Make sure he was cozy, and relaxed.

“Fuck fuck fuck-“ His whimpers answered your prayers, as you would take him deep down your throat. Savoring the feeling, as his cock was spurting down it. Oh his moans were just the trumpets of heaven. How his chest heaved, and his stomach clenched. The way his head rolled back, and his mouth opened wider. You didn’t need to get off. That was your reward. A whimpering man.

With his high coming down, you would pull off from his cock. Happy to have swallowed it all, and even gave the tip a little peck. As a thanks. Thanks for giving you such a beautiful sight.

“That hit the spot.” He sighed, as you stood up. A gentle hand to brush his hair aside, as he kissed his cheek. Right on the scar, from when he lost his ear. A reminder you loved all of him. Every, last, inch.

“I better return the favor-“ He said, but you poked his nose. “In the morning, hm? Time for you to get some needed sleep.” You would hush, with another kiss to his cheek. That got a whine of protest, but he knew he was a bit tipsy. Best to enjoy the buzz, instead of risking a hang over.

With his pants and underwear taken off, he would strip off the rest of his exhausted clothes. Nothing a Accio for his sleep wear couldn’t fix. Into those comfy pajamas bottoms, and old shirts that once belonged to his older siblings.

The two of you would quickly give one last check to Freddy, seeing him peacefully asleep, before returning to your own bedroom. To go through your own sleep routine, before snuggling close. Yourself in one of his stolen shirts. Nothing more comfortable than that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked, as he would play with your hair. “Exist.” You smirked, before he rolled his eyes. Regardless, those words meant a lot. It’s been such a burden to be a lonely twin, but you’ve made it easier. You made him alive.

“Love you, so much, jellybean.” He would give you a gentle kiss, and you returned it. Tucked under his chin you went, as he hugged you tighter. A squeeze of reassurance, as the sounds of late night Diagon soothed you both to sleep.

A simple night, but those were cherished all the same.

[nerdy-catfish]

Silm Ways to Die

Kill a dragon and then yourself Run afoul of the Kinslaying Elves Be crushed by God with the biggest mountain Break both your arms and then drown in a fountain

Dumb ways to die So many dumb ways to die Dumb ways to die-ie-ie So many dumb ways to die

Set on fire by your dad Make Sauron really mad Be poisoned by a javelin thrust Fight all the Balrogs then spontaneously combust

Dumb ways to die So many dumb ways to die Dumb ways to die-ie-ie So many dumb ways to die

Insult some Dwarves to their face Get crushed by Morgoth's mace Take advice from the guy who's really cursed Stabbed by your best friend; that's just the worst

Dumb ways to die So many dumb ways to die Dumb ways to die-ie-ie So many dumb ways to die

Enrage the father of the Black Sword Fight a suicidal battle with the Dark Lord Believe what Sauron says about your wife is true I wonder … what does this Silmaril do?

Dumb ways to die So many dumb ways to die Dumb ways to die-ie-ie So many dumb ways to die

Have a bunch of kids and then eat yourself alive Have one great kid then refuse to be revived Get thrown off a wall while kidnapping your cousin Jump in a volcano after stealing a Silmaril Have such amazing hair that it kills you They may not rhyme, but they're quite possibly

Dumbest ways to die The dumbest ways to die Dumbest ways to die-ie-ie-ie So many dumb So many dumb ways to die

---

Characters referenced as well as explanations are under the cut in case you want to guess:

Túrin Turambar (killed Glaurung and later threw himself on his sword) Unspecified residents of Alqualondë, Doriath, and Sirion Ar-Pharazôn (buried under falling hills in Aman. He was probably not crushed by Taniquetil itself, and is possibly not technically dead, but poetic license.) Ecthelion (in The Fall of Gondolin he's said to have lost the use of both his arms but still managed to kill Gothmog the Balrog by stabbing him with a spike on his helmet and then throwing them both into a fountain)

Amrod (in one version he was asleep on the Swan-ships when Fëanor set them on fire) Celebrimbor (refused to give Sauron the location of the Three Rings, so Sauron tortured him to death, shot him full of arrows, and displayed his corpse as a war banner in front of his relatives) Aredhel (killed by a poisoned javelin thrown by her husband Eöl) Fëanor (fought with several Balrogs almost alone and received mortal wounds, and his body fell to ashes as his spirit left him)

Thingol (insulted the Dwarves who had set the Silmaril in the Nauglamir for him, so they killed him) Finwë (killed by Morgoth while defending Fëanor's house. In some versions his head is said to have been crushed.) Orodreth (listened to Túrin's counsel about the bridge of Nargothrond, which caused it to be discovered and lead to his death) Beleg (tried to free Túrin and was mistaken and killed by him for an Orc)

