#When it lets you choose a scar from the fighting ring

[the-avaricious-meddler]

Old man tries to get a hobby and accidentally becomes a furry

[motomamita]

JUST HAD A THOUGHT !

König as a rising underground boxer, with his cute little nurse that comes with him whenever he goes. He lets no one else look after him and all his bandages have cute symbols on it.

Media is all over him and he just can’t help but brag about his cutie patootie nurse that only cares for him, and no other boxer has eye candy like he does.😵‍💫

boxer!könig × nurse!reader

warnings: +18, smut, sex!

you needed money urgently and you were in your last year of nursing. that's when you met könig, who was a friend of a friend of yours and who needed your services in exchange for good pay.

your first meeting with him was in the basement of a bar far from the city, late at night. könig showed up in the locker room, shirtless and wearing boxer shorts. his face and entire body had bruises and scars that seemed to have healed not very well. that's when you knew you were going to have a very hard job there.

in his following fights, könig managed to win and take first place in the standings. After each fight, both received a good amount of money that you shared equally. you spent hours with him in the locker room, cleaning his bloody face and placing bandages on his bruised knuckles. sometimes you got so late that könig invited you to his small apartment, where you took care of him until you inevitably fell asleep in his bed. könig took advantage and pulled you towards him, letting you sleep on his chest.

soon König gained recognition and was invited to fight in the best competitions in the city. both became a team and had to show yourselves as such. now you were wearing a matching shirt and skirt with the inscription "property of könig" on the back, so everyone would know that you were HIS nurse. könig dressed to match you, choosing the same colors of shorts that you choose for your little skirts.

the media began to take an interest in both, calling you "the little nurse" and praising the good chemistry you both had. noticing how your face became worried every time könig received a hit or how you jumped with excitement every time he won, without caring that your panties were visible under your skirt.

you also caught the attention of the other boxers who did not miss the opportunity to look up your skirt or try to talk to you. unfortunately for them, könig was always next to you, hugging you around the waist and growling almost like a dog when any of those sons of bitches tried to get close to you.

everyone understood that it was in vain to try to separate you, you were both there for each other. könig wore a chain around his neck along with a sign with your name on it that he always kissed before entering the ring because, according to him, it gave him luck. and every time he won, he would run up to you to hug and kiss you, not caring that he was dripping with blood and sweat.

dor your part, you massaged his muscles before each fight and even sucked his cock to make him more "relaxed." könig just let you do whatever you want with him just by feeling your skin on his and not going too far away.

today könig had fought the final against another guy, for a lot, a lot of money. in a fight straight out of a movie, könig had managed to establish himself as the supreme winner. the photos of you two hugging and kissing didn't take long, as did the glasses of champagne to celebrate. once the celebrations had calmed down, you took könig to the locker room, you had to clean his bleeding nose and a large open scar on his right cheekbone. but, he had other plans.

"that's it, keep it up.. c'mon.."

könig moaned, lying on a bench, while you rode his thick, sweaty cock. in your hand you still had the gauze with which you were trying to clean his wounds but it was difficult for you to stop in the face of so much pleasure.

at your waist you wore the könig winner's belt and several bills clutched in your short skirt. you couldn't stop releasing on him, feeling how your moisture fell down the length of his cock and wet his sweaty balls. the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust while your clits slapped against his happy trail.

"keep jumping, fuck you, fuck... my little nurse, always taking care of me, huh?"

könig brought his big hands to your breasts, breaking the buttons on your shirt and moving your bra, leaving your breasts in the air. you moaned at the change in temperature and your warm walls squeezed könig's throbbing cock. the breaths and moans of both of you echoed in the locker room as did the sound of your skin colliding.

"come on, make me cum, i know you can..."

he asked, now bringing his hands to your hips, helping you continue bouncing his cock. könig couldn't resist and raised his hips, fucking you hard and finishing inside you.

that night you returned home with the prize and with even more energy to fuck until the next morning.

[pandorascripts]

Family Reunion

Uhm... hi... guys!!! Yes, I did go MIA for like a whole year, but I got better at writing and my gay ass got extreme motivation from Agatha and Rio soooo I'm here!!! Not sure if this is permanent, but I really wanted to write Agatha as a mother. Feel free to send in requests (platonic or romantic, either works), who knows if I'll get around to them, but they might motivate me!

Summary: Rio and Agatha begin to heal, too absorbed in familiarity to remember just how bad they were for one another. The Road decides to leap out of Rio's control, thrusting their young daughter away from the underworld and back into their lives.

summary shortened: you're pretty much Nick, except the road decides to throw you back onto the mortal plane for an unknown reason. warnings: some grief, mainly fluff, big smooch scene that we deserved, and me using my Spanish-II class for nefarious acts online (making rio and reader speak Spanish). relationships: Agario/plantonic!reader

all spelling errors are mine, and I apologize, but I'm too excited about writing again to care <3. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha listens as the other coven members cheerily laugh about past experiences -- each letting the burning weight of the trials slip off their shoulders for a moment. The past centuries of her life have been held as a solo journey for Agatha, coven-less, loveless, family-less, and yet, analyzing the people around her, she can't help but wonder if that had been the wrong choice. How is it that these "failed" witches can form a coven far more accepting than the last one she was in? Agatha's not sure, but that spark of humanity she swore died when her coven betrayed her is fighting against the brutal self-taught lessons of apathy. She finds herself drawn into the conversation with a question directed at her. Far too surprised that she's been included, Agatha doesn't clock who it came from at all. Her weight shifts on the log beneath her, fingers anxiously spinning the flower Rio's been harboring since she darkened the road with her soul. Agatha risks a glance at her, then turns back to the coven. Her elbow buzzes with a reminder of a rather bland battle, the hard knitting tool piercing her skin replaying in her mind again. Rio seemingly knows where she's going with this when Agatha hikes up her shirt, lifting her elbow with a small smile.

"You ever heard of the Daughters of Liberty?" her hoarse voice rings out, a faintly muffled chuckle coming from the woman on her right. Agatha smiles at her for the first time in years.

The group enthusiastically shakes their heads, all curious about where Agatha is directing her story. Well aware, Agatha knows she needs to seemingly open up to these women and keep her animosity for them. Letting them in on her past isn't going to do that, so with a snap of her hand the shirt is back down to her wrist, cocky eyes darting around the circle. "Exactly."

Despite how chilling this should be, the group just smiles and laughs at Agatha's story. Agatha won't look into it because that off-putting "joke" just got her respect points with the coven she may or may not choose to betray. That's a win in her mind that is immediately taken away when her old counterpart speaks up.

"I have a scar."

Her tone is a little dry, her face so blank as usual. Naturally, the coven is a little uneasy at Rio's presence, all still deciding if she's trustworthy or not.

Agatha's jaw is sharply outlined as she glares. With a hard breath her nostrils are inflamed, knowing Rio's antics far too familiarly. "No, you don't."

Rio sends her a glare, as if to tell her to shut up. "Yes, I do."

Agatha knows she cannot interrupt again, the coven would be far too suspicious of just how well they know one another. Who Agatha falls in love with is her business -- her weakness is her business. With a taste of defeat that's absolutely disgusting, Agatha lets Rio speak.

"A long time ago, I loved somebody," she starts softly, if not a little too apathetic for a claim like that. The coven is immediately a little interested -- most thinking that Rio is quite the psychopath. Agatha knows they're wrong.

"I had to do something I didn't want to do, and it hurt them," with these words spilt out, Rio gets a little angry at the next part of her speech. Agatha knows what this is going to, her eyes shooting away to look at the stars instead of the stars in Rio's eyes. "But it was my job."

Agatha glares down at her purple pants, the fire a couple feet ahead casting them brighter than their original color. The avoidance is choking her out, but even when Rio speaks again, Agatha is too pained to look.

"She is my scar."

Rio looks over and up at Agatha, not caring that the coven has certainly understood the depth of the relationship between them. For a moment, weakness allows Agatha to breathe in deep, her head softly turning to glance at Rio. The moment the exchange is made, Agatha's body heating up with utter embarrassment, her head snaps. The crack of her knees is deafening, fingers flexing as she tries to loosen the hold on this flower. This damn flower -- why is it still in her hands? Agatha feels grossed out by the question, but more so by her internal response. Rio's face is still burned into her head, the parted lips, eyes open and unafraid of being known by the coven. Rio's look of pure, unaltered love that Agatha swore never truly existed between them.

"Well, I'm gonna take a walk," she snaps out, sending what's supposed to be a condescending smile to the group. Everyone sees through it, more so when Rio sighs annoyedly and rushes after.

Rio would be lying if she said she wasn't slightly pissed, the only thing easing that being the sway of Agatha's hips as she practically darts away from Rio's penetrating gaze. Her eyes remain narrow, watching Agatha fifteen feet up with no objective other than having her back again. Death is lonely, figuratively and literally. She's not found one person who's soul can ease her lack of besides Agatha. Years have blurred together, broken cries of rejection chipping away at the humanity Rio used to harbor, and everything over the millennia she's existed for has undeniably forced her to adept into stone cold apathy. Agatha healed that. During their fleeting time together, Death felt things other than her frozen over hell, she felt desired, understood, she felt human and she understood why humans hate dying so much. Agatha made Death feel like living. So yes, even after this time apart, she's angry that the one soul she refused to take could end up leaving her.

Agatha stops a couple feet ahead now, Rio's gaze running over her body to fully cement the fact that they're back together now, even if not emotionally. Testing waters which have laid still for so long, Rio's chipped nails faintly feel the back of Agatha's spine. When her fingers make contact again, she remembers every night they rested there too -- during walks along the Norwegian beaches despite how freezing it was, fooling around when Agatha was first dabbling in black magic, to nights when Agatha was falling asleep holding their kid and Rio asking hesitantly to take her instead. It's so much, Rio notes, and she understands that it must be for Agatha too because a sound so hauntingly familiar falls from her aching lips -- a moan rippling those waters untouched for years.

Silence is only exchanged after that, Agatha turning around to relent into Rio's care. Seeing her divine face this close again after so many years of punishment, is like allowing a sinner a breath of heaven for Agatha. Her nails rake along Rio's soft face as she soaks in this moment. Her bones are aching to crawl back into the grave she spent so long being comforted in, they're pleading Agatha to just allow them this reprieve, and so she grants it. Rio knows what's coming, her hands clinging onto Agatha as her face dives into her neck. Both their noses dip into the skin, smelling each other, holding each other, for the first time in years. That comforting smell of flowers, dewy earth, and the beguiling scent of death fills Agatha's nose, tears slipping down her face with familiarity.

Rio feels Agatha's hands gripping her head, her own chest stuttering as she struggles with the fleeting emotions entwined with humanity. It's so overwhelming and it's been so long since she's felt it again. Desperate to capture it, Rio grips Agatha's back, nails digging into her shirt as she feels her soul back where it belongs. Still, silence. There's nothing they need to say to her that isn't being felt -- love, security, a hint of forgiveness that Rio hopes won't be nipped in the bud.

Agatha pulls back, Rio tilting her head to analyze her features. When looking isn't enough, they both hold one another's faces, thumbs memorizing the skin along their paths. Rio can feel her eyelids droop, soulless brown eyes moving to the pair of lips in front of her. Agatha's filled with the same desire, darting forward before she can properly judge what's happening, nose bumping against Rio's. The latter pulls away, a soft hum leaving her lips.

"Agatha..."

There's a subtle nod from the addressed, eyes moving off from her mouth to Rio's eyes. It's there Agatha finds that she wasn't stopped out of hesitance or unwillingness, so she leans in again. Rio lets her, invites her when she tilts too.

Agatha hasn't felt a kiss like Rio's kisses in centuries. The moment she feels it again, she lets out a sweet moan. Rio notes how different it is from the ones she usually pulls out -- whether from pain or pleasure. Agatha's was slow and sweet, as if she had been longing for this all her life. It's comforting and full of love. Rio wants more -- she needs to know that this isn't one sided -- that Agatha has started to forgive her for a pain they share. Her hands move to support Agatha's jaw, pulling her into her furthermore as if she wants to swallow her with a kiss. Agatha's giving everything back, lips in tandem with Rio's as they refuse to part for anything.

They're like that for far too long, only stopping when Agatha rests her forehead against Rio's, trying to stifle her panting. Their eyes remain shut, soaking in the physical feel of being loved again.

"I can't -- I can't accept what happened, but -- but I want you to know, I know it hurt you too," Agatha softly speaks, the vulnerability something she rarely shows. It's been years and years of animosity because of their shared grief.

Rio's completely silent, her eyes opening to see the tears slipping down Agatha's cheeks. It takes her a moment of confusion before she realizes that she's crying too -- something that hasn't happened since she held that lifeless body in her heavy arms, crying as she pretended to be tucking her in her crib like she had so many times over the years. Rio's choked up as well, nodding her head as she desperately moves Agatha's hair behind her ears, needing to busy her hands with something.

"I --" Rio can't get anything out. Her thoughts are wilder than a tornado, each one fleeting and escaping her brain before they can be shoved out her mouth. For someone so witty, she can't speak. Rio nods again, lips pressed thin as she leans back in to feel Agatha's lips. There's no denial from Agatha, just like how there never was any all those centuries ago.

The next couple of minutes are spent exchanging sweet kisses, lips slowly and barely moving away just to reconnect seconds later. Rio's hand slips under Agatha's shirt, feeling the taut fabric against her hands when she pulls it out from the waistband of her purple pants. Malleable flesh against her fingertips makes Rio moan against Agatha, a small smirk on her lips when another moan follows -- but not from her. Rio's nails rake along Agatha's stomach, enjoying the feeling after being denied it for so long.

Lost in familiarity, they don't notice the tree cracking behind them -- not until it drops a couple feet out, a hoarse shriek coming from Agatha. Rio's back is turned to her now, hand on her waist as she keeps Agatha close. There's something under the rubble, her eyes thinning down as she glares at the rustling wood. Eventually, Rio steps away from Agatha and kicks over the wood, an unconscious face all too known in front of her. With a hard smack, Rio's knees are digging into the floor, hands grabbing out the sweet face she swore she wouldn't see ever again.

Agatha's stood behind, eyes slightly wide and confused before a soft, "hija" is echoed out in the cold air. Haunted, Agatha stumbles forward to drop down next to Rio, hands moving out to grab at your face. The moment she thinks she can, her hands shoot back and away, knees popping when she abruptly stands. In a hard panic and a heavy breath, her face is whipping around and looking around the road.

"Is this some sick trial?" she screeches out, her lungs aching as she sobs to whoever is controlling this.

Rio's still sitting, cradling your body as her hands touch your hair. The road bends to Rio's will -- after all, Rio only designed the road to bring her more souls -- but this isn't her. This is something else, something far more evil that's infiltrated her dimension. Rio doesn't understand how this is happening, who's behind it, or what the consequences are going to be, but she needs to just soak in this moment.

Rio hasn't seen your chest move in hundreds of years.

Shaky fingers press along your chest, feeling it rise against her hold, then fall, and repeat.

"Agatha," she calls out, turning her head to look at the panicked woman in front of her.

Bewildered and terrified, Agatha meets your sleeping face and freezes. There's a sick part of Agatha that reminds her she had forgotten certain aspects of your face, the guilt eating at her and choking her out. With a shake of her head, Agatha trips over herself as she tries to get away. The sobs are muffled by her vibrating hand, vision blinded by overwhelmed tears. There's too much happening for Agatha to even try regulating herself, so caught up in the face that has haunted her for centuries being thrusted against her in such a short time.

Rio gently picks up your body, head slack against her hard shoulder. The last time you were like this Rio was tightly holding you away from the Ferryman. Her hands rub your back, shifting to make adjustments for you. Centuries ago when you died, you were no more than six, now it seems as if something changed that -- you look like you're ten now. Rio doesn't understand how you managed to "age" if you hadn't had a beating heart in a long time, but she doesn't care.

"Agatha," she tries again, wanting her to see her daughter even if you'll get tugged back onto that old boat soon.

Whipping around, her hands still pressed against her mouth, she gently meets Rio half way. The tears won't stop, shock and disbelief on her aged face. "Oh God," she mumbles, hand slipping over to brush some brown hair away from your face.

You're still you, if not a little pale and older now, but Agatha can't register that. Her baby is back, in some sick way, her baby is back. Rio holds you tightly, feeling so confused as your body is warm against hers.

