#IT'S NOT MY FAULT IT'S THE WORLD AROUND ME

[astarless-fights]

A question I have always had: Do people care about the border because someone tells them they need to be concerned? Do they ever see proof? Or speak with someone who lives down there? Is it actually an issue or are people coming in and paying taxes, beefing up towns, and taking a part in the community? Is illegal immigration actually bad or is it a complex issue that is both good and bad and non local medias are just giving you a basic interpretation to have a talking point? Let’s dive deeper.

I have heard OP’s thoughts here before and it’s always come from border towns and border city limits. Which always tells me something else is going on.

Because here’s the thing, media reports and political agencies always misreport and misrepresent things that happen across the country. I have a couple examples as someone who comes from the East Coast but has had the pleasure of working in western states.

1. Remember when they introduced the wolves to Yellowstone in ‘95 and the media updated us back in 2016 “oh there’s wildflowers coming back! And the water is clean again”? I got that propaganda too on the East Coast. And sure, the good stuff probably happened. But wanna guess what I found out that year when I eventually shipped out to Idaho and spoke to wildlife biologists on the rivers?

They introduced the incorrect subspecies of wolf. Instead of using the historic Northern Rocky Mountain Wolves, they introduced a much larger, well traveling wolf called the Northwestern Wolf. The NRM wolves were small and tended to stick to a territory which would have been perfect for what they were trying to do for Yellowstone and the area surrounding. Instead they added a much hungrier wolf that follows its meals across the region, fucking up the ecosystems and wildlife patterns in surrounding states. Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana already had a pretty decent Rocky Mountain Wolf population that could no longer source its meals consistently due to wildlife patterns shifting dramatically, so they started going after the farms. Which if you are not someone who pays attention to wildlife laws and regulations, is the worst thing that could happen for them because farmers hold a lot of political power and often lobby local governments to increase population regulation (ehem, kill em).

2. When that kid died at Disney World… the one with the gator attack? Yeah, that was awful. I come from the southeast and growing up with gators nearby was a common experience for me. I was out in Idaho watching the news when it hit breaking news. The western media proceeded to push ideas that gators are controllable, it’s Disney World’s fault for not putting gates around the whole property to keep them out. It’s Florida’s fault for allowing this to happen.

Sure, should a gate have been placed around that beach? Totally. From working in tourism my whole life, the number one thing I have learned is that tourists are generally ignorant of local knowledge and common sense. I don’t mean this in a horrible way… but people forget they can die on vacation and tend to act as if it’s not possible so they disregard a lot of warnings. The gate would have been specific to people though. Gates don’t stop gators.

In fact they can climb. They can climb over a wooden gate, a chain link, climb up a tree, climb up the stairs… they are the largest vermin. They know no rules or boundaries. If there is water, they are there and they will find away to be there. It is common sense for those in southern coastal states to not go near the water at feeding times, watch the water, maybe keep your distance. If there are warning signs, then there’s definitely a gator that frequents the area but if there’s no sign, then there still is when no one’s watching. Western US media made it sound like they should have killed all the gators off and that just is so ignorant of the sensitive Floridian habitat. We need them there and in georgia, in south carolina, in Louisiana, and alabama. We need them in that ecosystem.

I remember listening to my boss at the time and my coworkers who had just listened to what I had were already shooting off the mislead comments of what the reporters had brought to light. Mostly because they didn’t know gators. They didn’t know Florida. None of them had ever been down there so when information is presented by a trusted source, why not trust that it’s correct?

Yes I explained to them before the topic left. But my observation still stands. Media that is not local to the topic will misconstrue the topic.

So when I see the LA fires and the east coast media telling everyone “the reason is due to them not taking control of their wilderness”, I want you to think of this post, what I have heard and seen with my own eyes, and search for a local reporter to the topic. Because I guarantee it is more complex than that.

Or when you see the border crisis and you aren’t from the border and neither is your favorite news channel… find a local news report to the topic.

If you see something being reported on from across the nation and you are not local, do yourself a favor and check out local to the topic reports. You’ll get more correct information instead of talking points used for political needs.

there is no border crisis. there is no immigration crisis. there never has been. it’s fear mongering, xenophobic, racist propaganda.

sincerely,

a life long borderland resident

[dilf-docs]

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

[inkedinshadows]

the world(and me. mainly me tbh) is in dire need of prompt 22 with eris. also ily and your writing!

Steamy Intentions

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: thank you my sweet!! ily too 🩷 this one's a bit shorter than the others, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: fluff, teasing, suggestiveness

Word count: 588

Eris groaned softly when you pressed your thumbs into the tense knot at the base of his neck.

He was soaking in the bath you had drawn for him earlier, his eyes closed as you massaged his shoulders. It had been a long week, and you could feel it in the lingering tension coiled within his body.

“Your hands work wonders, my love,” he said quietly.

You smiled, continuing your massage for a few more moments before you let your hands slide down to his chest. Leaning forward from where you sat on the edge of the tub, you pressed a trail of tiny kisses from his neck to his ear.

“They can do even more wonders, you know,” you murmured, caressing his chest until your fingertips brushed the warm water.

Eris's eyes remained closed, but you didn't miss the way the corner of his lips curled in a grin. “Oh, I know they can, darling.”

Your mouth trailed down the side of his throat as your hands dipped beneath the water. “Want me to show you?”

His chuckle was low and soft, like a caress. “You’re such a tease today,” he mused. “First with that little dress, now this… What's the occasion?”

You smiled against his skin. “I knew you liked that dress.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but you knew better. You had caught him stealing glances at you every time he thought no one else would notice. But you did. You always did.

“Well, I couldn't let everyone know how much you affect me, could I?” he retorted.

You hummed before leaving one last kiss in his hair and standing up. At the rustle of fabric, Eris cracked open an eye just in time to watch that very dress slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet.

He sat up a little straighter in the tub, arms draped over the edges as you stepped into the water and settled between his legs. Warmth and bubbles immediately surrounded you, but your focus remained on your mate.

“The occasion,” you said slowly, reaching out to brush his jaw with wet fingers, “is that you've been working hard lately. I wanted to help you take your mind off things.”

His already relaxed expression softened further, and he kissed the tip of your thumb when you brushed it over his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you as close as he could in the snug space of the tub.

“Then I must congratulate you, my dear,” he murmured. “Because you've succeeded. I'm as relaxed as I could ever be.”

He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips soft against yours. You indulged him for just a moment, and when you pulled back, he followed, chasing your lips for another kiss. You only smirked.

“Are you, though?” you teased, hands already disappearing beneath the surface. Now that he had drawn you closer, you could feel his erection rest hard and heavy against your thigh. “Because it seems to me like someone might still need those wonders, after all.”

“Don't you act all innocent, as if it isn't entirely your fault.” Eris smirked right back at you. “You've been teasing me all day. And you looked ravishing in that dress.”

You chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again as your fingers wrapped around his hard length. He shivered and throbbed in your gentle grasp.

“Well, then,” you whispered against his lips. “Since it's my fault, I suppose I should make it up to you.”

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[prlssprfctn]

Being Robin is an art, in a way. It is hard, and it is always about keeping a balance — being graceful as a cat and yet, hold a power of a lion. Being flashy in all these colourful patterns and, at the same time, completely invisible for enemies.

When Bruce picks up Jason, he thinks he will need some extra training. He doesn't expect Jason, a street kid, to have the same mannerism Dick, the child of the circus, had. And he doesn't - not fully, at least - but the way Jason just... disappears in a way, making himself stealthy and invisible, is incredible. It is natural.

(It is... a talent?)

He is so great that sometimes Alfred and Bruce don't notice him until he wants them to notice him!

'You are good at this, chump,' Bruce compliments him once.

Jason tilts his head, seemingly confused.

'Huh?'

'Enemies never notice you, despite how bright your suit is,' Bruce points out proudly. 'Even I fail to find you in the room sometimes.'

Jason lets out a quiet "a-ah" in realisation and just shrugs.

He is always so humble, this kid.

Red Hood is not exactly humble. He knows his worth. He doesn't fail to remind others of his superior trainings or to mock the weakness of his enemies. But even he refuses to accept this exact compliment.

Why, though? He is tall, bulky — double-fridge, really — and his armour is bright red, and still... and still, people fail to notice his presence most of the time. Isn't it just great?

'Despite how huge you are, you are stealthy enough to match the style of my assassins,' Talia tells him; she is not exactly as beaming as Bruce was, but there is still a hint of respect in her voice. 'It is impressive. Though, I don't appreciate being caught off the guard.'

Jason huffs.

'Yeah, alright. Put a bell on my neck or something — it is not like I am trying to scare you.'

Talia tilts her head but doesn't comment further.

At that moment, Jason fears she knows. She knows exactly why he never accepts these kinds of compliments or where this skill comes from.

'You know, when I first got into Robin suit, Bruce said that he knew someone, who was as good at being invisible on the streets as me,' Stephanie tells him once, when they sit on the coach of the living room, waiting for others to return from the kitchen. 'Never figured out he was talking about you until I saw you scaring the shit out of others by your random appearances.'

Jason hums.

'Crime Alley kids' thing, am I right?' She elbows him, half-amused, half-bitter.

And Jason thinks, yeah. Exactly that.

Because it was never natural for him to take no place in the world — he just taught himself how to. How to make no sound, how not to irritate some men, who gradually got drunker during the day, while passing by the same streets, how to keep himself safe by being an empty space. People can't get angry if they don't see you. They can't kick you out, either.

(He perfected this skill so much that at some point he embraced this emptiness, right after his death. So, maybe it was his fault that Bruce scrapped away everything that was left of him, maybe-)

'Let them think that it is a talent,' he advises, instead.

Whatever makes you look valuable enough, his inner voice adds helpfully. Whatever makes you special to be kept around.

'Yeah. Sounds good to me.'

Jason hasn't lived on the streets for decades now, but he never grew up its habits. He doesn't think he ever will.

And it is... fine.

Because that is just who he is. Who he always was.

[solarbiomechanist]

it ain't their fault they've been fucking lied from cradle to grave. Education, news, entertainment, all pointing them towards "these are the guys who make my life better and these are the guys that hate me and don't want me to be able to afford to fix my truck and will give my job to someone else who will do it worse because they don't know that Bob always tries to fix his own roof first before he calls somebody so they gotta work around that..."

Point is, everyone has reasons why they believe what they do, and a lot of them are good, honest people who care about their neighbors and the world around them but have been LIED TO about what would be best for them and their neighbors and the world because where the hell are they gonna learn that when their trusted elected officials said "I think it's time we take America back and focus on what truly matters" they meant "I'm going to kick out the nice old lady Maria and her hard-working sons José and Roberto who live next door, not just the fictional people I've told you to fear"

Who would tell them straight? The fear-mongering news? The sunny depictions of a post-election world they get from Facebook? The opposition, whose descriptions of the playbook, while entire, must seem so outlandish in their cruelty as to be *surely* hyperbolic from the perspective of someone who expects the government to act sane?

I plead to you, reader. for a better world, do not punish what you want to see. If you see someone doubting, encourage it, do not disparage them. Help them lean into that confusion, that dissonance. Give them the gentlest examples you can think of where things clearly won't match up and let them uncover deeper ones. It HURTS, like nothing fucking else, for your reality to crumble around you. I understand not having space to bear witness to it, give yourself grace, but please don't bite them before you go. Just go, and breathe.

This is less coherent than I would like, but thank you, dear reader.

ok so these new tariffs are likely going to be primarily affecting red states. i want y’all to ignore the urge to respond by saying the people in those red states deserve it because of the political representation we have. not because some of us are progressives but because this is an opportunity. if conservatives from these states start complaining about higher prices and financial strain, do not respond with “well you voted for this!” this is your opportunity to pull them to the center. say “wow that is really awful. i’m sure this isn’t what you wanted when you voted last year. you deserve representatives that will have your best interests at heart, you should let them know how upset you are! you deserve to be heard!”

because listen to me. republican politicians don’t give a shit about what progressives in red states have to say. they aren’t gonna change their voting trends for us. but if a bunch of small town conservatives start to get restless and angry with their politicians, if they lose support from their most important demographics, that has a shot at changing things. so swallow your pride and disgust and have a conversation with that republican truck driver instead of taking the pot shot that’ll get you 10 minutes of dopamine. do the hard work.