Mîm (killed by Húrin for his betrayal of Túrin) Fingolfin (rode out to duel Morgoth alone after Dagor Bragollach) Gorlim (betrayed Barahir's outlaws to Sauron in exchange for being set free to be with his wife; Sauron then killed him since his wife was already dead) Dior (refused to give up the Silmaril which led the Fëanorians to attack Doriath)

Ungoliant (had many spider children including Shelob and eventually ate herself when her hunger grew too great) Míriel (spent her spirit in giving birth to Fëanor and then bound herself to stay in Mandos forever) Maeglin (laid hands on Idril during the Fall of Gondolin and was thrown from the walls by Tuor) Maedhros (cast himself into a fiery chasm after he was burned by the Silmaril. I really don't think it can have been any named volcano but "gaping chasm filled with fire" does fit the technical definition of "volcano") Glorfindel (fought a Balrog on a mountain pass who dragged him off the cliff to his death by his hair)

---

Thanks for playing! Remember to never 1v1 a Balrog, love not too well the work of your hands, never swear any oaths, and always listen to your wife.

[cloversnstrawberries]

I really loved the platonic RE yandere you posted, would you mind writing a continuation of the Wesker part? xoxo

platonic!yandere!albert wesker & S.T.A.R.S!gn!reader [oneshot] ! !

masterlist ! [this is a continuation of this post !]

description; Honestly, why were you here? Why you? Why was it, out of everyone on the now defunct S.T.A.R.S team, you who caught his attention like you had? And why is he acting like this is normal?

additional notes; hello!!! i'm so glad you like it so much!! it was my first time doing multi-HCs, and i think it came out really well all things considered :)) i haven't really gotten the hang of HC format fully though, so i ended up doing a oneshot for this </3

but thank you so much for requesting a continuation!! i was more than happy to do it :)) i also tried a new style(?) of description, but i don't know if i'll stick with it or not </3

warnings; Drugging, hospital/medical setting, Wesker's god complex, mention of the other S.T.A.R.S members and their fates, imprisonment, captivity, general terror and confusion, Reader is very suspicious of Wesker's reasonings (he's not helping it at all), possessiveness, soft(ish) Albert Wesker, and if there's anymore i missed, please let me know!! :D my writing seems to leave my mind the moment i put it down...

w/c; 4.1k

How could it end like this? How could you let this happen?

You're trained. Maybe not as much as your other team members-- but you went through school for this, and you could've sworn you were just getting the hang of it all.

But then again, maybe there was nothing you could've done. Even if you were as experienced as everyone else-- hell, if you had more experience than everyone combined, it'd probably turn out the same regardless.

You trusted him-- they trusted him, just for him to lead them all like lambs to the slaughter;

He spared you, though. Why? What the hell is he up to?

That phone call you'd been eavesdropping on-- at the time, you couldn't make heads or tails of it. But now, oh... now you understand it perfectly.

S.T.A.R.S was never what it claimed to be, but out of everyone, only Wesker was aware of that. Not even Marini, because lord knows if he knew what was actually going on, he wouldn't have had any part in it.

Did any of them survive? Wesker made it sound like there was no chance anyone could've made it out alive. Apparently, he hadn't made it out alive--

He claims to have died, but to have come back better; reborn as something truer than what he had been.

God... how did you not see this coming? Again, you were trained! You... you were supposed to be able to spot these kinds of things. Maybe you'd been too blindly trusting, after all, he was your captain.

If you couldn't trust anyone else, you should've been able to trust him. That's how it's supposed to be. Only for him to turn around and stab you all in the back.

Even if he didn't send you out there. Even if you were the one exception, his companion (whatever that entailed), that couldn't mean much. Not to a man like him, who uses people as stepping stones. Who used your co-workers, your friends, as just rungs in a ladder; as he sought to achieve godhood.

He's different, now. He says he'd died-- and you don't quite doubt that fact. Maybe you should, but his... his eyes. His eyes gave you pause, as you tried to discredit his claim of being revived.

They were like a snakes-- no, a dragons, actually. You don't think snakes can have that sort of coloring naturally, the central heterochromatic yellow around his pupils, and the bright, jarring red the rest of his pupils held.

Sometimes, they almost glowed. The way he moved now wasn't human. Nothing about him was-- but not all of that could be attributed to his strange, unexplainable (from your point of view, at least) metamorphosis.

In theory, he was still so human. He had the same face-- his bone structure hadn't changed, god no. The only physical attribute that tangibly changed had been his eyes, and maybe his teeth and nails being a little sharper.

But something about him was monstrous, beyond those traits. Maybe it was the knowledge of what he'd done, or the fear spawned out of uncertainty. Uncertainty of what he has planned for you, that makes him seem so otherworldly beyond the obvious.

Why you? Why, out of everyone, did he spare you? It couldn't have anything to do with your age-- he'd mentioned no sort of exception made for Rebecca, who was only 18. Safe to say, he didn't have any qualms about leading a literal teenager to her untimely death,

And maybe you could argue that it was his higherups-- or whoever that Birkin he was seemingly talking to on the phone-- that forced his hand and made him 'euthanize' S.T.A.R.S.

