#and looking at it like that it suddenly makes sense why there is such thorough research put into this

[zenruu]

A Needlessly Thorough Analysis of What Hardening Actually Means for Alistair

You can also read this analysis in a Google Doc if you find that format more palatable: here.

(I do recommend desktop for the comfiest viewing in either case, but both should be serviceable.)

Disclaimer: If critical discussion of a character’s feelings, motivations, and reactions to certain in-game choices could be personally upsetting to you, maybe don’t read this. None of this analysis is me judging you/your choices as a player, I am simply looking through the lens of Alistair’s characterization and the in-universe consequences of choices. Of course this analysis will be colored by my own bias, it’s inevitable. I can’t realistically include every potentially relevant line of dialogue, but I’m always happy to discuss if you think there’s something crucial I left out.

Hardened Alistair is often described as learning to stand up for himself and becoming more assertive, but why? Is it an accurate assessment? Even Alistair himself reacts to the hardening dialogue by saying he’s going to start thinking for himself and looking out for himself more, so surely it’s true… right?

To the contrary, I would actually argue that hardened Alistair tends to put others before himself more than unhardened Alistair. Let’s start by looking at how he becomes hardened.

The Hardening Process

After meeting Goldanna, Alistair is understandably devastated to find that the family he’s been dreaming of his whole life is not what he had hoped. He’s just been yelled at and turned away by the sister he’s never met, the only family he’s ever had a chance of knowing. He’s lost his hope at finding that sense of connection and belonging he’s always been looking for.

If the Warden wants to harden Alistair, they need to tell him, “Everyone is out for themselves. You should learn that.”

The message being sent is basically: suck it up, move on, grow up. This is the way the world is. Stop being so idealistic.

The message Alistair seems to receive, however, is a bit more complicated. In the follow-up conversation after meeting Goldanna, Alistair tells you that his takeaway from the hardening dialogue was that he needs to look out for himself more. This is, obviously, perfectly in line with the common belief that hardened Alistair is more assertive and more willing to stand up for himself.

But is that the reality that we see reflected in hardened Alistair’s choices?

Pre-hardening, Alistair tells you many times that he feels like no one cares what he wants; he believes it’s unfair and openly complains about it. Hardened Alistair, however, knows that no one cares what he wants and he accepts that as the way things are and must be. Unhardened Alistair will freely say he doesn’t want to be king and fights against it until he can fight it no more, while hardened Alistair will accept it, even going as far as to say he wants it.

Why would he change so suddenly from saying it’s his worst nightmare to saying he wants it? Does he mean it fully? Is this truly him seeking to fulfill his own wants and meet his own needs?

What actually changes if he’s hardened?

he is seemingly less reluctant about becoming king

if romanced, he will agree to a threesome with Isabela

he will agree to make you his mistress if you push the topic

if not married to Anora and chosen to fight Loghain, he will execute Loghain and take the throne

if not chosen to fight Loghain, he will insist on being made king

if married to Anora, he will become king instead of being exiled if Loghain is spared (Alistair will still leave your party, however)

he will approve of executing Jowan in Redcliffe

With the idea of “hardened Alistair putting his own wants/needs first” in mind let’s break them down one by one:

Note: some lines of dialogue have flags for “hardened”/“changed”, alternatively referred to as Alistair’s motivation being changed from “good to glory” or “Alistair 2”. These all refer to the hardening mechanic. The screenshots do have text that’s a bit small, because I wanted to be sure that I included the flags that show when lines are exclusive to hardened Alistair.

Less reluctance about becoming king

All along he’s said he doesn’t want it. You could potentially make a case that he didn’t truly feel that way and was only saying it because he’s insecure (which he is), but I don’t find this to be a terribly compelling argument. 

This is hardened Alistair’s response to being told he would be a good king after he’s decided to sacrifice himself. There are several lines like this that I feel contradict the theory that unhardened Alistair only says he doesn’t want to be king because he’s insecure in his abilities. It’s not that his insecurities are not a factor, it’s that hardening him doesn’t get rid of those things, meaning that this factor alone would not change his attitude about accepting potential kingship. In fact, he still believes that realistically Anora is better suited.

I’d argue that someone who has consistently said one thing without fail and is now only changing the tune after basically being told to shut up and grow up may not be expressing their truest desires. He is going along with what Eamon is telling him, with what the Warden is telling him, with what he’s told is his duty and responsibility. For the greater good, not for himself.

And you might be saying that can’t be true, hardened Alistair says he wants to be king!

Personally, I’d argue that Alistair saying he wants to be king is much the same as your average person saying they want a job. Do most people want to go to work every day? No, not really, but you have to because it’s just what you need to do. So when asked, you’d say you want a job. Of course you would, because you have to have one. But removed from that necessity, would you still say the same? Likely not. I believe the same holds true for Alistair. If he wasn’t being told at every turn that him being king is what must be done, he wouldn’t feel a need to bow to that.

Hardened Alistair confidently wanting to be king is often accepted as plain fact, when it’s really not so cut and dry. We can dig into some of his dialogue and really look at his feelings on the matter.