"What is this?" Agatha hoarsely questions, eyes darting away from yours to Rio's face.

"I don't know -- I didn't do it -- I swear," she sputters out, stopping only when Agatha presses her tear-soaked lips against Rio's own again.

"I know, I know."

Rio calms down at the belief, her arms heavy as Agatha starts to lift you into her own arms. There's a shift from you, Agatha's eyebrows pressing deeply together as she almost glares at you. Still convinced this isn't real, she's as stiff as a board against you. Up until you press into her shoulder, rubbing your nose twice before halting, Agatha doesn't believe it. That single act performed crushes her reluctance, heart stopping at feeling something you used to do all the time against her.

"Oh, baby," she cries out, nose pressed into the side of your hair as you stir. Rio watches with wide eyes, lips parted as she watches how easily Agatha slips back into her motherly tendencies.

Agatha cries until she can't anymore, eventually finding herself sitting down and just holding you against her. Of course, she doesn't want to wake you up but she also can't stop touching you. Desperately aching for the constant reminder that you're tangible -- that you're here -- Agatha's hands constantly touch your face, your waist, your hips -- gently running over your body as she shakes.

Rio sits down in front, hand resting just under your lower thigh, thumb rubbing against the side of your knee. With all this touch, you wake up slightly annoyed, pushing yourself farther into Agatha. Her tears only increase tenfold, fleeting attempts to stop it doing nothing.

"Momma, stop," you quietly whine as she plays with your messy hair, your nose crinkled up just like hers does. The similar aspect makes Agatha tear up, head nodding as she stills her hand on your waist.

"Sorry, baby."

Rio notes Agatha's cracking voice, and so do you. Tiredly, you look up at them both, confused as to why your parents had been crying.

"Why you guys crying?"

"Just really happy, honey," Agatha sniffles out, rubbing your face again. You don't fight against it, eyes darting down to look at Rio.

"Okay." Your soft tone makes Rio's lip tremble, her hand coming out to move some of your curly hair -- so alike to Agatha's -- out of your face. There's a small shake of your head as you adjust your big glasses -- the ones Rio always adored.

"I don't want you to cry, it makes me sad too," you softly admit, moving your face to rest alongside Agatha's sternum. Habits don't die, as proven when Agatha already moves to take off your glasses for you so they don't get bent by how you're laying. Rio acts on impulse too, taking the glasses from Agatha's hands and setting them on her shirt.

"Nosotras sabemos, hija," Rio speaks out, her eyes trained on your face. For a fleeting moment, Rio wonders if you've forgotten the language she taught you, her heart breaking in her chest before you respond with a nod. Agatha's a little behind before understanding what Rio means.

"We know," Agatha reiterates, letting you know that she understood the conversation and agrees.

"Where are we?" you ask, finally looking around to notice what's happening.

Rio can't think of anything to say, not until Agatha comes up with something. "Road trip, dear."

Trusting your mom, you just confusedly nod your head.

"¿Cuándo planeamos el viaje?" you ask out.

Agatha can't respond right away, but Rio does. "You were sleeping, Mama and I wanted to surprise you."

Turning her head to face the speaker, Agatha is a little confused at the question but goes with it. The answer isn't upsetting you, if not just making you a little confused, so she doesn't really care to figure out what was spoken.

"Can I sleep now?" you ask, yawning just after.

"Yeah, baby, of course."

Rio turns to look at Agatha's expression, her heart lurching at just how well motherhood suits her. Brown eyes watch Agatha's gentle hands -- hands that have slaughtered thousands -- sweetly caress your kind face. With a hum, you lean into your mama's hands, eyes shut as you try to sleep again. Agatha is completely lost in having you back, soothingly tracing along your face and down the slope of your nose, touching something she never thought she would again. Rio is too nervous to touch you again, the last time far too devastating for her liking.

As if a mind reader, Agatha brings up Rio's hand to your stomach, setting it there before looking back down at you.

Complete silence falls over you all, Rio's hand stiff before she hesitantly brings it to flatten against your stomach. Apathy is long gone from her usually conniving features, everything overtaken with terrified love. After a minute or two, Rio manages to calm down her anxiety and let her knuckles run against your shirt, remembering the nights when you'd both be sent into fits of giggles when she'd blow raspberries against your stomach. Much to Agatha's dismay, only because it'd rile you up before bedtime. Truth be told, Agatha let it happen a couple times, observing contently from the bedroom door before she'd break it up so you could sleep.  

You're knocked out again minutes later, a soft chuckle coming from Rio's lips. "God, she always was a hard sleeper."

Agatha silently nods, tears slipping down her face again. Rio brushes them away with her free hand, letting her knuckles trace against Agatha too.

"You know we don't have her back for long, right?" Rio asks quietly. In a hard, choked out response, Agatha nods her head. "I know, I know. I just need her for a bit longer."

Rio's lips are tugged taut before leaning into a frown, her forehead against Agatha's as they sit in silence together.

[delaber]

To Let You Win (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: a sparring match between you and your best friend turns into something you’ve both been keeping under the surface when he refuses to let you lose the game

Words: 2K

Flufffffff 💖 (with a squint towards a smuttier theme hehe)

"Holy fuck it's hot in here," Bucky wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and resumes the fighting stance he'd been occupying before exclaiming that he was sweating balls.

"Alright," you laugh and flip the makeshift knife in your hand, "just tell me if you need a break to regain your strength, old man."

"Oh doll, I don't need a break," he grins and threateningly takes a step towards you without blinking, "I can take you with both arms tied behind my back."

There it is again...

One of those ill-timed comments that you try and laugh away in a poor attempt at hiding just exactly how bad they make your stomach churn and the back of your neck prickle.

Pretending that you do not have a major crush on the man standing in front of you has become full of feeble attempts, and to avoid embarrassing yourself, you settle on an equally threatening "I'd like to see you try," accompanied by a playful smile that you cannot hold back no matter how much you try to.

He winks at you before he, without warning, lurches forwards, swinging his fake dagger mere inches from your chest.

He's quick, but you're quicker, and while he's focusing on touching one of the spots you in unison decided would be considered a kill-zone, you jump as high as you can while wrapping your legs around his hips.

Immediately thrown off balance, he falls backwards and lands on the white felt floor with a dull thud followed by a grunt as your weight lands on top of him.

Before he can even move, you've pinned him to the floor with a knee placed on each side of his torso.

"Surrender?" you grin and lean forwards as you press your wooden weapon to his bopping Adam's apple.

"Okay, you got me," he laughs and raises his hands above his head to capitulate.

You know that he can easily flip the two of you around and turn his fake demise to his own advantage; place his entire weight between your legs as his thick thighs glue your hips to the spot, ready to devour you as he sinks his teeth into your neck, filling up the empty hole inside you that's constantly begging for his touch.

God, he smells amazing!

"Sweetheart," he chuckles from far away and you realise you've done it again; become lost as you daydream about your best friend fucking you into oblivion.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this," he places both hands on your hips and gently pushes you back with a stomach-flipping grunt, "- but my back is killing me, and I really need to change out of this shirt."

Your gaze falls to the hand you have carefully placed on top of his sternum, suddenly aware of the wet stains of his t-shirt and the heavy heartbeat drumming below your fingers.

"Of course," you immediately pocket your fake knife and release the grip you have on him as you stand up. "Sorry," you mumble, embarrassed by yourself and your inability to play it cool whenever you're around him.

"No worries," he winks at you from the side of the ring and reaches behind his head, grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling it off with one swift movement.

You've seen him shirtless countless of times before, but it never ceases to amaze you just how good he looks. He has angry scars extending from his waistline, zig-zagging and digging into the skin lining his entire stomach and chest, reaching all the way up to the torn flesh of his shoulder and it makes him look so fucking beautiful. You know he hates the bare-chested sight of himself in the mirror, but you doubt there could ever be a single facet of Bucky Barnes that you would not love.

"You've been working on your takedown," he eyes you impressively, either ignoring your obvious stare, or choosing not to believe that you actually like him shirtless. "I can't wait to see you break Sam's back with that move," he chuckles, "I love when he's having his ass handed to him."

"I highly doubt that'll happen seeing as Sam doesn't let me win," you mock Bucky while adjusting the strip of cloth that is wrapped tightly around your knuckles. "He actually fights back when he's down."

"Come on, you had a knife pressed to my throat!" Bucky chuckles but you merely raise your eyebrow at him, well-aware that he stopped fighting for the sake of your keeping your confidence intact and not because you'd beat him.

"Okay, okay," he laughs at your dead-pan expression, "maybe I let you win a little. I want it to be fun for you too - so sue me."

"Buck, we're supposed to be training," you sigh, holding your hands out to the side, "how am I ever gonna get better if you won't give me a fair fight?"

"Sweetheart," he licks his lips and squints as he considers how to put his next words in the most delicate way possible. "I bench press more than you weigh... It's never gonna be a fair fight."

"Well if I don't get to practise on you, how do you reckon it'll go when I'm up against a guy your size for real?"

"A guy my size with seventy years of combat training and serum running through his veins? Sure, that's likely to happen..."

You ignore him. "Get down on your back and continue fighting me like you normally would."

He crosses his bulky arms over his chest while arching his eyebrow.

"I'm serious!”

"I don’t care," he shakes his head, “I’m not doing it.”

"Well if you don't, you can consider this our last training session."

"Come on - this is ridiculous!"

"Lie down, same as before."

"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbles under his breath as he rolls his eyes but he still ends up doing as you say. "Happy?" He defiantly throws his arms out to the side when he's once again lying with his back against the white felt.

"Can't say that I'm not enjoying this more obedient side to you," you laugh and sink down on top of him, straddling his chest again, "didn’t think you had it in you - where do you normally keep it?"

"Shut up."

"Then fight me."

"I'm not gonna fight you," he shakes his head.

"Bucky, do me like you normally would!"

His grin broadens in a boyish smile as his hand twitches near your thigh. "Really?" he laughs while licking his lips, mockingly slipping his eyes down to your chest and back up again. "You want me to do you like I normally would?" He winks.

Another stomach flip… You have to suppress a gulp.

"Shut up," you chuckle and lightly smack his arm to get his mind out of the gutter. "You know what I mean."

"Sweetheart," he sighs with serious eyes, his smile still perfectly in place, "- are you sure you really wanna do this?"

Now it's your turn to roll your eyes. "Yes, Barnes..."

"Alright - just remember that you asked for it," he shrugs before he quickly grabs your hips and shifts the position around.

You don't even get to yelp - you barely have time to register what the hell just happened before you're lying on your back with Bucky's lower half pressed to yours, trapping you in place.

His dog tags are dangling in the air between you and you can feel the heat radiating from off his bare chest that is panting enticingly right before your eyes.

"Now, are you happy?" He asks and makes a point of his statement by pressing himself closer to your body, so you're completely sandwiched between him and the floor with no means of escaping.

"Goddammit!"

To further underline his superiority, he pins your wrists together and forces them above your head, holding you steady with one hand only.

"Surrender?" He asks in the same mocking tone of voice you used before, his plump and grinning lips suddenly mere inches from yours.

You can feel your entire body stretching below his, how he drives his hips into yours to keep you in place.

"Fuck," you mumble in frustration and start wriggling your hips to try and get free. "Bucky!" You groan to get him to release you, but even you can hear how your struggling sounds come out almost moan-like, and you see how the smile on his face is suddenly replaced with small, almost inaudible gasps.

Immediately, you stop moving, suddenly aware of the excitement growing tight in his pants while the rest of his body is completely frozen above you.

"Sorry..." you gulp as you slowly look up at him, finding the panicked blue that is half-hidden behind long chestnut strands falling sinfully over his eyes.

You've never been in this position before; on rare occasions you have cuddled long into the night, arms and legs entangled on his bedsheets to the tune of a long-forgotten movie playing in the background - but this? This is different. It's not cute and cuddly.

The look in Bucky's eyes has shifted in a heartbeat, and it's not teasing anymore. It's raw. It's passionate. And when he quickly shifts his gaze down to your mouth and up again, you give in to what you've been wanting to do for months now.

Without thinking, you strain your neck upwards touching the side of his nose with yours, placing a soft kiss on his lips for the first time ever.

He's perplexed - still completely frozen - but when you let go of his mouth shortly after, he wrinkles his brows in silent frustration.

He's panting hard, digging his lower half into you as he looks at you with a fire ignited in his eyes you've never seen before.

You put your hand on his neck, pulling him down towards you, throwing your pillow-soft kisses out the window by placing your thumb on his chin, slipping your tongue inside his open mouth while you move your pelvis rhythmically against his.

"Sweetheart," he whispers with swollen and wet lips as he slightly pulls away. He's breathing hard but his entire body is heavy and relaxed as he looks down at you with lust written all over his warm face - and you choose that exact moment to attack.

Quickly, you wrap your legs around his body as you flip the two of you around so you're finally sitting on top of him again.

"What are you doing?" he pants, confused about your sudden movements.

"Winning," you whisper back with a grin.

It takes him a minute to register your words and set them in connection with the conversation you'd had just before your friendship had passed the point of no return, but when he does, he throws his head back with a frustrating grunt at your dirty trick.

"Not cool," he shakes his head with a chuckle, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Not cool at all. You had me all excited," he groans and puts his hands on your hips, pressing you down on his hard erection.

"Tell me I'm winning," you chuckle as you run your fingers down his chest, suggestively arching your back while he's turning into a mess beneath you.

"Fuck," he groans and rubs circles over your thighs as his erection grows a little harder. "You better not be doing this to the guys you fight in the field."

You put your hand atop of his sternum and slowly start rocking your hips back and forth against him, arching your back while rubbing yourself along the tight bulge underneath you. "Tell me I'm winning."

"You win! You win!" he pants and traces his fingers down your throat and cleavage, laying his palms flat over your stomach as he angles his hips upwards. "Just... don't stop. Don't stop."

"Kiss me, Bucky," you whisper and pull on his dog tags so he can only inch closer to your craving lips.

"Oh doll, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this!" he groans sensually with pink cheeks as he finally reclaims your mouth.

[findingavoiceif]

Intro post:

Step into the shadows as an Elyn, a creature feared and hunted for your dark, mysterious origins. After narrowly escaping the brutal grasp of your former master, you find yourself in a world that views your kind—Elyndras—as beings of nightmare: demons with unsettling, untapped powers.

But in this land where terror and superstition reign, your journey is just beginning. Thrust into an unpredictable adventure of treachery, harrowing dangers, unexpected sorrows, and moments of tender love, your path twists in ways you never imagined.

Forge bonds with one of four unique companions, each with their own secrets, desires, and hidden wounds.

Tell me, creature of the night... Will you reclaim your power, your voice, your freedom?

Features:

Choose your name,gender and parts of your appearance.(Some of the mc's features are locked to fit their heritage)

Romance one of four companions or maybe...5?

Trigger warnings-

Finding A Voice is rated 16+ for violence,self-harm,hunting of an entire species,assault,language and fade-to black scenes.

Love interests:

Quill Riviera – The Charming Bard

Quill’s got that effortlessly cool vibe—shoulder-length auburn hair streaked with dark highlights, usually tied half up, half down like he didn’t try but somehow nailed the look. His light brown eyes glimmer with mischief, though his right eye is a little clouded from an old injury, and his full lips always seem to be curled into a teasing grin. Freckles dust his nose, and he’s got a small gap between his front teeth, giving his smile a touch of imperfection that just adds to his charm.

Underneath his confident exterior is something darker, though he keeps it hidden well behind sarcastic jokes and playful arrogance. His tan skin, slender hands, and lean frame are decorated with piercings—hoops and studs running up his pointy ears, an eyebrow piercing above his sharp, teasing gaze. You’ll catch a glimpse of a burn mark on his left hip if he ever lets his guard down. Despite the mystery and flirtation, Quill’s a bard at heart, working part-time at the inn, always ready to spin a story or play a song. But don’t let his facade fool you; there’s more beneath the surface.

Pierre Blanchet – The Cold Commander

Pierre cuts an intimidating figure—a tall, athletic knight with flawless bronze skin, dark red eyes that he’s always been self-conscious about, even though they burn with a fire few can match. His curly blonde hair is cut short and shaved at the sides, making him look every bit the battle-hardened warrior he is. A small mole beneath his nose and a permanent shadow of stubble give him a rough, no-nonsense appearance.

