#a fellow exile!!!

[ataryutaro]

THE MANY COLORS OF THE RAMPAGE FROM EXILE TRIBE

[hopkei]

Random Fanta photos (31/?)

[tacticalgrandma]

I’m going to break my skeleton trying to process tonight’s dnd session

[skxrbrand]

“ the Masque told her foe of her own exile, for she had been banished by her god just as Skarbrand had been banished by his. This won the raging Daemon’s ear, for a time.”

Ya know, I didn’t understand why folks shipped them but now I kinda do

[victormasato]

I feel like I need to follow more people on here... My Following page is currently dominated by one person alone 😅

[cryptidscribbler]

Marcille: Eat monsters? Like some kind of criminal so vile that was condemned to exile from civilization?

Chil: Don't trust those that help you for nothing.

Senshi: Hello fellow adventurers! Let me show you how to cook monsters. I know how to do this because I've lived in the dungeon (like an exile) for a totally non-suspicious number of years. I'll fight, bleed and cook for you. No need to pay. I'll totally not poison you or stab you in your sleep.

Everyone: This is fine. I have no follow-up questions.

[luvether]

CAMPFIRES & UNBLED WOUNDS, the exiled prince never understood why he was curious about your touch, about you. mydei x gn!reader. 2.3k wc

“So you were here, my prince.”

The chirping of crickets subdue at the interruption, and he sees a familiar shadow settle onto the moss and mildew and dirt beside his feet, stretching longer with the puddles of moonlight grinning down at him.

Mydeimos—sitting on the rheumy rocks with his goblet in hand—does not have to tip his chin up to know the owner of the one who called out to him, it was the tone that’s as gentle as the warm wind gossiping a glee on a dewy morning, a voice that’s all too soft and careful to belong to his battle companions, instead it was from you.

“The campfire’s long been extinguished and everyone’s turned in for the night. You should be doing the same, you know.”

“I have a lot on my mind.” Mydei had answered you. “Too restless to sleep.”

For a moment, his response was met with silence. Mydeimos had the urge to glance over his shoulder to check if you were still there—but before he does, you speak.

“Well, that makes the two of us then.”

“You should not…” The rebuttal clumsily slips down his tongue when you’d finally come closer, your shadow giving way to your familiar figure as you appeared at the corner of his vision, settling soundlessly on the empty spot beside him.

Your eyes rest on him, “Should not what, my lord?”

Mydeimos lets out a huff. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone since the afternoon healing our warriors, it is you that needs the rest.”

“And leave our gracious prince out here by himself?”

There was mirth in the way you speak, your gaze settled on the distant stretch of ocean before you both. “Hephaestion was the last to turn in, but he had asked for you when he did not see you in your tent. What am I to do when I face him in the morn had I left you here and slept cozily in my mattresses?”

It was the first tonight when a smile stumbled onto his lips, the corners tipping up in a half-dimpled smile. He shakes his head, an exhale thick with the contents of a laugh. “You jest, surely?”

“He’s your most trusted, of course he worries for you.” You tell him. “Though, you’re gonna steel yourself and tell me—there is no such thing as concern within the Kremnoan language? I can hear such words already.”

You were too focused conjuring up silly teasings that you’d never noticed how the prince’s gaze was on you, no longer had the distant protrusions of rocks from beneath the unruly waves in the distance selfishly caged his attention—his honey-hued eyes beneath the silver moonlight had made the golden in his gaze more sharper and brighter than before, it’s like opening up an oyster to find a dainty pearl on the heart of its mollusk.

The way Mydeimos smiled at you with his dimples made your heart stir and you turned away, clearing the clog of words in your throat.

Jovial playfulness smooths back to comforting silence.

The air tasted of sea-salt—the perks of being near a body of water, and Mydeimos breathed out a thick exhale. Usually, the exiled Kremnoan prince would voice out his gripe at every minor display of disturbance when his mind is sullied with burdening concerns and it’s not like he’s a man who’d brood in isolation—no, Mydeimos would sit around his fellow countrymen usually, sharing a drink by the crackling bonfire after a successful battlefront won over by their Kremoan vigor.

It’s just that they’ve experienced quite a harsh fight with one of their foes of the sea-city states a week ago, many Kremnoans came back severely injured so company was the least assurance the prince wanted.

But for some reason, he cannot utter a single thing when you sit by him, gazing out at the same ocean that’s all violent waves with teeth of white foam and tongue of sea-salt.

Maybe it was the fact that you were their medic—Mydeimos never had the luxury to be patched up by you—his immortality ridding any wounds and injuries before they can be fussed over. But his keen honey eyes would look on unmovingly at times where he catches you bandaging up his men in the distance, particularly with how utterly gentle you seem.

It was a foreign thing in his eyes, then again you were not from Castrum Kremnos, they had just picked you up during their expedition across Amphoreus when you had claimed to be someone who knew a thing or two about being a medical practitioner. Mydeimos was practically untouchable so taking someone like you would’ve been more of a hindrance, they already had Perdikkas for such a situation.

But his soldiers weren’t like him, he had already seen some of them fall in battle or succumb to illnesses he wasn’t familiar with. Even the medic himself had vouched for you—saying that having another pair of hands to help the wounded wouldn’t hurt.

So with great reluctance, Mydeimos beckoned you to join. It has already been a few months since then and you have proven to be a valued asset to his party, not only as a medic but rather, a close companion of his.

He resurfaces from his thoughts when he feels a thumb run across his cheek, he’d flinch and the feeling fades just as quick as it came. You have completely caught his attention now and you seem to stumble on rolls of apologies for touching him so carelessly, expecting an ire from him.

“I apologize,” you said. “there was red on your cheek so I thought you were injured…”

Unconsciously, he lifts his ungloved hand and pushes it at the spot on his cheek in which your touch lingered like an aftertaste.

Soft.

Your touch was so sophisticatedly soft and…

“Cold.”

Mydei’s rasp stirs you. “Pardon?”

“Your fingers.” He reiterates with an unreadable baritone. “They’re really cold.”

He did not expect your eyes to waver, nor did he expect the look of shame to flush your cheeks.

Mydeimos frowns at that. “Tell me, what did you do?”

“I…doused them in the river just south of camp when I was washing the bloodied clothes of the soldiers.” You answer simply. “The water’s frigid, it was almost bone-chilling despite the early rise of moonlight—”

“Why do such a thing?”

He does not mean to pry so frankly, you seem reluctant to reply but you needn’t explain further. Mydei had already pieced together the reason.

Being a medic is just as difficult as being a warrior. The prince has seen it all, time and time again, the state of his folks when they’re dragged back from battle—almost torn and severely injured, bloodied and mutilated and ribboned—just how much have you nursed them all back to health? To stitch up capillaries to muscle and skin? for your tender fingers to be caked with hot blood and cold grime that felt like a stain on your flesh even after washing them away numerous times?

He cannot help but bring his attention back to your fingers, and to both of your surprise, he was the one that reached out first.

His calloused hand touches your cold ones, running a rough thumb across your open palm to start. To him, he felt a notable hint of tremor in your fingertips, something he tried to cradle softly.

And to you, there's a mild prickle at the aftermath of the prince’s rough-hewn hands against your own.

“How are you feeling?” Mydei asks and it’s such a simple question, it’s so simple and yet you find yourself at a loss of what to say. You didn’t need to, he clasped your hand then, drawing it closer until both your fingers interlaced together.

“My lord, such a thing—“

Your cheeks surrender to the flushed heat, Mydeimos’ hands are calloused yet very tender. You don’t know what the prince wanted you to acknowledge, you’re just surprised he was the first who was willing to touch you so daringly.

“Refrain from doing that again.” His baritone reverberates through his chest, a gentle lecture slipping between his teeth. “Cold therapy may help you now but I've seen my comrades develop trench foot before. It’s in our best interest if you, the medic, is healthy at all costs. Just come find me whenever you have troubles with anything, okay?”

His honey eyes are on you. “Stay for as long as you wish, until your hands stop trembling from the cold.” Until you’re okay, you can hear the aftermath of concern brushing your ears.

You let out a finicky chuckle. “It was supposed to be me comforting you, not the other way around.”

“I’m fine.” Mydeimos answered. “I cannot die—“

“Cannot die in physical essence but your heart can still hurt from grief.” You squeeze back on his own. “And who knows, Mydeimos? You may be stabbed and injured numerous times but what if one day, when an enemy stabs you and you die, what would your people think? What do you think I would feel?”

It was merely a hypothesis for you, but the gravity of your theory tosses weight onto his shoulders, his chest caving in and his spine tingling, especially at the thoracic region. But instead of worrying about your words, Mydeimos observes you from the corner of his eye once again—he finds himself doing that as of late, and a ghost of a smile is on his lips, a teasing of his own at the tip of his tongue.

“Maybe it’s you who worries a lot about me, not Hephaestion.” He pokes at you, his playfulness catches you off guard and you find yourself sputtering.

“You could drown—“

“Then, I can simply swim.”

“What about a fatal stab? If you die from—“

Mydeimos tries his hardest from rolling his eyes. “And you think one measly stab would cut me down completely? Sometimes you wound me with your lack of faith—“

“I’m being serious, Mydeimos.”