Hardened Alistair is saying he wants to be king. Even he’s surprised by it. But what is the context of this line? He’s about to sacrifice himself. He believes that his sacrifice–not living to rule–is the single best thing he can do as king.

But is it pure happiness and willingness, or is it a man simply trying to make the best of a situation he’s locked into? I vote for the latter.

I often see the argument that having a Warden queen would make him happier with the idea of being king, but by all evidence it really doesn’t seem to be the case. Here is his response to the Warden confirming that she does want to be queen. Alistair still doesn’t like the idea of ruling. This isn’t a line exclusive to hardened Alistair, he will always have this line available.

“I wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for you” … “you owe me” … Even hardened, Alistair seems to see being king as something negative being thrust upon him. A punishment, perhaps? What would his response be to being told that being king is not a punishment?

On the surface, he agrees, but take a look at that VO comment for his actual feelings on it. He does consider it a punishment. This is indeed a line for hardened Alistair, as it occurs during the mistress conversation, which is a hardened Alistair exclusive.

Even if hardened, Alistair would prefer to stay a Warden if he can.

And if you don’t make hardened Alistair king? He’s grateful. Happy. Happier.

Agreeing to a threesome

Unhardened or hardened, he will push back when you suggest this. However, only hardened Alistair will relent and agree to it. Unhardened Alistair will simply refuse. Which one sounds more like someone standing up for his own wants?

This is the path the conversation goes if Alistair is hardened. His initial refusal and discomfort with the situation remains, but if you tell him to go along, he will.

He is, regardless, clearly not as comfortable with the situation as one should be. It certainly isn’t the kind of enthusiastic consent one would look for when asking someone to engage in a particular sex act. But he had fun, so it’s okay, right?

Well… did he have fun? Isabela jokes about borrowing him in the future and it seems quite clear that he isn’t interested in a repeat occurrence. Not only is he not interested, he’s awkward, uncomfortable. “Oh, but he makes a joke about wet frocks right after this!” He does. But it’s Alistair. He’s constantly making jokes to mask his discomfort.

Agreeing to making the Warden his mistress

Again, he will push back on this at first, only relenting if he’s hardened and you push the issue. If unhardened, he’ll stand by his original statement that he feels it would be wrong. Is he just saying he believes it’s wrong, or is that what he truly believes? Based on what we know of Alistair, I’d say it’s far more likely that he truly does find the idea of making the Warden his mistress to be disrespectful both to the Warden and to his wife, and that he is somewhat disregarding his own beliefs on that to bend to the Warden’s insistence that he take a mistress.

Whether he’s marrying Anora or not, his views on the matter are the same. He intends to be loyal to whoever he marries, and he knows he cannot do so if he continues the relationship with the Warden.

It’s clear that he finds the entire idea distasteful.

Much like the threesome, you do have to press him to get him to agree. He’s quite set in his beliefs on the matter, but he will acquiesce if the Warden pushes it.

Insisting on becoming king in the context of dealing with Loghain

These are the choices where I’d say there is potentially a case to be made that Alistair is making the decision he wants to make. However, I wouldn’t say that the decision being made is that he wants to be king. I would argue that becoming king is simply a means to an end to give him the power to get revenge in the way he wants.

In the first potential scenario here, Alistair will insist on being made king if he is not chosen to fight Loghain. Why? He wants Loghain dead, and he isn’t being given the choice to make that happen. He wants the power to make that choice, all else be damned.

Here you can see that hardened Alistair insists on taking the throne while making it abundantly clear that the reason for doing so is to take care of Loghain in the manner he wants.

Unhardened Alistair does the same. Why? Because the motivation remains the same whether he’s hardened or not. Unhardened Alistair simply hasn’t become so resigned as to pretend he’s any less displeased with it than he is.

In the second potential scenario, Alistair is chosen to fight Loghain and kills him. He finally achieves the goal he’s been working towards all along: getting his revenge on Loghain. He’s running on that high when Eamon immediately suggests he take the throne, he says yes, he’ll do it. There’s not really anything to break down dialogue-wise in this scenario, as his acceptance of the throne is the exact same dialogue as it would be in any other case. He simply says he accepts when it’s proposed.

Is it what he truly wants? Maybe. You could make a case for it. However, I interpret it more as running on that adrenaline high, feeling powerful and not fully thinking it over in the moment.

Accepting being king & marrying Anora if Loghain is spared

Alistair has been tunnel visioned on getting his revenge on Loghain the entire time, and this is the only circumstance in which sparing Loghain will not result in Alistair leaving and becoming a drunk. He both accepts marrying Anora (which he isn’t happy about) and sparing Loghain (which is very counter to his wishes).

He doesn’t like Anora and doesn’t want to marry her, but he does anyway. Hardened Alistair knows that marrying Anora is politically advantageous and prioritizes that over his personal desire to enact his vengeance, though he makes it clear to the Warden that his personal feelings on the matter have absolutely not changed.