Despite his role as Knight Commander, Pierre’s introverted nature and quiet insecurity make him seem distant, even rude at times. He doesn’t let people in easily, but those who get past his defenses see the man beneath the armor—stubborn, loyal, and fighting his own inner battles. His large hands grip a sword with ease, but they fumble when it comes to opening up to others. If you can break through his walls, though, you’ll find a heart worth fighting for.

Celeste Dupont – The Witch of Warmth

Celeste is the type of person who draws people in with her warmth, even though her pale skin and sharp grey eyes might make her seem icy at first glance. She keeps her silky black hair tied up in a messy bun, and no matter how chaotic it looks, it only adds to her effortless elegance. Her lips are always painted a cherry red, and a small scar on her bottom lip hints at the fact that there’s more to her story.

As a baker and healer, she’s as likely to serve you a fresh loaf of bread as she is to patch you up after a tough battle. A rune tattoo graces her palm, a subtle sign of her Valdranna heritage—an immortal witch with powers as ancient as they are mysterious. With her hourglass figure, dark eyeliner, and a nose ring that looks like a simple dot, Celeste balances the mystical with the everyday. She’s your boss, your best friend, and maybe something more if you’re lucky enough to win her heart.

Ash Valdaryn – The Sickly Royal

Ash is the reason this whole adventure started, their deep violet skin standing out against the pale world around them. Their lavender hair, soft and wavy, falls just past their shoulders, and they dress in flowing, feminine clothing that complements their elegant, yet slightly fragile build. White eyes gaze out from beneath small, curling horns on their forehead, giving them an otherworldly look that is as captivating as it is delicate.

Ash’s health is failing, which is why the journey began in the first place—to find a cure for the illness that threatens to take them away. Despite their condition, they insisted on coming along, determined to be part of the adventure. They may look fragile, but there’s a quiet strength beneath the surface—a will to live, to fight, to hold on. And though they may be royalty, with all the expectations that come with it, Ash’s soft voice and gentle demeanor make them someone you’ll want to protect... even though they’d never ask for it.

[postmoe]

Moe Moe Sama is Backie ~

… Wu Wa brainrots :>?

It's been a while! I've missed you!

WUWA WUWA WUWA!! With all these games and adulting it can get quite hard to stay up to date so I hope these characters aren't too OOC.

Calcharo . Xiangli Yao . Mortefi . Scar

.

Calcharo will keep you in shape to fight along side him... For the most part. You'll never be faster than him, smarter than him or stronger than him, but you will be able to take down some of the smaller tacet discords and any thieves that try to take advantage of you.

You're going to be monitored by someone of the Ghost Hounds at almost all times. This world is far from safe, be it by TD's or humans alike, he will not take his chances.

"Your life isn't a price worth negotiating," he'd say, keeping you under his arm so you can't run into danger (run away).

He doesn't share you well, you're the sweetheart of the Ghost Hounds but most people won't go past saying hi or a gentle compliment though there has been punishment; see below. The most in terms of other human contact would be from people like Aalto and Jiyan who only get a hard, contemplated stare from him.

Calcharo is a surprisingly generous - and a little ignorant - lover. He'll always say no to something that seems new to a weird extent but is very easy to convince and will probably like it more than you do. Tongue in the bum? Don't be gross. Ugh but with how tight those rings of muscles knead around his tongue has something so tantalisingly delicious about it. Let's try his cock next-

Punishment is tight. Most of the time it involves ropes and chains, keeping you in place, locking you to one area. Red strikes across your thighs and arse from a good lashing or spanking is probable. On the harsher times you will be displayed in public, and a couple of times he has let them use you. "You want to act like a whore? Fine. Use her to your content, I'll be back in a few hours." It really makes you enjoy the sympathetic and kind touches you receive under Calcharo's care.

.~.~.~.~.~.

Xiangli Yao is a wonderful master to his puppy princess. Yes, you are his sweet pet that he raises with love. An adorned collar sits prettily around your neck, your nails are trimmed and cared for all by yours truly.

With a calm smile he holds out his hand expectantly. You place the scroll on his palm and sit on the floor beside his legs, the paper being passed from one hand to the other so he can now pet your head, "Thank you, puppy. Hm... It seems we have an urgent commission. We will have to put off your toilet training until I come back." You couldn't be more thankful.

No privacy, this man. Your business is his business and if you don't have business then he's not doing very well as your owner, is he? He will have to create some game of stimulation for you. Hide and seek around the home, "Where's your ball?" is one of his favourites for when he's doing papers.

The thing with Xiangli Yao is that he is fully aware with how demented this is. Embarrassing you 24/7, forcing you into uncomfortable situations that strip you of your humanity, showing you off to others as if this is the most normal thing, it just gives him such a rush to be so above you in every possible way.

If you don't pick which collar/leash combo you want for the day then he will choose for you.

"Oh, you brought (Y/n) in for the day! How nice to get them out of the house," people may say as he pulls you into work with him. You're fawned over after the initial shock of being his pet and not his partner.

Exhibitionist but more so forcing you then doing it himself. Bullet vibrators, ropes, ben wa balls, you name it. It's important that puppy has their toys with them, so along with your leash make sure you pick something fun to play with as well.

Definitely has a bone gag and those belts and mitts to make you even more puppy-like. Goodness help you if he finds a 'puppy playtime' event, anything to make his pet utterly red with shame <3

*~*~*~*~*

Mortefi is not into public affection and won't really touch you unless he needs or really wants to. He's not going to condemn you if you wrap your arms around his torso or hold his hand when anxious, but, you only need to follow his voice when he orders you to come to keep him happy.

That being said, going out is a privilege and not a right. You don't have to get on your knees for him or clean the kitchen ever hour, just stop breaking things and throwing a tantrum and he'll likely take you out of the house with him.

You have your own tablet to play games on and do your own 'work'. He won't say it out loud but he does find it cute and really enjoys when you're both staying late in the lab and on your respected devices, enjoying your company and giving him the motivation he needs to finish off this last equation.

He will make time for you whether you want it or not. Relationships will bond tightly if you rely on the other more, so, please don't do anything that will warrant a punishment as those tend to isolating.

Please please please please come to him with any invention ideas, questions, interests into his field at all. If you squint you may notice the reddening on his cheeks as his heart pounds from your attention. You want something made? Consider it done, the two of you will spend all night creating a little robot that pours the perfect amount of syrup on any size stack of pancakes.

In the early mornings Baizhi will walk in, inquiring, "Mortefi, I'm just checking in on the progress of the TD field barricades you were working on-" She stops, watching as you and Mortefi are eye level with the table to judge the collection of syrup amongst seven different plates of pancakes. The office is happy that day for a free and yummy breakfast.

Overall, he is a pretty good yandere, however things can definitely go south if you act out. It's exhausting and frankly hurts his feelings when you suddenly get a rebellious streak. Running away, throwing food off the table, attacking him, he's not one to let this sort of behaviour off the hook.

Emotions can be quite high in certain circumstances. He will analyse what is different about the recent weeks and act accordingly. Some days you need to be left in a cellar by yourself for a while, restricted from anything dangerous. Others you need a good fucking.

The sex ones are probably his preferred outlets. In all honesty, it's his fault as well. Working constantly is tiring so he can't always please you when he wants to. If you came up yourself then he would figure a way around it. Though when it's all on him then it gets difficult. If you're horny and angry from it then holding you down and giving you a few orgasms normally does the trick. As long as you're limping to the bathroom after and yawning from the exertion, he can tell the next few days will be relatively peaceful.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Scar is a maniac and thrives off of your unease. 100% carves something into your skin with a knife, whether it be his name, a heart, or something else meaningful only he knows.

He will hold your head and force you watch as a human/TD experiment comes this close to your face, only held back by a chain in the ground. Your face is flooding with tears and all you can hear is the wet snarling of the creature and Scar's raucous laughter, "Oh, darling, did I scare you too much? Don't be silly, you know I'd never let anything hurt you~."

Is an open killer to anyone who disrespects you. Your fear and tears are invigorating but only if he is the cause of them. Yet, no matter how sadistic he is to you, he will always end the day by treating you like a deity of worship. Soft touches, sweet caresses, gentle kisses... You could almost believe this were someone else if you closed your eyes.

... And then he bites you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as his cock sinks into your hole. Marking you, training your body to cave to him because you need to love him and crave him as much as he does you.

It may not seem like it to you but he certainly does have a softer side whenever you're involved. He's less irritable and more willing to hear people out, that's not to say the outcome will change for them but it at least gives them a false sense of hope before their inevitable demise.

Loves having debates with you, especially if they're based on morals. You're thinking is just so cute and deluded compared to his, to see how your mind ticks truly is a wonderful past time. Sometimes you say things that he doesn't expect and it really gets him going!

The reality of the world is forced upon you with Scar as your lover. Death is everywhere, pain ahead of it and despair accompanying that, too. To shed a tear for the world is understandable for people like you, and thanks to Scar (and his thing for dacryphilia) you will cry - a lot.

"Oh, you poor, sweet soul. Aren't we just so lucky to have found each other?" His eyes bore into yours, thumbs tenderly stroking either side of your face so he can keep you focused on him. His lips ghost over yours with every word, "I won't let another being touch a hair on your body. That's right! Only I can kill you, if you're going to die then it'll be from me alone." - he honestly finds this romantic. Please say you'll kill him back so that you can die together.

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒰𝒞𝒦𝐸𝑅-𝒫𝒰𝒩𝒞𝐻 ! — toji fushiguro x male reader

w.c: 3.9k

warning: boxer!toji, size difference/kink, daddy kink, bottom!reader, manhandling, fingering, light feminization, light crossdressing ( ? ), unprotected sex, creampie, praise/degradation, oral sex, size queen ( king? )! reader, impact play ( slapping ), light choking, descriptions of violence (boxing) & blood, hair pulling, tummy bulge, spit, cliffhanger, breeding kink

sonny says..! a lot of ppl think tummy bulges in fics = skinny reader, but when i write them in s’not true for m’fics ! the reader has no body-type descriptions, it’s really jus that toji’s so big he makes one. your body is perfect the way it is, n fanfiction is !! not !! realistic!!

Fushiguro’s got a thing for adrenaline.

It gets his blood pumping— literally and figuratively. It gets him bouncing from one foot to another before his match even begins, his body shakes with uncontrollable tremors and he has to grit his pearly teeth to keep them from chattering. He feels it coursing through his veins, thick and steady as it pumps through with each passing beat of his heart, and he’s never felt more alive.

It gets his heart beating. Loud and rushed in his ears as the sound joins cheering fans in their symphony, muffled by the doors that separate backstage from the ring. Yet he can still hear it, the loud, constant cheer of ‘Toji! Toji! Toji!’ bouncing off his eardrums and straight to his racing heart. It’s almost incomparable.

He knows you’ll be watching tonight, back at home surrounded by memorabilia that reminds you solely of him and his success— his accomplishments and trophies. But you’re the best of them all, his boy, sitting pretty by the sofa as you flick on the tv to watch your man take home another. To say he’s excited would be childish.

He’s over the fucking moon.

“Fushiguro,” It’s his coach speaking, something incoherent in comparison to everything else— the inky black strands of hair already sticking to his forehead, the sight of his veins cascading up his forearm just to reappear thick in his biceps, his freshly bandaged hands being painted with chalk. But he hears it anyway. The man is quick to whip his head to the side, an intense shadow in his lime eyes that has his support team shivering. “Not too much this time.”

Right. Because last time he’d let himself get a little carried away. It was the atmosphere of it all, hanging heavy in the air as he sent punch after punch after punch into the guy, one headshot after another. And sure, maybe he went too far, but at least he never went for the back of the head.

See, Toji considers himself a capable man. He’s big, he’s strong, he’s got it figured out whatever they choose to believe in him or not. And, in the long haul, he’s got it. He’s who the fans turn to, who the reporters question; he’s the headlining artist. He’s the one who gets the title, the belts, the awards, the boy. If his opponent can’t handle a few punches to the face, that's their fault for signing up.

“I got it.” He says, teeth peeking from his plump, pink lips until they’re on display, predatory. And he means it.

The arena is big. A large stadium with an even larger venue meant to pack what looks like at least half of Japan’s population. Smack dab in the middle sits the ring, with black, padded turnbuckles and four crimson ropes. Getting thrown onto the ring ground feels like concrete, solid and rough on any skin that touches it. It’s unforgiving, it’s violent. It’s permanent, and every fight could well be Toji’s last.

But that might just be why he loves it.

His chest heaves violently, large intakes of air through his nose and out through his mouth as he pounds his gloved fist against his gloved palm. His lips part, salty and sheen with sweat as water squirts into his waiting mouth, dripping down his chin and cascading down his chest. He looks good despite it all— the bleeding lip and bruised cheek. It makes the scar on his lip look fresh, freshly split open, and he can’t help but prod at it with his tongue. In the crowd, you wonder if he feels as though it’s been reopened.

“Remember the formation,” It’s garbled through the shouting, the cheering, the pounding in his ears. He can’t quite remember anything, boxing just isn’t that type of thing for him. It’s not algorithmic, he doesn’t have to remember or practice a routine, it’s muscle memory. It’s natural. “You hear me, Scarface?”

“Loud n’ clear.” Though it’s gone through one ear and out the other.

It looks like he’s losing. He’s gotten a few good hits in, caused a few nosebleeds, but his attacks to the body just haven’t been cutting it. His opponent, the smug bastard of a man, with blond hair and woodsy brown eyes may not look as bad as Fushiguro does, but he looks just as tired. He can’t have that, no, not when you’re at home watching. Not when the jumbotrons are broadcasting in front of hundreds and thousands of fans.

There’s a pat on his back that has Toji jolting forward, more on his own volition, but if anyone asks he’ll blame it on that anyway. Because he feels it now, the pent up tenacity bubbling through his veins and straight to his fists as he bares his teeth and stares down his opponent. It’s not like he’s trying to look intimidating— Toji’s a big man. He towers over most, even if they’re in the same weight category. He’s just big, with broad shoulders and an equally broad chest. With a broad rib cage that dips at his waist and widens back at his hips, then travels down his thick, strong thighs and legs.

And, fuck, if his tired-looking opponent isn’t as strong. He throws strong punches that land square center, almost enough to have Toji stumbling. They’ve got matching, blooming bruises. Matching cuts, and Fushiguro swears if he has to watch the blond stretch between matches one more time he’ll knock himself out.

And then he hears it. He does, really— he knows it’s real because he’s fucking hard. His boy, his sweet boy, somewhere in the crowd chanting his name. The only name that ever leaves his lips, sweet as honey whether it’s being moaned or screamed— whether it’s serious or in a fit of boyish giggles. You’re watching. In person. . . In the stadium, you’re watching.

Toji’s cock twitches in his shorts and he’s never felt more grateful for protective cups in his life.

When he walks through the door the air changes.

There’s a small murmur of ‘I’m home, pretty.’ that’s deep and gravelly, accompanied by the sounds of duffel bags falling to the floor with a sharp thud. Toji’s hands look so big as he runs them through his hair, freshly bandaged and flexing effortlessly. How rough would they feel against your ass. . ? You can’t help but imagine his strong hands squeezing and groping your body, his palm cracking down on your ass as he holds you still by your waist alone.

He must catch onto your presence by the hitch of your breath, because the moment he opens his eyes they’re on you. You feel like prey, blinking rapidly as you watch him stalk over despite still wearing his shoes. He’s going to eat you alive, you’re sure of it, his green eyes narrowing as he tugs on the collar of his black compression shirt.

“Hi.” You start, unsure of what to say. It always comes naturally to you— talking to your boyfriend, his overwhelming presence, being able to talk to him despite how intimidating he seems. But now he’s got you stumbling over your words, staring at you in thick silence that makes you want to bury your face in his chest until he says something.

His eyes slowly roam your body, taking in your clothes with a sharp intake of breath through his teeth.Your legs feel like jelly, of course they do, wobbly and malleable and suddenly cold because of all the breeze they’re getting. Right, you’d rushed home to put on your prettiest outfit— a reward for the man. For the champion.