And this time, the prince brings your hand close to him and lays it flat above his heart.

That renders your worries short, feeling the heavy beat of his heart on his chest, the evident embrace of warmth that dances along your open palm.

“Does it feel like I’d drop dead somewhere anytime soon?”

Your fear soon withers away from your chest, but Mydeimos does not let go of your hand, tracing his thumb up and down the pulse of your wrist.

“Does it?” He asks you, barely a whisper.

You shake your head but the tension is already thick in the air, electrifying. You find yourself reaching for every inch of vitality within him, any sign of life that you can feel beneath your palm. At first it was the apical pulse on his chest, then you started to draw patterns on his denuded skin—fingers tracing down the carmine tattoos that splay across his body as you searched.

It wasn’t sensual, per say, but your hands grasped him in desperation to feel life, a breath and a sharp pulse and he’s right,

Unlike the injured soldiers that were cold and trembling beneath your fingers before they died and dried—the prince is warm, blood pumping and heart erratic. Touching him brings you some sort of selfish solace and the trembling coldness of your fingertips are quickly blanketed by Mydeimos’ body heat as you curiously trace the red that marks up his body—up his carotid arteries on his neck until it reaches the edge of his tendrils.

“Your hair is tangled, your highness.” It was your soft murmur as you leaned close to him, then your fingers reached out to comb through his thick peach-puddled blond hair.

“Is that so?” He voices, eyes trained on you. The gaps between the two of you are quick to eat up, especially with the way Mydeimos is leaning onto your hand. He’s been trying since the first few months, to not be too overly concerned with your touch every time he sees you tending to his men, but even he cannot deny that he had always been curious since the moment you first join,

He was curious about your touch on him, or simply, how gentle you would touch him like you do the rest.

And just as he suspected, your touch is rather feather-like when you start to fiddle tiny braids onto his hair. Remnants of your fingers seem to linger at every mark in his body—

A rustle shatters the atmosphere and you both are quick to pull away. Mydeimos hides the sneer on his expression when Hephaestion emerges from the bushes,

“Oh, so you both were here—”

“What is it—” when Hephaestion stares at him in shock, especially with how snappy he sounded, Mydeimos falters, clearing his throat, “—I mean, what seems to be the matter, Hephaestion?”

You snicker beside him, but when Mydeimos points a glare your way, you yourself clear your own throat.

“Nothing, I was simply wondering where the two of you have gone. Sightseeing without us?”

“Sightseeing is an understatement, we were simply sharing a conversation or two is all.”

“Well, judging by the moon high in the sky, it’s best to wrap up those conversations soon. You both need ample rest after the events that happened for the past few days, have you forgotten that we would march west in the morning?”

At your lack of responses, Hephaestion sighs.

“I’m sure the crickets and herbs are honored at your company, but the detachment move for the west awaits us all, now make haste.”

“Alright, alright we got it.” Mydeimos sighs. Hephaestion had left first as the two of you stood at your feet, brushing crumbs of grime from your attire.

“My lord?”

Mydeimos turns at your call, he sees the slightest hint of twinkle in your eyes against the foam-salted air. “Thank you, for tonight.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes.” You answer, rubbing your warm fingertips. “Much better, I hope your concerns have eased as well.”

“You know, I was serious when I said that if you have any troubles, just come find me, maybe we can speak our minds again like tonight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You chuckle. “Promise me you won’t go dying somewhere else.”

“Without your permission?” His dimpled-smile returns. “I wouldn’t even dream of it.”

[philosophicalconservatism]

I saw someone comment online that the reason people believe that their side is more tolerant than their political opponent's side is because they never experience what happens when they disagree with their own side.

Children's author JK Rowling however obviously knows exactly what it's like to disagree with her own side. 1970's Feminist icon Germaine Greer also knows what it is like to disagree with her own side. The price is to be pilloried and ostracized; to be excluded from your own media events, and to have honorary doctorates withdrawn .

But Conservatives also know what it is like to disagree with their fellow Conservatives. Conservative commentator Tomi Lahren, for example, is pro choice but is accepted by the Conservative movement. We don't flagellate people who agree with us on most issues because they disagree with us on one issue. The modern Left however tolerates no breaking of ranks. Everyone must fall in line with the ideological orthodoxy on every major point or be exiled.

[machveil]

MEDUSA!KÖNIG OH MY GOD

have we considered Medusa!König because I think my head is going to explode from excitement. can we imagine Blind!Reader x Medusa!König??? CAN WE IMAGINE THE ANGST AND FLUFF???

Medusa!König who yearns for companionship but banished himself away. his early life being filled with fear and uncertainty, soldiers and warriors hearing of a beast that can turn mortals to stone. a monster that, should it best you, will leave your horrified image to corrode with the earth. except this ‘beast’, this ‘monster’, is a scared child. a mortal gorgon, copper snakes writhing as he hides his eyes from the men looking for his head. his snakes also bear the ability - his own self named curse - to turn men to stone with their beady eyes. shielding his own gaze from the soldiers, tuning out their cries for mercy, pleading to the gods

Medusa!König that exiles himself, covering his head with a sack that once held grains. despite fleeing to an isolated cave he keeps it on, heart shattering when small critters are turned to stone from his wet, glossy gaze. his only company are the snakes that coil together, seemingly aware of how König wishes for more. maybe they’re sentient, maybe they recognize him as the one in charge, either way, they gently bop his cheeks with their heads. soft hissing often in his ears, only completely silent once night falls and the moon is high in the sky. when his cave is illuminated by faint moonlight, only at night does König shed the bag over his head. only then does König get to gaze skywards, constellations and flickering stars quietly accompanying him

Medusa!König who isn’t adjusted to interacting with others - a gut wrenching fear aimed towards the gods and mortals alike, any being in between. resentment towards his fellow gorgons, mourning the loss of what he could have had with humanity. on days where his heart isn’t racing from nerves he sits in the mouth to the cave, bag tugged up enough for only his eyes. deep breathes, hands smoothing over rock and stone as he watches the clouds, glancing at shimmering golden fields. thumbs grazing pebbles and gravel, unknowingly seeking comfort in the earth. his eyes are cast away from the major towns and cities, afraid that, even from a distance, he’ll freeze another mortal in time

Medusa!König whose heart sinks when he hears a rock tumble, some poor creature roaming around his cave. maybe a deer had wandered from a forest, a fawn who doesn’t know better than to leave it’s home. “Ah—”, suddenly he ceases to breathe, frozen and stiff when he hears a gasp. they’ve come for him again, some burly soldier looking to take his head as a prize, a mere object. but the soft pad of bare feet has him pause, no soldier would come barefoot in this terrain. he can’t look, bag tugged down over his eyes. maybe if he wasn’t panicked he’d be more careful - he knows how to traverse the cave without his sight. but he stumbles, a grunt escaping him as he catches himself before his fall. “Hello?”, blood running cold, he stands still. maybe this is more terrifying than swords and bloodshed, men coming for his head. he knows bloodthirsty warriors, what he doesn’t know, isn’t familiar with, is the soft tone of your voice laced with concern

[gffa]

I have been drifting back to STAR WARS fandom lately and I have been greatly rewarded for it, especially in the gen fic veins, because there have been some banger fics authors have been putting out! And the thing that really gets me in the fannish heart is that there's more and more fics about the Jedi, both for exploring the characters and the culture. I have been able to find multiple fics that have been kind to Mace Windu! I have been able to find multiple fics that explain what attachment actually is to the Jedi and to Star Wars! I have been able to find multiple fics that lift my spirit up or punch me in the feelings in exactly the right way, both for the usual disaster lineage faves, but also for the Jedi as a whole. I'm serious, that means the world to me in this fandom, and I desperately want to share that with you all. LET ME SHOVE FIC AT YOU THAT LOVES THESE CHARACTERS AND THIS WORLD AS MUCH AS I DO!!

FICS THAT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE WITH HOW GOOD THEY WERE: ✦ wayfinding by night by wrennette, obi-wan & luke & cast, time travel, 10.2k     Before him stood a fellow Jedi, worn and weary with loss. Obi-Wan finds himself on Ahch-To and helps Luke find a path through his grief. ✦ may you inherit his light by notbecauseofvictories, leia & bail & anakin & cast, 2.5k     When your father dies, say the Coruscanti, you are left clutching a star map for a different galaxy. In this, as in many things, Leia is her fathers' daughter. ✦ No Freedom From the Storm (But Peace In Its Midst) by Be_Right_Back, mace & cast, ~1k     Mace is freefalling. On his way down, he meets Hatred, and reaches for Serenity. ✦ "...if you remain his student" by Peppermint_Shamrock, anakin & ahsoka & cast, 3.9k     Ahsoka doesn't leave the Jedi Order. This does not save Anakin. This was never going to save Anakin. Nor stop him. ✦ a distant fire is burning by e_va, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cal, time travel, 47.4k wip     Cal Kestis can move backwards in time (kinda-sorta-not really), and his confrontation with Darth Vader in the Fortress Inquisitorius plays out a lot differently. Fixing the timeline while stuck in his 10-year-old body will be quite the task, but Cal is up to it. He has to be. (Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the clone troopers have no idea what to make of Kenobi's weird new padawan. At least the kid fits in, though.) ✦ No Death, Only the Force by ExtraPenguin, anakin & mace & depa & shmi, 2.8k     Anakin Skywalker is just about to to free his mother from the Tuskens when the Force rudely yanks him to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant – and into Mace Windu's body. Mace, on the other hand, gets tossed into Anakin's body on Tatooine. ✦ Well Met by avocadomoon, obi-wan/padme (unconsumated) & corde & anakin, 19k     "Here and then gone again," Padmé said. "It must be lonely." "Sometimes," Obi-Wan said. "But a Jedi is never truly alone."