[slvthrs]

ALL THE THINGS WE COULDN'T SAY | v.hacker

— MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD —

No matter what, seeing him all over again feels like the inch has given you, spans the entire seas.

OLD BSF!VINNIE X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, some angst, some fluff, unprotected sex, alcohol ment, making out praise kink, degradation kink, cheating, possessiveness, angry sex, slapping, face pushing, begging, choking, mean vinnie!!

word count:  2.5k <3

a/n: lil apology for the disappearance mls :(

Ever since that fateful day, I haven’t spoken a word to Vinnie.

It’s not like we were best friends, chatting everyday- at least not best friends in LA. But having sex whilst he had a girlfriend proved too much for me.

I ignored every text, every call, every attempt to get in contact despite what I really wanted. However I knew that any form of interaction between us would end up the same way our last one ended.

And I was very right.

It had been 2 months, it was all going good. I was starting to forget the feeling of his lips on me. Starting to forget the way he made me laugh, held my body close whispering sweet nothings. 

I started spending more time at the gym, and spent more time with my friends. Went out clubbing, shopping, anything that would help me forget. 

But in the back of my mind, only one thing actually made me crumble in the middle of the night, only one thing I thought of when I fell asleep, the one thing I craved.

He had given me an inch and I imagined it to be a mile- the same mistake I kept on making.

So when I heard that Vinnie was throwing his birthday and I had received the coveted invitation- I imagined it to be the world.

Vinnie’s birthday was always something I looked forward to back home. Maria’s cooking, Nate on the grill, and Reggie playing silly board games with Vinnie and I.

***

“YOU FUCKING CHEATER” I yelled, jostling Poncho in my lap.

“Oh c’mon it’s not my fault you suck at Uno” Vinnie laughs moving to pet Poncho.

“Absolutely not! I had Uno, I was about to win!” I grumble, my head falling onto the coffee table table.

Reggie’s hand rubs my back, “Hey we all know Vinnie cheats don’t worry,” He teases sticking his tongue out at his big brother.

The two boys start bickering, laughing, and yelling curses as I cradle Poncho, “Shh baby ignore em their just two stinky men” I whisper

Their words quickly turn into playful rough housing until Maria breaks them up bringing out Vinnie’s cake.

His face is illuminated by the soft glow of the candles, as the cake is set in front of him. His big signature toothy grin covers his entire face as he watches us start to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.

One of his hands wraps around my waist and my world just stops- at least for a moment before I’m jostled by him blowing out the candles in one big huff.

“What did you wish for Vin?” Nate asks, smiling at his newly adult son

His face turns to look at me giving me a smile before turning back to his dad, “Can’t say unless I don’t want it to come true.”

My world just died right there before starting all over again.

That was a day before he left for LA.

***

I had spent the night getting ready with my friends. I was adorned in pretty jewelry complimenting my hair. I was wearing a pretty white tie-in-the-front white cropped top with long sleeves and a low-rise white mini skirt. I had matching waist chains with some strappy white heels. 

Vinnie’s favourite perfume of mine sprayed on my skin in an involuntary action as I packed up my little purse with some needed essentials and some non-essentials.

I stared in the mirror, Was I really doing this?

“Babes Tyler is here!” My friend Kylie shoots in my direction.

Tyler- the only reason my friends thought I should go to this party was if I brought a guy, so Tyler had to do.

I guess I am.

My friends and I walk out to Tyler’s car, not before a shot for pure confidence, and slip into the passenger seat driving down the same way I went two months ago.

We arrive at the house around 10:30, right around when most people are trickling in. I fix my dress as we walk through the door and all of a sudden the wave of anxiousness washes over me and I want to run.

I don’t however run away, despite how much I want to, I still hold it together.

Kylie pulls me aside to check up on me and hands me a drink, telling me to ‘get some!’ Despite the fact that we both have very different people in mind. 

Jordan, one of Vinnie’s friends walks up to me engaging in mindless conversation that's so clearly an attempt to find out who Tyler is or if “I’m seeing anyone.”

Despite that fact we have a pleasant conversation whilst I feel a pair of very familiar eyes burning into the back of my skull as I hug Jordan goodbye as people get ready for midnight.

Two blonde dudes come in holding a large sheet cake with 22 candles placed ever so gently on top.

Vinnie’s hand is wrapped around Allison who stares at him as if he’s the sun and the stars and his eyes stay on me, causing me to sweat. He grins as the cake is placed in front of him, straightening out his stupid little suit as everyone begins to sing.

As the song finishes everyone bursts into cheers as he blows out his candle as Allison grips onto him, his eyes leave the cake finding his girlfriend’s as she asks, “What did you wish for baby?”

He smiles, not saying a word as he looks back at me, “It’s a secret.”

That’s too much for me.

I maneuver around the drunk crowd, sprinting up the nearest stairs and into the first room, walking out onto the balcony and sitting down on the ground.

My world feels like it's out of orbit, everything just stopped. My head tips back on the glass balcony as I try to recollect my thoughts.

Stray tears fall onto my face, if he can do it for her, why couldn’t he have done it for me, is the only thought that swirls in my mind.

“Hey are you okay?” No no no.

I shut my eyes praying he’ll just go away, but he doesn’t, he never could. He sits down next to me, his body heat slipping on to me.

His hand rests on my shoulder, “Open your eyes” Vinnie’s voice whispers and like a marionette, I obliged.

My bloodshot teary eyes meet his as I turn my head as I move to wipe away my tears.

“Yes?” My voice breaks.

“Why are you crying?” He whispers, his gaze soft and his words even softer.

“Don’t do this, Vinnie.” I whisper, desperation evident in my voice.

“What pretty girl?”

And I cry all over again. I take in staggered breaths as his arms wrap around me. His hands soothe my skin as I crumble into his dumb suit.

I melt into his touch. I want to die like this, in his arms.

“I can’t do this, I don’t know why I came” I whisper as tears fall on my face and into his shirt.

“It’s my birthday… didn’t you want to be here?” He asks, his voice breaking a little as he pulls my face away, lifting up my chin to look at him.

His gaze drops to my lips for a moment as I snap out of it, immediately rising to my feet stepping into the room.

“No no we can’t do this” I whisper-yell at him, my hands crossed over my chest

“We’re not doing anything?” He looks bewildered, his eyebrows knit together

“We can’t be friends.. I-I can’t be here alone with you, your girlfriends downstairs!” My voice rises a little

His expression is the picturesque definition of pain, “Why not?”

“Because I spent years loving you and you threw it all away!” I yell my hand pointing at him

“I didn’t throw it away!” He raises his voice, stepping closer to me

“Oh yes you fucking did, and I was doing so good! I was forgetting about you!” I cry out, I step closer to him.

“I don’t want you to forget about me” His voice is expressionless, as he steps closer as we’re practically chest to chest

“I want to! You have a girlfriend” I slam my fist on his chest as his grabs my wrist

“Jesus were you always this fucking bossy when we were kids?” His eyes narrow, eyeing me

I roll my eyes and scoff, “Fuck. You.” 

He has the audacity to laugh, “You can try and forget me, get with that idiot you got here with- But never, tell me I threw us away, I loved you! I love you.” 

His voice softens ever so slightly, “I will never not love you, tell me to break up with Allison, I will, tell me to kick everyone out right now, I will. Whatever you want, tell me. I’m yours”

“I hate you. Leave.” I huff

He shakes his head, “Anything but that.” 

“Leave me like you left me 3 years ago and 2 months ago” I whisper

“No.” His voice is harsh and commanding

“Vinnie…”

“No.” His grasp on my hand doesn't falter and in fact his other hand grasps my other wrist.

My eyes narrow, please whatever scraps of self respect I have please kick in.

His pushes me back against the wall, my hands pinned either side of me as he places a kiss on the birthmark on my neck, “I’m never leaving you”

I shut my eyes, tipping my head back, please kick in, I beg.

“Open your eyes.” His voice rough and ragged

My eyes flutter open, meeting his blown out brown eyes.

Oh no.

His lips meet mine in a desperate kiss, his hand moves to grasp my waist as mine tangles in his hair. 

“We can’t” I whisper despite still kissing him back

“Just shut the fuck up” He groans as he bites down on my bottom lip

“You’re my worst addiction” He mumbles moving to kiss my neck

I whine, nails digging into his curly brown locks, “I hate you”

“I know my love” I murmurs against my skin, kissing every spot of my neck he can find before dipping down to my tits.

“Vinnie-”

“Yes.” His voice cuts mine off, his head tipping up, looking up at my eyes.

I shut my eyes, “Need you”

“What? Where? Tell me” He begs

“Need you to fuck me, rough” I whisper

He stops his kisses, moving to cup my face, “Whatever you want doll”.

He meets my lips in a rough kiss guiding me to the edge of the bed, pushing me down to sit.

“God you're so pretty, it makes me wanna ruin you sometimes” He whispers out, his voice rough as he moves a strand of my hair away from my face as he looks down at me.

He moves me further up the bed as he leans over me, pulling the buttons of his waist coat down but as he’s mid way he gets frustrated he just rips it off along with his shirt as he kisses me again.

His lips move in tandem with mine as he pulls the knot of my shirt, causing it to fall down.

“Mine” He whispers into the kiss, “Say it princess”

“Yours” I whine as he shuffles my skirt and panties off and unclasped my bra

“My perfect girl” He mumbles as he flips me over, smushing my face into the pillows

I can hear his belt clinking open and he shuffles out of his constricting dress pants and boxers

“S gonna hurt darling girl, just be good for me” He whispers as he kisses my spine as he slowly stretches me out

His hand pushes my head down into the pillow as his other hand rubs circles on my clit.

My toes curl up and my eyes roll back as he starts to slowly rut into me, “There she fucking is”

His grunts echo in the room as my muffled moans coat the pillow, “Cmon, you can take it won't you? You're just so good for me.”

His words tease me as he speeds up his pace, he pushes down my head to thrust deeper into me as his muscles flex around me.

“So fucking tight, s’ like you were made for me” He grits as he pulls my hair up as a ragged moan leaves my mouth

“Such a whore, so good for me aren’t ya?” He chuckles

I whine nodding my head as my mind is too cloudy to form words.

He slaps my ass illciting another pitchy moan from me, “Asked you a fucking question” 

“Mhm all for you” I mumble biting down on my lip

“God you don’t even know what you fucking do to me darling” He groans as his hand speeds up around my clit

“M close, Vin m close” I ramble like an idiot shutting my eyes

He slaps my ass again causing me to yell, “Beg for it gorgeous girl” 

“Please Vinnie” I crumble whining

He laughs at my sad attempt, “My good girl can do better than that can’t she?” 

“Please please I need it so bad, need you so bad” I mewl under him

His pace speeds up, “Yeah? Take it baby”

I cum with a loud moan as my eyes screw shut. I can feel Vinnie kiss along my spine, caressing the sides of my body.

He flips me over so I’m looking at him, his flexed biceps on either side of my face and his dumb chain dangling over my face.

He sinks in again as I whimper, “Can’t Vin” 

“Yes you can, you're so good, aren’t you?” His voice teases

I succumb to his words mindlessly nodding my head.

“That's right, you can take it and you fucking will.” He punctuates with a sharper thrust

The headboard slams against the wall against Vinnie’s impossible strength rutts into me.

One of my hands wraps around his bicep and the other holds onto his wrist as I pull it on to my neck.

His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“Please?” I whisper

He chuckles as he squeezes around my neck using the grip to pound deeper into me as my eyes roll back as my cunt clenched around him.

“M’ gonna cum, can’t hold out, you just feel too fucking good” He whispers

I whine at that cumming around him without warning as I clench around him he finishes inside me.

We take a second to catch our breaths just lying there for a second.

He pulls out maneuvering us on the bed as he kisses my neck, “Not too much my love?”

“Never” I hum

He nuzzles into my neck as my back meets his chest, “Want me to break up with Allison?”