Though pretty might not be the word for it. Sure, it is, but skimpy is much more appropriate. With lace and ribbons and garters on each of your thighs, you’re a sight for sore eyes. The prettiest boy he’s ever seen, leaving little to his imagination (not that he needs it anyway, he’s seen you naked a thousand times over) and stumbling over your own legs with his gaze alone. It makes him want to pull out his phone and replace his lockscreen (already you, but much more innocent). Toji tilts his head to the side, a sharp grin growing on his handsome face.

“This all for me? You shouldn’t have.”

Whether it’s subconscious or not, watching his pink tongue dart out to wet his lips makes you swallow down a whine, squirming where you stand. Your boyfriend, big as ever, bends at his waist to fully tower over you, emerald irises darkening with something that has your stomach twisting and lurching. He’s seen it then, his very first gold medal adorning your neck.

“Toji!” You squeal, chirping in his ears as he whips you around and backs you into a corner. So cute, you look so cute wearing one of his medals. It adorns your pretty neck and glints under the light, his name encrusted into the gold. Like a collar, of sorts.

“Pretty baby,” He purrs in response, swapping the names with his fist curled around the medal, pulling you closer. The grin etched across his face shows nothing but pride, swelling in his chest and glinting over his sharp teeth. “What’d I say about comin’ to my matches?”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, shaking your head before he stalks forward to close the gap between your lips. Fushiguro still tastes vaguely of metallic blood, but his busted lips are just as soft as they were this morning. They’re much more rushed, not as slow or smooth as before— but now he has a goal. His tongue is quick to slip into your mouth, wet and silky in your mouth, enough to have you moaning before he even starts. His hands creep up your body, large palms pressing against your throat until his hands find your hair and tug.

With a gasp you’re immediately brought back, blinking away unshed tears as your hand reaches for your boyfriend’s thick wrist, “Ow! You—”

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

Yeah. Well, yes, he did. And you have an answer, you always do. Always have something to say, something that keeps his eyes glued to your pretty lips. Something smart, sometimes, that has the man ready to shut you up with a mouthful of his cock.

“You said,” You huff, bratty as ever, wrapping your hands around his wrist. Your fingers don’t meet, he’s much too big, and you’re sure your grip feels like an ant crawling up his forearm. “Not to, because,” Another tug. “ ‘It distracts you.’ ”

“Right,” He sounds noncommittal, eyes focused on the contractions in your throat as you swallow down your whines. The fist in your hair turns as a gentle palm, flattening against the back of your head as he holds you still. Your man smells faintly of musk and disinfectant— it makes you want to swoon. To drop to your knees and mouth at the fabric of his sweatpants until his dick— it’s yours though, really— is lined up against your cheek and his pre is dribbling down your face. “You distract me.”

“Am I. . .”His hand is on your chin now, lifting your gaze until you’re standing on your tiptoes. Always been so big, so strong, pressing his thumb into the plush of your cheeks with a bit more force than necessary. Your breath is caught in your throat, and your voice comes out breathy and soft and small, “M’I distracting you now, Daddy?”

There’s a sound akin to a purr the second he hears it, the title sweet as saccharin on your lips. Jet black bundles of hair swish and sway as he shakes his head, somewhat ignoring the question as his hands travel past your waist to grope and squeeze at your ass. Soft, squishy. You’ve always been so soft, so little in Toji’s grip, his pretty boy.

But you’re even prettier when your holes are stuffed full and stretched open. You’re even prettier when the sets you’ve put together are ripped and tattered on your body— when you’re a mess of sweat, and spit, and cum. You’re easy to move around— most are easy to be moved by Toji, but you especially.

You’re obedient when it counts, and the second he’s pushing your knees down to the floor you’re opening your mouth.

“Whose mouth is this?” Your brain is foggy but you know the answer to that one. You do, you do, because it always ends in cum down your throat and an array of ‘good boy’s whispered into the air. There’s a rustle of fabric as he fishes his cock from his sweatpants, no longer a large, girthy dickprint twitching under the cotton. Now it’s in his hand, hot and curved and leaking.

Daddy squeezes at his cock, his large hand sliding into a fist that clamps down around the thick, rose gold head, then sloooowly back down to the thick, pulsing, veiny shaft. You want his cock inside, stretching past your rim and splitting you open while you cry and whine over how big he is, you want his cock sliding inside until he fills you up with his sticky, hot cum— so much so it feels like you’re dying, being held down on his cock while load after load is released into your hot hole. He spits down onto it, saliva thick and runny, collecting at the tip until it’s smeared down to the base and mixing with his pre.

“S’yours, Daddy,” You're gasping around the sticky head of his cock, catching the leaking precum on your tongue as he taps it against your lips. It’s bitter and salty, but thick and invasive in a way that makes you feel properly owned. “Yours to fuck, gonna cum down m’throat, Daddy? Want. . . Need you to, wanna feel you shoot on m’tongue.”

“That—fuck— that mouth. . . A’course it’s. . . mine..” He trails off above you, and if you can think, you think you can barely breathe. You’re trembling against his strong thighs, struggling to form words around the jumbled and garbled moans leaving your mouth as Toji’s fingers rub in smooth, slick circles against your entrance. You don’t remember him having lube, but you can’t complain when his fingers feel so creamy rubbing your hole.

If you can think, you think you can barely breathe. You’re trembling against his strong thighs, struggling to form words around the jumbled and garbled moans leaving your mouth as Toji’s fingers rub in smooth, slick circles.

He appreciates the easy access.

You’re sure if he lets go you’ll fall straight through the floor, knees trembling, a needy puddle. And maybe you’re crying, sliding off his cock with wet pops and sticky whines— you’re not entirely sure. All you can hear are Toji’s groans, his grunts of ‘goodboygoodboygoodboy’ as his other hand squeezes around your throat so it tightens around his thick cock. That and his big fingers playing with your hole, swirling and sinking and teasing your mushy walls until you’re fluttering around the digits and letting out pitiful, bitchy whines.

You’re burying your face against his dark pubes, swallowing hard around his dick with thick, sloppy gags that have you coughing against his balls. Whatever Toji’s saying, it’s earned you a tender pat to the back of your head, sweet and light in comparison to his rocking hips that make you jolt back and forth. Your knees dig into the wood, but you don’t necessarily mind it. It's grounding, and you can focus on the drool pooling between your knees as he bends at the waist to finger you.

“. . .want it in here?” There’s a snap of fingers that makes you blink away the edges of fogginess clouding your judgment, and you find yourself being pulled free from his musky cock. Your throat is empty, you’re empty, and you can’t help but press your face into his spit-slick thigh. But there’s a tap to your cheek, a big palm cracking down on the fat of your face, and now you’re much more alert.

“Uh. . .Huh?” You blink away the emotional whiplash, leaning into the now gentle, bandaged thumb rubbing circles against your cheekbone. Then his hand moves lower, past your jaw to collect the ribbon of his medal where it hangs from your throat, and pulls.

“In here, baby,” There’s emphasis on his question with his fingers pounding into you enough to make your toes curl, and your eyes roll back as the digits press against that sweet, jammy bundle of nerves. “Want Daddy’s dick in here?”

You’re not sure whether to pout or nod. You’ve missed an opportunity for his load down your throat, but it’s even better when it’s in your tummy. It’s Toji’s night, decidedly, and it seems you’ve made your choice when you hear yourself whine, “Yes, Daddy. Please!”

You’re not sure how you got here, how fast he’s maneuvered you— back against the wall and knees over his big, broad shoulders— but you’re not complaining. There’s a light buzz in your hips, so you assume he’s picked you up, weightless in his arms, and folded your legs over his arms.

“S’big, s’so so big, Daddy, fuck,” You’re crying into your forearm as Toji holds you still by the neck, his other hand running up and down your tummy. It’s soothing just as much as it is hot, it doesn’t take much for his large hand to roam over your body. But it can’t make you stop whimpering at the feeling of his dick splitting your tiny hole in half. “Not gonna fit— it can’t.”

“It’ll fit. it’s fit before, hasn’t it? Y’have a greedy hole on you, baby.” You’re gasping and trembling with his cock sliding in and out of your opening, sticky lube pooling along with it and connecting his tip to your boyhole. He feels so big, so thick and hot when he taps it against your hole, barely breaching the tiny gape of your shy hole. “And if not we’ll just have to make it fit, won’t we?”

“Yeah, yeah. . .” You breathe, staring up into his eyes with a fucked-out smile. Toji— Daddy—looks so good, so handsome and strong as he offers a scarred smile back. “Can make it fit. Can take it.”

You hiccup, overwhelmed tears streaming down your face as you reach past your thighs to spread the globes of your ass open wide, your pretty hole slightly gaping and winking at his cock. There’s a breathy groan in return, deep and shaky as Toji takes the opportunity to slip past your rim,, past the burning stretch of your fluttering star that sucks him deeper and deeper into your slick, gummy walls. “Wanna feel you for days, wanna get so full, think it’ll take, Daddy? Your cum?”

“Fuck,” He moans, gruff and throaty at the implication. Breeding you, his cock-hungry boy, until you’re full of his cum and unable to move. Until you’re a daddy. “If it doesn’t we’ll just keep going until it does.”

Your hand clasps around the gold medal like a lifeline, eyebrows pinched as his long, thick cock stretches you open. The curve of his dick has you mewling, tears building in your eyes as your boyfriend fucks up into you, despite telling you to ride him. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it, the feeling of his cock splitting you open like he owns you, or the way his big hands press matching bruises into your hips.

“Open.” Your lips are already parted, hearty moans and whines leaving your mouth over and over. But you make the extra effort to stick out your tongue nonetheless, the wet muscle pretty and glossed over. And, much to your confusion, there’s a gentle kiss placed to the temple of your forehead before he’s hovering back over you.

“Good boy.”

A sloppy string of saliva falls from his lips, missing your tongue by a mile— instead landing on your cheek. It’s enough to make you flinch, a pitiful squeak of a sound escaping as your eyes clench and blink away confusion.

“Oh, I missed,” Fushiguro’s smile is fond and cruel. “Oops.”

You’re so whiny, lifting and rocking your hips as a pathetic attempt at fucking yourself full of cock. It seems you can go barely a few seconds without it, working your hips down the thickness of his cock even as you struggle to take it. His hand gathers the spit, a genuine smile splitting his lips when you move your head to suck them clean.

Such a good boy.

“Really workin’ for it, aren’t you?” Voice as sweet as it is mocking, lube gushes and trickles out with every tilt of your hips. The wet slurp of his dick goes makes you preen, body tightening as you tremble and shake. You’re speared on his cock over, and over, and over, again, and again, and again. It’s more like he’s using you as some sort of fuck-machine than actually fucking you, but it makes sense. Daddy’s much too big to bounce on, it’s easier if he uses you like a toy. It’s easier to keep yourself open, to welcome his cock inside your sloppy hole with the flutter of your lashes. “Good thing you got that medal on, really are the tightest cocksleeve I own. Deserve a trophy for it.”

You don’t have to imagine how deep he is, how far his slick cock reaches, because you can see it. Right there, in your tummy, his cock bulges big and pulsing. You thought feeling him twitch against your walls was enough to have you squirting along both your chests but. . . no. It’s his hand, big and veiny, pressing right into the bulge. Your eyes roll back until your back is arching off the wall— tummy pressed against his palm— and you’re cumming harder than you thought you ever could.

“Shit, did you—”

“C’mon, please. Inside me, Daddy. Please, please I want. . . I can’t, please.” It’s easier if you don’t think about it, it’s easier if you sit there, a tiny toy just barely able to take his cock. You don’t even process your voice as your own, letting your big boyfriend squeeze your hips and lift you on and off his cock until he’s twitching uncontrollably. Your hands ball into tight fists, eyes clenched shut as he uses your trembling hole.

“Barely even touched you,” His breaths are hitched and quick, eyebrows furrowed as he focuses on the slapping of his balls against your ass. So tight and warm, gooey and soft against his thick shaft— massaging his cock just right. You’re so good. “And you came. You’re so easy. So easy to get you dumb off cock, so easy to bounce you up n’ down. Best pussy I’ve ever had.”

“Wait, don’t—” The words are caught in your throat, lips pulled into a small ‘o’ was thick rope after thick rope of cum shoots into your tummy, flooding your senses and spurting from your tight hole. You feel soaked, slick and sticky as your boyfriend offers a few sharp, heavy thrusts. His eyes are glued down, watching his cum make slick bubbles and slide down his own cock, just to disappear back inside your perfect hole. You can’t swallow down the drool escaping from the seams of your lips, instead letting it fall down your chest until your head is falling forward.

“Aht-aht,” You’re pressed dead-center into his chest, burying your messy face between the warm skin. “I’m not done with you yet. Want Daddy t’make you a daddy too, don’t you?”

[miss-musings]

A TBB Mini-Meta: Crosshair's Two Sides

This is a quick observation combining some of my own previous thoughts and a few that @yavln4 and other folks have discussed.

While it's not quite to the level of Harvey Dent/Two-Face from the Batman franchise, Crosshair has two distinct sides to him. I mean that more so in a physical sense, but I think there's something to be said about the emotional aspect as well.

Crosshair's right side represents who he is as a soldier and sniper.

Everything that serves as a physical reminder of his time in the Grand Army of the Republic and/or Empire is on his right side: His tattoo, the burn scar on his head, and his shaking/missing hand.

Additionally, the inhibitor chip was embedded on the right side of Crosshair's and the other clones' heads.

His right eye is also the one he primarily uses to aim. His viewfinder is on the right side of his helmet, which has zoom and infrared capabilities, and when he looks through a scope, he does so with his right eye.

I'm sure you all know exactly what I'm talking about but here are a few visual reminders:

Now, his left side represents Crosshair as a person -- specifically, as a brother and dad.

It is the side of him that is completely unmarred: No scar, no tattoo, no missing hand. It's his "normal" side, so to speak.

In general, a person's left side is traditionally associated with the heart (ie, wedding rings, etc.).

Crosshair also keeps his sidearm on his left side, which makes sense because he normally has his rifle in his right hand. I only mention this because he uses his left hand to kill Nolan in 2.12 "The Outpost," which becomes a HUGE turning point for him.

Additionally, when he collapses after shooting Nolan, he falls unconscious with his left side facing upwards. As someone else pointed out (I'm not sure who, but if I find the post I'll add the source and link here), this suggests that Crosshair has been "reborn." He's rejected being a soldier and is instead becoming his own person again.

Also, as I've pointed out before, his left side tends to be associated with Omega and/or Hunter.

Of course, Crosshair uses his left hand to save Omega from Hemlock in the finale.

In several key scenes throughout the show, Omega and/or Hunter are on his left side. Examples include but aren't limited to:

Omega talking to Crosshair in the brig in 1.01 "Aftermath"

Omega talking to Crosshair while they're trapped in Nala Se's lab in 1.16 "Kamino Lost"

Omega finding him unconscious on Tantiss at the end of 2.16 "Plan 99"

The family meeting scene at Shep's in 3.05 "The Return"

Crosshair and Hunter reaching an understanding immediately after facing the Ice Wyrm in 3.05 "The Return"

Crosshair and Hunter talking to Ventress at the end of 3.09 "The Harbinger"

Crosshair and Hunter facing down Hemlock as he holds Omega captive in 3.15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived"

The group hug in 3.15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived"

BONUS: Hunter is also to Crosshair's immediate left when Echo joins CF99 in TCW 7.04

Essentially, in S1, Crosshair's "two sides" were in conflict with each other. Initially, it was because of the inhibitor chip. However, once he regains his free will, he doesn't want to give up the life of a solider/sniper.

As much as he loves his family, in 1.16 "Kamino Lost," he ultimately chooses his identity as a soldier versus his identity as a brother.

I think that's why, when he shoots Nolan and collapses in 2.12 "The Outpost," it's significant that it's his left hand and left side that's given importance. He's finally choosing to be his own person again. He's rejecting his identity as a soldier.

Unfortunately, that choice is short-lived, as he is imprisoned at Tantiss for half a year. There, he's subjected to Hemlock's "re-education" efforts and develops a tremor in his right hand.

But, even after escaping and reconciling with his brothers, he can't completely let go of his identity as a soldier and sniper. Unfortunately, his fight isn't over yet. The Empire is still after Omega, and as long as they are, Crosshair's family won't be safe.

So, he continues to fight -- to be a soldier -- but for his family's sake this time.

It's not until CX-2 cuts off his hand in 3.15 that, in a sense, he's freed of that identity. I mean, what good is a sniper without his shooting hand?