THIS FANDOM HAS A HAMMER AND A WHOLE BUNCH OF NAILS AND A REALLY GOOD STAPLE GUN, WE'RE FIXING WHAT CANON BROKE AND NOBODY CAN STOP US NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ Begin again by mauvera, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & padme & mace & dooku & cast, time travel, 78.9k     Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. ✦ Repetition by Peppermint_Shamrock, cody & obi-wan, time loop, 3k     Cody wakes up from a nightmare on the way to Utapau, again and again.

CANON-COMPLIANT (MOSTLY, UP TO A CERTAIN POINT, WHATEVER) DISASTER LINEAGE: ✦ it's like i can feel time moving by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 5.4k     “Hi,” Anakin says. It's after midnight. “Is everything alright?” “Can’t a man stop by his old master’s room?” Obi-Wan stares at him blankly. “Are you out of food?” ✦ yes, I will take you / I will love you, again by foreverstudent, obi-wan & anakin & cast, time travel, 2.5k     "So you have tried, Padawan." Qui-Gon takes a moment, and his expression is steely but not unkind--the one Obi-Wan remembers from particularly grueling training sessions. "Would you try again, if you had the chance?" OWK!Obi-Wan gets another chance, with a child he once left behind. ✦ No Good Deed Goes Unpunished by kittona, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.1k     Anakin gets a bit overprotective when his loved ones are sick. Luckily, he has the best home remedy for a cold. ✦ nothing a cup of tea can't fix by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.5k     when Anakin shows up to Obi-Wan's quarters in the middle of the night, the Jedi Master knows something has gone awry. answering Anakin's desperate cry for help, Obi-Wan is reminded of how very, very prone to dramatics his former padawan and grand padawan are. or Ahsoka gets sick and Anakin flips his shit. ✦ Stick Figures by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2k     war is hard. war is draining. to make it more bearable, little mementos* are routinely given. *mementos: encouraging notes, funny little drawings, little gifts, fun snacks, and poems which might get Anakin in trouble. ✦ When the Ground Breaks by stolen_pen_name23, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 4.7k     An earthquake causes devastation on the planet of Berchest. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka work together to help save civilians until disaster pulls them apart. ✦ never fear, young one by marverse, obi-wan & ahsoka & cast, 6.2k     Ever since her first day of being a padawan, Ahsoka Tano remembers the words that Master Skywalker had once told her. And every time, she wonders, wonders, and wonders. ✦ the street's a little kinder when you're home by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin, 5.2k     "So catch me up," Anakin says. "What did I miss?” Nothing. Nothing happens when you’re gone. “Oh, the usual.” [or: anakin goes missing. obi-wan doesn't handle it well.] ✦ holding anchor by foreverstudent, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 3.2k     At the landing of Point Rain, an injured Obi-Wan allows himself to be sentimental over his former padawan, and Anakin patches up his old master. ✦ Nothing to Say by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & satine, 3.2k     (or: Anakin and Satine don’t know how to talk to each other. Until they remember the very important thing they have in common.) ✦ Aggressive Negotiations by SkyBlue1309, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 2.2k     People forget that Anakin was raised by the Negotiator. He was bound to pick up on a thing or two. ✦ At The Window by Peppermint_Shamrock, obi-wan & anakin, ~1k     In the early days of Anakin's apprenticeship, Obi-Wan searches for him in the Temple. ✦ The Words by Ibelin, obi-wan & anakin, 3.9k     Obi-Wan Kenobi has never said I love you in his life. He can say a lot of other things, though.

JEDI CULTURE AND WORLDBUILDING AND CELEBRATION: ✦ Refractions of Light by Independence1776, ezra & kanan, 1.3k     Kanan celebrates a Jedi holiday with Ezra. ✦ The grand outing by Ingata, dooku & sifo-dyas & obi-wan & bant & garen & reeft & yoda & cast, 4.5k     Eight younglings and two Jedi masters on a field trip. What could possibly go wrong? ✦ into the statue that breathes by spoonks, obi-wan & feemor & cast, 8.5k     The night watch in the garden was supposed to be the calmest of them all. No mischievous Padawans “sneaking” in or out, or ne’er-do-well civilians conducting “business” around the lower-level entrances that they didn’t know existed. No the gardens was still, and it was like time was frozen in ice that slowly melted away with the rising of the sun. A slow drip, drip— Drip. Immediately Feemor turned towards the central waterfall. Someone was standing there. Whoever they were, they were small and moved through katas with their hands open like a greeting. ✦ The Temple vs. Order 66 by LauraBWrites, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cody & jedi & jedi temple, 3.9k     The Temple cannot defy the Will of the Force. But it can, it will prepare for the possible outcomes. It can damn well fight back. ✦ We Three Runaways. by Aethir, obi-wan & depa & komari, 2.7k     In which Depa and Obi-Wan bond, and a new sister is found. ✦ A Short Break by Peppermint_Shamrock, luke & yoda, ~1k     Luke complains about his training, and asks about Jedi training of old. ✦ we are made of our longest days by bereft_of_frogs, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 4.4k     Two years after the events of The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan and his new apprentice are called to a remote moon to fetch a baby who’s showing signs of a rare, unique power. On their journey home, Obi-Wan reflects on the last child he brought to the Temple and catches a faint glimpse of three possibly entwining futures.

I AM A PREQUELS ERA BITCH AND I'M MAKING THAT EVERYONE ELSE'S PROBLEM: ✦ the salle at dawn by maragny, anakin & mace, 1.5k wip     Master Windu is the best duellist in the Jedi Order. When Anakin Skywalker is seventeen, he duels Mace for the first time, and it ruins both of them for anyone else. ✦ Saving People Counts as Revenge, Right? by ImperialKatwala, obi-wan & anakin & dooku, time travel, 4.3k wip     Count Dooku of Serenno is an intelligent man. His methods may be a bit severe, and he may not be allowed true freedom to plan campaigns in the war he helped create, but he has always had an eye for strategy. Moving the pieces around the board and plotting out where they will need to be next. So, when he opens his eyes after Anakin Skywalker cut his head off, he knows to take a moment to assess what’s going on. ✦ if I could find solid ground again by maragny, anakin & depa, 1.5k     “You never told me what we’re doing today,” Anakin says, a little hesitant. “I…I don’t know much about Jedi things yet.” "Good thing we’re not doing Jedi things, then,” Depa replies. “We’re cooking!” Or, Anakin and Depa, finding their places in their family. ✦ Birds Fly in Different Directions by Triscribe, jedi & clones, time travel, 14.6k     In the corridor beyond her quarters, other Jedi were emerging from their own doors, most of them wide-eyed with shock. A few merely looked blearily concerned, and Aayla heard snatches of questions as she darted past, queries as to whether everyone experienced the same distressing vision. But those who clutched at their chests or throats, their weak points- those Jedi bore a muted horror in their eyes, and Aayla didn’t doubt they’d just suffered their own betrayals from trusted men.

✦ The Master, The Padawan, and The Force by Pandora151, padme & ahsoka, 1.9k     Padmé Naberrie was never one to procrastinate. More than that, she maintained a steady, consistent schedule — something that she’d managed to keep ever since she was a Padawan. She was always on top of everything, from her responsibilities with the war to training her own Padawan, Ahsoka. She was well-known throughout the Order for being steady, reliable. And most notably, no matter what, she didn’t just forget things. Which made her current situation all the more…ridiculous. ✦ Off-by-one Error by Jessepinwheel, obi-wan & cast, 12.2k     A stranger appears in the Jedi Temple. Nobody knows who he is or where he came from. Nobody knows what has happened to him except that it must have been something truly terrible. The stranger's name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. ✦ splinters of light by wrennette, dooku & jocasta & sifo-dyas & yoda & jaster & jango & cast, time travel, 22.5k     When Dooku's dying consciousness was sent back into his younger body, at first he remembered only that something important would happen on Korda VI, and soon. His investigations brought both clarity and confusion, and a conviction that he must atone for evils not yet enacted. ✦ The Road that Reaches by ExtraPenguin, anakin & mace & yoda & depa & shmi, 11.5k     As the Council sits down on Naboo to consider the newly-knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi's request to take young Anakin Skywalker as his padawan, they're informed of what transpired on Tatooine – and that Anakin used to be a slave. Mace Windu goes to interview the young child to confirm this, and gets rather more than he signed up for. ✦ the salle at dawn by maragny, anakin &/ mace, 5.1k     Master Windu is the best duellist in the Jedi Order. When Anakin Skywalker is seventeen, he duels Mace for the first time, and it ruins both of them for anyone else. ✦ through the dark (like two flames) by treescape, kanan/cal & quinlan, 5.3k     A Jedi found him on Bracca. Or, in the weeks after Order 66, Cal Kestis and Caleb Dume are reunited on Jabiim. Five years late, on the run from Inquisitors, they have a decision to make. ✦ Resilience by TemporaryUniverse, obi-wan & mace, 3.3k     Twelve years after his defeat at the Battle of Naboo, Obi-Wan's greatest enemy has returned from the dead. Obi-Wan has faced Maul and lost. Now it is time to face himself. ✦ The Buried Truth is Your Favorite Lie by Peppermint_Shamrock, dooku & yoda, ~1k     Dooku tries and fails to leave the past behind. ✦ Hanging On by the Last Threads of Our Hope by IllyanaA, ahsoka & rex, 5.2k     Ahsoka and Rex have endured too much. After the Fall, they stay together until they can't, but the Force has a way of bringing them back together. It's a fact for which both of them are immeasurably grateful.