I take a second to process his question.

“Yes… but I don’t want to date you right now” I whisper

“I'll stay alone forever if it’ll make you happy princess” He hums 

“Good” I giggle

“God should've known you were heartache from the moment I met you” He chuckles as he falls asleep in the crook of my neck.

An inch? A mile? As long as it's Vinnie, for you its enough.

[wanderingmind867]

As much as Octavian hates the Greeks, his life feels like a massive tragedy, like the stupid sad stories of the ancient greeks themselves. Octavian reminds me of a great many villians. But for some reason, my brain is going to Judge Claude Frollo from Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame. So i'm going to show you how an old lustful judge is the same as a young zealous augur. Their differences are many, but their similarities are fascinating.

Judge Claude Frollo is a zealous man. A man who fully believes in the good he does. He kills people (like the romani), he treats others like freaks, he's not a very pleasant man. But he thinks all his evil can be justified. He is a servant of his god. He is a noble man. It's not his fault. He was driven to madness by those around him, he claims. Esmeralda, that foul temptress, she ensnared his heart with a foul passion. And when she rejects him (primarily because he's a disturbing creep), he tries to burn down the city. His goals are despicable, but his motives are fascinating. He never once wavers in his faith. He finds scapegoats and targets, but he always sees his crusades as godly and righteous.

Octavian is much less creepy and perverted, but he shares that zeal. That same drive to prove his faithfulness. He diverges in one key way, however. Frollo falls into the curse of anger fueled by lust and passion. Octavian instead experiences a drive to bring glory to the Roman Empire. He wants to make Rome an empire again, with Camp Jupiter serving as the loyal legion of the new roman empire. He wants to give his gods what he thinks they deserve. Is he wildly off base in this goal? Yes. He kills hundreds in pursuit of a watered down imperialism.

But fundamentally, Octavian was well meaning. He banded together with psychopaths, murderers and thieves, but he did it in the hopes of bringing glory and honour to his people. His is a story of undeniable tragedy. Unlike Luke Castellan (whose goal to tear down Olympus and bring back the every man for himself world of the titans), Octavian had a goal which I can respect. I can acknowledge his methods were horrible. But I can't help feeling sadness, because I know he meant well.

[vodika-vibes]

It Was A Bet?

Summary: Tech admits that Echo was dared to ask you on a date, and your whole world comes crashing down around you.

Pairing: TBB Echo x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1150

Warnings: This made me weepy as I was writing it. Miscommunication.

A/N: So, I've been toying with this idea for a couple of weeks, and I finally had enough to turn it into a story. Also, writing is hard right now because whenever I look at a screen for longer than 30 minutes I get a headache. I desperately need new glasses.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

Your comm has been ringing non-stop for the better part of the day. And you know that if you were to look at the name on the screen it would have Echo’s name. 

You don’t want to talk to him.

You don’t want to see him either.

But you also know that the next step is for Echo to show up on your doorstep and insist that you let him in.

You don’t want to.

You feel raw. Exposed in a way you haven’t felt since you were a teenager.

Why couldn’t Tech have kept his big mouth shut?

…no.

No. That’s unkind of you.

This isn’t Tech’s fault. And him not telling you about the dare wouldn’t change the fact it happened.

And, to Tech’s credit, when he realized that you had no idea what he was talking about, he apologized to you and mentioned that he thought that Echo would have mentioned it to you by now.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t, and now you have to wonder if any of it was real. Or was it all pretend? Was it all designed to make him feel better about himself?

You jump when you hear a knock on the door, which is annoying seeing as you expected it, and you turn your head to stare at the carefully painted door. 

“Cyare? I know you’re in there. I can see the light on.” Echo’s voice comes through the door, “Open the door, please?”

You stare at the door for a moment longer, and then you pick up the remote and turn up the volume on the holo.

“Oh, very mature.” Echo says on the other side of the door, “No. Wait. I didn't mean that. Cyare, let me talk to you. Please?”

Again, you don’t respond.

“I have all day. And I have no issues making myself a problem to your neighbors.” Echo warns.

You scowl at the holo, but this time you drop your legs from the couch and stalk over to the door. You slam your hand on the button to open the door, though you open the door enough to look out, “What?”

Echo sighs, “You’re not going to let me in?”

“You’re lucky I’m even talking to you.” 

“Right. Fair.” He runs his hand over his head, “Let me explain. Please?”

“What is there to explain?” You counter as you fold your arms, “You were dared to ask me out. You won. Congrats. I never want to see you again.” Sure, it feels like you’re heart is breaking in your chest, but it’s fine. You’ve always known this was too good to be true.

“Wait, wait! It sounds bad. I know it sounds bad. But you don’t have the whole story.”

“What more do I need to know? That you laughed at me when I confessed to you? That it was all a joke to you?”

“What? No! It wasn’t! None of it was!” He places his hand on the side of the door, “Let me in, please? Don’t make me have this conversation with you out here?”

“Echo, please.” Oh, your voice is shaking. You’re going to cry again. Stupid traitorous body.

On the other side of the door, Echo falters. There’s a flash of guilt, and then he shifts and pushes the door open enough that he can enter your apartment.

Once inside, he lets the door close behind him, and he takes a step towards you, reaching out to touch you. Though he stops when you take a step away from him. 

“Cyare, please let me explain.” He’s pleading with you, alternating between panic and guilt. 

“Fine. If you insist on hurting me more—”

“No. I don’t--I wasn’t--That was never my goal, I swear it.” For the first time since the day you met him, Echo’s tripping over his own words. 

“Then what was your goal, Echo?” You shake your head, “What was the point? Did you think I would just never find out?”

“Do you remember the day we met?”

“...What?”

“It was sunny,” Echo continues, “You were babysitting your nephew, so you were both wearing tooka ears, and he was running around collecting pretty shells—”

“I remember you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Couldn’t talk to you.” He corrects, “I was--force, do you even know how stunning you looked at that moment? I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t say anything. I was struck speechless.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Echo takes a half step towards you, and this time you don’t back away, “Whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth. And, I’m a confident guy, cyare, but the idea of talking to you when I look like…well, this.” He gestures to his body, “I couldn’t do it.”

You sigh softly, “You look fine, Echo.”

“I had a crush on you, which is embarrassing for a man my age, but I was too much of a coward to do something about it.” He says quickly, “So Crosshair and the others dared me to ask you out.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt less, Echo.” You say quietly.

“I know.” He inches a little closer to you, and you wince when his hand presses lightly against your cheek, “I meant to tell you. I really did.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Honestly, I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“That…sounds bad.” He cautiously settles his scomp on your hip, “When I’m with you, the only thing I’m thinking about is you. And then I get home and I remember that I still haven’t told you about the dare, and the next thing I know six months have passed, and I still haven’t told you—” He trails off, “I’m sorry, cyare.”

You sigh softly, “You really hurt me, Echo.”

“I know.”

“I felt like I was a joke.”

“You’re not! You could never be.” Echo says quickly, “I love you, you’re everything to me.” He hesitates, “Can you forgive me?”

“...if you ever make me feel like this again, we’re done.”

“Oh, thank kriff.” He drops his forehead to your shoulder, “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m not happy with you right now, Echo.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He pulls back and searches your face, “You still love me, though?”

“Yeah. I still love you.”

His forehead falls back to your shoulder, and his arms snake around you to hold you tight. “Good. That’s good.”

You don’t move for a moment, and then you lightly wrap your arms around him and stroke his back, causing him to almost melt into you. It seems like he was genuinely worried that he lost you because of this.

And maybe you’re an idiot for forgiving him. Maybe you’re a love-sick fool for taking him at his word. But you can’t help it. You love him and you trust him.

“Echo?”

“Hm?”

“Can we get pasta for dinner?”

He releases a slightly shaky laugh, “Whatever you want, cyare.”

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

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@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

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[robot-roadtrip-rants]

Because I am a CHUMP and a FOOL I went and watched the short after I finished your video. It brought up a lot of memories from my youth. As some of your commenters noted, Amberlynn is a stereotype from the aughts, not from the 20s. I saw jokes like Amberlynn all over the place when I was a teen. I remember the fandom and the fangirls who inspired the Amberlynn jokes. Let me tell you about the world--well, the US--that the real-life Amberlynns grew up in.

This is the era of abstinence-only education. Purity balls are in the news, and Disney Channel pop stars are wearing purity rings. When Amberlynn is a teenager, her teachers tells her that people who have pre-marital sex are like chewed-up gum. When she turns on the TV, she hears Miley Cyrus announcing that True Love Waits. If her family goes to church, she may have been issued a promise ring. Amberlynn is a nerdy girl; she may be reading fantasy/sci-fi novels with smutty content, like I did when I was a teen. And she may have to hide those novels from her parents, like my friends did, or else they'll get taken away--she's too young for that filth.

But there's this wonderful new thing called the Internet. It opens up all kinds of amazing doors. Amberlynn has been composing adventures about her favorite characters in her head for years, and now she learns--she's not the only one! There's this whole site, fanfiction.net, where people post all the adventures they composed for their fandoms. Some of it--gulp!--is pornographic. And there's this thing called a "blog"--it's sort of like an anonymous online diary. Amberlynn can post whatever she likes, and no one will know it's her! Best of all, her parents have no idea what she's getting up to on the computer. They're probably not Internet literate. If Amberlynn is careful, they'll never find out about all the filthy, disgusting smut she's reading and writing, they'll never know all the fucked up, angsty thoughts that she lets out on her Livejournal.

And all that filthy, disgusting smut that she's writing...well, there's kind of a running theme. Whether het or slash, the top is always a dominant, sexually aggressive man forcing his attentions on a shy, innocent, submissive bottom (either woman or uke). The bottom always cries and struggles and insists that they totally don't want to have sex, but when the top keep harassing them, they slowly give up the fight. They can't help themselves, it just feels too good to be kissed, felt up, penetrated. Pretty fucked up, right? Why on earth would anyone write such problematic, rape-excusing shit?

I want you to go back and reread my second paragraph, and I want you to think about what that does to a teenage girl. What it's like to be told that having sex is like being chewed up and thrown away like gum, to hear pop stars on TV tell you that "not everyone, guy or girl, wants to be a slut!" You're looking at the boys around you and you're wondering what it would be like to touch and be touched, and everything around you tells you those desires are Wrong and Bad and Slutty. That's what Amberlynn is going through right now. Good Girls don't have sex. Good Girls don't even want sex. But hey...if a really hot guy forced really good sex on you...well...it's not your fault, right? Not even if you enjoyed it.

Amberlynn isn't the first girl to unconsciously follow this line of thought. This shit predates the Internet by centuries. I'm dead serious, you can find Regency romance novels that follow the same formula. Dubcon/noncon gives women who have been raised in repressive environments an excuse to enjoy sexual fantasies without feeling shitty about their natural urges. A lack of agency means a lack of guilt.

Now, the Internet offers Amberlynn a degree of freedom to express herself that she may not have felt beforehand. But it isn't 100% free. Early on in her geeky Internet journey, Amberlynn is going to learn that not all geeks are created equal. There's a hierarchy.

See, geeks in the aughts really REALLY want everyone to know that they're Not Like Other Geeks. Society hadn't atomized into a million little niches yet; there was much greater pressure to conform to "normal." Geeks weren't "normal." And the way we handled that was to cannibalize our own.

One of the best ways to demonstrate normality is to find an even weirder person and mock them for their normality. So that's what we did. I say "we" because I definitely participated. I laughed at all the furry jokes. I sneered at the OCs and the self-inserts. I'm guessing Vivziepop did, too. We were geek kids learning how to be geek adults, and our only model was, well, The Geek Hierarchy. And it was really, really important to reaffirm our normality because, deep down inside, we knew we were at the bottom of the hierarchy.

Geek girls are abnormal. Geek girls are intruders into male spaces. Geek girls write fanfiction (ew!) about boys kissing (EW!), and they obsess over hot male characters (EW EW EW!!). It's normal for (straight!) dudes to thirst over sexy female leads, to draw dirty fanart, or to even write their favorite male character kicking ass and getting allllll the pussy in 50-chapter sagas that everyone praises. But a woman doing the same to male characters? Or worse, writing them as a f****t? Disgusting.