He talked about them like they were animals, and not people with hopes, dreams-- families. Reasons to live outside of their jobs, reasons they were important.

Like they were lab rats, he'd indirectly referred to them as much during the phone call. So what did that make you?

When you were young, you had a neighbor who owned a snake. You don't remember what kind exactly, but it was a very sweet little thing. You wouldn't think a snake could be cuddly until you met that little sucker-- but in the end, it was still a snake.

It still needed to eat; most of the time, your neighbor would feed it frozen mice. But the snake would get bored, and if it got too bored then it'd refuse to eat until something caught it's fancy;

And in those cases, your neighbor would get live feeder mice. One of them, the runt of the litter-- had tugged on his heartstrings, one that seemed more intent on snuggling into his head more than trying to flee.

He kept it, and named it Sunflower. Sunny for short; and kept that little feeder mouse around as long as it could last-- and it even went past the expected age for a domesticated mouse. Much less a runt feeder.

Is that what you are? A feeder mouse that somehow managed to squeeze your way into whatever was left of Wesker's heart, one that snuggled up so sweetly-- that he couldn't help but to keep you, while he threw the rest of your brethren into the hungry snake’s enclosure.

Dinner and a show, your neighbor had dubbed it to try and make it seem less gruesome. If anything, it made the action worse in your little mind-- to add such an unassuming title to the practice.

You just can't wrap your head around it, how Wesker could give up so many people-- people he knew personally, that he'd actively sought out for their positions,

But that he seemed to draw the line when it came to you. That for some reason, he decided he wanted to keep you.

He visits you often, but not too much. You have no way of telling the time or date, or even an approximate of how long you've been here. You're set up in this strange sort of... half hospital room, half normal bedroom. It sort of looked like your bedroom back home-- your childhood one, but not to the point were you'd assume Wesker broke in and took a look around.

No, it just... looks like a normal bedroom, not necessarily childish, but not necessarily full adult. There was a dresser, a desk, nightstand, and a clothes rack-- an empty one, sure, but it was still there regardless.

That didn't make much sense to you, considering there seems to be a closet right next to the empty rack; but if you've learned one thing, it's hat you have no hope of trying to figure out why Wesker does the things he does.

And then, there was the bed. It was your average, run-of-the-mill hospital bed, complete with the ability to adjust the incline, bars at the side, and places for medical equipment to be threaded through or attached in some manner.

There was a stool next to your bed, and a metal rolling cart that Wesker usually pushed just out of your reach when he wasn't actively in the room. Like he was taunting you-- he probably was, actually. Just another thing to rub your own helplessness in your face.

Honestly, you wish you could explore the room. It wasn't large, but it wasn't small; you'd probably find very little, sure, but it'd still be something.

Instead, you were handcuffed to the metal bar of the hospital bed. As if you were a particularly high-risk patient, and not a completely healthy person that Wesker fucking kidnapped and hooked up to an IV, pumping god-knows-what in your system.

It didn't make you out of it, but you weren't exactly fully aware right now. Not physically, anyways-- you could hardly muster enough energy to turn onto your side, so safe to say that's the intention of whatever fluid is the IV bag hanging by your bedside.

And while it didn't necessarily make you out of it-- you could still think perfectly fine--, it did dull your senses a little bit. Made you more susceptible to being snuck up on,

"Good morning, dear heart." Honestly, it surprised you that you had enough energy to jolt a Wesker's sudden appearance-- you swung your head around so fast that your vision went bleary for a few seconds, before inexplicably clearing up.

"Is it really morning, or is it just another one of your lies?" This had become a routine of yours-- questioning every little thing he said. Everything he does, everything he says, could be (and most likely was) in an attempt to trip you up further.

Wesker has yet to be annoyed by this, and that worries you. It worries how... kind he's appearing to be. Yes, he's still stern, and grabs you a little too roughly when you try to resist whatever medication or food he's trying to give you--

But that's nothing compared to hell he put the rest of S.T.A.R.S through, from what you could piece together from little context clues here and there-- and the tiny tidbits of information he seems to let slip on accident.

He sat on the stool next to your bed, letting out a breathy laugh "Do you really think I'd lie about something soinconsequential?" You deadpanned, and immediately shot back with a monotone "Yes."

Again, he laughed. He always did this-- always had some sort of fondness held in his eyes, a softness to his smile that you didn't think he was capable of, especially now. He's acting as if this just another day, as if this is normal.

Like this is life or death for you, like you aren't in the den of a viper-- acting like a caring, nurturing figure to its prey. You know better, though. You know better than to believe it, that he won't turn around and eat you whole once you've served whatever hidden purpose he has for you.