MULTIGENERATIONAL STAR WARS IS THE BEST STAR WARS: ✦ Future Tense by CeruleanTactician, obi-wan & anakin & luke, time travel, 1.4k     Obi-Wan and Anakin find themselves twenty years in the future, where they meet a young man by the name of Luke Skywalker. ✦ Keepsakes by Coalmine301, obi-wan & leia, 2k     “You were the one who gave me my bantha, weren’t you?” “Yes,” Obi-wan nodded with a small smile. “Your father told me they were your favorite animal. At least then it was.” ✦ Why the Sith Don't Have Class Reunions by Peppermint_Shamrock, anakin & palpatine & maul & dooku & ventress, time travel, 1.9k     Sith apprentices rarely agree with one another (there’s a reason for the Rule of Two, after all), but Darth Sidious is starting to think that it’s worse when they do. ✦ My Dear Padawan by Tulak_Hord, luke & yoda & palpatine, time travel, 3.2k     In which a time-travelling Luke Skywalker successfully saves the Galaxy in perhaps the most horrifying manner imaginable. ✦ The Return by Pandora151, obi-wan & leia & haja, 1.4k     Haja wonders about the others. He wonders about the people he’s sent to the Path from Daiyu — not just Kenobi and the Princess, but that Force-sensitive boy and his mother, the Nautolan teenager from a few weeks ago, the young Kel Dor child and his even younger siblings. Did they all make it home? Are they safe? Was all of this worth it? ✦ Message From Guiding Light by Batsutousai, obi-wan & leia & mace, time travel, 2.2k     Ben and Leia never make it to Mapuzo on the borrowed supply shuttle, instead finding themselves in the middle of the Clone Wars.

FRIENDSHIP WITH CANON ENDED, THIS COOL AU IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND NOW: ✦ Not A Moment Too Soon by Triscribe, depa & kanan & cast, 2k     The first time she stumbled, her padawan said nothing, simply offering his shoulder for her to lean on. ✦ Parallel Lines by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin, time travel, time loop, 10.7k     Darth Vader leans back in his chair, allowing a small smile to form on his lips, hidden by his helmet. “There is no escape from this, Obi-Wan,” he utters. He looks down at the neat line of text, and the Force echoes his words. “No escape from the past.” ✦ through the dark (like two flames) by treescape, ca/kanan & quinlan, 5.3k     A Jedi found him on Bracca. Or, in the weeks after Order 66, Cal Kestis and Caleb Dume are reunited on Jabiim. Five years late, on the run from Inquisitors, they have a decision to make. ✦ Loth-Cats and Loth-Rats by TessaDoesThings, mace & depa & kanan & ezra, 19k     All Mace Windu wanted out of the Post-Clone Wars world was a simple trip with his lineage to the long-forgotten Jedi Temples of the Outer Rim. However, on Lothal, the three might have bitten off more than they expected. The Republic may have triumphed, but the roots of what could have become the empire are gripped in the corners of the galaxy, and it might be time for some aggressive space weeding. Or a coup d'etat. That would work too. ✦ a princess, a farmer, a teacher by jesuisdeux, obi-wan & luke & leia & bail, 1.4k     Early in the morning, a girl and few men knock on a door. They don't wear anything resembling a soldier, but Obi-Wan has been a soldier long enough to notice the tense shoulders and wary looks beneath civilian clothing. She doesn't wear anything resembling a princess, but Obi-Wan knows these fierce eyes and grace coming from a righteous cause. or A New Hope AU where Vader doesn't attack Leia's ship and Leia herself delivers the news to Obi-Wan and consequently Obi-Wan doesn't die. ✦ What I Wouldn't Give To See Your Ghost by Triscribe , depa & kanan & cast, time travel, 1.2k     “Who are you?” Depa demanded, externally calm but internally frantic. “What is this place? And where is my padawan?” ✦ when that day comes by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & maul, modern au/reincarnation au, 44.8k     [or: the alternate universe where anakin skywalker has the chance at some new life…but only if he saves the life of a reincarnated obi-wan kenobi. the catch: neither of them know who the other was in the galaxy far, far away…but that might very well change.]

[cosmicdahlias]

Christmas Across the Rio Grande

Logan Howlett x Reader

MINORS DNI

Christmas has come and you’re spending it getting drunk with an old, hardened Logan.

tags: age gap, alcohol use, drunk sex, couch sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie

sooo timeline-wise this takes place at the end of 2028. i tried to do my best research as to when caliban comes into the picture and there wasn’t much, but from what i’ve read it seems logan recruited him some time in 2029, so he will not be in this fic. sorry for posting a christmas fic a day late, i only got the idea for this two days ago 😭

Life had not been the same in months. Charles Xavier, once head and founder of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, had developed dementia, leading to frequent destructive telepathic seizures. One such seizure became known as the Westchester Incident, leaving the school destroyed, many injured, and some of your fellow mutants dead.

Having grown up in an orphanage until aging out of the system and spending the first eight years of adulthood on the streets, Charles was the closest thing you’d ever had to a father and the school was the only place that ever truly felt like home. In such a short time you had lost both. Even though Charles was still very much alive, the dementia left him a shell of his former self.

After Westchester the United States government declared Charles’ brain as a “weapon of mass destruction”, leaving you and another mutant to take him and go on the run, fleeing to an abandoned smelting plant in Mexico just across the Rio Grande.

The other mutant was the notorious Wolverine, Logan Howlett. For reasons unknown to you, his appearance had changed dramatically in the last five years. Despite not being able to age he looked like he’d gone from forty to sixty in record time.

Since escaping with you and Charles to Mexico, Logan had taken to going by “James”, his actual name, and worked as a limo driver in the border city of El Paso. He would regularly smuggle in the drugs to keep Charles’ seizures at bay.

In the days before Westchester you were never fond of Logan. He was a loner, seeming to keep everyone at arm’s length, save for those he would bed. Perhaps it was his tendencies towards promiscuity when he claimed to be in love with Jean Grey, a married woman, that irked you more than his personality.

He was passed around the mansion so frequently that from what you’d heard there were times he accidentally “double booked” himself. There was a part of you, buried somewhere deep, that harbored a resentment towards him for never seeking out your affections like he did for nearly any other adult with a pulse.

Living in close proximity since being thrust into exile with him had softened your opinions considerably. The shared trauma of losing everything and everyone had brought you two closer, as close as he would allow.

December was coming to an end. The nights were blisteringly cold and the winds only served to make them colder. The poorly insulated, run-down plant did little to protect you from the elements.

You were heading back inside from painstakingly, but successfully, attempting to medicate Charles. The heavy gales howled, making it a struggle to close the door before finally managing slam it shut. You turned around to see Logan sitting on the couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. He was wearing his typical non-work attire, a white tank top and jeans.

“He finally down?” He asked.

“For now, I swear those drugs used to knock him out for longer. He wouldn’t stop going on about Taco Bell for some reason.”

“Yeah, he uh… he does that a lot now.”

You gave a heavy sigh.

“It just sucks because it makes those moments where he acts like himself again hurt more.”

“What’d he say this time?”

“He just- I don’t know- whenever he actually says my name I know it’s him in there. Most of the time he calls me Jean, but I-“ your voice began to break “I don’t know how much more of this I can take Logan, watching his mind wither away into nothing.” You said, tears forming in your eyes.

For a moment you swore you saw a flicker of concern spread across his face.

“I’m thinking of bringing in some extra help.” He said.

“And what? We risk someone else knowing that we’re harboring a fugitive?”

“With me working that leaves you as the only one here most of the time. If god forbid something happens while I’m out and he hurts you, what then?”

You fell silent. He was right, you couldn’t keep caring for Charles alone when his seizures could be so dangerous and unpredictable. You had no rebuttal.

“Fine, but finding another mutant won’t be easy.”

“I’m well aware, but I’m done talking business, you look like you could use a drink.”

Logan extended out his bottle of whiskey, a rare invitation for you to join him. You smirked and took it.