Hardened Alistair goes along with marrying Anora after Loghain is spared and leaves the party, unhappy with the Warden’s choice to spare Loghain. If this line alone didn’t make his displeasure clear enough, there’s also this one:

He refers to the Warden’s actions as a betrayal. He’s obviously not happy.

Unhardened Alistair, however, stands his ground and refuses.

Approving of executing Jowan

Another case of a changed tune to go along with what the Warden is doing. Unhardened Alistair actively disapproves of the Warden executing Jowan. We could assume that hardened Alistair is just more pragmatic, or perhaps simply more willing to accept it when the Warden tells him this is what must be done.

There is no Alistair specific dialogue to look at here, just the approval points, so it’s really just a matter of looking at what we know of him and the situation. I would say in general Alistair values life and values mercy. Are there exceptions? Yes. Loghain, for example, whose crimes Alistair has judged worthy of death. Clearly unhardened Alistair does not feel that way about Jowan. Hardened Alistair though? He approves of his execution, but is it because he personally thinks it’s best or is it because he accepts the Warden’s judgment?

I would argue that it’s the latter primarily because it’s completely in line with everything else we’ve seen from hardened Alistair. There really are just no solid cases of hardened Alistair asserting his own will when compared to unhardened Alistair, so I don’t see this case as being any different.

In Review

In each case of behaviors changed by hardening Alistair, we see him putting his own wants and needs on the backburner in favor of an externally imposed sense of duty or to bend to another’s will because he accepts that his personal feelings are irrelevant. I’d go as far as to say that hardening is really a misnomer, because what we’re really looking at would be better called resignation.

I actually didn’t include every single line I found of hardened Alistair expressing the sentiments I’ve laid out in this analysis because I didn’t want it to be too long, but there is more in the game. Now I will get into less concrete analysis and a bit more of an explanation of my own personal opinions on hardening.

Aside from looking at what hardening actually means for Alistair, we can also question its necessity. Do you need to do it if you want to do certain things in Origins (threesome, mistress ending, etc.)? Yes. But I often see people argue that hardening Alistair is necessary for him to grow or mature as a person, and I completely disagree.

My personal opinion is that hardening Alistair is neither necessary nor kind.

In terms of helping Alistair to grow as a person, I maintain that Alistair will become more naturally “hardened”, or more accurately, he will mature on his own if you give him the chance to do so. Why do I say so? Look at Alistair in Inquisition. That is not the same idealistic young man we see in Origins, and this remains true regardless of hardening status. Whether it’s Warden Alistair or King Alistair, he’s clearly grown and changed.

Sure, you can mod the game to make the hardening dialogue more palatable, but that’s an entirely different discussion. As is, you’re required to essentially kick him when he’s down, and I simply do not find it to be necessary for his own personal development.

If it’s not already completely obvious by me doing all of this in the first place, I really, really love Alistair. Of course I’m quite settled and happy as an unhardened Warden Alistair truther, but I’m always happy to discuss and debate. I’m very interested in any thoughts you might have, whether you agree with my assessment or not (as long as you’re nice).

Thank you for reading my (almost sickeningly thorough) little analysis if you made it this far!

As a treat (or unhardened Warden Ali propaganda depending on your perspective), here's my Warden, miss Neria Surana with her very happy unhardened Warden husband:

[philosophicalparadox]

Also, I have no idea if Miura was keeping this in the back of his head given the amount of research he did, but medieval views of homosexual behavior were…well not actually that “medieval”.

Like, yeah, the church definitely frowned on that, but the whole corporal punishment thing wasn’t really enforced even after it became a cardinal sin circa the 1280’s. It wasn’t until after the 1560’s and well into the renaissance that homosexual behavior became a Big Deal and people were intentionally killed for it. Prior, the punishment for serial sodomy (which as a legal term included things like pedophilia and BDSM in most places) was castration, which incidentally killed about half the people it was done to by way of infection. But those who survived, interestingly, were often all but forced into the Church ironically enough, often as monks or infamously choir boys,less because no one else would take them and more because they had to serve penance and if you were too poor to pay the fine, you basically became a monk or nun and toiled away the fee.

Aaaanyway back on track: The overarching view of homosexual behavior was that it was behavioral; there was no such thing at that time as a “gay” man, only a man who engaged in homosexual activity. Which many straight men did and still do selectively, I.e oral and “helping hand” type things between friends to demonstrate comraderie and/or to assert power or control over another man.

To this end, Miura did actually depict the unfortunately common practice of militaristic men “hazing” the newbies by doing sexual things to them, though raping them is an extreme example. That was a thing that happened with surprising regularity if the casualness of the few sources there are is any indication. They did this not because they were gay, but for the exact same reason frat houses haze their newbs - to establish the pecking order and display dominance, which is essential to the functioning of any military operation, but more so when your men are in a mercenary Band as opposed to a company; the former being smaller, less well organized versions of the latter, usually started by men that didn’t have the tenure to form or join a Company, which was made up almost entirely of retired knights with years of experience. Consequently Companies could be very very picky about their recruiting. Bands were less so, and often fizzled out or turned to criminal behavior because they lacked the discipline(and financial backing) of a Company. Miura depicted that element quite accurately too, with the Band of the Hawk engaging in robbery and in particular pillaging for resources. (That is the entire point of raiders by the by; their sole purpose is to raid, intimidate, and all around be jerks and thieves who dgaf about being either)

Point being, while there’s likely a correlation between Miuras personal interests and the quasi- homosexual lusting after Griffith for his androgyny, it also would not be considered unusual at all in the setting to find him attractive or want to bed him, especially given that he holds so much authority.