"Well," He began, as he leaned over and pulled that metal rolling cart by his side. As he busied himself with preparing the blood pressure cuff (god knows why he's so insistent on doing this every visit-- like you were actually sick and in need of his care, and not like he was actively pumping drugs in your system to make you sluggish and lethargic for his own gain), he continued his thought.

"Despite what you seem to think, I don't particularly enjoy lying. Especially not to you, dear heart." You had half a mind to jerk your arm away when he reached out, but you knew from previous experience he just wouldn't care. He'd just grab you regardless-- be a little rougher with it. It didn't accomplish anything, fighting him like this.

...But it was the only conceivable way you could fight back right now, and that infuriates you. You like to think that, if you weren't cuffed to the bed with an IV stuck in your arm, you'd be able to take him down.

As if he took those precautions to protect himself from you, and not to protect you from yourself-- or keep you from trying to make a break for it the first chance you get. He knew you were clever, he'd said as much himself.

Oddly enough, Wesker had this strange habit of always complimenting you; usually, it was in relation to himself-- saying you were smart, but too kind for your own good. That your relation to him blinded you, made you overlook any and all red flags until it was too late to do anything about it.

But sometimes, he'd just... compliment you. No apparent backhandedness about it. Sometimes, he reminded you of a proud dad, welcoming home his kid after they got all A's in school.

It was disturbing, to say the very least.

After a few moments, you finally respond with a curt "Whatever helps you sleep at night.", Because you don't believe him for even a second. You wish you could yell at him, that you could berate him over everything he's done-- but with the drugs making you less articulate than before, and the fact that he could just kill you right then and there-- or at least cause you grievous bodily harm--, you decide against that.

For a moment, you could've sworn you saw genuine emotion cross his face-- but it was gone so fast, that you seriously question if your brain just made it up. That even after all he's done, your brain still tries to grasp at straws that he cares for you. That he cares for you as a person, and not what you can do for him.

...Whatever that might be, which has yet to be seen by anything but Wesker himself.

Wesker took a deep breath, a habit you used to think fondly of; because it meant he was actively putting an effort into not snapping at something, and he was downright terrifying when he got angry-- or even just irritated.

Now, it just makes your body tense. Back straight, muscles wound up-- like a hare ready to bolt. He seems to realize this, but doesn't seem to process what caused it. Instead of moving back, because it was so obviously him that was bringing out this primal sort of fear in you--

He just leaned closer. Thankfully, he didn't reach out to touch you or anything-- but he was still closer.

...Then you realize he was just opening a new bottle of disinfectant-- obviously, you hadn't gone down without a fight, no matter how futile it was. Maybe this was your brain trying to humanize the monster before you-- but if you didn't know any better, you'd say he felt guilty for causing your injuries.

Even if they weren't that serious; he treated them like they were the end of the world, when you knew you've sustained much worse from much less then a god-like being trying to capture you.

Hell, one time you got a concussion from falling off a spinning chair in high-school! (admittedly, that was not your best idea-- but it got the job done! you'd fixed the loose ceiling tile that'd been bugging for three weeks straight!) You'll be fine--!

But for some Godforsaken reason, Wesker seems to think your more fragile than a porcelain doll; and a not trained S.T.A.R.S operative (though, you weren't very experienced, that didn't negate the fact that you had the formal training, and passed all the tests).

For now, you let him play doctor. You tried your best to suppress a hard flinch when he leaned forward, and started tending to the cuts and scrapes littering your face and arms-- for some reason, he thought it'd been a good idea to toss you through a fucking window--

...Albeit, the window had been in the first floor lobby of your mediocre apartment-- and it did very well to slow you down from escaping, but still. Why would he do that? You were lucky to get away with what little injuries you had from the action--

Sometimes, a scary, downright existentsial fear inducing thought crossed you mind. That maybe, just maybe he genuinely hadn't meant to do that. He just didn't know his own strength-- didn't know how easy it was to toss your around like a ragdoll, now that he was... whatever he was now.

You didn't realize how quiet it'd gotten, only the faint whir of the medical equipment and occasional sound of shifting clothes or something being picked up-- until Wesker spoke again, startling you out of your downward spiral of thought.

"Is there anything you'd like?" That was... unexpected. Very out of the blue-- and at first, you thought it had to be some kind of test. Like he was trying to trick you.

Cautiously, you needled him for further explanation with a simple, straight-to-the-point "...What?"

Very well-spoken, you were-- but who could blame you, with whatever cocktail of sedatives and (entirely unnecessary, in your opinion) painkillers working through your system right now?

A faint, almost soft, smile graced his face-- as he, unhelpfully, just repeated what he'd said before. "Is there anything you'd like, dearheart?"

Your brows furrowed, as you searched his face for any clue on what the actual hell he was getting at.

Surprisingly, he let you think it through. Didn't rush you, and didn't seem to be getting impatient. You, however, did not want to push that limit, and ultimately just gave and asked "What do you mean? Like... meds?"