“Look at you actually wanting to interact with someone for once.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You sat next to him on the moth-eaten couch, drinking a few shots worth from the bottle.

“Thirsty?” Logan asked with a cocked brow.

“Shut up, it’s been a long day.” You retorted, downing another shot and handing the bottle back to him.

Between the two of you the whiskey was finished within half an hour, leaving you significantly intoxicated, him slightly less so. When drunk Logan was far more open, and for the first time since Westchester you actually saw him smile. As the night progressed the two of you reminisced about life before Mexico and shared life stories you hadn’t told each other.

“A cage fighter?” You giggled.

“Yeah, went by Wolverine back then too.”

“Wow, too lazy to even try to come up with another name?” You teased as you looked down at your phone and read the time, midnight of the 25th.

“Oh shit, it’s already Christmas.” You said.

“Honestly wouldn’t have known if you didn’t say anything, the days just run together at this point.”

“No kidding, everything’s so different now.”

“… Yeah.”

A wistful silence hung in the air for a moment before you spoke.

“You know it’s hard not to miss the holidays back at the school… can’t say I miss Jean’s cooking though. I know how you felt about her, but that woman could not season food to save her life. I’m pretty sure she thought salt was too spicy.”

Logan gave a chuckle.

“Can’t disagree with you on that one.”

“I think what I miss most was seeing the kids all happy on Christmas morning, growing up in an orphanage I never got that for myself. Thanks to Bobby they always had a good snowball fight.”

“I miss that kid. Him and Rogue.”

“Kid? They were both pushing 40.” You laughed.

“They were kids when I met them and that’s always how I’ll remember them. Especially Rogue.”

“I always thought she saw you as like a father figure.”

“She definitely did, no matter how many times I told her not to.”

“I miss her so much, she was the first one other than Charles to make me feel like I belonged there. Fuck, I just miss all of them. It was only five years, but it was the best damn five years of my life, actually having something like a family.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You gave a wry smile.

“And in the end out of all of the X-Men to be stuck with of course it had to be you.” You teased, elbowing him playfully.

“You say that like it’s a joke, but you really had it in for me.”

“I mean I did, but you didn’t exactly come off as a nice guy.”

“I can be a nice guy, you just never tried to get to know me.”

“Would you have let me though?”

“Maybe.”

He looked at you in a way you’d never seen from him before, it made your heart do a backflip.

“You know, even if I wasn’t crazy about you back then I’m glad you’re here with me.” You said.

Logan raised a brow.

“Why’s that?”

“Because as much as I hate to say it, I’ve grown to like you.”

“A mistake honestly.” He chuckled.

A cold desert wind suddenly blew against dilapidated smelting plant. Frigid air crept in through the gaps in the walls, eliciting a shiver as it hit you.

“Cold?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah.“

“Alright, c’mere.”

Logan pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you. His body radiated an incredible amount of heat, a more than welcoming feeling in the bitter temperatures.

“Holy shit, you’re like a fucking furnace.” You said.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“God yes.”

His hands began to wander down to the small of your back. You traced the outline of his pecs with your fingertips. He looked at you, eyes betraying an intense desire as he cupped your cheek, coming in close.

“Merry Christmas, Logan.” You whispered as his lips met yours.

Starting slow and soft, Logan’s kisses quickly turned more passionate, a distinct hunger to them. He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You felt his hard cock press into you through his jeans. You rolled your hips against him, causing him to let out a growl. He lowered his head, kissing and gingerly biting your neck. You moaned as his teeth scraped against the soft skin.

His hands began to drift to the hem of your shirt, gathering the fabric in his fingers and slowly lifting it over your head. He unclasped your bra, sliding the straps off your arms and tossing its aside. You watched his eyes take in the curvature of your breasts.

“Good fuckin’ god, you’re perfect.” He whispered, cupping one of your breasts and circling the nipple with his thumb.

Logan’s hands fell to your hips, tugging down your jeans until they landed on the floor with your shirt. His fingers circled your clit over your panties, the thin barrier of fabric did little to keep you from turning into a whimpering mess.

“Goddam, I love those little noises.“

Logan dipped his head down to kiss your neck again, you moaned and began to grind yourself against him.

“Hmm, getting excited there, princess? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” You whimpered.

“Yeah? Let me make it feel even better for you, babygirl.”

Logan hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs. He slipped a hand between your thighs, dragging his fingers along the slit of your dripping pussy.

“So wet and worked up for me.”

Logan returned his fingers to your clit, you dug your nails into his shoulders, the feeling of direct stimulation was almost too overwhelming. It had been far too long since you were last touched like this, or even touched yourself. You weren’t going to last much longer.

“F- fuck, I’m- I’m so close.”

“There you go, that’s it. Cum for me, princess.”

Logan pulled you into a kiss with his free hand as you came undone on his fingers, the electric pulses of your orgasm surging through you.

“Oh god, Logan.” You moaned against his mouth.

Logan kissed you aggressively as your orgasm faded. He dropped his head to your breasts, peppering kisses to them as he spoke.

“God, you’re so hot when you cum. You need to see what you’re doing to me, babygirl.”

Logan’s hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it, he unzipped his jeans and freed his already throbbing cock from his boxers. Logan took your hand in his, guiding it to wrap around his shaft. You gathered beads of precum from his head, using it to lubricate the length of his cock as you stroked him.

“Fuuuck, your hand feels good, but I need that pussy. You wanna ride me, princess?”

You nodded.

“That’s my good girl.”

You shifted yourself to hover just above is cock, sinking down onto him, barely taking more than his head before wincing as you felt his massive girth stretch you wide.

“You alright?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah, just been a while. Not used to one this big either.”

“Then take it slow, princess. Don’t rush it.”

You continued to lower yourself onto his cock, following his instructions to go slow. A small shudder escaped his lips.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

You reached the hilt of his shaft, feeling him throb inside you as you began to lift and drop your hips.

“Attagirl, just like that. Nice and easy.” Logan said, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Christ, living with you was starting to drive me crazy. I could barely take seeing you in the summer, your ass in those little shorts. You don’t know how many times I had to jerk off because of you.”

You blushed and whimpered at the thought of Logan getting so worked up over you.

“Hmm, you like that, babygirl? You like knowing you made this old man stroke his fat fuckin’ cock to you?” He grunted as he grabbed your hips, thrusting up into you.

You nodded.

“Use your words, princess.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

You moved yourself up and down on his cock, sliding him all the way out until only the head remained before taking his full length back deep inside you. Logan’s eyes wandered over every inch of body. His hand moved to one of your breasts.

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of these tits, and this ass.” He growled.

He raised his hand and brought it down sharply on your ass, eliciting a yelp.

“Sorry, princess, couldn’t help myself.”

“N- no it’s okay, I like it.”

“Oh? You like it rough, huh?”

“Y- yeah.”

“Well, guess I gotta fuck you senseless then.”

In one swift motion Logan grabbed you by the waist, picking you up and throwing you down onto the couch on your back with him on top of you. You barely had a second to adjust to the new position before he forced every inch of himself inside you. He pinned your wrists above your head as he fucked you with a punishing speed.

“How’s that feel? Am I rough enough for you, princess?”

“Y- yeah. F- feels so good.”

“Attagirl.”

Logan’s breathing hitched, his hips stuttering.

“Christ, that tight little pussy’s gonna make me fuckin’ cum. Where do you want it, babygirl?” Logan panted.

“In me, I need you to cum in me. Please.” You whined.

“Jesus, I know you’re not on the pill, but keep begging like that and I’ll have to knock you up.”

“Oh god, please. I don’t care if we’re unprotected. I need it, fucking breed me.” You pleaded.

Your words ignited something within him. He thrusted furiously into you at a blinding pace, his breathing becoming ragged and heavy. He leaned down and sank his teeth into your neck and gave a loud growl, slamming the full length of his cock inside you as he came hot, thick ropes deep in you.

Logan gave a last few thrusts, his breathing beginning to settle. He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Jesus Christ, princess, it’s been way too damn long since someone’s made me feel that good. I hope you know this is not a one time thing, you’re fuckin’ mine now.”

You laced your fingers in his salt and pepper hair, kissing him passionately. He pulled out and you moved to dress yourself, but were interrupted by him grabbing your waist.

“No princess, you’re staying with me.”