Part of why I think Miura threw in the jab Corkus made about Guts being a fag is to further accentuate not only Griffiths attractiveness but the implication that those feelings were not necessarily out of place for the setting. Frowned upon maybe, but not uncommon. Even in medieval times there was definitely an existing double entendre to the phrase, courtesy the aforementioned hazing behavior, implying that Guts might be using “favors” to get Griffiths approval. That he said it in public makes it feel like it leans more towards the slightly more literal archaic meaning someone who is inherently subservient (or the very literal one; fags were below pages in the order of things, so that was about as low as you could go) but that doesn’t really vibe with Guts personality or the fact he is at that point well known as a commander, (albeit maybe not to everyone) so I have to assume that what Corkus meant was intended to be suggestive, unless he was being hyperbolic in his distaste of the man - either way its an interesting addition personally, and as is the case with much of Miuras writing, very up to interpretation.

Anyway TLDR is that it wouldn’t have been remotely out of place in a realistic medieval setting (which, barring some anachronisms and typical Manga/ fantasy things, Berserks world is actually pretty accurate to the 1420’s period) for even “straight” men to find Griffith attractive or even sleep with him, for power/status reasons.

Is there any straight explanation for how a lot of men in the manga are textually thirsty for griffith? Like what was the point? And also i feel like Miura be projecting his own atracttion into it... Like he really wants to fuck him i get uncomfy sometime, idk if that makes sense

Based on at least this interview Miura did have a thing for androgyny so yeah that's likely a factor, though I don't find it uncomfortable. Who doesn't want to fuck Griffith, good for Miura if he wanted to too.

That said, it does fit the themes lol. There's no straight explanation, but imo there is an explanation that goes a little deeper than fun homoeroticism. I've discussed aspects of it before so I'll link a few things.

I have this post about people pedestalizing Griffith and how it facilitates the tragedy of the Golden Age.

This post about how Griffith is a symbol to people and his beauty reflects that.

And this post about his sexual vulnerability and how that's a major theme of his narrative wrt trauma.

Basically Griffith's attractiveness fits his narrative perfectly because his narrative is all about embodying an idealized image of himself to achieve his goals and deny his own vulnerabilty, and how that ultimately fucks him over when everyone including Guts believes that image and doesn't see the real person underneath, and results in him eventually losing everything human about himself and more literally becoming the image when he becomes NeoGriffith. And this is all tied up in trauma as well, which is also related to his beauty, eg Gennon.

Thanks for the ask!

[bekolxeram]

The sheer number of times Eddie is mentioned when Buck comes out to Maddie has been pointed out time and time again. Some take it as a sign that Buck is subconsciously in love with Eddie, some see it as foreshadowing for these two to be romantically involved in the future, while others simply think it's an Easter egg left in by writers as a nod to shippers.

The way I see it, there is a reason why Eddie keeps being brought up in this scene, but it's not what you think.

If you've rewatched this scene as much as I have, you'd remember that Buck actually isn't coming out to Maddie on purpose in this scene. He originally goes there to talk and ask for her advice, because he feels bad about the hot chicks incident when Eddie walked in on him and Tommy at the restaurant.

In fact, he fully intends to keep the identity of his date hidden. He can't even risk Chimney getting wind of it, in case he or Eddie puts two and two together and figures the whole thing out.

Maddie is always there to talk things out with her brother, but she would never turn down a chance to gossip.

He completely dodges Maddie's question and quickly changes the subject. He needs to tell Maddie the full story of his disastrous date, but he can only refer to Tommy as his date, or "this person". The more he does this, the higher the risk of slipping up, Maddie would likely ask more questions about this mysterious person as well, so Buck frames the whole narrative around the only person he can safely refer to: Eddie (and Marisol, but she isn't important in this story).

Maddie picks up on Buck's secrecy, now she really wants to know who this person is and why Buck refuses to reveal their identity. Buck again immediately shuts it down, and brings the topic back to Eddie.

While I'm sure Buck feels bad for lying to his best friend, especially when there's no reason to expect Eddie reacting with anything less than acceptance, when Buck starts actually talking about his behavior and what upsets him the most, it isn't really about Eddie. He's ashamed of himself for lying right in front of Tommy. In fact, he's so upset over Tommy cutting the date short and leaving him on the curb that he accidentally uses a gendered pronoun.

Maddie "I am 9-1-1" Han makes a career out of being a good and thorough listener, so of course she notices the pronoun. From this point on, the subject of the conversation shifts from Eddie to Buck's newly discovered sexuality, and later, Tommy.