(I'm sticking to the cishet perspective here because that was my experience, but TRUST ME, there were queer issues a-plenty. Not a few of the Amberlynns of my era were using fic spaces to figure out their sexualities and/or gender identities. I don't think I can describe those experiences, but I want you to know they were happening.)

So if you're a geek girl in the aughts, you never, ever, ever talk about your fic to anyone outside your fanfic circle. You definitely don't discuss dirty fic, or self-inserts, or slash. You never talk about your ships, you never crack certain jokes, you never give people your Livejournal (or Tumblr, or AO3, or...). And when other nerds mock those FREAKS and WEIRDOS obsessing too much over their smutty headcanons and ships and whatnot, you nod and smile. You comply with the Geek Hierarchy.

Amberlynn doesn't comply. Amberlynn chooses violence.

By the time we meet Amberlynn in her twenties, she has long since abandoned any pretense of normality. She proudly wears her fandom merch. She covers her walls in monsterfucker posters. She has the gall to watch pornography. And--gasp!--she has kinky, gross fantasies, and she wants to be desired. She is every stereotype of gross girl geeks piled into one character.

Are we going to discuss how geek girls have used fandom spaces to explore their sexualities for decades? Are we going to discuss how purity culture has impacted those explorations? Are we even going to bring up how so, so many people who have issues with organized religion will latch onto Hell/paganism/magic/whatever their childhood faith told them was Bad? No. Amberlynn has grievously violated the Geek Hierarchy. She needs to be punished. She needs to be made an example of what not to do.

I may be swinging a bat at a hornet's nest here but comparing the Weeaboo-boo short to literally any Hunter: The Parenting episode, especially Boy Story or any episode with Grimal in it, really makes the difference clear. That short sucked so much ass, mostly due to mean-spirited misogyny.

[dawnbreaker-mylove]

Astra's Tool

Warnings: Implication of rape, child abuse, domestic violence, stalking (implied), power imbalance.

A/N: So... I wrote this... Before we start, I want to emphasize that this is fanfiction. I know this isn't canon, I'm not telling you to recognize it as canon. I wanted to write down my headcanon on Astra and Zayne and whatever relations they have. Don't ask me where I thought Zayne had a step-dad because I forgor. It was probably some Mandela effect or I read a headcanon on Dawnbreaker killing him somewhere back when I started playing the game. Reader's discretion is advised.

You asked Zayne where those marks on his arms came from. He would dodge the question every time with a joke or he'd change the subject. You decided not to pry too much, but your curiosity was never one to fade with time.

Today, you asked again.

“I've been meaning to ask. What happened to your arms? Were you just clumsy when we were kids or something?”

Zayne chuckled as his fingers trailed along the stacks or chocolate bars as you walked through the aisles of the grocery. “It could be that,” he picks up a bar of chocolate with raisins and nuts before placing it back, “but let's not think of things from the past. Instead, why don't you help me pick between almond or hazelnut chocolate for tonight, hm?”

He smiled, lighthearted and sweet like he always does. However, there's a glint of something in his eyes, just for a split second, before it disappears.

You were never one to pry. You both were dating for a while now but you both have your secrets. You respected that, of course. But this particular secret of his felt too important to simply forget. Like it was something you had to know.

Your gaze flickers towards the fridge. The metal doors were covered in colorful magnets from around the world, gifts from Zayne's parents. Then it hit you. If Zayne won't tell you, someone who knows him for years would answer your question.

His mother.

That evening, you called her. Once she picked up, her voice was as bubbly and warm as ever. “Hello, sweetheart,” she greets over some sitcom playing in the background. “What made you call? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Auntie,” you replied. “I just wanted to ask something.” The woman in the other line was encouraging, eager to sate your curiosity. The moment you mentioned Zayne's scars on his arms, the laughter faded. Followed by a sound you least expected. A muffled sob.

“I should've taken him away,” her voice trembled. “He… it was my fault.”

Through her sobs, the past unraveled before you.

Years ago…

We all know one thing for certain: gods have a way of taking what they want. Mortals were no exception. To deities, mortals were nothing more than a piece of a chessboard, their purpose moved by the divine. Astra was no different.

Like a flower blooming in the snow, Astra sees her. The doctor, a woman of beauty and grace, eyes dark and intelligent. He intended to make her his.

For a year, the god watched from the heavens, studying the doctor. He learns she was soft-hearted, the type to reach out to the lonely or to engage with helpless strangers. It was easy to take on a mortal guise, to be the kind of man she could fall for. And she did.

The doctor thought she had met the love of her life. The god thought he had won.

Another year passed, and she was happy. Until one December night, when the snow fell heavily on the city, Astra revealed what he truly wanted.

She tried fighting, but a mortal can never stand a chance against a god. He pinned her down, a cruel smile played on his lips as he whispered to her that the child she would bear would be the greatest gift of all.

She could never forget the look in his eyes that night. It glimmered but not with love or devotion, but with possession.

On the fifth of September, the doctor gave birth to a boy. His father held him in his divine hands, looking down at the baby with his cold gaze. The god named him Zayne.

The doctor wanted to believe, even just a little, that Astra might love the boy. That Zayne could be raised in warmth, not under the god’s watchful eye. But it was when he turned three, the ice came.

The child’s Evol manifested early, and Astra had waited for so long for that day to come. Training had to begin immediately. Every failure was met with punishment. Anytime Zayne's control faltered, Astra would take his wrists and let the ice spread over his arms and let it pierce through his skin like glass.

The doctor would hear Zayne’s cries echo through their home, but there was nothing she could do. Astra's word was law. A mortal could never go against a god.

Until the night she ran.

Zayne was four when his mother carried him in her arms and fled from the clutches of their abuser. But she was unsure if Astra would come for them. She didn't know if he could be outrun.

But she ran anyway. As far as they possibly could.

They built a new life in another city. An apartment for two, a quiet existence. But Astra never truly left.

Nightmares would haunt the young boy. Visions of a faceless man watching from the darkness. He would whisper to Zayne in his sleep. Followed by the ice. He would wake up, screaming in pain as the ice, sharp and jagged, pierce through his skin as they emerged again and again. His mother would hold him as the night filled with his screams of anguish, whispering soothing words and assurance she only half-believed.

The doctor thought she could never give Zayne a normal life. That was before she met the surgeon.

A cardiac surgeon visiting her hospital, tall and lean. She told herself she would never let anyone in again, she would never risk her life and Zayne's again, but then the boy met him.

Zayne, who rarely smiled or laughed, beamed when the surgeon scooped him up into his arms. The two would play and eat mints on a bench in the park. Watching all this, the doctor cried. But they were not sad tears. Tears of relief, of joy, streamed down her cheeks.

It wasn't long before they married. The surgeon gave Zayne his last name: Li. He did it without a second thought, without asking anything in return. Zayne finally has someone he can truly call his father.

Present day…

The call ended and you were left stunned. Your hands trembled as you curled into a ball on the couch. Zayne found you like that.

Without a word, he sat beside you and rested his hand on your back. His warmth was comforting but your chest still felt tight. Your eyes, swollen, flickered to his arms

“I'm sorry,” you whispered. Zayne frowns, lifting your chin up between his thumb and index finger. “For what?”

“For snooping around. For everything.”

You explained in between sobs. The things his mother told you. The things he never found the courage to tell you. Zayne's jaw slightly clenched, his fingers tensed, but his smile didn't waver.

“Enough with the tears,” he whispers as he strokes your hair. “That's all in the past.”

You look up at him, baffled. “You can't just forget something like that.”

His smile faltered slightly. Zayne shook his head and cupped your cheeks gently, wiping the tears from your cheeks before kissing your eyelids.

“What's in the past should stay in the past. I'm fine now, aren't I?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “Why are you comforting me?” You grumbled. “I should be the one comforting you.”

A soft laugh escapes from Zayne's lips, brushing a stray lock from your face before lightly tapping your nose. “For starters, it's because I never heard of someone crying while trying to comfort the person who isn't.”

His voice was too light. Like if he acknowledged it—truly acknowledged it—he might break.

Now you were unsure of who he was comforting, you or himself.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding Zayne closed as humanly possible. You were scared to let go or loosen your grip, as if he would disappear if you did. Zayne only hugs back just as tight, kissing your hair then burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Above the clouds, beyond the falling snow, He watched.

Astra sat on his mighty throne, his gaze locked on the boy. His face that was often twisted in anger, was unreadable.

He had seen this play out before. His Foreseer, falling in love once again with the same mortal that proved to be his downfall in the past. He will not let it happen again.

He would wait. Time was irrelevant to a god.

In the end, what's his will always return to him.

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 40

Notes: I already made a post about this, but I'm gonna put it here as well just in case. On my last trip, I flew home with a bad sinus infection and ended up having the pressure bust my eardrums. I have been unable to hear and in quite a bit of pain for the last week or so. Not to mention it just amplified my sinus infection and I got a touch of pneumonia from it. The meds I've been on have been drowsy and dizzying, and have made sitting down to write out long chapters a bit difficult for me. I'm hoping to be back to normal soon, though! In the mean time, enjoy the chapter!

Summary: Shadow takes Sonic somewhere special.

UC Masterpost!

Link to My AO3!

Start:

It’s not that Sonic was angry, per say..

Okay, maybe he was a little angry.

And the weird part was that he wasn’t even really sure why this new information upset him so much. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly this all did to his head— finding out his alternate version was dating his biggest rival. And not just dating from the sounds of it, but they were in love. Well, he assumes so anyway since his alternate referred to Shads as his ‘lover’.

He had so many emotions running through his head. So many thoughts— memories of him and his own Shadow scratching at the guilty conscience of his brain, making him go back to the same question no matter how he was feeling:

Why didn’t his Shadow love him???

He followed Shads in silence, arms crossed and footsteps a bit heavier as if to stomp and show his current bad attitude. Shads leads the way, not looking back at Sonic but obviously searching for something or somewhere. Sonic’s jaw juts out, gritting his teeth as he rolls his eyes and finally huffs—

“Look- you said you wanted to have a chat, so are we gonna chat or—“

“We’re here.”

Sonic pauses, looking around them at the scenery and frowning more as his foot begins to tap impatiently, “The woods?? You come here to kill me or somethin’??”

Shadow turns at that, giving Sonic a perplexed look as he tilts his head at him, “Why would I kill you??”

“I dunno,” Sonic shrugs, huffy and dramatic per usual, “I don’t know anything about you, dude! For all I know, you could be lying about how you got here and what your endgame is—“

“Stop being fussy,” Shadow rolls his red eyes, moving to the large tree trunk and ducking himself down to crawl through it. Sonic’s fists clench.

“Fussy?! Who you callin’ fussy??? I’ve been lied to!”

“I never lied,” Shadow replies, voice echoing from the gash in the tree. Sonic just rolls his eyes and moves towards the tree now to duck down and look inside. There’s a long burrow through it, Shadow crouched and shuffling right along it like he knows where he’s going.

“You lied by omission, so it’s still lying,” Sonic retorts, slowly moving himself inside to follow his alternate rival, “And where are you taking me?? Narnia???”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so deceptive. Like— what the hell, man??? You just gonna let me go on and on about how it’s cool we’re brothers in your world??”

“Not my fault your brain can’t put two men together and see them as anything but platonic,” Shadow replies, standing now at the end of the burrow with a hand on his hip and a quirked brow at Sonic.

Sonic scoffs at that, “Are you accusing me of being homophobic??? Because I’m not! Love is love and all that jazz. I don’t care who people love so long as they make them happy, what does it matter?! What throws me for a loop is that it’s you and me—“

“Calm down, will you? You’re being a bit petty.”

“No! No, I don’t think I will. I think I’ll keep being petty and stay super not-calm!”

Shadow groans, rubbing a hand down his face before tilting his head up to look at the dirt ceiling. Examining it.

“I think I have every right to be petty right now,” Sonic continues on, “Who the heck meets their boyfriend‘s alternate self and finds out they’re rivals in this world, and then proceeds to not tell them that you’re dating another version of them?!”