He picked you up and carried you to his room, setting you down on the bed. He laid next to you, pulling you to him with your head against his chest. Between the exhaustion of the day and the warmth radiating from Logan, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. He kissed the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

concepts related to different professions

Businessperson

abettor, adjutant, adviser/advisor, aid/aide, announcer, apprentice, archaeologist, assistant, auditor, authority, baker, barber, broker, businessperson, buyer, caretaker, cartoonist, chair, chef, client, colleague, conservator, consumer, correspondent, court, creator, curator, customer, dabbler, desk jockey, developer, drudge, employee, envoy, espionage, explorer, fellow, flier, flyer, fortuneteller, freshman, go-between, gourmet, guard, guru, hacker, hand, hawker, helper, hooker, inferior, informant or informer, inspector, interviewer, investigator, janitor, labor, liaison, messenger, moderator, monitor, navigator, newsman/woman, page, patron, picket, pioneer, poet, practitioner, prodigal, protégé, referee, representative, reviewer, rival, sailor, scout, seaman/woman, seller, shopper, speaker, spokesperson, spy, subordinate, tailor, traveler, virtuoso, wayfarer, writer

Educator

academic, adviser/advisor, alumnus/alumna, coach, conductor, disciplinarian, faculty, freshman, graduate, intellectual, learner, martinet, mastermind, monitor, practitioner, professor, rookie, savant, school, swami, trainer

Entertainer

acrobat, actress, aficionado, ballet dancer, character, comic, creator, director, fan, groupie, hero/heroine, humorist, inventor, luminary, magician, name, participant, personage/personality, player, protagonist, star, troubadour, virtuoso, zany

Financier

accountant, bean counter, broker, investor, spendthrift

Government officer

administrator, ambassador, authoritarian, autocracy, bureaucrat, consul, delegate, despot, diplomat, emir, empress, establishment, exile, fascist, figurehead, front runner, informant/informer, intermediary, leader, liaison, magistrate, master, mogul, mouthpiece, officer, oppressor, pacifist, patrol, personage/personality, police/police officer, prime minister, representative, snitch, spokesperson, tyrant, weasel

Legal practitioner

attorney, beneficiary, counsel, heir, judge, lawyer, officer, proponent, witness

Media person

commentator, journalist, newsman/woman, reporter, writer

Medical practitioner

analyst, druggist, nurse, patient, physician, researcher, therapist

Military person

combatant, conqueror, fighter, gladiator, lookout, militant, patrol, recruit, scout, seaman/woman, truant, warmonger, warrior

Politician

advocate, anarchist, apostle, arbitrator, conservative, dissident, extremist, firebrand, idealist, militant, mouthpiece, nonconformist, patron, picket, proponent, reactionary, sectarian

Religious person

acolyte, angel, atheist, chaplain, conformist, creator, deacon, doubter, dreamer, evangelism, father, genie, inventor, loner, minister, monk, pagan, pastor, priest, saint, skeptic, visionary, witch, wizard

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[ladyimaginarium]

okay so idk if any of y'all heard but there's this thing going around that christopher colombus aka one of the biggest assholes who ever lived & a literal colonizer of indigenous peoples was sephardi jewish & i just wanna say that's blatantly false & an antisemitic lie that's rooted in making genuinely shitty people (((have the evil jewish blood & thus colonizers))) — the monarchs of spain — king ferdinand ii of aragon & queen isabella i of castile — who notoriously hated jews & muslims literally would Never trust a jewish person with "the new world" & jews & muslims were either forced to convert to christianity, exiled, tortured or executed in the spanish inquisition. the colonization of the americas / turtle island & abya yala literally can't be blamed on jewish people. especially to my fellow natives & indigenous siblings Please don't fall for it, there are people who want to pit our communities against each other & in that hurts native jews (like me) most of all & that's Exactly what white supremacy wants, antisemitism Cannot be allowed in our indigenous spaces & vice versa.

[umemiyan]

𝙋𝙐𝙕𝙕𝙇𝙀 𝙋𝙄𝙀𝘾𝙀𝙎.

( 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪𝖳𝖮𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝖶𝖤𝖤𝖪 #1 ･ 𝘖𝘔𝘌𝘎𝘈𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 )

𝗔𝗟𝗣𝗛𝗔!𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗬 𝗫 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗔!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / omegaverse / reader has a vagina but no gendered pronouns / some imbalanced power dynamics due to wriothesley's position / very brief mentions of + allusions to: crime, prostitution, underage sex / elements of size kink / knotting / biting / a bit of blood / 4.2k words

i know what you're probably thinking: robin, why not omega reader?? well, i thought about it, but then i liked this idea better lol. one of my favorite personal omegaverse headcanons is that betas are able to somewhat hormonally shift to try and temporarily fill the role required by an individual they are in close proximity to, and if exposed long enough, can even become almost a pseudo version of an alpha or omega—at least when it comes to pheromones and maybe some slight physical and behavioral changes. so that's my inspiration, and there are definitely some elements of it in this piece. i hope you enjoy! (dividers by cafekitsune)

The Duke didn’t earn respect through fear but instead through actions that proved he deserved such esteem; however, you had become aware of the fact that he’d always been rather adept at keeping secrets, and while it was more often than not for the good of others, you couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of things he kept locked away for his own sake as well. 

Wriothesley was notoriously difficult to get close to despite his knack for making connections, and after becoming more acquainted with him following your arrival at the Fortress, your curiosity was inevitably piqued. It was nigh impossible not to be intrigued by the highly competent and fiercely handsome administrator of exiles, especially when he had always treated you like something of an equal—a friend, even—yet kept himself at an emotional distance. You concluded it was silly to assume you might ever have a chance at being privy to his private thoughts, but it couldn’t hurt to daydream of the possibility once in a while. There certainly wasn’t much else for you to do down here.

But what you hadn’t really expected was for one of his secrets to be revealed like this.

Sure, he had the disposition for it; in fact, your original inclination upon meeting Wriothesley for the first time was to think that he could be nothing other than a true alpha, his burly figure and authoritative presence lending well to most of the stereotypes. But he never commented on the matter, nor was there any other indication that such was the case. Your fellow inmates held speculation on occasion, but generally came to the conclusion that the Duke was nothing more than a beta gifted with the chops to get things done.

They were wrong. Because that’s what he wanted them to think.

Wriothesley detested the thought of the masses believing his accomplishments were due to his status as an alpha. That was simply never his goal nor his motivation, for all he’d ever wanted was for everyone to be on a relatively equal playing field. In all honesty, his biology had been nothing more than a distracting irritation along the way, clouding his mind when he usually preferred clear judgment. He wasn’t a stiff without a penchant for fun, but being forced to surrender to the impulses of his body hadn’t always gone well for him in the past.

His self-control was unparalleled when assisted by the strong cocktail of hormonal suppressants that Sigewinne was able to regularly administer to him in secret. Not everything was completely erased after having been on the medication for so long, but it was usually more than enough to keep himself in check without having to go to extremes. But it seems his luck had finally run out.

Wriothesley’s office has become a prison within a prison, keeping him locked inside whilst keeping everyone else at bay.

“Please do not disturb the Duke. He is recovering from an illness,” Sigewinne had said, but even several days later, you haven’t seen a single trace of him. You wonder just how bad of an illness this actually is to have him isolated in the administrative office rather than the infirmary, and it leaves you feeling worried for the man you trust most down in this little corner of the ocean. 

Perhaps it’s silly, but having a chat with him after bringing the latest edition of The Steambird to his office every day has become your most beloved routine. It makes you feel as though you’re doing something worthwhile, and it gives you an excuse to see him more regularly than most might—perhaps even have a warm cup of tea if you’re lucky. He also seems to enjoy your company well enough, or at least that’s what you’ve always hoped.

With fresh newsprint between your fingertips, you think surely it can’t be too bad of an idea to check up on him now.

You convince the guards to let you through with the promise of leaving the paper at the inside of the door along with some items you had bought at the cafeteria with your extra credit coupons. You’re sure someone had to have been bringing him regular meals, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little something extra if he had the appetite for it. Warm food could do wonders when you weren’t feeling well.

Upon entering the large doors to the office, you call out, “Wriothesley? Sir? It’s just me. I’ve come to bring you the paper and a few things to eat.” 

You hate to sit the items directly on the ground, so you use one of the spare boxes in the lower lobby as a makeshift table, hoping it’ll be easier for him to reach as well. 

“I know you haven’t been feeling well, but I just wanted to check in on you.”

You are met with nothing but silence and assume that perhaps you had stumbled in on Wriothesley while he was sleeping, but as you grow closer to the winding stairwell, your ears pick up on the faintest of noises; it sounds like someone huffing and groaning in discomfort, and you are immediately stricken with concern.

Taking the next few stairs upwards, you call out once more. “Your Grace? Are you alright?”

It’s really none of your business, but you simply can’t help yourself.

“I’m fine,” he rasps between heavy breaths, making you freeze in your tracks. “Just… stay down there.”

You are inclined to obey given his insistent tone and subsequent silence, but the moment another painful-sounding cry pierces the air, you can’t stop your feet from scrambling up the rest of the staircase. 

As soon as you reach the top, your eyes begin scanning the room for the visual of an ill and impaired individual, expecting to find him immobilized on the office’s sofa or even the cold, hard floor, but you are met with nothing of the sort.

Wriothesley sits limp in the desk chair with an unbuttoned vest, shirt and trousers, skin drenched in a feverish sweat, and a heavy, swollen cock pulsing out the remnants of an unsatisfactory orgasm. His legs are spread wide and covered with release, chest heaving and glistening in the low light alongside the protruding knot that your gaze can’t help but fixate upon.

“I told you to stay away,” he says with breathy defeat, far too exhausted to try and cover himself up like any half-decent man might. He’s been caught and seen for the animal he truly is, so there’s no use in attempting to deny it now. He hasn’t the energy.