Predictably, Wesker laughed-- unpredictably, at least from your point of view, he leaned forward and fucking-- ruffled your hair?

Seriously, did his supposed death and rebirth cross some wires or what? What was going on??

"No, but I don't fault you for thinking that." You grimaced, his hand staying firmly on your head for a few more seconds, before he pulled back-- and you thanked whatever was out there for finally helping you out here, but that thankfulness was quickly dashed when he grabbed a hold of your hand.

It reminded you of when you caught pneumonia as a child, probably around 5 or 6. Your mom sat by your side the whole time, holding your hand just as Wesker was right now.

You wanted so badly to smack it away and yell at him, demand that he leave you alone and just stop acting like he cared--!

"Anything at all, a favorite food, a book, something to keep you busy,"

You should know better then to interrupt him, but you can't help it. It was a stupid idea, the whole thing-- but you had to try. That's all you can do right now, is try whatever you can--

"I want to be let go." Immediately, there was a very... noticeable shift in the energy of the room. No longer was it a tentative calm,

Now it was so stifling that it felt hard to breathe, as Wesker stared-- you're pretty sure, again, his eyes are covered as always-- you down, making you squirm.

His hold on your hand tightened, and you swore you could feel the bones in it creak and shift under the pressure of it.

Right before you were sure your hand would simply cave-- just give in under the pressure, Wesker loosened his grip.

Just enough where you were not longer worried about the immediate shattering of your bones-- it still wasn't comfortable, physically and emotionally speaking.

"There's nothing out there for you, dearheart." The strange sort of monotone aspect of his voice should've tipped you off, should've had the alarm bells in your head ringing louder than an emergency siren-- screaming at you to don't you dare try to push it! don't be dumb!

Evidently, you weren't paying any attention to that. It was like sleeping soundly through a tornado warning--

But hey, might as well start calling your Dorothy, huh?

"I don't care." Foolishly, you tried to pull your hand from his. Obviously, he didn't budge-- but it was a good sign that he didn't tighten his grip any further.

...Mostly because it would absolutely cause some serious damage if he did, and you're sure he was well aware of that fact.

"I don't want to be here anymore. I had a life outside of S.T.A.R.S, outside of you, and you can't just keep me in this room forever--!"

You don't think you've ever seen him so angry before. It caught you completely off guard, how open the emotion on his face was. How tensely he held himself,

"I wasn't planning on doing so! I'd let you roam once you're better, and I know you won't try anything stupid." There was... so much unbridled rage in his tone, that you felt like your heart might give out right then and there.

He'd never raised his voice at you before.

But you were too far in-- this was your chance, with him so worked up; you might be able to get some real answers out of him now.

"Why are you doing this?!" You sat up, trying in vain to yank your hand from his grip again-- surprisingly, he let you do so. But as you came to realize, it wasn't because of your efforts;

He stood, turning his back to you and headed over to the closet-- that was... unprecedented. You didn't know what was in there, and it only made you panic further.

Grasping at straws now, you tried to poke at his supposed admiration of you-- rushing out a quick "What's so special about me, huh? That you go through-- through all of--"

You didn't fault yourself for stumbling over the words, you were still drugged, and it was impressive as hell that you were able to be this coherent as it was.

That, to give credit where credit is due, got his attention. He was halfway through opening the closet-- and for a second there, when he stopped moving for just a second, you really thought he was going to answer you.

Shame on you, for thinking any part of this hellish experience would work in your favor-- because after that momentary pause, he went along his merry way without another hiccup.

Your heart was going a mile a minute, and you leaned over the side of the bed and strained your neck, trying to get a view inside the closet and--

Huh.

Despite your previous assumption, it wasn't so much a closet for clothes, as it was a... supply closet. Like ones you'd usually find in hallways, filled with cleaning supplies and miscellaneous home goods that didn't have anywhere else to go.

But instead of some strongly lemon scented spray cleaner and a dustpan-- there was some more medical supplies. Name bloodwork things, syringes, vials of god knows what;

And Wesker sure as hell wasn't reaching for the bloodwork stuff.

"Please, just-- just answer me!" Desperate saturated your tone, and you begged for a straight answer-- this was all so confusing. Why? Seriously, why you, why now-- why like this?

You couldn't see what he doing for a while, but when he turned, you realized the syringe was filled with something. While it didn't look particularly suspicious-- just a clear liquid in a run-of-the-mill syringe, you knew that not everything was as it seems.

In a last ditch effort of escaping whatever it was Wesker had planned, you threw the white hospital blanket off your legs and stood; you were cuffed, you knew very well you couldn't do jackshit--

But you weren't thinking very clearly, obviously.

To his credit, Wesker didn't really reprimand you for standing. Usually, he'd get a little 'worried' (thinly veiled annoyance, in your opinion) and get you to lay back down,

This time, he just grabbed you. Didn't try and get you back on the bed-- you struggled, God knows you struggled best you could;

In the end, it all amounted to nothing. Like you knew it would.