As @yavln4 summarized nicely on my "Was there a better way to handle Crosshair's hand tremors?" post:

IMO, his hand doesn't represent his PTSD - it represents his identity as a soldier. It's more important to him than family in s1 due to reconditioning- it wavers after he loses Mayday- and it's completely severed from him before he finally rescues Omega. He goes into that final conflict not as a soldier, but as a parent.

It's only once Hemlock and Tantiss are subsequently destroyed that he's finally free to be his own person. Now, he can focus on just being a brother and a dad, and not have to worry about being a soldier again.

Of course, he'll never be able to erase he who was and the choices he made. His right side still remains -- his tattoo, his scar, his missing hand. And that part of him will be useful if he ever chooses to fight again.

But, he can be reborn. He can choose another path, another life.

His right side represents who he once was, who he was created and born to be. His destiny and his purpose.

But, his left side represents who he is now, who he chose to be and how he wants to live. His future and his freedom.

Crosshair might've been "born" on his right side, but he chose to live on his left.

[howtofightwrite]

Sorry if you’ve already answered this, I’m having trouble finding different posts in your blog.

I know a lot of your asks are more practical-related, but how do you suggest fully encapsulating the horror and tragedy of war in a (fantasy) battle scene? I really need that emotional and gory impact but it also to seem reasonably realistic.

My favourite references are Battle of the Bastards in GoT and scenes from Lord of the Rings.

Thanks!!

Martin and Tolkien are not two authors I’d ever expect to find together when discussing thematic and abstract concepts like the horrors of war in their writing. One of them is extremely deep, and the other is a puddle. Neither of them are particularly “realistic” but only one of them claims that pretense while drawing from real history. If you’re wanting horrors of war, you’re much better off moving away from Martin and taking a gander at the actual War of the Roses.

Let me explain.

Tolkien served as an officer during World War I. By sheer body count, The Great War was one of the most bloody and brutal wars in human history. As a point of reference, over a million soldiers died during the Battle of Somme. Perhaps as importantly, World War I killed the cultural concept of the Summer War. Before World War I, the British upper class viewed war as a game. War was an adventure, something young men did between reaching manhood and getting married. Watson from Sherlock Holmes is an excellent example of the end result for this particular outlook. They figured they’d go off, have some jolly good fun, get a few scars, and be back in a few weeks in time for tea. What they got was a meat grinder. Two of Tolkien’s close friends died during the war. He also lived through the bombings during World War II while working as a professor at Oxford, he experienced the devastating effects that war had on the civilian population first hand, and, likely, saw a few of his students die. Despite his hatred of allegory, the man was working through some shit in The Lord of the Rings.

If you’re interested in learning more about World War I or even about effectively demonstrating the horrors of war, I do recommend reading All Quiet on the Western Front. I read it once in high school (more years ago than I’d like to admit here) and, much like Elie Wiesel, it has stuck with me. It was also such an effective anti-war novel the Nazis banned it and it was one of the first books they publicly burnt, so you know it’s good.

Back to Tolkien.

What they don’t tell you about fantasy is that it’s real life, just with elves and dwarves and magic. The real world forms the foundation of fantasy and it’s the humanity of the emotional experience in war, the good and the bad, with both ends cranked all the way to eleven that really makes Tolkien’s work so impactful. LOTR is operatic by design, but what keeps the narrative from falling into melodrama is the core thematic message underneath the pageantry. One of the major themes is hope, which gets symbolized in light, and hope’s interplay with despair, symbolized in darkness. Not just a rosy view of it either, but the genuine struggle to keep the light burning against all the overwhelming reasons to give up or give in. Tolkien allows his characters to be corrupted and redeemed, their struggle with temptation before ultimately choosing the better path or failing and falling into darkness. He commits to the idea that hope can be restored in the unlikeliest of places.

Boromir’s death is, perhaps, one of the best examples of Tolkien’s philosophy in action. Boromir is a character we’re not sure of, he wants the one ring from the outset, he’s the only one advocating that it shouldn’t be destroyed. The hearts of men are easily corrupted. When he tries to take the ring from Frodo, he falls into his worst instincts and breaks the Fellowship. But then, against the overwhelming flood of Uruk-hai, Boromir tries to save Merry and Pippin. He fights wounded, shot again, and again, until he’s felled by twenty arrows and he fails. Yet, in his failure he restores Aragorn’s hope in his people, gives him a reason to fight for Gondor, and inspires the audience to believe in Man’s potential for greatness.

Tolkien could have left Boromir in the dark, but he didn’t. He could’ve given into cynicism, but he didn’t. In every adaptation, Boromir’s death never fails to get me bawling. Boromir is both good and bad, both dark and light, his best and worst instincts are driven by the same underlying, sympathetic reason—his desire to save his people and fulfill his duty to his father.

On the whole, I find Tolkien’s presentation of the human condition and war to be more compelling and realistic than Martin’s. Tolkien’s underlying themes have more in common with All Quiet on the Western Front, Saving Private Ryan, and HBO’s Band of Brothers. For all that his characters often feel larger than life (by design, he’s telling an epic) there’s always a grounding quality that allows the audience to connect with them. Whether we agree with Tolkien’s core thematic message or not, Tolkien genuinely has something to say about warfare and its effect, both on personal and world changing levels, and he communicates that message very well.

The irony about the “horrors of war” isn’t about the horrors of war. Thematically, the “horrors of war” is about who we choose to become in the face of them when trapped in the crucible. Do we rise to our best selves? Do we fall to our worst? When every illusion about who we believe we are is stripped away, what’s left? It’s an existential question, not a “realistic” one.

You can’t write about the horrors of war in fiction if you have nothing to say about war, humanity, and its effects. All you’ll end up with is gore for shock value. The world becomes hopelessly depressing, and, in the end, all the blood turns brown before it’s finally shat out.

Hi, Martin.

Don’t get me wrong, Martin is a very skilled writer. His prose is genuinely beautiful and his first book in ASOF, A Game of Thrones is actually a pretty decent deconstruction in the traditional fantasy narrative and a fairly realistic treatment of how events would go for the standard well-meaning fantasy protagonist. And that’s… the deepest we get.

Martin comes out of the 24/Joss Whedon death for shock value school of writing and the land of Iron Age comics that doesn’t have anything to really say beyond, “people suck.” Underneath it all is a level of cynicism in the human condition that would make Garth Ennis blush. The deaths are just shock value. There’s nothing more to it than that. Once you’ve acclimated to the gore, there’s nowhere else to go and nothing else to think about. Ironically, out of his contemporaries, Robert Jordan is better at giving both war and death in his narrative lasting effect, driving character growth, and real meaning.

Martin and Tolkien are opposite ends of the spectrum in their approach to war and their outlooks are utterly incompatible. One of them is a complete cynic and the other is facing himself honestly, openly, fearlessly, and without a smidgen of irony. (The true irony here is that the latter is the Englishman.) Following Martin’s blueprint won’t bring you to a Tolkien outcome. Tolkien’s genuine emotion is the subject of mockery in Martin’s world. Season 8 may’ve been clumsy and infuriating, but it was the natural end of Comic Book Iron Age cynicism. There are no good people, people with power can never be trusted, and all heroes, no matter how noble, reveal their true colors as villains in the end. As Christopher Nolan said, “You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain.” This philosophical outlook may be sold as realistic but it’s really just Political Both Sidesism, Fantasy Edition.

The irony is that the real history Martin draws from, The War of the Roses, is simultaneously crueler, kinder, more noble, more horrific, more impactful, and ultimately more hopeful than Martin’s own work. And this was post the Hundred Years War and all the wars that preceded it.

I bring you, the Duality of Man.

If you want to write a realistic battle scene, start with real war. If you want to write about the horrors of war, start with real war. Pick a war, any war, and dig in. Reading the experiences of others is a way to gain insight into experiences you yourself don’t share and start to process the different philosophies born out of those experiences. The horror of war is a human one.

The most important lesson is that you won’t get there by focusing on the battle itself. To truly feel the impact, every character needs to be carefully built from the very beginning with a through line to every horrific event that happens to them. If you want to learn how to do that, then you need to go study every single war movie from good to bad (including the jingoistic rah-rah ones) like Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, Battle for Iwo Jima, etc, to really start internalizing the underlying storytelling structure and character design formula that makes those films tick. There’s no one better at portraying the horror and humanity of war than the war film industry. Part of what makes the best of these films really good is their willingness to allow their characters to be emotional and vulnerable. Which you won’t find in a lot of fantasy novels that run on machismo, but is the secret sauce that gives Tolkien his impact.

Having the confidence to allow your characters to struggle, be vulnerable, experience humiliating circumstances, and appear weak is an aspect of writing that a lot of men and women struggle with. Cynicism is a form of self-protection to keep those emotions away, to keep one from being emotionally invested, and is a means by which we protect ourselves from being hurt. We may portray cynicism as the more realistic reality but it’s just a cloak we hide behind. Martin’s approach to warfare is less realistic than Tolkien’s. Tolkien’s characters approach warfare with an eye toward protecting their civilians, safeguarding their future, or, in the case of his villains, focus on genocide. War for Tolkien is the eradication of civilization and the destruction of the future. Characters from experienced combatants to innocent civilians are willing to risk their lives for a world and for the people who matter to them. Martin has the Summer War. It’s there in the title, A Game of Thrones. An entertaining charade of musical chairs. And while all of his characters are chasing power, almost none of them have any sort of vision or goal for the future beyond the accumulation of more. In Martin’s world, the only way to truly win is not to play, but in the real world playing is the only way to create the world you want. Cynicism ends with no seats at the table and no means to change or save anything.

It’s funny because England during the War of the Roses had been in a state of near constant warfare for hundreds of years with their own domestic powers and France prior to the War of the Roses kicking off. The concept of a Summer War didn’t really exist for the medieval nobility. Much as we joke today about war being a game for medieval nobles due to their ransom protections, it really wasn’t. The peasantry was also much, much more dangerous en masse than they are in ASOF. They drove traveling monarchs to hide in monasteries plenty of times and, while that’s funny, it’s not actually a joke.

Now, picture Joffrey dragged off his horse in the middle of a riot and having his skull crushed by a local fishwife right before being trampled into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp by sharp hooves.

Or enjoying the Agincourt bathing route.

You’re welcome.

-Michi

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get early access to new posts, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[wayfayrr]

The Menace returns! And you choose Trauma so this is not a Link!Reader but someone who caused a trauma to someone else.

Here we go to the person that SCARRED our Vet to beyond belief. Marin!Reader and now I finally could write it down as I didn't want to make it a second dream section with all of the Chain as they all would be scarred for life and well, Legend would want to die. So and thanks to Gliphy I got the perfect idea with Marin!Reader.

They were the Marin on Koholint, so they are Legend's first love!

They live but just in a different world entirely. (My own theory on that)

They still remember Legend and hope he is doing well.

They still sing to animals and people.

After Legend finds them, he is at first suspicious. It could be a trap from the Shadow.

But his brain couldn't stop him from rushing to their side and holding them in his arms again.

They are a sweetheart and are holding Legends with such care when they sing him a lullaby.

The Vet will not be able to sleep without them in his arms anymore.

Their weapon is the Sea Lily Bell and Awakening Bell like in Hyrule Warriors.

The Chain is stunned and confused how a person with such a soft voice and delicate body fight monsters like a knight and with a bell no less.

I believe that there are two groups in the Yandere Chain.

Group one will be the one's that have practically a suffocating possessiveness and are overprotective. In the group is Legend, Twilight, Wild, Four and surprisingly Sky.

Before you scream, let me explain.

I think, that Sky would be possessive despite the usual Headcanons BECAUSE he lost Zelda during his journey multiple times.

Once she was led away from him by Impa, then she disappeared into a portal into the past, then she sealed herself into a crystal for that seal on Demise and lastly she almost lost her soul because of Ghirahim. Yeah, no way in hell you can tell me, that he wouldn't be overprotective and possessive over his darling after these stunts.

The second group is overbearing and/or cautious of Reader, not because they don't trust them.

No! They are cautious about the people around Reader.

Reader has a bleeding heart and would try to help anyone they found. Nevermind if it's a enemy or an ally.

This group has Wars, Time, Four (again) and Hyrule in it.

I hope everyone of them is self-explanatory.

Legend sees them as his future spouse. He knew them the longest! And has a history with them!

So he even sees the Chain as enemy, especially Wars.

But he would never kidnap them, he knew how they felt about being caged as he met them on Koholint.

But he talks smack about the Chain.

So he is more trustworthy than the others. So he stands in a better light than the others. So they fell rather in love with him than any of the other eight heroes. So they run into his arms if they got scared.

He gave them a ring, of course a magical one. But it's more than that, he wears the second one of them and as long as they both wear this specific ring, Legend is able to find them.

Legend is also clingy, very clingy.

Wars has to adapt plans so the Vet sees Reader. Because if he doesn't, he will go nuts.

He will use every trick he has in his sleeves to find them and if the others die in the process, he doesn't fucking care.

If Reader is tucking Wind into bed like an older sibling would and singing him a lullaby. Legend is so jealous but at the same time, he sees Reader with his and their children. So the jealousy disappears and he just watches them with Wind with fond eyes while daydreaming.

Sky teached them lyrics from his era, so they sing to him as he plays his harp.

Twilight has the time of his life as Wolfie, they sing to him, pet him, forehead kisses.

Bunny!Legend got it even better, he is very smug about it. Reader will carry him, pet him, kiss his nose, take care of his vest, protect him from Wild and if they are in an inn while Legend is a bunny, they will sleep with him in a bed and held him close to their chest.

They even bath together.

He thanked every existing deity, that Reader didn't know he was the bunny or he would die, happy but he dies.

Just because he saw them naked, something nobody of the Chain did only him.

Wars first, tries to find out how Legend was back then as they met but after falling in love he write poetry for them and they write with him song lyrics of ballads.

Time knows them from the War of Eras and is embarrassed to see them. Let's just say, Reader treated him like a child and never left his side through the whole war. But now he only sees the perfect parent in them.

They switch with Wild so he could sleep longer every once in a while and they cook breakfast in the meantime.

Hyrule sees how much the Vet loves their singer. But as a Fae he got drawn in and is always near them when they sing.

Four asks about the Bells as they are a strange weapon choice.

Their song is "Celestial" from Ed Sheeran.

How they met.

Legend's PoV:

We walked around my Hyrule, inside a forest to be more specific. We wandered through it and didn't found any monsters but there were little puddles and footprints inside the mud. So we followed the track until we found a person lying on the ground. All except for me run to the Hylian. Their blue clothes were so familiar like their hair and as they turned the person around. So we could see their face. I could see a red island flower in their hair and I saw a face of someone I thought would never see again. My brain cried out, that it could be a trap from the shadow but my feet just started to sprint to them. I ripped them from the hands of one of the others and held them close to my chest. I knew, that my house was near. So I picked them up and carried them to my home. The others just followed me and were calling out to me not to be reckless and even my brain still screamed that this was a trap but my body moved on it's own. I carried Reader into my house and laid them in my bed before tucking them under the covers. I didn't care if my bed got muddy or anything. I grabbed a chair and sat myself beside them. They had some cuts and bruises but nothing serious, thank The Golden Three for that. I held their hand in mine and even kissed their knuckles as I ignored the group who questioned me and my motives to bring "a stranger" into my house. My Love stirred and I felt a little more force as they squeeze my hand ever so slightly. They laid in my bed for few hours before they woke up and I can remember how relieved I was. They opened their eyes, they looked around and as their beautiful eyes laid upon me. They smiled and giggled their melodic laughter.

„Hehehehe... Seems like our roles are know reversed, did you found me on the beach as well?“

I snorted at their silliness. „Yes, our roles are now reversed but you laid inside a forest in mud and not in sand by a beautiful beach... But how are you here, Reader... You should be...“

„The Wind Fish fulfilled my wish! I had to do something for him but that was no big deal! Now I can finally see the world outside of Koholint, Link! Maybe you can show me around?“ I turned red as they said my name and right now I didn't care if it was a trap or not. They were back and real! I smiled at them and nodded.

„Of course, I can! I promised it on the log by the beach remember?“

„I know... But you also said you are a hero so you must be very busy... I don't want to steal your precious time... And I said you should forget about that!“ It was like an arrow was fired through my heart and my face and ear tips turned bright red. They were way too kind for the cruel world of Hyrule.