With wide eyes, your heart pounds. “You’re an alpha,” you state rather matter-of-factly, frozen in place, almost as if trying to convince yourself of the reality staring you straight in the face.

“What gave it away?” Wriothesley replies while wiping the sweat from his brow. He apparently still has the capacity for a touch of sarcasm.

You can smell it now—the potent pheromones circulating throughout the air, casting a thick shadow over the room, even for someone with the nose of a beta like yourself. Wriothesley is so deep in a rut that it’s impossible for anyone not to notice, which is precisely why you assume he’s been locked here in the office with no contact for days on end.

And by the look of him, isolation hasn’t provided much relief.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were—“

“Don’t,” he stops you, finally working to shove himself beneath the confines of clothing despite the perpetual aching hardness between his legs. “Just… please don’t tell anyone about this.”

You cannot begin to fathom why that is his first request, but you have no reason not to try and honor it. It seems you’ve finally gotten your glimpse into the Duke’s private life, albeit not quite in the way you had anticipated.

Searching for the right words to say, you try and open your mouth to form some sort of response before he speaks again.

“Sigewinne is the only one who knows,” he adds, sinking further into his chair, “but I wouldn’t put it past Clorinde to have some idea.”

You are able to infer from that information alone that he has been using the medical expertise of the head nurse to conceal his biological truth, but it would appear that not even her assistance is enough to keep such things indefinitely at bay. You deduce that Wriothesley has been sentenced to ride out a rut that is far overdue, judging by the iron grip it currently has on him.

You are glued to the spot, standing and staring as you sort each piece of information within your mind. Meanwhile, Wriothesley steeps in the humiliation.

He wishes you would go back down the stairs, taking the secret and your increasingly potent scent with you while leaving him to hope you might have it in your heart to keep this to yourself. He’d rather not be gawked at like an animal in a cage, but he supposes that’s more or less what he has actually come to be. Perhaps it’s what he’s always been.

But you don’t leave, and he doesn’t have the strength to make you. Even if an aggressive streak were to be triggered and brought to the surface, Wriothesley doesn’t think he’d be able to make you the subject of it. Ironically, that frightens him.

He finds your presence alluring but your silence deafening, his own heavy breaths being all that fills the air until you finally decide to make a move. 

Instead of walking away, you step forward. He eyes you, almost as though you’re predator and he’s prey.

“I can help,” you say, a certain decisive tone coloring your voice.

“What?” he replies, taken aback. It’s an admittedly enticing offer given his current state, but is entirely inappropriate nonetheless. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? I’ve done it before. Once.” It’s a half-truth—you’ve been with an alpha once in your life, but it was in exchange for mora, and certainly not during a rut. But something is compelling you to convince him of your capabilities.

Wriothesley’s cock throbs with each step you take closer to the desk, the energy in the air intensifying beyond comprehension. He can’t imagine using a beta to ease his suffering, forcing someone’s body to accommodate him when it isn’t truly meant to, but every second that passes brings him closer to seeing that he’s fighting somewhat of a losing battle.

It’s not that he hadn’t thought of it before; hell, you’d flashed through his mind several times before he’d blown a thick, wasted load all over himself to try and break the fever. But to succumb to this weakness… it would damage his pride, and the walls he’d so expertly built around himself along with it.

When you’re inches away from the front of his desk, Wriothesley uses his remaining willpower to rise to his feet and make a display that will hopefully ward you off. He plants his palms flat against the wood, leering forward with an expression that looks more pained than authentically wrathful. “You need to leave. Now.”

Were this any other situation, you might be stricken with fear that would prompt you to obey such an intimidating command, but just as he feels compelled to preserve his dignity, you feel the pull of biology and personal conviction keeping you rooted in place. The Duke’s voice does indeed cause your stomach to flip with the sting of anxiety, but it ultimately doesn’t affect your decision.

You lean forward and mimic his position, pressing your weight against the desk until you’re at eye level with him, resolve completely unwavering. “Wriothesley. Let me help you.”

You possess a determination he can’t help but respect, padded with a layer of genuine concern, and he can feel your breath like a warm breeze dancing across his skin. Mixed with the modest yet sturdy quality of your scent—an aroma that he swears only keeps getting sweeter by the minute—it dopes him up like a drug.

Neither of you is entirely sure who was the first to lean into the kiss, but Wriothesley does know that he had every intent of doing it regardless. And now that your lips are on his, coating his tongue in a layer of honey, he finds himself somehow possessing both a raging inferno of thoughts and the utmost clarity of mind.

Truthfully, he hasn’t done this in years. Not since he’d first presented as a teen and mindlessly tracked down the nearest omega in the Fortress. She had been more than willing to break him in, and Wriothesley still has yet to decide whether that was a blessing or a curse.

You’re uncertain of whether you’re driven by the physical need to ease another’s pain or your own selfish inner desires, but none of that will really matter by the time this is over with. All you can focus on in the present is the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth like he’s exploring, consuming, rectifying. There’s almost something juvenile about it.

You climb over the width of the desk to lessen the distance between you, knees dragging over wood until you can properly sit yourself in front of him. Wriothesley happily accommodates you with a couple of strong arms pulling you forward so that he may press himself between your thighs, opening them up to provide him with more access your scent.

“I could smell you coming up the stairs,” he pants between frantic kisses, bulge grinding against your center like an omen.

“You’ve been pent-up for way too long if you’re smelling betas,” you reply. It’s not untrue, but the smell of him has weaseled its way around your senses as well, stronger and with more allure. Perhaps this is what happens when you accidentally spend too much time with an alpha in hiding.

Writothesley nudges your jaw with his nose and cascades kisses down your neck like he’s been your lover for a hundred different lifetimes. “Yeah, well maybe I just really like this beta,” he says before tonguing over your scent gland with a nice, slow drag, instincts more in control than anything. You’ve broken him down like a man made of straw.

Little by little, he practically coaxes the pheromones out of you, your body working on overdrive to try and compensate for what you lack. It doesn’t hit quite the same as it might if you were an omega, but Wriothesley hardly knows this difference, and even if he did, he doesn’t care; this is the only relief he’s felt in days—years, even.

Your fingers wrap around his length, and he hisses against your throat, hips reflexively bucking forward in the search for more. He’s hot and throbbing, aching to be buried in a warm cunt that he can claim with a knot, and it’s never felt so good to be completely at the mercy of his own instinctive drive. In his compromised state of mind, Wriothesley wonders why it is that he’s been fighting it off for so long.

“I think that’s just the rut talking,” you say, breathing into his mouth as you pump his cock a few times for good measure, every inch already standing at attention for you. A fountain of pre-cum dribbles from the head and down the underside of his shaft, and you’d like to believe it’s because of the way he feels about you, but you wouldn’t be willing to bet very much on it.

However, he challenges your sentiment.

“Not a chance,” Wriothesley states rather assuredly, slamming his lips into yours for another selfish taste. You’re curious as to whether or not it’s the truth, and if it is, how long he’s been managing to keep this secret as well. But, once again, the logistics of it don’t matter, because he’s leaning you back until your spine makes contact with the desk, completely intent on sealing the deal either way.

Your shoes are pulled off with haste, as well as everything from the waist down, his brute strength hardly requiring him to fiddle with any intricacies involved in your clothing. Wriothesley is simply desperate to see your dripping slit with his own eyes and run a thumb through it, spreading the relatively meager amount of slick around your folds and sizing up the little hole that’s tucked inside.

He won’t fit. He’s not supposed to.

But it’ll be tight. So tight. He can already feel the squeeze.

With a bead of sweat racing down his temple and a rough thumb circling around your entrance, he asks for clarification. “Are you sure about this?”

You wish he’d move higher, press his fingerprint to your clit or at the very least stick the digit inside you, but he exercises more patience than your typical alpha might. How long will it last? You don’t dare try and find out, instead nodding your head with confidence. “Yes. I’m sure.” Your back arches off the surface, seeking more stimulation between your thighs. “It’ll be fine.”

Your scent swirls around his head like an aphrodisiac, and the consent is all he requires to further indulge. Wriothesley steps back and bends forward to seek the smell at its source, letting the fantastical feeling overtake him and launch a wave of desire straight down to his cock. His nervous system is ordering him to do nothing other than fuck and fill, but even so, he licks filthily up your slit with desperation, collecting you upon his tongue to get one last hit to fuel the high.

The sensation pushes a shiver through your center all the way to the tips of your fingers, and you’ve never fed off of someone’s need in a manner such as this until now. You might not offer exactly what nature dictates he requires, but the utter lust that drips from his mouth and the gaze of those icy blue eyes makes you believe for a moment that perhaps you really do. He taps the heavy head of his cock between your folds, and it somehow feels more right than most anything thing else in your life leading up to this point.

Wriothesley is captivated by the slick sensation of sliding himself along your pussy, watching the sticky fluid claim the majority of his length with its clear shine. His heart pounds from the intimacy of it until he’s pushing inside, no longer able to keep himself from being inside you.

It’s a quick coupling—pulsing tip dragging forward until it reaches your limits a second later, parting you around him with a burn that makes your nostrils flare. He doesn’t slam his hips into yours because there’s still a few spare inches he can’t quite work inside, and now that you’re stretched around him, you’re grateful for His Grace’s mercy.