And yet, you still tried to fight the inevitable.

You felt a sharp pinch in your upper arm-- you looked down to realize he'd managed to inject you with whatever it was.

It took a few moments to register what had happened, and by then it was already taking effect. You stumbled, and managed to slur out a barely discernable "Wha.. was tha-at..."

"Just a sedative, no need to be worried." You wished you were in any condition to give him a glare that'd send any normal person running for the hills-- not that it'd do much beside amuse him, but it's the thought that counts in this situations--, but alas, you really weren't.

You weren't in any condition to give a coherent response either, or fight as he helped you back on the bed and placed the blanket back over your legs and torso, tucking you in like you would with a small child.

"And to answer your first question," Your mind had slowed down exponentially-- rendering you almost entirely unaware to the world around you,

But something about his words, even if you couldn't make sense or make any connections at the time, cut through that fog just enough where you vaguely processed it.

Wesker leaned down, giving you a little kiss on the forehead-- like a parent wishing their beloved child a good nights sleep, before he finally answered.

"It's because you're mine, dearheart. There's no deeper meaning, I simply wanted you safe and by my side. Like you always should've been."

At that point, you were mere seconds from passing the hell out-- the last thing you really registered was this smug sort of smile, like he knew you wouldn't remember a majority of that exchange come morning (or whenever you woke up).

[zluty-spendlik]

WAKFU REDESIGN SERIES PART 3 - ADAMAÏ

Hiya, Im back lmaooo - took me long enough

I have been struggling with Ad's and Am's design so much. I dont know why. With Amalia, Im going to have to start over- again- 4th times the charm Im sure - but I finally finished this little guy!

ADAMAÏ IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER GUYS IM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS I LOVE HIM SM

But anyway, here is the final (human form) design:

Im aware he has multiple forms since hes, you know, a shapeshifter, and Im going to add them i promise but im like super tired and burnt out from the rest of my mortal life rn

Anyway, to the DESIGN.

Honestly, Adamais og design kinda sucks. Im sorry (not rlly). He doesnt look similar to Yugo at all - YES I KNOW HES A DRAGON - which bothers me a lot, even his color scheme is a lot different from his literal twin...

In my version, I wanted Ad to look deer-like at first, since I gave Yugo deer features, but then I drew him over and over again until I got this fusion of a moth and a lamb or smthing..

I don't know, but I really like it!

The outfit he's wearing is actually what I plan to be an official eliatrope/dragon robe? Both Grougal and Qilby will be wearing it and - potentially - Yugo in season 3. It has some portal imagery (the spiral on the back), and I don't know I just think it's neat!

ALSO WAKFU FRECKLES-

Season 1

Ad has been raised by Grougaloragran (least complicated name ever, wtf Ankama :3) and with Eliatrope/Dragon traditions, so hes very knowledgable of the now dead culture and values it very much. He loves talking to Yugo about it (he gets almost bored sometimes, but he would never admit it to Adamaï).

He, just like Yugo, is extremely curious and loves studying the way Wakfu works and its limits.

And mainly, he loves Grougal, whom he sees as an idol and a father figure. Which is why hes so hurt when he gets killed by Nox.

It feels like the whole world is collapsing on him. His mentor, care-taker, father, LITERALLY THE ONLY OTHER "PERSON" HE EVER INTERACTED WITH AND THE ONLY OTHER DRAGON ALIVE, is gone.

Adamaï has noone. Well- almost noone. Theres this little 12 year old Eliatrope, his only hope, his only anchor.

And he asks you: "Uh, sorry, whats your name again?"

Season 2

HAHSHA LETS TRAUMATIZE THE BOY!! (Even more than he is) Like I said, Adamaï values his culture and people very much, so I assume he would get very, I mean extremely attached to Yugo. However, Yugo is not actually interested in the same things Adamaï is interested in, which makes him a little bit more avoidable of Ad than he should be, given his emotional state.

Not that we blame him. So instead Ad seeks out a new anchor, a new mentor, a new... idol. Who is that you may ask?

Well, it's Qilby of course. Now here's where the funny trauma part happens, because Adamaï starts blurring the line between Grougal and Qilby.

Qilby's mistakes suddenly don't matter as much because Adamaï cares about him as much as he cared about Grougaloragran even though they don't know each other that long (which is the core of the problem).

Anything he'll be does that is morally questionable suddenly isn't bad, because that's not the mentor that Adamaï was raised with ‐ he trust Grougal completely, so why should Qilby be aby different?

So when Qilby betrays him, Adamaï is all the more surprised and hurt. It doesn't help that he really doesn't want to hurt Qilby: Even though he finally realizes that Qilby is a bad person, Adamaï still sees him as an anchor. He might be bad, but other than Yugo he's the only other person Adamaï has.