„Sorry, to interrupt your reunion? But who are you and how do you fight all these monsters inside the forest?“ asked the Captain and I just glared at him for interrupting our conversation.

Reader began to sat up, were I jumped up and helped them.

„Be careful.“ they still held my hand but I was more concerned about the Captain. If he tries to take Reader away from me, then he will have some things coming for him!

„Oh I remember you! You were the soldier in the war I should help out to get my wish fulfilled! I never asked for your name! I'm Reader and just like back then I dealt with them with my Sea Lily Bell and water magic.“ they smiled but I couldn't concentrate as THEY knew the Captain!

My head snapped to the Captain who seemed to recognise my first love.

„Ohhh the Hylian with that strange bell and has the Wind Fish as companion. How did you land inside the forest?“ I squeezed their hand slightly and they looked at me while squeezing back.

„I wished to be free from the island I lived on and wished to be with Link! I didn't see him for so long! But I wished that I had stayed awake then I could've greet him properly!“ They hugged me which I reciprocated to hide my even redder face in their shoulder and my ears which wiggled slightly.

I felt them pet my head as they said something which shocked not only me but all of us.

„Oh there are also the two kids from back then! Hey long time no see! You grown so much! One of you even outgrow me! Hihihihihi... But I still don't know your names as the war kinda kept me busy.“

I looked with my eyes to the others and saw how the old man scratched his neck and Wind rushed towards us.

„You are that Hylian with the cool water magic!? It's really been long, you didn't change one bit!!“

They laughed and combed through my hair that my head became drowsy and I felt sleepy.

„Our name is Link, Reader so that's why we are called by our title. You may call me "Time", the boy is "Wind", then there is Warrior, Twilight, Four, Hyrule, Wild, Sky and the one in your arms is called "Legend".“ they nodded and kissed my head.

„I don't care, if you call him "Legend" for me, he is Link!“ My hold around them grew stronger and I fell asleep with my beloved in my arms. It felt like I was finally being able to fall asleep after years of being kept awake...

This is how they met the "Singer" and Legend's first love! Of course, they all noticed how the Vet was acting around them. He was more open and expressive and less snarky. He will be going more and more possessive that even Yandere Twilight would be nothing against him. Wolves are protective over their mates and pups but Legend put that to shame. Sky always starts to play his harp as soon he sees Reader is near him, so they begin to play the bell and sing with him. They sometimes even do a duet with Wild. Apropos Wild, they cook together and dance with him just to have fun and to be silly. Time sees them as the perfect parent from his previous encounters with them but also loves to listen to them sing him a lullaby. But he knows that Reader would be never allowed to be on watch duty, especially not alone. And even thought they fought for being at least on watch duty. They are allowed to but only with Legend as they sleep in the same bedroll and they don't want to imagine what will happen to them and anything around them, if a sleeping Veteran noticed that Reader isn't beside him anymore. Wars talks to them a lot because of their magic and the different bells. Four learned specifically for them how to maintain their bells. Wind uses his "Little Brother Privileges" he gets lullabies, cuddles, playtime anything he wants until Time or Legend separate them, mostly Legend. Hyrule just loves to hear them sing. He isn't confident enough too even mention his feelings for them to the others. Twilight gets "Wolfie Privileges" but also as Hylian he gets attention from Reader. But none of them get as much attention as Legend as he is the closest to them after all.

The Menace will return next week with new words! INTO THE MENACE CAVE!!

I love the twist of being a different world rather than simply just the windfish's dream, legend deserves that little bit of healing at least after everything else he's gone through

And also I agree with how you've characterised the yans!!! I haven't put out my full headcanons for each of them yet (I really need to but they're pretty low on my things to finish and post of wips ngl) But I do have sky's out! and I do see him as very possessive but simply not showing it as much as the rest - he's a manipulative yan more than anything. <3

Legend has EVERY reason to be more cautious of wars, like you said of course legend has the upper hand since he has history with reader but so does warriors, he knew reader during the war of ages so of course he's going to be more defensive against him (time is only safe because he was a kid and doesn't see em in a romantic light)

the way they met is also really sweet, being the opposite of how legend and them met for the first time. I bet he simply wishes that it was after he was finished with this quest so that he could have them to himself instead.

[224terminal]

⋆｡𖦹 °✩ 𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

𓇼 tiamore is a great white shark merman living in captivity at an oceanarium for marine creatures and hybrids. his coloration is mostly varying shades of grey, and he has the messiest black hair ever! unlike the white sclera in human eyes, his are black and he's got the brightest blue eyes you'll ever see. he's also littered in scars and scrapes from various fights in the ocean. a ship propeller injured his dorsal fin, which left him unable to properly swim and stabilize himself in the water, and so he was captured and brought in for rehabilitation purposes. the oceanarium soon realizes it can capitalize on the novelty of an elusive shark merman, so the priority shifts from undercover scientific study to covert priming for entertainment purposes; it's decided he'll be kept there indefinitely).

𓇼 you work there as one of the trainers and your primary area of work deals with sea lions and, on occasion, penguins. they transfer you to his enclosure after he nearly drowned his previous trainer, assuming that you might boast different results because you have a way with animals. you doubt this; sea lions and penguins are not the same as a half-fish, half-human creature who's so much bigger than you and can crush your skull like an egg if he so pleases.

𓇼 tiamore has such a vicious hatred for humans, but can he really be blamed? he's been stuck in captivity for many years now. they're not sure of his exact age, but they estimate he's somewhere in his late twenties. tiamore doesn't bother to provide the humans with any answers or information to their questions, and they don't dare get close enough to ask twice. he's brutal and cutthroat, and yet he let his trainer live (albeit in a very poor, near-death state).

𓇼 you're not very hopeful, but you're the oceanarium's only hope (or so your boss tells you). but this is a lie because your coworker savern is the real animal whisperer. the dolphins love him, especially the mers; he's practically best friends with all of them. they fight over him sometimes, eager for his attention. you envy his ability to effortlessly, authentically charm.

𓇼 unsurprisingly, tiamore hates you the minute he meets you. and you hate him, too, because he has quite the mouth on him and he's so unwilling to compromise with you in any way (although you suppose you wouldn't be willing either if you were in his shoes fins). he's foul and rude and cruel, cutting into you with all manner of insults he's picked up from sailors and scientists over the years. most of your "job" is simply bickering back and forth now as you try (and fail) to coerce him into friendly relations. you're supposed to get him ready for his display exhibit (which is stuck in coming soon limbo because they have no clue when or if he'll ever be ready to be put on display), and tiamore fights this reality with everything he's got.

𓇼 you spend the first month gradually learning to tolerate him and his intelligent, disobedient mouth. he learns you're a recurring pest in his life, but you come to feed him every day and so he can't hate that part of this routine. what he does hate is everything else. you bring stimulating items for him, which are never put to use because he's popped all of the beach balls and snapped all of the diving rings in his frigid disinterest. still, you try. and still he impedes your progress.

𓇼 tiamore is, however, interested in your phone and the pictures you show him after you learn it's the only thing that can shut him up. he's fascinated by photos of butterflies. they're his favorite animal, so you promise to show him more if he starts acting less hostile towards you. tiamore weighs these options: be kind and see butterfly or be hateful and see no butterfly. begrudgingly, he chooses the former. and he slowly warms up to the meals you've started preparing for him on the mornings before your shifts. you're not the best cook (which he notes every time you serve him something that's more burnt than it is cooked, and you threaten to cook him), but he eats it because it's different and new. part of him hopes it'll poison him and he'll never have to live in captivity again because then he'll be dead. alas.

𓇼 you're not sure if this is progress, but it's significantly better than before. now he only calls you stupid idiot, bipedal dumbass, tasteless blood-bag, and lunch three or five times within the span of an hour (insults like those were numbered in the double-digits before). savern certainly thinks it's a step in the right direction when he visits you on your lunch breaks to check in. he's started doing that often, and you're not complaining because he's been your work crush for a while now. tiamore hates him. hates him so, so, so much with the most livid passion. savern is too sunny, too sweet, too smart. savern reads tiamore like a book whenever he's lurking on the surface of the water and scowling at the two of you from the depths of his pool. he refuses to prove savern right, but then he also refuses to dive back under and leave you alone with another human, especially when said human is male.

𓇼 so he swims laps, cutting through the water methodically. his dorsal fin has healed considerably and now swimming isn't as much of a struggle as it was before. he's still left with the scars, though.

𓇼 tiamore considers you something of a companion, so it hurts when you flinch away from him when he compares his large, webbed hand to your smaller one or when he curiously touches your ankles when you stray close to the edge of his pool. you still don't trust him, which isn't so surprising because he did threaten you with death nearly every day, at every hour, during your shifts (and he's such a big, strong predator from the sea). so you have every right to be afraid. that, and he did nearly kill his previous trainer. so it's completely fair for you to fear him, but it's this fear that has you turning to savern for advice. why is he so touchy-feely with you all of a sudden? why is he suddenly interested in your anatomy? why isn't he hissing death threats? what happened to the real tiamore?!

𓇼 not funny because tiamore doesn't truly hate you anymore. you're the best thing to come out of this hellish captivity, so he doesn't mind your presence in his life anymore. he actually (much to his own chagrin) eagerly anticipates seeing you each morning, waiting dutifully in hopes that you'll show up early. he can't believe he actually cares about a human. it's too late to make good on his promise to kill you; he likes you too much to stain the water crimson with your blood and organs. but savern... now that's another story, and he fondly contemplates tearing that man to shreds. it would sadden you, though, so he contents himself with fantasies instead.

𓇼 he's aloof and awkward as he navigates these new feelings. before captivity, he traveled alone in the ocean and he's never had a mate. he's never felt the need for one. he likes being alone and free, two things he no longer has now that he's here in the oceanarium. but you cure his loneliness. you make him happy, even though he'll die before he admits that outright. you make him daydream about freedom, about a future beyond these walls, in which the two of you can be together without the divide of land and sea. maybe it's not possible. maybe it's a wishy-washy, unobtainable dream. that doesn't stop him from thinking about it, though.

𓇼 the oceanarium is filled with all kinds of unique marine hybrids. one of them has recently escaped its exhibit and the staff have exhausted every effort in an attempt to find and catch it. tiamore hears it fluttering in the rafters at night, a sly thing with wings. he hopes it'll fall into his tank so he can get rid of it once and for all and put your worries to rest. tiamore hates it when you worry because your mind is clouded and you don't have the energy or the focus to reserve for your little bantering sessions. he must fix this.

𓇼 his tank is deep enough. you might never know where these problems will go. savern can sit in pieces at the bottom and so can the other noisy distraction. he'll fashion their bones into a little heart and gift it to you one day, and you'll never know.

𓇼 until then he greets you with affectionate insults, watching your human legs carry you up and down the stairs to the platform where the top of his pool waits. this is good enough for now.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Across Time (5)

A/N: I will be using Joseph and Sam's faces interchangeably throughout this series because I love them both and I refuse to choose.

Pairing: Adar x Former Elf! Reader

Warnings: Brief skirmish

Word Count: 2.6K

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The barn is damp and filled with the scent of rotting hay. Faint sunlight filters through the slats in the wooden walls, casting thin lines of light across the dirt floor. You sit in the shadows, wrists bound with a crude iron chain affixed to a post behind you. You've already inspected the lock; it’s a simple mechanism, poorly made. Given a few quiet moments, you could unfasten it without effort. But for now, you sit still, conserving your strength, waiting, letting your thoughts drift to what comes next.

Footsteps approach from outside, echoing heavily against the ground. The barn door creaks open, spilling light into the dim space. You press further into the shadows, watching as two figures enter. One of them you recognize immediately—Arondir, his presence careful and watchful. The other…

Your heart stutters, recognition hitting you like a blade. It’s him.

His figure is thinner, face worn and gaunt, yet there’s no mistaking him. His eyes, sharp and dark, sweep over the barn, restless and haunted. And then he sees you.

Eruviel—alive—stills, his expression shifting in an instant. Shock, disbelief, and something raw flash across his face, piercing through the years that have separated you. For a moment, he’s as you remember him, the weight of his gaze pulling you back to days when his name still carried something of himself, and the darkness had not yet completely taken him.

Arondir, unaware of your shared history, leads him further inside, forcing him to sit a few paces away, against a wall opposite you. Eruviel’s eyes never leave you, searching your face with an intensity that strips away every protective layer you’ve built over centuries.

Arondir secures his hands to a ring in the wall, his voice practical and indifferent as he directs his words to Eruviel. “You’ll wait here until we figure out what to do with you both.”

With a wary glance between the two of you, Arondir steps back, closing the door behind him, leaving you alone in the heavy, unbroken silence.

You try to look away, to ignore the familiar burn of his presence, but it’s impossible. Finally, you speak, your voice low and guarded, bitterness slipping through.

“So, it’s true. You’re still alive. I thought I’d left every trace of Angband behind.”

He leans forward, the faint clink of his chains filling the silence. “If I’m a ghost, then so are you.”

His words cut deeper than you expected, dragging old wounds to the surface. You offer him a smile, dark and edged with irony. “Maybe I am. But I’ve heard stories—whispers of a strange leader gathering Uruks. I thought they were just that—stories.”

“And I thought the same of you.” His tone softens, almost reverent but with an edge that’s hard to miss. “After Angband, I searched. For years. Then I thought… you must be dead.”

The truth of it fills the space between you, the weight of time and grief settling heavily, draped over you both like the dust in the air. You want to feel anger, the sharp sting of hatred, anything that can guard you from the warmth flooding back to the surface at seeing him here, as real as your own scars.

“Is this what you wanted?” you ask, fighting to keep your voice steady. “To be some shepherd to the Uruks?”

The hardness in his gaze flickers, but beneath it, his eyes are shadowed, holding a depth of pain that catches you off guard. “I am all they have,” he says, voice barely a murmur. “Just as you once were for me.”

You clench your hands tighter around the chains, needing the cold iron to keep you steady. “And you abandoned it. Abandoned me.”

“I didn’t abandon you!” His voice is sharp, rising like a whip crack, before softening, barely more than a whisper. “They dragged me from Angband. I didn’t want to leave.”

The anger you’ve buried roars to life. “But you did leave. You left, and you took everything with you.”

He leans forward, closer, the chain between his hands taut, and the weight of his gaze pierces through your defenses. “Then why are you here, chasing shadows of Angband? If you truly left, if you no longer cared?”

You glance down, forcing your fingers to relax against the cold iron. The question lingers in the air, pressing against you with an intensity you don’t want to name. His gaze is relentless, searching your face, and there’s a strange desperation in his eyes that mirrors something you’ve tried to bury deep within yourself.

“What are you truly doing here?” he asks again, softer this time, almost gentle. The way he speaks catches you off guard, making it harder to hide.

For a split second, the truth hovers on the edge of your lips. You want to say that you’re searching for anyone who understands what it’s like to be torn from the shadows, to live with a past that gnaws at you from within. Someone who knows what it is to be both freed and bound by darkness. But those words would expose a part of yourself you’ve long since walled off.

Instead, you straighten, meeting his gaze with a defiance you don’t entirely feel. “I’m following rumors. There’s something out there, an echo of what was. That’s why I’m here,” you lie, the words tasting hollow even as they leave your mouth.

He watches you closely, the shadow of disappointment flickering across his face, but he doesn’t push further. Perhaps he knows that whatever you’re hiding is as much for his protection as it is for your own. And in the quiet that stretches between you, you sense that he understands, even without the words.

Eruviel leans back, the tension in his posture softening just slightly. “Always on the trail of something, aren’t you?”

You force a dry smile, hoping it will deflect the heaviness in the air. “It’s better than staying still.”

His eyes linger on you, as if he can see past every word, every barrier. But after a moment, he nods, seeming to accept your answer—or at least pretending to. The silence returns, thick and layered with all that remains unspoken, and you welcome it, finding a strange comfort in the weight of his presence, even if only for this stolen moment.

With your gaze fixed on the shadows at the edge of the barn, you steel yourself against the echoes of past grief, knowing that whatever it is you’re chasing, it’s not here. 