Your determination had caused you to overlook the sheer size of him—or rather overestimate your own ability to receive it—because Wriothesley fills your insides to a degree with which you were hitherto unfamiliar. To turn back now, however, would be to admit cowardice and defeat, an embarrassment you should not wish to bring upon yourself were he even to allow you, and truthfully… you aren’t entirely opposed to this feeling of fullness, whether it brings discomfort or not.

Your thighs tremble at the same frequency as your lower lip, but you otherwise maintain a face of bravery as the Duke begins to move his hips, forcing you open again and again until you begin to accept his body as part of your own. He drops to hover over you with a growl that echoes along your throat before teeth graze over it, keen on sinking into flesh but still strong enough to refrain—that is, until your first moan wraps around his ear like your arms around his back, coaxing him into allowing himself to be free.

Wriothesley’s fingers anchor themselves into your hips as he moves into you with an increasing intensity, pushing a little more of his length into you each time now that your cunt has decided to receive it with a sticky, wet noise upon every thrust. He can feel your walls trying to allow him to carve a space inside them despite the lingering resistance that dizzies him, making him have to add a little more force behind each movement of his hips so that you can’t successfully shut him out.

It’s as though he’s invading your entire being—cock reaching your throat and stealing your breath, heavy rib cage weighing upon your chest until it seems as though your bones might fuse together into an anomaly. If he could speak or show you the inner workings of his mind, you’d know that he feels the same way, and while the overwhelm brings forth a sudden surge of anxiety, neither of you would alter the suffocation. 

Who says your bodies weren’t meant for each other? Sometimes the wrong puzzle pieces still fit together.

Once he’s managed to nestle every inch inside of you, even down to where the knot will start to swell sooner rather than later, the force of Wriothesley’s thrusts reach a caliber that shifts the massive desk beneath you. He bruises your hips with every slam and every squeeze of his fingertips, but it all pales in comparison to the way the pleasure blooms within you each time his broad tip nudges against your favorite spot. That paired with the dark, coarse hair that grinds into your clit makes you incapable of acknowledging anything else.

Your fingers grasp at his shirt while he huffs and grunts in your ear, cock stretching out your hole and effectively making it his, even if only in his mind. He kisses you until someone’s lip is nicked open by teeth and spreading copper between your tongues until moments later, you sense an increase in his pace.

“Bite down wherever you can,” he tells you breathlessly between the groans falling from his lips, and you search his face with a confused look in your eye. “Just do it,” he insists.

Wriothesley feels the base of his cock beginning to swell, release inevitable now that he’s had his fill. He buries his face so that he can feel your pulse and push into you with all he has, and as he feels you obey his command, teeth sinking into the flesh of where his shoulder meets his neck, he can’t help but return the favor, stinging you with his own canines.

The rush of pain and the growl he emits has you spasming around his cock in an instant, vision going dark and a small gush of fluid splashing around the knot that pops into your hole immediately after. Your eyes shoot open at the feeling as Wriothesley stills himself almost entirely, cum rushing out against your womb in thick ropes until you feel completely full of fire. All you can do is bite down harder with a whimper as your entire body tenses from the pain, meanwhile Wriothesley mindlessly rocks his hips like an animal to fuck himself deeper until there’s absolutely no room left for him inside you. 

Tears brim at your eyes even after the worst of the burn is over, and you didn’t think you could feel any fuller than you did before, but he has proven you wrong once again.

Wriothesley shudders and heaves for breath above you, releasing you from his bite and re-orienting himself post-euphoria. You follow suit and slowly bring your mouth away from his skin, only to see a small trickle of blood making its way down his collarbone and dropping directly onto your clothing. You hadn’t even noticed the metallic taste on your tongue until now.

He takes note of your wet lashes and feels an ache of regret deep within his chest. Although he could hardly begin to describe the heavenly experience that had just consumed him, he is unable to separate himself from the guilt of what he has done to you.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he pants, even as his body grows boneless while he is still locked inside you indefinitely. You find it ironic given that he is the one who drips with blood, but you wouldn’t even notice if you had been punctured as well.

Your body learns to relax around the intrusion and lets you finally release the breath you’d kept trapped high up in your lungs, granting you the faculty of speech.

“No,” you reply, knowing full well that having the Duke escort you in his arms across the Fortress, each of you doused in sweat and each other’s scent, would only mean the mass unveiling of his secret. “Just… let me rest here for a moment.” Given the way his hips are sealed against yours, rest is your only option.

Wriothesley admittedly cares little for his reputation at the moment—not when your well-being has crept into his chest and taken immediate priority. He certainly isn’t opposed to spending an inappropriate amount of time welded against you, appreciating how beautiful you look misted by sweat and bearing the imprint of his teeth, but he knows that the longer you’re here, the more he’s going to want you for good.

“I’d be happy to oblige, but…” he pauses and presses his forehead to yours, “if you stay here, I’m only gonna end up wanting to do that all over again.”

[geekgirles]

Even though we all saw it coming from a mile away, I really do think Vaggie being a fallen angel is the best direction for her character and the one that best explains it.

First of all, it explains how one of the most decent demons in Hell after Charlie would even be there in the first place. Because she never belonged there.

Then we have an immediate explanation for her hinted military background back in Scrambled Eggs. Of course she was a warrior, she went out to massacre demons each year!

It also sheds her attempts to protect Charlie in a more meaningful light. Because let's face it, admirable as it is, a mere sinner, and not even an Overlord, acting like the Princess of Hell's loyal guard dog and facing off against threats like Alastor seems extremely foolish; if she were a mere demon, she would definitely be biting more than she can chew. But she is not a demon, she's an angel, an exorcist; a species that isn't just far more powerful than demons, but that can even kill Overlords. And even if she lost her wings, given Lucifer's angelic nature is the reason he got to rule Hell in the first place, then clearly, Vaggie still is more powerful than most demons.

And finally, it explains her stance on Charlie's plan; that unyielding support coated in rightful doubt. On the one hand, her devotion comes from the fact that Charlie, Lucifer's daughter and a demon, showed her more compassion and care than her fellow angels, the supposed personification of everything good and perfect. Not only has she seen first hand how not all demons are that bad or deserving of death, but she stands out as the only angel so far to feel any mercy for them even before being exiled.

And what did that get her? Exactly. Exiled from Heaven and with both her eye and wings amputated. Again, Vaggie knows first hand how truly vile Heaven is. How, when it comes to demons, everything is a mistake that must be rectified through the most violent means possible. If Heaven, which is supposed to reward virtue, punished Vaggie, one of their own, for displaying a virtuous behaviour towards a demon, what chance do actual sinners have to ever be redeemed in their eyes and hence accepted in Heaven?

I guess this all comes to show how that just because a development is obvious, it doesn't make it any less good or fitting.

[theminecraftbee]

“And this is a punishment,” Xisuma clarifies, after the shadowy figure from beyond brings it to his attention, less because Xisuma’s in charge and more because only he and Hypno still remembered the admin password, and the shadowy figure’s power requires it.

(Hypno had laughed them out of the room. Xisuma’s not sure if he ought to be offended they went to Hypno first.)

He listens closely as the shadowy figure explains again. “Oh, I mean, er, I don’t really see the problem with permit-based punishment, I guess? I’m pretty sure not doing what the government says gets you punished, and between the DMV and the courthouse, gosh, we may as well go all the way with the roleplay! I think exile seems a bit medieval, but—”

The shadowy figure makes a frustrated sound.

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot. It’s not make-believe, you’re a very real dangerous set of higher-ups from beyond. Oh, this is so fun!”

The shadows grow more frustrated. They curl around Xisuma, squeezing and tearing. They aren’t doing anything else, though, because they didn’t get the admin password from Hypno. Gosh, Xisuma now wonders if they tried anyone else. Joe has it, but he’s probably forgotten it. Doc has it, except Xisuma purposefully rotates it so actually Doc doesn’t have it right now and will have to ask again before doing something particularly server-breaking. Grian has it, but he likes to pretend he doesn’t—oh, he will laugh if they didn’t check Grian. Aren’t these fellows Grian’s?

Right. Erm. Anyway. He pats the shadowy vengeance of a god of terrible, unknowable Order on the orderly shadow squeezing him. “Sorry, I just want to make sure—so, er, you’re sending people millions of blocks out to uncharted, untouched land, at a point in the season when many people are losing steam on their current projects and starting to look for a fresh start, if not quite ready to give up on things like the TCG or minigames just yet. As a punishment?”

A long silence. A reply.

“Okay, I mean, if you’re sure, here’s the password. Don’t go losing it on me! Oh, that sounds so much fun, really. I mean, ah, terrible! It sounds very terrible. What a truly awful punishment! Gosh.”

The god of order vanishes. Xisuma looks at his hands.

“Well, I did warn them,” Xisuma says, abdicating himself of the whole problem, before he wanders off to stick some diamonds in his ender chest and find a nice cliff for some prankster-minded spirit to push him off of. Just in case they’re feeling like it. For no reason in particular.

It’s a very reasonable punishment, after all.