Buck knows he goes to Maddie because he feels bad, but he still hasn't fully processed the fact that he's into men too and what it means to him. He's still calling himself an ally, a supporter of queer people, but he's confused as to why it doesn't seem to apply when it comes to himself. Maddie correctly points out that he's no longer just an ally, and the recency of his discovery might have been the cause of his strange and panicked behavior during the date.

This is the prime example of acting turning the same line into different meanings. The first "wow" seems to me like Maddie is finally connecting the dots. She practically raised her brother, it's not unlikely that she has previously witnessed Buck having boy problems. I feel like it's a "wow, everything makes so much sense now" wow. It looks like Buck takes a little offence at it and asks Maddie to clarify what she means by "wow". Maddie tells him it's more like a "wow, this is a nice surprise" wow.

Oh, boy is completely clueless. Maddie is just trying her best to keep up with Buck's increasingly oblivious statements.

Buck suddenly brings up Tommy, probably because he hasn't been able to stop thinking about him since the kiss. Apparently, he's so attracted to Tommy both physically and as a person, it makes him realize his interest in men, something no other has achieved thus far. Maddie recognizes the name her brother has been harping on for the past few weeks.

Poor Maddie must be so confused. First her brother and husband-to-be keep talking about how cool this pilot who saved everyone is, then he becomes Eddie's friend and Buck gets all jealous about it. Most recently, Maddie is horrified by Buck's action on the basketball court, because he only has a history of hurting himself to get someone's attention, not the target of his attention seeking. And now Buck has gone on a date with Tommy? So Maddie decides, one step at a time, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Buck initially tells Maddie about lying to his best friend and how he feels like a fraud, so she tackles (no pun intended) this part first.

If you come into this scene with preconceived notions, the word "feelings" being in proximity to the name Eddie may seem like to you that Maddie is pointing to "Buck's misplaced romantic feelings towards Eddie". But if you put these lines into context, Buck simply isn't sure of how he feels about his bisexuality in general. In fact, the only thing he's certain of in this entire conversation is his attraction to Tommy. Maddie also isn't bringing up Eddie out of the blue because she thinks her brother is secretly in love with his best friend. Again, Buck originally does want advice about lying to Eddie, albeit partly using his name to avoid revealing his date's identity, so Maddie gives it to him now, no need to read too much in between the lines, especially after the "wow" exchange.

Now that the Eddie stuff is out of the way, Maddie can comfortably gossip about Buck's new hot pilot crush. And Buck looks absolutely smitten at the mere mention of Tommy.

Eddie is undoubtedly a very important person in Buck's life, and it must be killing Buck inside for lying about something so important to his best friend. Though in this scene, Buck seems to be mostly using Eddie's name to circumvent the necessity of mentioning Tommy's name and to deflect any probing question about his identity. Once he accidently lets it slip that he was on a date with a guy, he pretty much drops the whole Eddie act entirely.

[arminsumi]

Hey! Could I request a soft fluffy Gojo where he finds out reader is pregnant and he’s over the moon excited and can barely contain himself? Seeing the Gojo crumbs got me feeling all soft for him.

PREGNANT

★ Note : ah i savored the gojo crumbs!! 🥹💗 missing that pineapple head sm.

★ Warnings : some suggestive jokes

"Sooo... I bought you a pregnancy test."

You laugh at him like he's being ridiculous, like this is a total over-reaction to you having just one instance of morning nausea that didn't even last very long.

Satoru has some weird sixth sense when it comes to you. If you're not feeling well, he knows it before you even say anything. Like this morning, when you sat up in bed in a strange way, he blinked awake and mumbled "Baby, what is it?" knowing in his chest you must feel sick. And sure enough, you were sick.

Albeit not for long — Satoru still soothed your back with his hands and gave you a thorough massage until the nausea went away.

He joked, "Are you pregnant?" while he massaged you. But that weird sixth sense told him that you were really pregnant.

After your nausea subsided, he went out to buy you every necessity he could think of. You know, pads and tampons of all sizes because he has no idea which one you actually prefer and he also has no idea why there are so many variations. So he dumped a pile of period necessities on your desk and you laughed at how he did it.

Then he unexpectedly whipped out a pregnancy test package and tapped you lightly on the shoulder with it.

"Satoru, I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant."

"But I feel like you are." he replies suspiciously. "I mean look at you... you're glowin' like a goddess. C'mon, just take the test."

"Okay, fine — but I'm telling you, I don't feel pregnant."

You took the pregnancy test and rolled your eyes while waiting. Satoru waited outside the bathroom like an excited puppy and nearly pawed at the door to be let in, but you absolutely refused to let him watch you pee on the pregnancy test.

So he spoke through the bathroom door;

"Sooo are you pregnant or do I have to take you back to the bedroom and make your eyes roll back again?"

You laughed.

"Satoru, you don't need to take me back to the bedroom for me to roll my eyes at you."

You stared down at the pregnancy test.

| |

Oh.

You opened the door of the bathroom.

When you hand him the positive test, Satoru blanks. Then his eyes light up like you've never seen them light up before.