The barn door slams open, flooding the space with harsh light. Galadriel strides in, her gaze like ice and fire as she sweeps over the dim interior, her eyes locking onto Eruviel. Without hesitation, she advances on him, her expression severe, filled with a wrath that feels almost ancient. You watch from the shadows, hidden in a corner, taking in her commanding presence and the grim resolve in her eyes. This is the warrior who was forged in the fires of war against Morgoth himself, and her disdain is palpable.

“Adar,” she spits, the name dripping with contempt as she stands before him. You blink at the word, recognizing it as Elvish—Father. A bitter, mocking title that twists in her mouth. She crouches down to his level, her voice low and venomous. “Do you feel any guilt at all? Any remorse for what you've done?”

Eruviel—no, Adar, as she calls him—sits silent, holding her gaze with a quiet defiance that only seems to provoke her more. She circles him like a hawk, her fury controlled but razor-sharp. Her words cut into him as she describes the havoc he’s wrought, the lives destroyed under his command.

He meets her stare, unblinking, his voice calm as he finally speaks. “I did what I believed was necessary. You, of all people, should understand the cost of that.”

Galadriel’s lips curl in disgust. “Don’t compare yourself to me, Adar. You are a defilement upon these lands, a twisted mockery of everything you touch.”

She lifts her blade, resting it against his neck, just close enough to draw a thin line of blood. You feel a jolt of anger rise within you, watching the crimson bead trickle down, her hand firm and unyielding. You don’t know why this scene enrages you, only that something ancient and feral stirs, clawing its way to the surface.

Without thinking, you slide from your chains in a quick, practiced motion. Quietly, you slip through the shadows, reaching down to draw the hidden blade from your boot. The madness in your mind surges forward, demanding justice, action, vengeance for a reason you don’t dare question. You cross the space between you and Galadriel in a heartbeat, the knife in your hand pressed firmly to her throat before she can react.

“Careful, Galadriel,” you murmur, cold and steady. “Never turn your back to the shadows.”

For a split second, she freezes. Then she whips around, and your blades clash in a deadly rhythm, each of you moving with lethal precision. Her strikes are practiced, powerful, but you parry with a force driven by something darker, something fierce and untamed. She drives you back, her face a mask of seething fury, her hatred flashing like lightning in her eyes.

The barn door slams open again, and a dark-haired man strides in, his presence commanding the room to silence. His gaze shifts from you to Galadriel, and he raises his hand, his voice cutting through the tension.

“Enough,” he commands, his tone steady, brooking no argument. “This is not the time nor the place.”

Reluctantly, you lower your blade, the rage simmering beneath your skin as you regard him warily. His eyes linger on you, calm but unwavering, as he steps closer. Taking your wrist, he guides you back toward Adar and snaps a chain around your wrist, binding you to him. You glance over, feeling Eruviel’s—Adar’s—gaze on you, a mixture of surprise and something else that you can’t quite decipher.

“Come,” the dark-haired man says to Galadriel, his tone slightly softened but firm. “The Queen awaits.”

Galadriel’s glare cuts into you, her eyes like steel as she allows herself to be led out. The barn falls silent again, and you’re left in the dim light, chained to the elf who, until moments ago, you hadn’t believed you’d ever see again.

Sitting side by side in the quiet, you dare a glance his way. His face, haggard and weary, meets yours, and there’s a strange familiarity there, as though centuries and darkness haven’t quite erased what once bound you together.

The barn feels even more stifling in the silence that follows your skirmish with Galadriel, broken only by the faint, irregular breathing of Eruviel—or Adar, as he’s now known—beside you. The stale air grows heavier as the barn settles, thick with hay dust and shadows. The chains linking your wrists are a tangible reminder of your shared predicament, clinking softly as you shift, and you glance over at him, feeling the need to break the silence and get to the heart of the matter.

“Adar... that’s what you’re calling yourself now?” you ask, letting the name slip from your mouth with a tone of dry disbelief. His gaze flicks to yours, something half-hidden beneath those familiar dark eyes. You can tell he’s watching you closely, assessing.

“Adar,” he replies evenly. “They chose it.”

There’s a pause as you try to reconcile the title—Father—with the face you once knew so well, the one that’s since been worn down by untold years and a thousand silent battles. His expression is cool, yet you catch a flicker of something else, something buried, in his gaze.

“‘Father.’ It seems fitting, I suppose,” you murmur, feigning nonchalance even as the notion strikes a deeper chord in you. “Or maybe not. You never seemed the fatherly type back then.” You lean back against the barn wall, letting a half-smile touch your lips, playful but laced with something sharper. “And now we’re chained together. Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t mind so much.”

A faint smirk ghosts over his face, his eyes sparking with a brief flash of amusement that almost—almost—hints at the Eruviel you remember. Yet, he keeps his silence, offering no reply to your jest, only watching you with that impenetrable gaze, as if choosing his words with care.

You tilt your head, watching him closely. “So, tell me, Adar—how exactly do you plan on getting us out of this?” Your tone is light, almost teasing, though the question is laced with genuine curiosity. You have no intention of staying here, chained up and waiting for Galadriel or her soldiers to make their next move. “I assume that with your fatherly wisdom, you’ve thought up a clever plan?”

“Everything is under control,” he says, his voice calm, unshaken, with an edge of mystery that only irritates you further.

You study him, lips pressing into a line. “And here I thought perhaps a century or two of separation might make you slightly less infuriating.”

Still, he only offers a small, knowing smile, as if he finds your irritation amusing in a way that only deepens your curiosity. Before you can press him for more, he shifts, his head tilting ever so slightly, attention suddenly pulled away. You follow his gaze, noticing the subtle tension in his frame, the way he listens. You feel it too, a low hum beneath your feet, a vibration creeping into the barn’s wooden floorboards.

“What is it?” you ask, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he lowers himself, pressing an ear to the ground as if attuning to some unheard pulse beneath the earth.

The rumble grows, becoming a deep, guttural roar that you feel in your bones, setting the whole barn shivering. The animals in the nearby pens let out cries of panic, hooves clattering as they stomp against the ground. Dust shakes free from the rafters above, drifting down around you like ash.

“Adar?” You don’t intend for your voice to waver, but the strange gravity in his expression fills you with unease.

He doesn’t answer, eyes dark and focused as he listens to something only he can hear. A flicker of light catches your attention from outside—a dim red glow creeping up over the edge of the distant horizon, tinged with a molten orange that reminds you of embers left too long untended.

The glow strengthens, spreading like the bloom of an angry sunrise, but far more sinister. And then, with a sound that could split mountains, the ground heaves, a cataclysmic roar tearing through the earth itself.

Orodruin erupts.

You grip the chains instinctively, eyes widening as a pillar of fire lances up into the sky, molten rock spewing from the depths of the earth in a fiery display of raw, unbridled power. The land around the barn is bathed in that terrible red-orange light, casting everything in a hellish glow, as if the very air itself is aflame. Heat pulses, searing even from this distance, and you brace against it, a primal fear clawing up within you.

Eruviel—or Adar, you remind yourself—slowly rises from his crouch, his face alight in the eerie glow of the eruption. He looks... content, almost, a strange satisfaction curving his mouth, like he’s seeing something he’s waited for all along.

“So this was your plan?” you demand, half-shouting over the noise of the eruption, the heat blasting through the barn walls. “Setting the world on fire?”

He meets your gaze, a faint but undeniable smile playing on his lips. “Not quite,” he says, his voice calm against the cacophony. “But it is... progress.”

You stare at him, caught between exasperation and a terrible, undeniable fascination. In the heart of the chaos, as fire and stone rend the sky apart, he seems in his element. And for a brief, reckless second, you think that perhaps, just perhaps, you understand the part of him that chose this path—this dark and terrible path that now feels all too familiar.

[zoros-bandana]

Hi Dove! I’m so happy that ur requests are open!!! So may I please request angst to fluff with Sanji where reader (female please) and Sanji had a fight about something (you can choose and they are together) and then the next day they were ambushed by the marines, reader saw that there was a marine about to creep up to Sanji and she took the hit for Sanji, it was kind of a big slash to the stomach and reader fainted after a while because of the loss of blood and Sanji got angry and began fighting more aggresively? Timeskip after the whole thing Chopper patches up the reader but Chopper said its gonna leave a scar on her body (specifically the stomach). Sanji felt so guilty and keeps apologizing to the reader and reader said that its okay and some other comforting words to Sanji and eventually also says sorry about the fight they had the day before. In the end Sanji takes care of the reader while she recovers. Thank you!!

Sour

(SFW)

Slight angst/slight fluff

Warning: mention of relationship fighting, mention of physical fighting, mention of blood, mention of wound

Summary: Sanji's drifting eye had froze the minute he saw you, however, when it returned, it became a rude awakening. Ending you both in a turn of anguish and hurt.

Word Count: 1,800

Your relationship with Sanji was effortless.

He was kind, as he was with any female he encountered, but with you it was something different. From the moment you joined the Straw Hats there was a sense of relief around him, freeing your once twisted past like loose ends, breaking free of what weighed you down.

And for Sanji it was mutual.

He acted differently.

The once love-sick cook had no longer any desire for anybody besides you, confusing the rest of the crew. He no longer ran after Nami or Robin, simply treating them like he did with the rest of the crew; competent and helpful. His spare time would be swooning over you and granting your every wish, making his priorities realign to appease his girl.

Nothing was too big or too small for him.

That was why, as you docked onto the island of Goruden for supplies, your relationship turned an unexpected sour.

It was a beautiful island, full of warmth and depth, casting every inch of the land in a glow from the sun. And much like the land itself, the people were just as beautiful.

You had taken off with Sanji in tow, heading towards the markets for a restock of food and drinks; a few crew mates tagging along with the hopes of promised luxuries. Upon your search, Sanji's gaze had drifted, taken aback by a tall women with long vibrant blonde hair. Her skin glistened like bronze, covered in a set of orange fabric that draped carefully over her curves. Her face was soft, kind, blushing a smile that drew you in with the faint tickle of her laugh.

Sanji reluctantly let go of your hand, for mere moments, assisting the women as he struggled to hold her basket of overflowing fruits. The sickening crack in Sanji's voice returned, knowing he was in awe of the women in front of him. Feeling betrayed by his actions, you retreated back into the group, shielding yourself from your boyfriend. Your whole body felt heavy, almost on the verge of fainting, fighting the urge to snap at him. You never imagined he would fall back to his old ways, only ever hearing stories of his behaviour, trusting your relationship was stronger than his urges.

But you were wrong.

You kept your distance from Sanji, walking a few steps ahead, clinging onto Zoro and Luffy; knowing it would annoy him the most. His voice continued to ring out to you, over and over, attempting to apologise for his misbehaviour. His stomach tied in knots the moment he realised what he had done, almost in a trance by her aura, unbeknown he was doing it until it was too late. The look on your face as he watched you sink further behind the swordsman broke his heart. He never wished to hurt you, knowing how deeply your trust for him ran, and how devastatingly hard it was for you to trust someone again.

This game of avoidance continued through the day, carrying into the late hours of the night aboard the ship. It was agreed to venture in the morning, leaving the island, giving into the night to rest; sleeping apart from your usual shared bed with Sanji.

Sanji did, however, continue bombarding you with displays of love, hoping to persuade you to come back to him, but his efforts were met short. You had watch the man you love fall back on his estranged love-struck patterns he promised were behind him, making your mind up to sit in the loathing bitterness of your hurt.

Word quickly spread of a pirates arrival to the island, prompting a worried call for marines to surround the ship early into the hours of the morning. It was a heavy blow, drunkenly guiding yourself to the deck just before sunrise, watching your friends already mid battle. Heavy clatters of swords and fired bullets rumbled your hearing, quickly snapping into action to join in the weave of intense crowd to defend your honoured ship.

A sharp snap of blond hair and fire shifted your attention, recognising Sanji's perfectly poised mannerism even in the midst of a fight. Meeting his bright blue eyes you exchanged a silent word, both relieved of each others safety in that moment; still bearing love for one another. Distracted for mere moments, Sanji's position became vulnerable, letting an open on his left switch your attention to the sword coming down towards him.

Your overall skill of endurance surpassed the likes of your boyfriend, quickening your reflexes for a perfect wing of defence to your crew. Snapping into action you took off, racing against the wielded marine to reach the still unsuspecting Sanji.

As you collided with the marine, you disarmed him with a few simple manoeuvres, relieved of your quick defences. He hit the deck in front of you, instantly passing out from the blow which deemed unusually large for someone of your size.

Dusting yourself off you looked back at Sanji, furrowing your brow upon his sickened look.

Sanji's eyes casted at your stomach, his face a ghostly white, mumbling out your name as he grasped your arm tightly. You followed his eyes to your stomach, noticing the large gash that spanned over your full abdomen, seeping through a heavy brown as blood oozed from your wound. Dazed in shock you zoned out, feeling your body shake into the likes of a collapse. You could still feel Sanji near you, his body inching closer in worry, his hands in the stage of lifting you into his arms. Fluttering your eyes you tried to mumble out your confusion, not grasping how the marine managed to reach you in time to cause such a heavy injury. However, your efforts were met short, your body giving in under the loss of blood and soon passing out in Sanji’s arms.

You awoke groggily on your back, fluttering up at the familiar ceiling of the infirmary. Your body rose in a searing pain, targeting your tightly bandaged abdomen, forcing you to groan out. Your voice prompted the answer of two voices, those of people you recognised well, turning your head towards the sounds.

Chopper and Sanji sat by your side, both exchanging a mixed look of relief and joy, leaning in towards your groggy state.

“You’re awake” Sanji smiled, reaching out towards your hand. “I’m so glad to see your face again. You’ve been out of it for a while, we were getting worried”

Squeezing gently you slid your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. It felt almost impossible to speak, your pain heaving heavy gasps for air as you tried to make sense of what was happening around you.

“Everyone else is okay, Y/n” Chopper encouraged, checking over your IV lines; prompted by your obvious pained state. “You just worry about getting better. That wound is pretty deep and it will leave a scar, so don’t move around too much while it heals”

Turning around to face Sanji, Chopper toughened his voice, raising it to make him seem bigger. “You make sure she stays safe, okay? And follow everything I told you earlier! She needs to keep still as much as she can”

“You don’t have to worry about her, Chopper, I'll look after her. There should be some cake up in the kitchen for your efforts, go and help yourself for helping my sweet Y/n-swan”

Chopper squealed in excitement, quickly running towards the door in a flash on fur. As his body hit the deck his voice was followed by the usual kitchen thief’s; Luffy and Usopp.

Returning his attention back to you, Sanji’s face softened, lowering his head to avoid your face in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I should’ve been there to protect you, to help defend you against that deranged marine. Someone who has the audacity to lay a hand on a women, especially someone like you, truely deserves the worst possibly death”

“I’m also sorry about our fight; about how I acted” Sanji looked back up then. “I need you to know I never meant to hurt you or betray your trust. I helped her because I could never turn my back on a lady in need, and in those few moments even though my attention was on her, all I could think about was you. Her basket carried all your favourite fruits, down to the loose handful of grapes that I know you would happily fight our captain for. The crease beside her eyes when she smiled at me was something reminiscent of how you look at me when I make you laugh. Her hair was curled just the way that your hair does in the morning, framing your face when you look at me. There will never be a moment when I don’t think about you and how much you mean to me. You are my girl, Y/n, and nothing is going to take that away from you”

Fighting against your body you pushed yourself up, ignoring Sanji's protest to rest, moving to sit upright; the stack of pillows behind you cushion your fallback. You cleared you throat promptly, ignoring the surging sting as you coughed, busting enough strength to speak.

"I'm sorry, too"

You voice broke in a quiet groan.

"What are you talking about, Y/n? You didn't do an-"

"I'm sorry for the way I handled seeing you with somebody else. I know you, it feels like I have done more than this lifetime, and your hearty intentions to be kind to women. I know you wouldn't do anything to jeopardise our relationship, and I'm sorry I felt the need to avoid your apology. I was hurt, and too stuck in my own feelings to face this problem, because when I see you I see someone who I don't wish to lose"

"You will never lose me, okay?" Sanji promised, moving himself to sit beside you on the bed. He leaned forward over your body, his hand resting beside you, face inches from your own. "I'm not going anywhere, my love. I will be here for you through good and bad and nobody will ever come between us, no matter how many loose grapes are in their basket"

Sanji swiftly moved to you, sweeping you up in a soft kiss. His lips were always the perfect mould, curling against you in the most plump and soft folds, feeling somewhat like heaven. His taste remained the same, lingers of smoke dancing on his tongue as he deepened the kiss, working to build a familiar rise of butterflies in your stomach. As he pulled away, a soft pucker left behind a kind smile, relieved to have put the fight behind him and move forward; working towards getting you better.