“Not many people, I’m guessing,” Shads replies, eyes still on the dirt ceiling as he tilts his head some. Not at all giving his full attention to Sonic, which just pisses him off more.

“Yeah, because it’s a sucky thing to do!”

“No. Because not many people meet their partner’s alternate selves.”

“Fuck you and your technicalities,” Sonic huffs, rolling his eyes and then gritting his teeth at Shadow still not paying attention, “Hey— I’m talkin’ to you! Least you can do is look at me!”

Sonic reaches out then to grab Shadow’s arm and jerk him around to look at him, Shads’ eyes narrowing at the blue hedgehog and glowing red. Sonic’s breath hitches for only a moment, eyes widening slightly at the threatening look. Shadow just stares at him a moment before he’s jerking his arm back and then taking a step away from Sonic. Then he’s moving that arm up and pointing his palm straight to the ceiling.

A large chaos spear appears and shoots right from his palm, Sonic’s eyes widening further and then clamping shut as the dirt ceiling is obliterated and dust and rocks crumble down on his quills. Coughing a bit, he waves his hand to waft at the dusty air from the presumed cave-in and tries to peek his eyes open.

“Chaos, dude, you tryin’ to kill us—?!”

When his eyes open, he finds nothing. Shadow is gone.

Sonic blinks, frowning with a concerned knit in his brow.

“Shads??”

“Up here, idiot.”

Sonic’s head tilts back, lifting to the dirt ceiling that now has a massive hole in it. Shadow peeking his head from the top and looking down at Sonic. A gloved hand is offered down to him, Shadow waiting patiently and looking down at Sonic expectedly.

Sonic just frowns at the hand, quirking a brow at it and then looking back to Shadow peeking from the hole. His form silhouetted by a light behind him..

After a pause, Sonic eventually sighs and reaches a hand out to take Shadow’s offered hand. Shadow pulls him up with barely a grunt, lifting him like he’s a feather which— okay.

Sonic huffs once he’s at the top and pulled onto his hands and knees, looking at Shadow who takes a small step back from him. Suddenly looking a bit vulnerable with his ears folded back and an almost shy demeanor about him. Sonic quirks a brow at him before finally letting his eyes trail to the environment and—

“…Woah..”

It’s gorgeous.

A valley full of flowers— most consisting of lavender and forget-me-nots, Sonic notices. The lavender definitely stands out to him because.. well, that’s Shadow’s signature scent. He automatically associates it with the dark hedgehog. The setting sun casts golden and pink hues that glimmer over the petals, creating a stunning rainbow of purples and blues and greens and pinks.. 

A hideaway bowl in the middle of the forest.

Who knew such a stunning place was so close to home… How has Sonic never found this??

“How..-“

“Did I know this was here??” Shadow asks, eyes looking out at the vast flowery valley before them, “..Turns out our worlds aren’t that different. My Sonic and I… we come here.”

Sonic’s eyes shift to Shadow then, seeing how the darker hedgehog is looking at him with nervous expectation.

“..Well I can see why,” Sonic smirks just slightly, watching some of Shadow’s nervousness deflate as he gives a small smile in return. Sonic almost lets his guard down at the sight but quickly looks away and puts his hands back on his hips, “But don’t think just because you show me a pretty place that means you’re off the hook.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shadow chuckles before slowly moving to sit himself down. Sonic looks down at him, watching him a moment but deciding to stay standing.

He’s overthinking everything now. Every movement, every decision, every glance. It all feels heavier now. Different. It holds more meaning, more subliminal messaging, more tension. He always knew something was there, but he just chalked it up to the crazy situation they’re in. Not to the fact that Shadow was with a different version of himself.

Suddenly sitting next to Shadow feels almost intimate. Feels like he’s suggesting something he’s not trying to.. He doesn’t understand why this is getting under his skin so much, and that just makes him more frustrated.

“...I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” “Why didn’t you?” Sonic’s ears flop back, brows knitting as their eyes meet. And add that to the list of things that feel different now: eye contact. “A lot of reasons,” Shadow starts with a sigh, moving to bend a leg and rest his arm on it while leaning back on his opposing hand that rests on the ground, “For starters, you didn’t exactly react well to the minimal amount of affection I did show you in the beginning.” Sonic frowns at that, “What d’ya mean??”

“You acted like I had three heads for just touching your hand,” Shadow points out. Sonic recalls the moment. How weirded out he had been by Shadow’s relief of his presence at the GUN medical wing. How he had stopped breathing for a moment when he placed his hand on Shadow’s shoulder, and Shadow had reached to hold it in response.

“In my defense, I had no idea you were an alternate version of my Shadow at that point–” saying my Shadow was also being added to the list of things he could overthink now, “--, and if you knew my Shadow, you’d a hundred percent see why I didn’t know how to handle that.”

“That’s another thing,” Shadow adds then, “I knew very little about you and your Shadow’s dynamic. And by the time I learned more, well.. It didn’t seem you’d take too well to hearing of my Sonic and I’s own relationship..”

Sonic fidgets a bit at that, his eyes averting from Shadow’s and looking down to watch his own foot lightly dust along the grass. Careful not to smush any flowers.

“Why would you think that??” “Because you.. Blame yourself for you and your Shadow’s own rocky relationship.”

Sonic frowns. His brows furrowing at the ground as his jaw tenses up. Shadow is right.. He already holds so much guilt over what happened during the ARK battle.. Over Shadow falling from space, assuming he was dead when he was really being held captive by Eggman. Cloned. And then manipulated by Black Doom. All because Sonic didn’t try hard enough. All because Sonic couldn’t save him.

“You.. already beat yourself up learning my Sonic and I were friends,” Shadow adds quietly, hand twitching as if he wants to reach for Sonic but doesn’t, “I didn’t want to make matters worse by saying we were much more than that..”

Sonic sighs heavily, closing his eyes and tilting his head up towards the dimming sky. It makes sense. Sonic practically fell apart in Shadow’s arms showing him the inhibitor ring he kept all these years. Why would Shadow feel like Sonic could handle knowing that his alternate and Shadow’s alternate were together-together in another world?.. A world where Sonic found him..

Sonic opens his eyes and looks back down at Shadow, finding the dark hedgehog looking right back at him with concern and ache. Like he wants to comfort him but isn’t sure he should. Isn’t sure how.

Sonic purses his lips and slowly moves to sit next to Shadow finally, scooting a bit closer to him as he hugs his knees up to his chest and looks down at the ground in the small space between them.

“..That’s fair,” Sonic admits after a long moment, breathing a tiny huff of a smile as his eyes flicker up to Shadow’s and then back down. Shadow gives a sad smile in response, that same look of longing in his eyes..

Sonic doesn’t know what to do with that. But he understands why Shadow looks at him like that a bit more, now. 

He misses his Sonic.

He’s sure if he was the other Sonic, Shadow would be comforting him right now the way he knows how. But given that he’s not the other Sonic..

Shadow likely is just as lost on how to handle Sonic right now as Sonic is on how to handle him.

“I guess I can’t blame ya,” Sonic confesses with a sigh and a shrug, looking back to his feet with a little chuckle, “I can be a bit.. Extreme.” “Extreme is an understatement,” Shadow smirks in response, the two sharing a little breathy laugh together. It’s bittersweet. Shadow sighs then, looking forward as well to look out over the flowers, “And as I’m sure you heard from the call, this is a trait you share with my own Sonic..” Sonic snorts then, “Yeah, dude was a bit excessive, huh?” “He has the right to be upset,” Shadow defends with a small and fond smile, “He’s passionate. He can’t help it.. He also misses me. Like I miss him.. I’m sure his own insecurities have been eating at him.. Neither of us take well to being separated for too long.” “Sounds like co-dependency issues,” Sonic smirks.

“Oh, you’re giving mental health advice now?” Shadow smirks right back, cocking a brow at Sonic playfully. “Just callin’ it how I see it,” Sonic shrugs with a chuckle, looking back to Shadow then.

Shadow hums a smile, looking at him thoughtfully before sighing out, “There’s probably some truth to that.. Separation anxiety at the least.” “Didn’t think any version of me would ever be so clingy,” Sonic snickers teasingly.

“You’d be surprised,” Shadow rolls his eyes, but there’s a adoring tone to it, “Though, I wouldn’t call it clingy.. We’re just.. Connected.” Sonic swallows, recalling the first and only time he and Shadow have gone super together.. The ARK battle. How they had been so in sync, so together, so one..

And then Shadow fell and didn’t remember any of it.

“...I get it,” Sonic admits after a moment, pursing his lips and looking down at the flowers beside him again. His hand moving to run absentmindedly over the tops of the petals. “..Is it nice?” “Hm?” “Being like that?” Sonic elaborates, “...Connected? With someone who can really understand? Who gets it?..”

“It’s..,” Shadow pauses thoughtfully, trying to find the right words but finding its indescribable. So instead he simply settles on, “relieving..” Sonic looks at Shadow again. Shadow smiles, “It’s home.” Home.

Sonic doesn’t have one of those..

That starts to weigh too heavy on Sonic, so he quickly averts the conversation a different direction, “Is it weird?” “What??” “Being around a Sonic who isn’t crazy about you..?” Shadow laughs at that, and Sonic’s heart flips. It’s still so odd seeing Shadow smile, let alone laugh.

“Sometimes,” Shadow’s laugh eases, a soft smile on his muzzle as he tilts his head at Sonic, “..But I find you and he are more alike than you’d think.” “Hm,” Sonic shakes his head, “Not possible. There’s only one me.”

Shadow snorts, “That’s fair.. But you’re definitely the same soul.. A kindred spirit.” Sonic smiles a bit at that, “...You think you and my Shadow are like that?.. Kindred spirits? Share a soul?” Shadow’s lips purse, thinking a moment before replying, “Perhaps.. For a long time, I considered myself soulless.. But I suppose that’s not true, is it?” Sonic shakes his head with a tiny knit in his brows. Shadow smirks at him.

“...You’re wondering if it’s possible.”

“What?” “For you and your Shadow.. That if things had been different, if you and your Shadow would’ve been like my Sonic and I.”

Sonic blushes. The tips of his ears go pink, eyes widening slightly as he quickly looks away and snorts, “Psh! Am not.” He rubs a finger under his nose, ignoring the amused snicker coming from Shadow. “I already know the answer to that anyway. No way, no how.” “Oh?” “Yeah! Me and Shadow, we-.. It’s not like that for us..,” Sonic tries really hard not to let any sort of disappointment show through his tone, he really does.

But he fails.

He tries to recover with a nonchalant shrug and perk of his ears, “I’m not disappointed or nothin’. It is what it is. As long as Shadow ends up happy, that’s all I can really hope for. He’s seen enough shit in his time; he deserves whatever he needs to find peace..”

Shadow’s smile softens, as does his gaze, “..Some would call your unconditional and somewhat sacrificial support love.” Sonic nearly chokes, speaking way too loudly by accident, “Yeah- well-.. That’s a really weird thing to say because I just call it being a good friend.”

Shadow chuckles warmly at that, looking at the side of Sonic’s face as the rising half blasted moon cascades it with cool light. He sighs quietly, brows knitting at the thought of having to leave this Sonic one day. He misses his own and would absolutely never choose another over him, but.. It does hurt his heart to know this Sonic will be left with.. no one.

He deserves more. Deserves better.

He can only hope that his own Sonic’s influence has been good on the alternate Shadow.. That perhaps the other Shadow will return here kinder and more understanding.

“Right..,” Shadow hums, “A good friend.”

“Yeah, don’t start projecting on me and shit– I’m not in love with no one.” “That means you are.” “What?” “In love. You said you’re ‘not’ in love with ‘no’ one. That’s a double-negative.” “Don’t get smartass with me, Faker, you know what I meant!”

“Oh?” “I’m serious!”

“Okay.”

“I’m not!” “Mhm.” “Stop it!” “Stop what??” “Stop– you know..” “Alright.”