His jaw slacks and he doesn't have any words.

You think he's frozen in place but then suddenly he reanimates himself and attacks you with kisses.

"Babyyy!" his voice cracks with excitement.

He levels his face with your tummy and hugs it, then speaks to it;

"Hey, kid. You better have your mommy's eyes."

"Satoru, you're ridiculous." you chuckle.

Satoru keeps kissing your tummy, nuzzling and hugging it. He cries a little after the initial excitement calms down. In fact he sobs. He clings to your stomach, arms wrapped tightly around it. All his attention is plastered on you and your tummy.

He calls Suguru and Shoko and Nanami in a video call and judging by the tone of his texts (VIDEO CALL NOW. IMMINENT.) they assume something dire has happened.

And then Satoru just says;

"We're pregnant."

"We?!"

Suguru hears you yell through the phone and laughs.

Nanami sighs, "Satoru, I thought something bad happened, you idiot. Congratulations."

"Mhm!" Satoru ignores Nanami's scolding and absorbs the 'congratulations' like a proud to-be father.

"I'm gonna be a dad." he keeps saying this over and over until it even gets on your nerves, so you pop into the video call to shut up your stupid husband which makes the others howl with laughter. Satoru just happily lets you shut him up, he knows he's being an obnoxious idiot. He can't help it, he's over-excited.

He is so smug about it. But underlining that smugness you see pure excitement, real true joy that Satoru can't fully express except through subtle things.

He koala-hugs his arms around your tummy and clings to you.

On the video call, everyone sees how Satoru looks at you; he has that lovey-dovey euphoric smile stuck on his face.

"Satoru, you're glowing. Are you pregnant, too?" Shoko jokes.

— ★

Later that night, Satoru rests his head on your stomach while the two of you are laid in bed.

The initial goofiness and excitement has calmed down, and he's gone silent like he's brooding.

"Do you think I'll be a good dad?" he asks seriously. He experiences a small voice crack.

Waiting for your answer makes him nervous. He fiddles with the hem of your pajamas.

"Satoru, you're going to be the best dad." you respond.

His lips curl and he begins smiling to himself and cuddling your tummy more. It's one of those rare smiles that he feels too shy to show you. Reminds you of how he used to smile at you when you flustered him in college, when he was a love sick puppy for you.

Of course, he breaks the moment with a stupid joke; "I think you moaning "daddy! daddy!" worked magic."

"Satoru!" you have to scoldingly smack him on the head with your book.

He just giggles cheekily and crawls up to snuggle your chest.

— ★

For the following week, you catch Satoru scrolling through lists of online baby names, and beaming to his students that he's gonna be a dad. Boasting as much as he possibly can to every available ear.

When he tells anyone about you being pregnant, he phrases it very carefully; "She's going to be the mother of my children." he says proudly, chin lifted a bit, smug smirk on his face that even you want to slap off.

Yeah he's so smug and annoying. Anyways, he cries when he stares at the ultrasound.

He keeps it in his wallet. He shows it to everyone. He looks at it while he's in his office at Jujutsu High.

Seeing your tummy get rounder and fuller turns Satoru into a softer man.

— ★

Satoru always greets your tummy like the baby can hear him. He talks to it every night as if he's helping Littler Gojo fall asleep, but actually his voice is putting you to sleep.

He comes up to you, cooing carefully in case you're having a mood swing, and squishes his cheek to your tummy.

And when you come out of the bedroom in the mornings looking your roughest, Satoru smiles wide and says without fail every time;

"Oh there's my mama goddess, how'd you sleep with Little Gojo's kung fu last night?"

When the baby kicks, he's always got some funny response;

"Hey, I'm the Strongest, kid."

"Don't kick. Be nice to mommy's tummy."

"Damn, this kid's trynna beat up his dad's pretty face!"

"Wow, you're gonna be a martial artist I just know it."

In fact, talking to your tummy is something Satoru loves the most.

When he gets home from a tiring day at work, he kisses you hard and then lowers himself onto his knees and greets your tummy.

"Hey kid, how's it going in there? Gettin' stronger? Good. Good. Hey I heard that! Don't talk back to me. Gosh, you're already gettin' rebellious."

"Satoru... what are you doing?"

"Talking to our baby." he replies innocently. "She's very intelligent. Just like her mommy."

"Oh is that so? I like that. She'll be as smart as mommy and as strong as daddy."

His cheeks go a bit pink.

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[acapelladitty]

After School Special

Summary: Confronted by your professor, Dr Jonathan Crane, over your constant need for his attention, you find yourself having to confess to some very inappropriate feelings with a surprisingly satisfying result. (2.6k)

(tw for: professor/student dynamics, desk sex, power imbalance, rough sex, teasing, mild degradation, multiple orgasm, piv sex, come marking)

Fic Masterlist ☆ Link to AO3

"You have been lying to me."

Caught off guard by the sudden accusation as you take the plush seat across from his desk, your face furrows into a frown as you splutter out an inaudible response at the hurled accusation. You had barely taken three steps within the room when he had spoken, the familiar layout of his private office as welcoming as ever – the densely furnished room mostly illuminated by the warm light of his desk lamp.