So of course he loses the fight, of course he gets captured – he doesn't actually want Qilby to get hurt.

Season 3-4 (5?)

Okay let's make one thing clear, I'm a bit of a hater.

Like I genuinely really dislike season 3 and what it has going on with making Adamaï a villain? I really don't think it fits his character, and I would much prefer for the story to have Yugo and Ad grow closer and revive their culture despite all the horrors and terrible things that have been bestowed up on them - But the writers have decided to go the obvious evil twin route which honestly makes my blood boil..

so I don't think I will be even considering rewriting season 3? I think to make it likeable for myself - as this is a self-indulgent project - I would just have to make my own season 3?

If that makes sense?

Art dump!! (Seriously my sketchbook is filled w this lil guy, these r hand picked) And- woah, is that Cleophée redesign? Maybeee~

@saturnyukaa i was looking forward to ur reaction 👉👈

[atopvisenyashill]

i get that we hate monarchy and some targs are assholes but george explicitly sets the dragons as the defenders of life and their return as the revival of magic in a world? i really do not think supposed to see them as the 'ultimate threat' or ONLY as a threat bc there's foreshadowing for dany fighting in the long night and the others are in charge of that role? even if i think magic is gonna leave the world in the end…

“george explicitly sets the dragons as defenders of life” …..huh?

these dragons?? look what’s coming in twow, it’s not any defending of life, it’s destruction!

and yeah, I know it’s a common fan idea that Dany ~reawakens magic~ but the thing is that’s just…not true. I’m not trying to discount the insane magic Dany pulls off, or that her specific type of magic -being fire magic - starts going crazy once she wakes the dragons from stone. But the Starklings all being wargs happens before Dany wakes her dragons, as does Bran opening his third eye. I don’t think Dany nor Valyrian magic or blood in general is going to be the end all be all of magic especially a form of magic she’s not even involved with and there are several.

also “foreshadowing for fighting in the long night” while I definitely go back and forth on what some of the foreshadowing in her chapters means for her endgame, I think it’s really silly to say that passages like the ant one are concrete evidence that she’s going to be involved in the long night. i still don’t even fully buy she’s going to be involved AT ALL in the long night - i don’t think she ever goes North of the trident even if she DOES fight them. Beyond that, again, I get it’s a popular fan theory that the Others are going to be the ultimate evil that the hero’s will be allowed to uncritically massacre but a) so george LITERALLY talks about the ethical ramifications of killing orcs, why is it so ingrained in fandom that he’s just going to go full tolkien here? how does that make any sense? considering how important the isle of faces is, i think it’s much more likely a new pact is made and whatever happens with the others stops because of THAT not because of some big battle that wipes them all out. As george says himself, it’s a trope that basically legitimizes committing genocide? And it’s not one he likes!

and b) por que no los dos????? it’s not like the lannisters are the only evil people in the whole series!

[staenless]

The tonal shift in this episode isn't, as others have said, a bait and switch. It feels that way right now, but in reality everything has been building to this sombre discovery. We've had set ups for this darker tone and the bigger story sprinkled throughout the anime so far.

We've seen how death is treated in the dungeon, we've learnt the rules. The characters have discussed their first deaths, the corpse retrievers have been revealed to be corrupt and money hungry. From the get go we functioned under the understanding that we'd be digging Falins corpse out of the dragons stomach to revive. When the party eats with the Orcs we learn the dragon is active, far more active than it should be, and probably burning through it's food. The idea of Falin in the dragons stomach and possibly being digested is planted. People were commenting on how the party should be more worried about Falin being inside a dragon (although we also know they are moving as quickly as they are able, the dungeon is massive yall) and their concerns were right.

The party, like us, had all the information about Falins progress through the dragon. She's been eaten, she's being digested, the dragon is active she's being digested faster than expected. Falins skull is shocking, but it's not a surprise, not when we think back to all we've been told.

What else do we know about this world? What did we learn from Mr Tansu about the dungeon and the elves? What did we learn from Kabru about adventurers and the dungeon? What did we learn when Laios was in the living paintings?

I love the red dragon part of dungeon meshi because while reading the manga it felt like our characters are existing outside of the plot of the world. There's a story of magic and politics and our characters just aren't apart of it, they're on their own course. The red dragon is when our characters are finally introduced the the larger story of this world, of the dungeon. It's when the seeds that had been planted between meals and comradery begin to sprout. The story is emerging from its cocoon. If you're worried about everything becoming serious and dark now, don't be. The characters are still the same goofy assholes, the stakes are just shifting

[huginsmemory]

Thinking about how deliberately colour coded the touden siblings are to the winged lion. Like they have gold eyes and blond hair, directly correlating themselves to the winged lion by colour scheme... And when they both become monstrous, they BOTH are represented with feathers around their neck and chest areas; as the red dragon has no feathers but chimera Falin DOES is interesting as it points to something specific to Falin... only to be repeated when Laios shifts and has the same feathers in the exact same area suggesting it's something unique to the Toudens. I mean whether that really has merit is obtuse really, but if we're going for the winged lion representation angle it makes sense. Interestingly, Marcille also has blonde hair but she has green eyes; not so obviously tied to the winged lion, even if she ends up becoming the dungeon master.