"I love you, so much, never forget how much you mean to me and how much I value us." He looked up towards the IV bag, noting the drop in liquid from the bag, furrowing his brow. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a doctor to collect and a girlfriend to heal"

[four-white-trees]

trick or treat :3

WAHHHHH SO CUTE i mean. scary. scary vampire kuwana

here's your treat: some late stage Joiner fun...and another person 👀

A moment ago, a clean-cut and well-put-together mature man had escorted her down the Incitatus. Now the very opposite looked back at her. He was still fundamentally the same man, but his clear green eyes were now bloodshot and bleary, ringed with dark red circles and deep crows feet. His ginger hair was shaggy and greasy, and his beard had suddenly grown an extra and uneven inch. There was a deep scar on his cheek which his beard had no hope of covering. It cut down from the cheek bone to his jaw, the skin discolored. He still had a muscular build, but he was heavy about his waist and hips. His clothes, which had looked so nice, had in one instant grown threadbare and worn. The trousers were wrinkled and stained, the checkered shirt’s collar was frayed and the buttons strained against his waist.

Rey backed away from the man, and the backs of her knees hit the hard frame of a bed. She glanced about her, realizing she was in another room. Crew quarters, by the looks of it, although the room was in shambles. Empty glass bottles littered the surface of the desk and end table, and clothes were strewn about the floor, the desk chair, and the bed.

“Sorry ta scare ye, lass,” Joiner said, walking over to the desk. “Needed ta talk te ya in private, ya know?”

“What is going on?” Rey demanded.

Joiner’s stubby fingers found the top button of his shirt, and as he began to undo them, Rey looked away. Joiner shed his shirt and let it fall to the ground with its comrades. Rey risked a glance and discovered Joiner was wearing a plain white sleeveless shirt underneath. He pushed the clothes in his chair to the ground and settled down in it, looking up at Rey with those bloodshot eyes.

“Yer in danger, lass,” Joiner said directly. “Gaius has got his First Order boys comin’ to take ye. Collectin’ on that bounty ye racked up fer yeself blowin up Starkiller Base.”

Rey felt a wave of adrenaline kick in, and her mind was ready to leap into fight-or-flight. She fought to keep control of herself. “Why—why are you telling me this?”

Joiner didn’t immediately answer. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I owe ye.”

“What?”

“You an’ yer buddies—ye did something useful destroyin’ that thing. Ye know, I drank to ye when I heard about it. I ain’t got no affection for the First Order, lass.” He shook his head and leaned forward. “The hell am I sayin’, my feelings don’t matter here. Ye gotta get yerself off this ship, lass, and I’m lookin’ te help ya.”

Rey stared at Joiner, entirely unsure what to make of this situation. That Gaius would turn her in did not surprise her. That his right hand man would help her escape…that was fishy.

“Why should I believe you?” Rey asked in a breath.

“I’m all bare te ye, lass,” he said, spreading his arms out to make his point. “No tricks or nothin’. No Force shit. Ye can probe around if ye like, ‘though I wouldn’t doddle if I were ye.” Rey said nothing to that, but only narrowed her eyes at him. She had realized the moment she laid her gaze on Joiner that this was the “real” one, rather than that illusion he had presented earlier. But that didn’t mean she was just going to trust him.

Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her hand in a powerful grasp. Instinctively she tried to pull away, but then she felt something deep within—sincerity, guilt, and genuine fear. Rey looked into Joiner’s face and saw these emotions reflected there. “Do ye believe me now?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

[trivial-writing]

I’m back! It’s earlier than I expected. Here’s some updates with the family before we get into the main topic of the post: my brother’s spouse is now cishet. She is currently in therapy right now with my brother. The younger of my older brothers stayed at our house instead of moving out.

On to the main topic of the post. Masculinity and femininity in Avatar the Last Airbender. More specifically, the parallelism between Ozai, Hakoda, and Iroh for masculinity. As for femininity, I want to look at Kya and Ursa. This is mainly going to look at the effects of lacking masculine and feminine figures in a family and how loss affects individuals in the family.

If your tiktok and youtube shorts algorithm is anything like mine, then you keep seeing the Fresh and Fit and Whatever podcasts spew absolute mockery of what they think being a “man” is like. If I were on those podcasts, I would call them boys, because that’s what they are. They are not men. They are boys in a man’s body.

Iroh, however, is a man. He has patience, compassion, confidence, loyalty, wisdom, joy, and other positive traits. HE is the peak of masculinity. I remember when watching Overanalyzing Avatar’s Day of Black Sun analysis, something caught my attention. He said that Iroh was Zuko’s loving father figure and Ozai was Zuko’s actual father. I would disagree. Ozai is Zuko’s fake father. Iroh is Zuko’s actual father. When Zuko lashes out, Iroh doesn’t clap back with equal aggression. When Zuko leaves Iroh, Iroh doesn’t prevent his “nephew” from choosing his decision. Iroh follows Zuko until the “The Chase.” He doesn’t tell Zuko anything. He lets Zuko make his own decisions. After Zuko betrays Iroh, Iroh isn’t mad at his son. He’s sad. He mourns the fact that, in a sense, he lost another son. He mourns Zuko’s path of destruction. After Zuko leaves his first prison visit, we see Iroh crying in his cell. During Tales of Ba Sing Se, Iroh spends his biological son’s, Lu Ten’s, birthday tending to other young males, things Iroh would’ve wanted to do with Lu Ten. I’m sure of it. Soon, the writers reveal that it was Lu Ten’s birthday. Iroh finds a setting like Lu Ten’s grave. Then, one of the best songs committed to lyrical music for television plays. Iroh doesn’t blame Lu Ten’s death on the Earth Kingdom like Jet did with the Fire Nation and his parents. Instead, he blames himself. In Sozin’s Comet Part Two: The Old Masters, when Zuko comes to apologizes to Iroh, he is on his hands and knees pleading for forgiveness. He cries with a raspy voice. And in that moment, Zuko is immediately taken in a warm embrace with his loving father figure. Zuko is baffled saying, “How can you forgive me so easily? I thought you would be furious with me.” To which, Iroh, a true father, a true man, says, “I was never mad at you. I was sad because I thought you lost your way.” He is proud in Zuko that Zuko found his way on his own. Iroh doesn’t take that time to praise himself. He focuses on Zuko. Zuko, the son he found after he lost his previous one. Zuko, the son who wnet away just like Lu Ten. But the difference here is that Zuko, Little Soldier boy, Brave Soldier boy, came marching home.

Speaking of that Zuko scene, let’s trash talk about the Fire Loser Lord. Like I said earlier in Iroh’s section, Ozai is Zuko’s fake father, if you can even call them that. In The Storm, the origin of Zuko’s scar is revealed. A thirteen year old boy wants to be a good Fire Lord, and in doing so, he finds his way into the Fire Lord’s meeting room. Zuko stays quiet as told by his true father until a general devises a terrible plan. Zuko is challenged to an Agni Kai. He is confident because he thinks he’ll fight the general. Instead, he steps up to the ring and finds his father. He is on his hands and knees, begging his father for forgiveness. Ozai, the absolute monster, seeing his SON on his hands and knees, decides to burn his face. He says suffering will be your teacher.” When Zuko kidnaps Aang in the North Pole, he reveals Ozai told his SON that “she was born lucky … I was lucky to be born.” That is not a father, let alone a man. Please tell me, how is Ozai a man? How is Ozai a father? Can you call Ozai a father? I think not. But Zuko is not the only victim to Ozai’s “parenting.” Azula too is a victim. In the first or second part of Sozin’s Comet (i forgot) it is revealed how she is afraid of her father. The very idea of her father leaving her behind. She is afraid of Ozai treating her like Zuko. She is a mere puppet to Ozai. Ozai manipulates her to find joy in being Fire Lord, a clear downgrade to being the Phoenix Princess. Ozai molds her into being daddy’s little monster. I’m not a psychologist, but I think Azula has problems with perfection. She can’t face the idea of her being imperfect in her father’s eyes. She tries hard to please her father. She tries to please him as much as she can. Now, I don’t really call the comics cannon. I think it’s inconsistent to the show, but I really like Ursa’s backstory. She is forced into an unhealthy marriage. There are subtle undertones of sexual abuse. She is walking on egg shells with Ozai. May I pose another question? How is Ozai a husband? Can you call Ozai a husband? I can’t. It’s impossible. With Hakoda next, I want to mention this parallelism, Ozai has two children. A firstborn son and second born daughter. The daughter catches the attention of everyone while the son is viewed as a lower individual to his sister. Ozai sends both of his children away. He forces his children to fight. He sends CHILDREN to a war. Not just CHILDREN, but his own BLOOD RELATED CHILDREN.

Now, let’s look at Hakoda. Hakoda is a chieftain. His children consists of a firstborn son, a nonbender, and a gifted waterbending daughter. Katara, the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe. Hakoda nurtures both his children. He treats Sokka as an equal to Katara. He favors both of them. He ensures one child is treated the same as the other. Hakoda goes out to fight in the war. In Bato of the Southern Water Tribe, a flashback shows how mich of a man Hakoda is. Sokka wants to fight in the war. Hakoda stops his son. In Hakoda’s willingness to protect his children, he forces Sokka to stay home, and protect his sister and the rest of the tribe, probably assuming the war wouldn’t affect the tribe anymore, with the Fire Nation assuming the last Waterbender is dead. Hakoda forces his kids to stay home while he fights in war. Ozai forces his kids to fight while he sits on his throne, like a scared little boy. As a reiteration, Hakoda forces his kids to stay home, safe and sound, while he fights to protect others, like a protector and true father. Hakoda tells his children how proud he is of them and says how their mother would be too. Like a true man, Hakoda fosters care for his children, teaches his children, and supports his children.

Hakoda and Iroh are true men. True fathers. Ozai is a coward. Ozai is a monster. Ozai is a child in a man’s body. Ozai is a 30-ish (i’m guessing his age) child who steals the honor of the 16-17 year old man that is somehow related to him.

As for femininity, Ursa isn’t the angel some people and even the writers want to push. Ursa didn’t even bother trying to steer Azula to the right path. If Ursa had given Azula the same amount of guidance that she did with Zuko, Azula would’ve gotten the redemption arc she deserved. Ursa plays favorites with Zuko while Azula suffers. Azula needed a proper mother figure. Ursa is a woman that shows the virtues of femininity. She is caring, wise, protective, proactive, reactive, durable, and supportive, but her folly is in how, or rather who, she shows her femininity to. A true mother would nurture both her children no matter what. Ursa isn’t as terrible as Ozai, but she’s not an angel either.

A better mother figure could be Kya. We don’t know much about her, but what we can gleam from her very few appearances and the comics to my chagrin, she was caring. In the Southern Raiders, it is her care for her child that makes her lay down her life for the sake of her child. Kya does have favoritism towards Katara over Sokka, but I can be completely wrong. Kya is firm in handling Yon Rha. Unlike what toxic masculinity says, Kya is firm. She is also a protector. She doesn’t marry Hakoda for status. It’s clear in North and South that she married Hakoda out of true love. Hakoda married Kya not for her to be child bearer, but as a person who can care for him and he for her.

A very important theme in Avatar is how war affects the household. It is the lack of positive feminine and masculine figures in Sokka’s life that makes him sexist in the first few episodes of the show. It is the lack of a healthy parental figure in Azula’s life that makes Azula mentally breakdown. It is Ozai’s lack of fraternal care that pots Zuko and Azula against each other in the Final Agni Kai. It is Ozai’s lack of true masculinity that steers Zuko away from the path his mother and Iroh set him to follow. It is the lack of a maternal figure in Katara’s life that forces her to mature into a simile of what a feminine mother is. I didn’t really talk about Toph’s parents here, but the same applies here too. It is Toph’s parents’ lack of personal quality time that makes her leave. It’s her parents’s lack of understanding and open mindedness that forces them to see their daughter as a fragile object. Objectification can go in many ways. Whether it be in lust, in utility (think Azula), in entertainment (Zuko and Ozai probably), and, in Toph’s case, false care and compassion.

[etaindelaserna]

Hello again....Do you mind if I ask your top 5 (or top 10) favorite moments from any media that you love (can books, anime/manga, tv series, movies, games, etc)? Thanks if you want to answer. Sorry if I ask too much or if I accidentally send this ask twice.....

Hello! Don't worry! I'm always appreciative when I see one of your asks pop up. So. Here. We. Go. As always in no particular order:

Gandalf talks to Frodo in Moria about Gollum (The Fellowship of the Ring)

There is something about that dialogue that always struck me as true, as something that touches our very essence. Not passing judgment too hastly, but also that our life is full of opportunities and each day we are confronted with the question what to do with this day. Nothing is lost. It just hasn't happened yet. We can choose whether we want to succeed or fail, whether we want to be good or bad.

Naruto confronts Zabuza about Haku (Naruto)

That moment never fails to make me tear up. Until that moment I didn't even consider Zabuza to be capable of having emotions but Naruto tore his armor away and revealed the deep connection he shared with Haku. I felt sad watching them die and yet it taught me and Naruto a lot about the shinobi lifestyle.

The truth about Itachi is revealed (Naruto)

Yeah, that one was a shock. I always wanted to believe that there was more to Itachi's story other than that he killed his whole clan because he "wanted to test his strength". Especially because he always tried to avoid a fight with Konoha shinobis and definitely didn't seem keen on killing them. But that Itachi sacrificed everything except Sasuke for the village -- that was a punch.

Luffy fights Arlong for Nami (One Piece)

Everything came together in that moment. I knew from the moment Nami couldn't let Zoro drown that something was up and when Arlong showed her that he will never ever let her or her village go, her desperation and fragility accumulated into pure epicness: asking Luffy to help her, Luffy trusting her with his hat and the boys just ready to beat the shit out of Arlong and his crew.

Theoden's speech at the Pelennor Fields (Return of the King)

Goosebumps. Every single time. The words. The music. Everything that leads up to it was pure desperation and then the riders arrive and god damn it. They came. They showed up to fight against the evils of Mordor. I was 13 when I saw this scene for the first time and I wanted to ride with them into battle.

Mufasa's ghost (The Lion King)

Mufasa's death must be something that has been ingrained into every millenials DNA. Just thinking about this scene, the music, Mufasa's desperation to save his son, his face when Scar betrays him, Simba's fear and sadness when he discovers that his father is dead ... it's a tragedy that speaks to one of our deepest fears: the loss of a parent or a loved one. And then ... he comes back to guide Simba, to remind him of his responsibility. It hits home.

Jon Snow's resurrection (Game of Thrones)

Jon was easily one of my favourite characters of the show. When he was killed I didn't want to accept it. It just wasn't possible that this was the end. This was all it amounted to: dead, because he did the right thing. Just like Ned and Robb. So when he was brought back to life I felt alive, too. It gave me hope that after all this something good would come out of it ... but yeah, then season 7 and 8 happened.

Vader saves Luke from the Emperor (The Return of the Jedi)

Another moment that just touched something within me. Luke's love for his father made him turn back to the light side. I've known Star Wars since I can remember but it still makes me cheer. It restores hope.

Morgain brings Arthur to Avalon (The Mists of Avalon)

I always felt that Arthur and Morgain were meant to be, but destiny made them half siblings. And when after all their hardships and years of separation, even after Morgain tried to dethrone Arthur and after he killed Mordred, she still seeked him out, only to find him mortally wounded from the battle -- and Arthur accepted her, was glad to see her one last time and asked her to bring him to Avalon. I felt the tragedy and sadness of their story. I also always felt that Arthur truly loved Morgain but knew that it could never be. So her kidness at the end, promising him, that she wasn't going to leave again, was at least some closure for me.

Harry learns the real truth about Sirius (The Prisoner of Azkaban)

This twist, that Sirius wasn't the one who betrayed Liliy and James, was such a surprise. But what sold the moment for me was the relief Harry felt when after years of abuse and neglect by the Dursleys, he would be able to live with Sirius. I loved that moment. It was so easy to imagine how happy Harry must have felt in that moment.