"Huh? I don't know what you're talki-"

"Don't lie to me."

You smooth the edges of your skirt, genuine confusion playing on your features as you look at him properly. He is sitting behind his desk with a firm look, one which you were well acquainted with and one which never sat too far from your mind in the darkness of the night as your fingers moved frantically against your heated sex. As handsome as ever, although many others were ignorant to his appeal, his wire-rimmed glasses sit atop his proud nose while his hawk-like gaze pins you into place.

"I have had my suspicions over your intentions for a while,” Crane confesses as his hands come to rest on his desk, folding over each other carefully. “You consistently seek support for work which you are more than capable of completing. At first, I considered that you may be cheating in some way but a thorough check of your academic history tells a story of genuine success."

His glasses flash in the dim light of his office as the vague attraction which always simmered below your skin while sharing a space with him found itself suddenly replaced by a surge of pure anxiety. A naughty child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Crane's outfit is a stuffy as ever and maddeningly endearing because of it. No matter the weather or occasion, he was never to be found without his patchwork brown suits and over starched, light coloured shirts; the materials doing their best to fill out his thin frame as his scuffed shoes tapped across his auditorium floors.

"So why do you constantly seek my support when such assistance is unnecessary?"

"I don't-I don't know what you're talking about. You're my professor and teacher so I value your feedback on my concepts and proposals."

Cheeks flaring with heat, you attempt to push the lie as truth while a traitorous slideshow of all the inappropriate and wicked thoughts you had entertained about him flashed through your mind.

"Hmm." Clearly unsatisfied with the answer, Crane taps his thin fingers along his desk as he considered his next question with a knowing tilt of his head. "Are you single? Romantically, I mean."

"What?"

Body freezing in place as though dunked in cold water, a sinking sense of discovery roots you to your seat as you fidget uncomfortably. "That's none of your business."

His lips curling into a smirk as he slowly unbuttons the very topmost button of his shirt, a move which makes your teeth worry at your lower lip, Crane speaks slowly to allow you to hear every word while he stands from behind his desk.

"A simple question and yet your response tells me what I need to know. You seek out my company due to some asinine attraction you hold for me."

Breath coming short as your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt, your knee jerk reaction is to deny him even as guilt sits heavy on your face.

"What? No! Not at al-"

"What did I say about lying?" Crane snaps, his voice holding all the authority which it was capable of as he stood before hundreds of students - demanding their attention with only his tone and body language.

Caught and unable to do much else, you give in with a quiet confirmation as the blush on your cheeks creeps down your neck.

"Maybe. I don’t know. Sure."

Crane tuts, the noise clucking free of his throat as a mild disappointment joins the subtle smugness of his features.

"You want to use me to further your grade. Disappointing really. I expected more from a student of your capabilities."

Indignant, despite the situation, your eyes narrow as you hotly contest his assumption.

"I don't need you to help with my grades! Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, is that so?"

"I think you're handsome and I like hearing you talk. Is that such a crime now? I've not done anything wrong."

"Losing focus in my class by allowing yourself to indulge in wanton fantasies should be a crime." Crane grumbled for a moment but his expression shifts into something decidedly predatory as he leans his ass against his desk. "But I would be more disappointed if you did not see your goals to their end."

Desperately trying not to read into his words as the shame of your discovery ignited a flood of arousal deep in your gut, you squint up at him with confusion.

"Professor?"

"If you are going to waste my time with your asinine attraction then I may as well gain some benefit from it. Stand up," he demands.

The command making your cunt clench with its unshakeable demand, you stand from your chair and approach him slowly, feet feeling absolutely non-existent against the thin carpet.

Crane's position against the desk, with his ass sitting on the hard wood and his legs spread, makes it easy for you to slot yourself between his knees - his impressive height making your head have to tilt up to meet his own. Every nerve in your body feels on edge, a thrilling sense of danger pairing with the arousal to make your limbs tremble.

"What're you going to do with me, Professor?"

Clearly a man of action and not words, his head slips forward in a smooth movement as he captures your lips in his own in a heated kiss. His lips are rough, painfully chapped, and his face feels sharp against your own as you tilt your head and immediately grant him all the access he needs.

He tastes of coffee and the harshness of it creates a wrinkle in your nose as you run your tongue along his teeth, mapping out the uneven landscape as his thin arms come to wrap around your waist - pinning you into place against him as you drag your hand up the rough material of his suit. His shock of auburn hair is surprisingly gentle against your fingers as you wind your hand around the back of his neck, needing something to anchor on to as he devours your mouth like a starving man.

"You're very soft," he mutters as he pulls away for only a moment. "And I can taste your perfume." His lips draw across your neck, licking and kissing a line down the sensitive skin as you gasp and curl your hand into the nape of his neck.

"God, Professor Crane- you're so-" You cut yourself off with a whine, your free hand dropping to press against the tented fabric of his groin as his teeth bite harshly at your neck, the discomfort of the bite making the growing dampness between your legs even more pronounced.