[maxdibert]

1. We’re talking about a high-class bully considered an aristocrat in his world due to his blood status, who also operated with numerical superiority when attacking and, conveniently, had a working-class half-blood kid as his main target, whom he literally attacked for “existing.” The classist conditions are quite evident, and the power dynamics are clear. If you don’t want to see them because you need to justify your love for abusive, privileged brats, that’s not my problem. I fully acknowledge that Severus had plenty of flaws and a terrible personality, but what I won’t accept is blaming him when, in this dynamic with James Potter, he was clearly the victim and the one who was socially and economically at a disadvantage.

2. Excusing abusive behavior with “it’s just humor” is like excusing people making racist or homophobic jokes under the same premise. If we understand that one thing is wrong, we should apply it across the board. Making jokes with a misogynistic undertone that directly ties to the systematic, traditional abuse of women is not funny—it’s a demonstration of the power and impunity that privileged white men have over certain social groups, in this case, women. I’d love to see you defend the same attitude if it were Severus or Lucius Malfoy saying the same thing. You probably wouldn’t be saying the same.

3. Can you tell me where in canon it specifies that those spells were created for being a bigot? What we know is that they were created for “enemies,” and “enemies” can easily be understood as the group of bullies who had been tormenting him since he was 11 years old. Interpreting it as him creating them to target innocent Muggle-borns is something you’ve completely fabricated because nothing in the canon suggests that. It’s your own prejudice driving that interpretation. I’m basing this on canon, where his book specifies it was for “enemies.” Therefore, the knife analogy is correct: I carry a knife to protect myself from enemies, who in this case are guys who might try to do something to me at night. If those guys grab my knife and assault me with it, is that my fault? Victim blaming?

4. No, my dear, you started with the nonsense, so don’t come to me with excuses now. Sorry, but it seems like some of you get very upset when someone calls you out and debunks your fallacies. Well, that’s not my fault. Sorry!

5. James starts picking on Snape the very first day of school on their way to Hogwarts. Was he a bigot then? Did he butt into the conversation and mock him because he was a bigot? How did he know? Was he psychic and saw the future? Also, when the book explicitly states that he decided to publicly strip him because Sirius was bored? Why doesn’t it say they went after him because he was a bigot, but rather because Sirius was bored and his way of having fun was to find Snape alone and attack him two-on-one? Shall we also remember that what happens with Lily happens after they strip him and publicly humiliate him by choking him? Or are you conveniently skipping that part to keep throwing around argumentative fallacies at your convenience?

6. Basic concepts of character development 101: show, don’t tell. Rowling manages to show the reader that James could also be a terrible person through his actions, but when it comes to his “redemption,” she doesn’t show it—his friends just tell us about it, and they were clearly far from objective. Where is this change? Where is the maturity? Where does she show it? You can say something a thousand times, but it can’t be taken seriously if you don’t show it, and Rowling fails miserably at convincing us about James by not showing this so-called maturity she claims he has.

I love it when Marauders stans try to portray Lily as the ultimate feminist icon when any woman with half a brain and even the most basic understanding of gender studies knows that you’d be safer locked in a cage with a hungry lion than with a rich brat who publicly strips people and blackmails you into dating him in exchange for not committing sexual assault. Like, what world do you even live in? Seriously?

[prismaticpichu]

Sephzack prompt: Degradation

Shehshshshdhdh ONE OF MY FAV AUs!!!! 💖💖💖

~

"I..."

Zack shook his head, unable to stop the tears from boiling, unable to bear the pulsing ache in his chest any longer. The gray-beaded tips of his spikes seemed to be accentuated by the training room's glow; unescapable, unexorable. A part of him now. More and more of the black was being swallowed by that rotting color, its leechlike silver blanching the youth and life out of his hair—his eyes, his skin, his spirit. He could feel all of it slipping, bleeding away. He could feel its deadly venom seeping into his soul, infecting it, blighting the brightest parts and tainting them with its rage, vitriol, and hatred. How much longer could he even control it? How many more loved ones did have to snap at, demean? How many more horrible, ruthless, bladed things did he have to say to—?

"Zack..." Sephiroth reached out, sensing his friend's turmoil, Masamune long thrown aside and relinquished.

A bead of blood dribbled off his cheek.

The Buster Sword sat at Zack's feet, reddened.

"...It's not your fault, Zack. None of this is y—"

Zack slapped his hand away, lips pulling into an anguished snarl, taking a defensive step back.

His eyes were veiled with tears.

"Don't... don't touch me!" he choked, almost rattled. "I'm... I'm dangerous, okay? I'm... I'ma..." Another fierce, hate-fueled shake of his head, the sapphires ablaze as he then added, laden with hot terror, "I almost killed you...!"

Even with the words echoing jaggedly around them, Sephiroth only rubbed his hand, refusing to raise his voice. He wouldn't dare fan the flames—not when the disease was in-control, growing stronger.

"...You didn't," was all Sephiroth said, his voice a delicate calm. "You stopped yourself."

Zack's fists clenched, his teeth gnashing, serrated tears crawing down his cheeks.

...Why didn't you fight BACK? he wanted to scream, snarl. "Why wouldn't you defend yourself? Do you WANT me to hurt you? Are you too afraid to fight, just like when you made me...—

But he stopped himself there, tightening his fists, straining against the roaring thoughts like a man bracing a hurricane, trying to divert the violent winds.

No... That wasn't true...

Teardrops plunked onto his blade, diluting the blood.

It...!

"Zack," Sephiroth ventured again, taking a step closer, sounding so helpless and so pained. "Please, take a breath. Recollect yourself. It's going to be—"

"SHUT UP...!" Zack screamed, the volcano in his throat bursting forth, spewing its draconic heat. His fists were cement chunks now; his breath was knifelike, erractic. "You think it's going to be okay? You think everything's going to be fine?! How stupid do you think I am? How NAIVE do you think you are...?"

He took a step closer, stomping.

Sephiroth didn't move.

"You think you can magically make everything better? You think you can understand? You think you are so Strong, staying so aloof? What kind of person do you think you—?"

Nor did Sephiroth let him finish, refusing to let this tainted facsimile speak any longer, refusing to fight back or counter or spit even the faintest trace of gasoline into the fire, making more of a rift…

Thump, thump, thump~

So he simply reached out, warmly yet desperately, closing the space between them…

Thump, thump, thump~

And pulled Zack into an embrace.

Thump, thump, thump…

Thump, thump….

Thump….

Zack’s entire world seemed to freeze, his eyes widening, his chest pressed against the frantic rhythm of his friend’s heartbeat, against its familiar pulses. Its song. Its warmth. Familiar notes and familiar comfort—a melody that sang to the storm in his soul, calming it down, placating it with its gentle beats.

Thump…. Thump…. Thump…

He sucked in his breath, listened.

Sephiroth rested his head against his shoulder, holding him tighter.

The world around them ceased to exist.

“…Zack,” he murmured, sealing the cracks in own voice, drawing him closer into his chest. “I’m here… I’m right here. Come back to me now…”

It was like watching a flame be snuffed out, its angry light ebbing into harmless, tiny cinders; extinguished, smothered. Harmless little ashes that trickled off Zack’s shoulders as he slumped, melting into his friend’s arms, solaced by those simple, medicinal, balmlike words…

I’m not going to abandon you…

I’m not going to fight you…

I’m never going to give up on you…

Tears swamped the leather coat, free and flooding.

“S-Seph…”

Strong arms only held him tighter, anchoring his friend with his previous promises, enveloping him in a shelter he would never let crumble, never let fall. A bond he would never let be tainted—no matter how hard this vile disease tried to tear them apart. He would never leave Zack to rot, to struggle and suffer on his own. He knew better this time. He would do better this time, no matter the circumstances. No matter how many times he had to bring him back. Zack had showed him nothing but unconditional, unwavering love in the past, and he was going to reciprocate it. Wings or gray hair or venomous arguments… It didn’t matter: it was still Zack underneath it all, and he would fight for him with his life.

“I… I didn’t mean…”

“Shh, I know… It’s not your, fault.”

“I… I love you so much, bud… “I-I’m so…”

“Shh… It’s alright…”

“I… don’t want to hurt you…”

“I know, I know… You would never…”

“…I’m… I’m scared, Seph…”

And on and on, a rally of warm whispers and emotions, two friends clinging to each other for dear life.

[flightnight]

I need help understanding Sunday.

I feel that there's a rift between how the game expects me to see him and how I actually see him. Would anybody be so kind as to help me clarify these two points?

1. What did he ever say or do that would indicate that he realizes that he ever did something wrong? Bonus points for addressing his core harmful misconception that led him to become a villain to begin with.

2. Which of his actions do you consider admirable?

Explanation of why exactly I have problems with these points below the cut:

1. His whole thing during the Penacony arc was that, in his opinion, people shouldn't be trusted to live their miserable lives by themself; they'll only hurt themself. Everybody (including Robin) is too weak, and he's the only one who's strong. So they should be forever imprisoned in the perfect boring dream their benevolent lord and savior Sunday created for them. From what I understand, he was going to start with Penacony and then imprison the whole universe under his absolute control. Okay, great, typical "morally grey" villain motivation, very well explained, no problem here.

Most of the characters, as well as, hopefully, the player, understand that it's the wrong thing to do. Nice motive, still evil.

My question is: what are the things he said or did since we defeated him that indicate that he's changed? Does he ever admit or imply that he did anything wrong? That human lives are precious no matter how miserable and flawed they are in his opinion? and how valuable freedom is? How strong can people be?

Because so far I only see the opposite: instead of indicating that he was wrong, he doubled down. He literally told us that he's going to do some research and try again.

I don't know, maybe I blinked and missed him getting in a situation where he has to confront his misconceptions.

I had very low expectations. I expected "I might have done something bad, but I might be persuaded to forgive myself," or "it wasn't me, it was my evil past self," or "it was somebody else's fault," or "I might have tried to take over the world, but look, I helped a grandma cross the road, so that's okay now.". All of these would be bad. And we kind of get a tiny bit of all of these, but only as vague vibes.

I saw people saying that he helped Tingyun for free, and it shows that he's changed. Are people implying that he was so morally repugnant that he wouldn't have helped somebody for free before? Even I don't think so. Is basic human decency an achievement for him now?

His problem wasn't that he didn't care about fixing other people's lives. It was exactly the opposite!

That's exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't be doing as a show of how much he changed.

A moment of growth for him would be if he realized that another person is strong enough to solve their problems by themselves, without his involvement.

Let's look at other antagonists turned playable characters.

Bronya's main motivation is to save her people. Her misconception—she has faith in her mother. She faces the fact that her mother isn't the person she came to love and respect.

Topaz's main motivation is to help Jarilo-VI survive. Her misconception—she thinks that being owned by the IPC is the only way for them to survive. She faces the fact that the people of Jarilo-VI are strong enough to survive by themselves.

Sunday's main motivation is to save people from suffering. His misconception—it's only possible if he imprisons them in a dream controlled by him. Does he ever face the realization that he was wrong? I don't care how many Tingyuns he helped, his problem wasn't that he was unwilling to help people. IT WAS KIND OF THE OPPOSITE!!!

And later on, when he kind of helps us, it does nothing to address his core misconception, the thing his whole personality is built around.

He's not a generic bad guy who can redeem himself by becoming a generic good guy! You can't write a complex character and then completely neuter him in his supposed "redemption arc!"

2. What did he do that's worth admiring?

And I think DH's "about Sunday" line indicates how we are supposed to see his return:

"Whether he can achieve his dream or not, being able to let go of everything and start again is already admirable enough."

(btw I'd like to remind you that his dream was to imprison the whole universe. And he wasn't "able" to bravely let go of everything. He was forced to. By being defeated by us. Hello!!!)

What did Sunday even do? Nearly turned Penacony back into a prison again. Got hit by a train. Lost a boss fight (as a boss). Got saved by Robin. Got what he deserved and what he tried to do to others—imprisonment. Threw a hissy fit, got immediately saved by Robin again, and was freed by Jade. Got accidentally split in two. Told Robin to touch the grass. Graciously allowed us to give him a lift.

DH, which of those do you find admirable???? How bravely did he overcome being a villain?