And I wonder if it's a representation within the touden siblings at how by the end they represent/become the lion. Laios is very clear; by consuming the winged lion, he 'becomes one' with the lion, in the most base sense of what you eat you literally are made of... and also in how incredibly horny the panel is. And then quite literally his result of eating the winged lion he's doomed to forever feel hungry and never feel sated; the same thing the winged lion represents, desire without end. He becomes in a way, the winged lion, a human representative of him, after his body also quite literally becoming the human representative of the winged lion, when the winged lion walks around in his own skin. The two of them are foils; both driven by the desire to consume, one a monster and with a desire to consume chiefly humans, while for the other a human the desire to consume monsters, and they in the end swap places; the human becoming a monster and a monster becoming a human, each granting each other their forms. They become in that way instrinsically twisted, and the tables turn on the Lion as the Lion instead of feasting on Laios becomes the one feasted on instead in the same way the Lion normally feasts; again, Laios becoming the lion. Of course, the lion represents more than just un-ending desire, chiefly the portion which talks about the issue of capitalism unchecked desire and consumption. But I think in a way, perhaps that's what is also being hinted too; the way within a community people can help check other peoples desires or help people have desires as is seen in the end with both Marcille and Mithrun. A non-destructive representation of the winged lion one might say. Also, one may say he also becomes the true 'lord of the dungeon' as the winged lion ceases to exist, Laios now ruling instead, taking the winged lions place.

In regards to Falin there's perhaps less obvious or deliberate foiling in comparison, but I think she still by the end in a way represents the winged lion. Chiefly, I think, by her in the first place, being alive; the black magic that brought her back is exactly what invited the winged lion to their world in the first place; without the winged lions existence through the tapping into outside reality, Falin would not be alive. In much the same way, her flesh was created from the red dragon, a creation of the dungeon, and so winged lion. She's only alive in the beginning because of the winged lion, so she represents in a way that no other person does in the manga the winged lion; not a prey of the winged lion, but a creation, or something saved through the winged lion. It's also interesting to see that what she retains is her feathers (even if they're white, not gold) once she's again revived.... squints suspiciously.

Anyways I think there's probably also a lot more coherent things that can be pulled from this analysis but I'm just rambling on about it tbh...I need to reread the manga...

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Googles

Debut: Webkinz

What a cute silly plush duck! Right? WRONG! Goose? INCORRECT! This is no duck. This is no goose. This is no animal we have in our world. This is a Googles, and you have never seen anything like it!

Webkinz, as you likely know, is one of those 2000s Virtual Pet Worlds, with the gimmick of buying a real plush animal that would allow you to play with that animal in the game. And I mean animal! For the most part these are all actual animals, or at least variants of them, like a dog with a watermelon color scheme, or a lion with a flower petal mane. There are also some mythical creatures like dragons, which, yeah, it makes sense. Of course kids would want to have one of those as a virtual pet!

Then there are the Zingoz, original little monster guys who get whacked with bats by bigger monster guys. I guess they're a little weird considering the setting, but "shape with face and limbs" is not on its own Weird. I have no feelings on Zingoz.

It is Googles that fascinates me so much! All of these real animals, some fantasy creatures, a few minor goofy monsters, and yet, there is Googles. They have ducks and geese in the game. This is not one of them. It is the mundanity of Googles that fascinates me so! Of all the things to be an original trademark species, they decided on a Kind Of Different Duck, and I delight in that.

But there IS a reason for Googles! A point of origin! It would have been FUNNIER if there wasn't, but it's ok. It still is nice and makes me smile.

In the 1980s, GANZ, the company that would go on to make Webkinz, released a series of funny little flat plushes, including this ducky one! And that name on the tag... that's Googles! From what I can tell, this whole series was known as Googles, and included other species, like dogs and walruses, but these duck-billed bowling pins were the most popular.

So for Webkinz, they decided to revive one of their old, beloved plush creatures, bringing Googles to new generations while not telling them about its origins, making this silly fowl a strange, mundane mystery! And THAT is all you need to know about the taxonomy of Googles.

At least, that's what I thought until I found out about this official animated music video for babies, that repeatedly refers to an individual Googles as a PLATYPUS. Platypus?! Where's the TAIL? That's one of the most important features to represent! Their bills certainly are broad, but I assumed it was just a stylization thing. And if platypus, where are their forelegs?

I do not accept this answer. I do not think I will ever find a satisfactory conclusion. I admit defeat, Webkinz Animated Music Video From 2010. You have bested me.