What would we expect a lesser, not so "admirable" person to do in his place? And he hardly even had any agency in most of these events.

Let's look at other characters again. Firefly apologized for lying to us. Topaz and Bronya admitted that they were wrong and backed off. They made a conscious decision to stop what they were doing after realizing they were wrong. They weren't forced to stop by just being defeated in a boss fight and imprisoned. That's admirable. What did Sunday do that's admirable?

And what about Welt's "about Sunday":

"Having an ideal and pursuing it is not rare, but being able to start anew after that ideal is shattered—this kind of willpower will carry him far."

Gramps, the last time we had to hit him with a train several times to stop his willpower from "carrying him far", wdym?

And I'm sure the game's writers are planning to give him more to do later, maybe dragging him through some long overdue character development (I mean, why else are we carrying this piece of cardboard they turned him into with us to Amphoreus?) Because 15 hours of monologue during Pencaony, plus 5 more hours during his triumphant return, clearly wasn't enough. All these new upcoming characters will move over to give Sunday 10 more hours of pretentious monologue.

But on the brighter side, things like this make me appreciate the previous instances of bad writing. At least Firefly apologized. At least Topaz admitted that she was wrong.

And there is one thing that tells me that I'm not the only one having problems with this. It's the fact that in most dialogues there are options to be mean and distrustful of him.

[goticapomposa]

Red Wine supernova

Vi x Reader

I haven't written in a while and English is not my first language, I welcome suggestions and ideas🩷🩷🩷

another one of the stories inspired by Chappell Roan's songs, this time red wine supernova, I thought of more than one version of this one that I could write, if you want other versions of red wine supernova tell me, I made this one something shorter and more casual ting

The Reader is a little weird but Vi is totally in love with it☝️

MEN NOT ALLOWED⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Red Wine Supernova

The thick fog of Zaun hung in the air, filled with the smell of rusty metal and smoke. The alleys were shadows swallowing up lost stories, but tonight, everything seemed different. Vi couldn’t tell if it was the cheap wine stolen from Vander’s bar or the way Reader smiled at her, as if she were a secret about to be revealed.

“I swear I saw a star,” Reader said, throwing her head back and staring at the polluted sky.

Vi laughed softly.

“Impossible. I can’t see anything here.”

But Reader just shook her head, her hair moving like a comet about to tear through the sky. She held a half-empty bottle, the dark liquid reflecting the few city lights. Her lips were tinted red from the wine, and Vi couldn’t tell if it was the drink’s fault or if they had always been that addictive shade.

“You don’t see it because you don’t want to see it. I see it.” — Reader closed her eyes, spinning in the middle of the empty street. Her worn dress spun with her, and Vi felt a pang in her chest. Reader didn't belong in a place like this. She was a beam of light where there was only darkness.

“You're drunk.”

“A little,” Reader admitted, tripping over her own feet before laughing.

Vi rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile. She walked over to Reader, holding her waist to keep her from falling.

“You're a problem.”

Reader opened her eyes and stared at Vi with that look that always dismantled her.

“You like that.”

Vi's heart thudded against her ribs. The smell of wine mixed with Reader's sweet perfume invaded her senses, and suddenly the world seemed too small.

“You're talking nonsense,” Vi grumbled, trying to ignore the heat rising in her face.

But Reader laughed again, leaning closer.

“Do you think I’m a star?”

Vi didn’t answer.

Reader touched Vi’s face gently, her cold fingers contrasting with her warm skin.

“I think you’re the whole sky,” Reader whispered.

And then, before Vi could process what was happening, Reader pressed her lips to hers. It was sweet and intoxicating, like a sip of forbidden wine, like a promise that should never be made. Vi felt her body react before her mind, grabbing Reader by the waist and pulling her closer.

The world spun around them, like a supernova about to explode.

When Reader pulled away, her smile was pure chaos.

“Vi… did you feel that?”

Vi took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way her hands were shaking.

“What?”

Reader took a step back, stretching her arms toward the sky.

— The explosion.

Vi stood there, standing in the middle of the deserted street, feeling the cold of the night against her skin, but it was impossible to feel anything other than the taste of Reader still on her lips. Her heart was racing, her mind a chaos, as if she had been caught in the middle of an exploding star.

Reader spun on the asphalt, her arms outstretched, her dress swirling with her, as if she were on a different planet, far away from Zaun.

“What was that?” Vi asked, her voice hoarse.

Reader stopped spinning, her eyes shining in the dim light of the streetlights. She tilted her head to the side, biting her lip, and Vi felt a shiver run down her spine.

“It was either the end of the world or the beginning of it,” Reader answered, as if it were obvious.

Vi snorted, trying to regain control of her breathing.

“Do you always say that weird shit when you drink?”

Reader laughed, walking towards Vi, her steps slow and measured. She stopped right in front of her, her big eyes fixed on Vi’s, as if she were seeing something that not even Vi knew existed.

“I only speak the truth,” Reader whispered, and Vi felt her entire body stiffen.

Because deep down, she knew. She knew it wasn’t just the wine, it wasn’t just the night, it wasn’t just Reader joking around like she always did. It was real. It always had been.

Vi looked away, crossing her arms, trying to ignore the lump forming in her throat.

“You’re a problem,” she repeated, but her voice came out softer this time.

Reader smiled, that mischievous smile that Vi knew so well.

“A beautiful problem,” she said, and Vi felt like laughing and screaming at the same time.

Before she could say anything, Reader grabbed her hand, slowly intertwining their fingers. Vi didn’t move.

“Let’s go.” Reader pulled her down the street, aimlessly.

Vi didn’t even ask where. She just went.

Because, deep down, I knew that any place with Leitora seemed like an entire universe.

The city around them seemed distant, as if Zaun had been left behind and all that existed was this moment, the deserted street and their hands intertwined. Vi could feel the heat of Reader’s fingers against hers, a light touch, but it burned more than any fight she had ever faced.

Reader walked ahead, guiding her as if she knew exactly where they were going. Vi should ask. She should say something. But deep down, she knew it was useless. Once Reader made up her mind, there was no way to change her mind.

So, she just kept going.

After a few minutes, Reader suddenly stopped. Vi almost bumped into her.

“Why did you stop?”

Reader looked around and then up. They were near an abandoned building, one of the many that Zaun had swallowed up over time. The concrete was cracked, the windows broken. Nothing seemed special here. But somehow, Reader looked at the place as if it were a portal to another world.

“I want to show you something,” she said, and pulled Vi inside. The building was dark, the smell of dust and rust filling the air.

Vi frowned. “If this is a plan to kill me, you’re going to need more than cheap wine, doll face.”

Reader laughed, shaking her head. “Trust me.”

She climbed an old staircase that creaked with every step. Vi followed, keeping her guard up, even though deep down she knew there was no danger here. Not the kind of danger she was used to, anyway.

When they reached the top, Reader pushed open a heavy door and made her way to the roof. The cold wind whipped against Vi’s face, but she barely noticed. Because the view… She blinked in surprise. Somehow, from up here, Zaun seemed smaller.

The lights of the factories flickered in the distance, and the fog that always enveloped the city seemed less suffocating. Lighter.

Reader walked to the edge, sitting down with her legs dangling in the air. She patted the concrete beside her, calling Vi over.

“Sit here. With me.”

Vi hesitated for a second, but then sat down next to her.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just stood there, looking out at the city.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” Reader said after a while. “I always wanted to see beyond all this. Imagine what was out there.”

Vi turned to face her. Reader was still staring straight ahead, her wide eyes reflecting the dim light of the city.

“And what did you think you had?”

Reader smiled slightly.

“Stars.”

Vi felt her chest tighten.

Reader turned to her then, and Vi knew. She knew that this moment was different. That something between them had changed.

Reader leaned closer, her dark eyes analyzing every detail of Vi’s face.

“Did you feel it?” she whispered.

Vi's heart was pounding.

"What?"

Reader smiled, that mischievous, beautiful smile.

"The explosion."

And this time, Vi didn't try to run away.

This time, she just held Reader's face with both hands and kissed her.

The world around her disappeared. There was no Zaun, there was no dust, there was no danger. There was only Reader, the taste of wine on her lips, the soft touch of her fingers on the back of Vi's neck.

A supernova.

When they pulled away, Reader smiled against Vi's lips.

"Now you see?"

Vi laughed, leaning her forehead against hers.

"I see."

And for the first time in her life, she believed that stars could be born in Zaun.

I hope you liked it, if you want the other versions of red wine supernova tell me!

What song should I do next? Do you guys have any ideas?

[weaveandwood]

The Snake and The Crow: Regrets

Pairing: The Viper x Female Rook (Bianca, an Antivan Crow mage) Words: 3.4K Rating: Mature

Summary:

Bianca faces all of her regrets, both in the Fade Prison and outside of it. Ashur deals with a fading mind. AN: Surprise! I got the chapter done early and was able to get it posted before the scheduled Wednesday update date! I've had a lot of this chapter sitting waiting to be used for a bit now, and I'm so happy to get it out for you to read.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! Read on AO3! Previous Chapter

Bianca blinked open her eyes. How long had she been out? Her head hurt, her vision was swimming, and every muscle in her body was screaming. The last thing she remembered was Ghilan’nain dying and everything going to shit. 

What happened? Everything felt wrong, like the air was thick and the color had been leached from the world. It reminded her of something. Almost like…

She sat up quickly, her head spinning, and saw a yawning chasm, not unlike the one she was used to when talking to Solas. There was someone on the other side, a woman. Bianca tilted her head, squinting to get a better look. 

Oh, no.  Oh, no, no, no.

It was her.

“Your work is done,” he had said, looking down on her with a mixture of pity and disdain.

She curled in on herself, panic beginning to course through her veins. She was trapped. Solas had betrayed her, used her to escape this prison made for gods and left her to rot. Her breathing quickened along with her pulse. She looked around this greyed out wasteland, desperate for anything that could get her out of here. Something. 

She thought she heard the faintest whisper on whatever would pass for a breeze here—there one second and gone the next, but it sounded so much like him. Like Ashur. But it couldn’t be him, not really, not when he was still alive, or as alive as the blight would allow him to be. It had to be either a trick of the Fade or her mind. Still, she stood up, following where she thought the voice went. He was impossible to ignore. 

“There has to be a way out of here, I just have to find it. Then I can…What? Make things right?” she laughed to herself, bitterness replacing any humor. Her voice sounded loud and out of place here. Neve, Davrin, Assan, Lucanis…all dead. All because of her. Again. This is my fault, this is my fault, this is my fault . Her old ghosts came back to haunt her, like they had for weeks after the blighted dragon razed Minrathous. 

“Hey, kid. Solas found a way out, now you need to find yours.”

She turned in a circle, looking for the source. Another voice on the breeze. First Ashur, now Varric? Her mind had to be playing tricks on her, craving something familiar, something comforting. Nothing in the Fade made sense. 

Stairs, though. Stairs were good. Stairs made sense. She started to climb. Another voice filled her head, the familiar shape of a friend flooding her vision as larger than life statues appeared before her. 

“I told you the enchantments were dangerous, but you chose me anyway. Who will protect Dock Town now? It’s like you want to see it wiped off the map. I trusted you, and it got me killed. Just like you killed Ashur.” 

Each of Neve’s words were perfectly sharpened to cut her where it hurt the most, each syllable a quick stab, poised to kill. They echoed around her, a whirlwind of pain, dragging her out to the sea and pulling her under. This is my fault . 

“Rook is not to blame.” That same faint whisper. Was it in her ear, or her memory? She couldn’t tell either way, only that it was Ashur once again providing a small act of mercy, stopping her from collapsing in on herself just as he did the night the dragon razed Minrathous. The flurry of daggers stabbing at her soul with every beat of her heart fell to the ground and she could breathe once more. This wasn’t her fault. This prison was locked by regrets—she couldn’t afford to dwell on them anymore, not if she wanted to get out and finish what they started.

“I made a choice. I live with the choices I make. The successes…and the failures. We all believed in this. The real Neve knew what it might cost.” She wasn’t sure who she was saying it out loud for. This fake Neve surely didn’t care. Maybe it was just for herself. 

More stairs. With shaky hands, she continued. What would she face next? Who would she face next?

“Whatever it takes, that’s what you told us. You lived it every day. You asked a lot of us, of the team. But you asked even more of yourself. After everything you’ve done? It was my turn to make the sacrifice. And I’d do it again. Without a second thought.” 

A tear fell down her cheek. Davrin was supposed to be living a new life, finding new purpose with Assan and the other griffons. He was more than his sacrifices, he mattered outside of his death. And now he was gone. 

“I’ll make sure your sacrifice matters, Davrin.” 

“What about mine?” Varric asked. He was no trick of the Fade, as real as anything here could be. She wished she was imagining things, that this was just a dream. Wake up, wake up, wake up . 

Solas had betrayed her yet again. Used her this entire time. Fooled her. He certainly had earned his many titles. She felt her magic deep within her, dulled by this prison but heated and burning with rage all the same. He was lucky this wasn’t a prison locked by wanting to throw him off a cliff, weighted down by the heaviest of stones or she would never break out. She looked at Varric and her fire gave out, extinguished by overwhelming grief she had not yet been allowed to feel. He had been…all this time…

“I think I knew the truth, deep down, but I couldn’t face it because it would mean admitting I let you die.” This was my fault. “I made a call, and it got you killed.” 

“Haven’t you learned anything, kid? I made the choice, even knowing the risks. My decision, my sacrifice. You don’t get to take that from me.”

Varric always had a way of making her see things clearly. Everyone made their choices, they knew the risks. She may have been the leader of the team, but it was not on her to shoulder everything. It was not on her to diminish their sacrifices, to take away their autonomy.

Even me , the faint whisper said. It is what it is .

She closed her eyes, allowing it to seep in, filling every empty space within her, grief replaced by acceptance. Of course Ashur would challenge a dragon by himself to save those less fortunate than he was. Of course Davrin would distract Ghilan’nain to allow Lucanis to take the shot. Of course Neve would offer to break the wards. Of course Varric would try to reason with his old friend. They were who they were. 

It is what it is. 

“Rook!” She heard Lucanis’s voice in the distance, relief flooding her so quickly she thought she might drown in it. An arm grabbed her through the pale light she had been walking toward the entire time without realizing it, the place where the veil was thinnest. 

“I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it,” Varric called as she was pulled through, reunited with her friends once more. 

She wanted to believe him.

Dear Ashur, if you’re reading this, I didn’t make it back from Tearstone Island . 

Dear Ashur. Dear Ashur. Who was Ashur?  Was he Ashur? He must be Ashur. 

The thoughts in his head were dissonant, making it nearly impossible to focus sometimes, but when he thought of her, he was able to find himself once more. He was Ashur, The Viper, so many other masks, and she was Bianca, Rook. Gone. Betrayed. Pulled into the Fade by the Dread Wolf. The very one who was assisting Minrathous at this very moment with holding back the blight and Elgar’nan. It had taken all his restraint not to use what little magic he had remaining when he saw Solas. Had he been healthy, unblighted…but he wasn’t. He didn’t have the strength to focus his magic on anything but keeping the blight within himself contained, just for a while longer. Just a little while. 

His brief hold on his focus was waning, the call of the Blight growing ever louder. It would be so easy to succumb to it. For some reason he couldn’t recall, he didn’t want to succumb to it.

Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. The Maker is the rock to which I cling

The Chant always provided him with comfort in times like these, he had said to her the last time he saw her. He did not know then it would be the last time he saw her. 

Her? Who was her ?

Bianca. Bianca. Wild curls, ocean blue eyes, spark and flame. The letter. He went quickly to the desk in his room, no longer at the Shadows hideout but in his home that was too grand for one who was just a man. A man, not a title. The letter lay there, well-read with edges crumpled and stained with drops and smears of black blight. He skimmed, looking for his favorite part: 

I had already started falling in love with you.

Love. It made his magic spark to life once more, warmth flowing through his veins. Something it had not done these last weeks once he learned she was gone. They were trying to get her back. He could not do anything but pace his room, a fate worse than this blight for a man of action. 

It called to him. Sang louder than The Chant at times. He had fought this for months, but it was winning. Tendrils of inky black coated his body, the dripping proof of his injury everywhere he touched. Perhaps it was better she did not see him like this. He read the letter again, his eyes stopping once more at her confession. 

I had already started falling in love with you.

He had loved her from almost the beginning, that was one thing he remembered. He never got to tell her and now it was too late. So many secrets, so many lies, so many things he thought he was protecting her from. For nothing. She was gone and he would be soon. A faint thought of “It is what it is” echoed through him, anger rising. The blight sparked, feeding on it. He didn’t want acceptance. He wanted her. He wanted love. He wanted to be selfish for once in his life. 

Why wasn’t he selfish?  Who was he? A glance at the letter. Dear Ashur. He was Ashur. 

A soft knock at his door. The blight within him surged, the song begging.  Rip. Attack. Tear. Feast.  He swallowed it down. His magic was so tired of swallowing it down.

“Enter,” he called, as much as he could. His voice was weak for the first time in his life, used to echoing through the Chantry or the hideout, leading his faithful. No more. A man opened the door. He had a vague flicker of recognition. Who was he? Tarquin. Tarquin. 

“We just got an urgent missive. They have her—she’s back. They’ll be fighting Elgar'nan tomorrow.” 

Something he once recognized as relief flooded through him. The end. It would be over tomorrow. He could hold on just one more day, join the fight. He knew he wouldn’t survive it, but he could help. He sat down and grabbed his pen, hands shaking from the effort. 

Bianca, I have succumbed - either to illness or violence but either way I no longer remain on this side of the Veil and have gone to the Maker’s side. The truth of the matter is this…

It was time to write his own confession. For her. 

It turns out, you don’t have to be trapped in the Fade to be in a prison of your regrets. Regret didn’t have to be a statue of a fallen friend, the memory of one you didn’t realize was lost, or the voice of someone you were on your way to losing. Regret could take the form of a pair of warm brown eyes looking down at you, a trusted friend who could be more. Who you thought you wanted to be more. It could take the form of a pair of violet wings wrapping around you in comfort when they were usually used to aid in violence. It could be the gentle press of lips followed by a more urgent one, whispers of “you’re here,” and “I promise.” It could feel like hands that are not the ones you truly want tracing the shape of your body. It could feel like dancing on the knife’s edge of love, but with the wrong person. It could feel completely right, but completely wrong at the same time. 

She wanted this.  She didn’t want this. 

He wanted this.  He didn’t want this. 

“Wait,” Bianca said. 

“What is it?” His brows knit together, the crease between them present once more.

“This isn’t…we shouldn’t, Lucanis. I’m not what you want. I can’t be what you want,” she said. She couldn’t be a statue in his own prison of regrets. Something he looked upon and thought if only I hadn’t. 

“You—I want you, Rook, as you already are. I thought you knew that. I thought you felt the same,” he said, sitting back on his knees between her thighs. Lies. To her, to himself, to everyone. 

I do.  I don’t. You do.  You don’t. 

She was silent. She saw him start to retreat back into himself, the pedestal of her sculpture already formed in his mind. How do you tell someone that you want them, but that you want someone more? Someone you can never have, someone who will be on the other side of the Veil sooner than either of you would like, someone you would have gladly stayed in the Fade to meet once more? How do you tell them you know they feel the same about you—the wanting and the not wanting, constantly at war with each other. 

“I thought I did. I want to.” She had thought, when he came into her room moments ago, that she could love him fully, that she would be able to forget everything else and have only him. He understood her, he trusted her, he had been there for her through it all. His was the first voice calling her name as she was pulled from Solas’s prison. She had been so close to falling before, what was stopping her now? She had been so good at lying to herself her entire life, why would her heart not let her lie about this?

She had fantasized about it, being with Lucanis. The Demon of Vyrantium, the First Talon, the rogue who almost captured her hardened heart. The man who would kill with pinpoint precision then come back and make her churros because he remembered her favorite drink was hot chocolate. Daydreamed how it would feel to be a part of something, fully, and have a family with the Crows she always felt like she was on the perimeter of, just inches away from belonging. She had wondered how those hands would feel on her body, in her body, and now that they were…they weren’t the right hands. 

It’s not fair to him. He deserves more. She deserves more. She sat up, still in her undergarments but feeling completely naked in front of him. 

“Lucanis, I–”

“I thought we had something, Rook. Why are you pulling away now? After all this time?” he asked. “Why would you—”

“Lucanis,” she interrupted, smiling softly. “You don’t want this either, it’s just easy . I’ve seen how you look at Neve. How you smile around her. You don’t smile like that around me. And I don’t think I can smile like that around you. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll be able to smile like that around anyone, at least not until…”

His face softened. “At least not until you know…” 

Neither of them could bring themselves to say the hard truth. Until he was dead . 

She nodded, though her head barely moved. Her hands in her lap suddenly were the most interesting thing in this room—anything to avoid seeing the hurt on his face. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

They sat there in silence, moments dragging out into eternity. Would the Fade reclaim this space with the two of them frozen in this position, the stone of the Lighthouse crumbling around them while they sought to avoid looking at each other? Would the glass separating them from the aquarium crack and deteriorate with age, the fish long gone due to lack of care, the plants that brought her so much comfort with their rhythmic floating on the currents crumbled to the floor below while they avoided saying anything that mattered?

She felt a hand on hers. It may have been moments, minutes, hours, or decades later, she couldn’t be sure. She looked up to see him looking at her, his eyes warm and soft, a knowing smile on his face. A tear she didn’t even know had formed escaped down her cheek. He reached forward to brush it off her face. 

“I still can’t believe we found you. I thought we’d never see you again, that I’d never see you again. That you were lost for good.” He laced his fingers with hers, still fighting the war between wanting and not wanting. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m afraid,” she said with a half smile. She brushed her thumb against his, fighting the same war. Her heart tugged and pulled, Lucanis and Ashur on opposite sides. Something growing or something dying, something expected or a beautiful surprise, something easy or one of the hardest things she’s ever experienced. 

Why did she always have to choose the difficult path?

“You’re right. About Neve,” he said after a few moments. “You’re always right, Rook. It’s infuriating sometimes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Spite agrees.” 

She let out a small laugh, her fingers sliding out of his after his confession. “Well if Spite agrees, who am I to argue that?” 

She wanted to cling to him, to tell him it was a joke, that she was only kidding— “Oh, you know Rook, never serious!” She faced the prospect of being alone, truly alone, for the first time the day after tomorrow and she had to admit she was terrified. But that was her sacrifice to make, for Lucanis to be as happy as she was in those hours before the dragon attacked Minrathous and all of her hopes were as blighted as the man she hadn’t yet admitted to herself she loved. That she still loved. That she would love, until it was over. Maybe long past that. 

“Will we…be okay?” she asked, tentatively. She didn’t want there to be any issues or unhealed hurts between them, especially when they both went back home to Antiva to resume their lives—him as First Talon, and her as a thorn in Viago’s side. 

“More than okay, Rook,” he said softly, brushing a curl from her face and tucking it back into place. He kissed her softly, one more to add to her small collection of kisses from him that night. One tentative and sweet, one desperate and urging, and one for goodbye. She stared at her empty hands, lost in thought while he dressed and left, the door to her room closing with a gentle click. 

She lay back on her sofa and turned toward the fish, her constant companions. She watched as they swam to and fro, free to go where they pleased, wherever the current took them. She wondered, as she contemplated how her life would look after tomorrow, if she could be afforded that same option. Throughout her entire life, she realized she had never had a say in where she ended up, always a pawn in someone else’s plan for her. To be able to go where she pleased…it sounded like a luxury she used to only dream about on those cold nights surrounded by other orphans in Treviso, or when she was huddled up under a threadbare blanket distracting herself from her growling stomach back in Vyrantium. She had seen so much of northern Thedas now, she was changed through and through. How could she go back to her old life? Did she even want to?

As her eyes fluttered and finally closed, she found her head at war with her heart. She knew her heart would win. 

She always did choose the difficult path.