"Is this what you've fantasied about, my dear?" His breath is hot against your neck as he allows you to unzip his slacks - freeing his rapidly hardening cock from its confines. "Your wicked professor bending you over his desk and fucking you until you can't stand it anymore."

Shuddering at the vulgarity you release his slacks long enough to shove your hands up your skirt, hooking your fingers around the waistband of your panties as you shuffle them free of your ass. Allowing them to fall to the floor, you step out of them and hiss as his right hand instantly drops from your waist to slip up under the hem of your skirt.

"You're very forward, little mouse," Crane teases as his fingers trail a line up your inner thighs. "Manipulating a poor old man to debase himself for your own needs. It's desperate and requires some level of discipline I think."

"Discipl-oh fuck!" His fingers pressing insistently at your slit as his hand cups your cunt short-circuits your brain for a moment and your grip on his neck tightens as your other hand finally wraps around his cock.

He's long but not overly thick and you can feel the softness of his salt and pepper flecked pubic hair pressing the side of your hand as you stroke along his length with slow, jerky movements. His cock has a definite leftward lean and the velvety heat of it is heady against your palm as you carefully jerk him off.

Heat dances along your skin as his fingers continue to play with your cunt. It's almost experimental in the way that he strokes and rubs his way along your slit before finally finding the target of his exploration; a bolt of pure pleasure curling your toes as his pointer fingers brushes along your clit. Pleased with his discovery, he quickly alternates between manipulating your clit and teasing your hole, his fingers making obscene noises due to how wet you are.

Having decided enough was enough as his hips unwittingly start to buck into your hand, Crane pulls his fingers free of your cunt and brings them to his lips. A greedy tongue flicks at the ends of his digits and he tastes you and a rumble of approval trickles free of his chest. It's so unbearably hot that you shiver in place, rolling the palm of your hand against his cockhead as it twitches within your grip.

In a quick motion, one which catches you off-guard as you squeal in surprise, Crane switches your positions by grabbing your shoulders and smoothly swapping your bodies - ensuring that your front is facing his desk as he molds his much larger frame to your back. His desk now pressing into your lower stomach, you allow Crane to push you down and force you to bend over the hard wood. Your elbows are quick to steady your body and you groan out something indecipherable as he wastes no time in hiking your skirt over your ass.

Exposed and painfully desperate to be fucked, you can't help but arch your back and present yourself to him like a bitch in heat. He seems to appreciate the effort though as a low growl floats over your head and his fingers grip at your ass - groping every inch he can get his hands on as you gasp at the sensation.

"Tell me what you want," Crane demands, his voice low and rough with need.

"I want you to fuck me! Here- like this! On your desk."

A sharp sting makes you cry out and you instantly realise that he has slapped your ass with his open palm - a choice which makes your cunt ache and spasm around nothing.

"Mmm, not good enough. Let's give ourselves the proper titles we deserve; me as your professor and you as a needy whore who begs for his cock."

"Oh God." You groan, his words doing an absolute number on your mind. "Please, Professor Crane, this whore needs your cock. I need to feel you stretching me out and fucking me across this table until I can't see straight."

With no warning, he thrusts himself with you – every inch of his cock burying itself as deeply as possible within your dripping cunt and his victorious grunt is easily drowned out by the muted cry which you are only just able to catch by slamming your lips shut. His strokes are forceful, painfully stretching you without mercy in the most delicious way as you grip his desk and meet his ferocity with your own.

“I must confess that I’ve considered this myself,” he rasps. “Having you wrapped around my cock just like this. Tell me, how many times have you gotten yourself off thinking about this? How much pleasure did you bring yourself thinking of your professor’s cock?”

He fucks you even harder and you can’t even articulate a response as your lips form into a low series of moans and whines – clenching around his cock with every thrust as you remain powerless in his grip. His hands are hard against your hips and you know that small, purple bruises will absolutely mark up the skin within a day.

That said, his right hand disappears from your hip and you whimper as it instead snakes around your throat, pulling your upper body higher to lay flush against his chest as he remains buried within your cunt. The sensation of his hand around your throat pairing with the delirious pleasure of his cock stroking along your sensitive walls proves too much and you – aching, dripping and utterly desperate for more – come around his cock; your walls clenching and milking him for all he’s worth as he snarls out his own pleasure at your tightness.

His pace is unrelenting and the flow of it drags your orgasm out as your toes curl against your shoes and every nerve in your body feels aflame, pleasure rolling across your frame to make your head feel light and your cunt quiver and twitch.

“You’re so tight, little mouse,” Crane growls into your ear. His teeth make themselves known on your neck and the discomfort of his blunted teeth on your skin only adds to the overstimulated ache in your cunt. “A man could get used to this kind of treatment.”

A second orgasm rolls through you, the surprise of it making you cry out loudly but his hand slips from your neck to your mouth – fingers pressing against your lips to stop any further noises from escaping.

“Hush now,” Crane pants, “we wouldn’t want to be discovered like this now, would we? What would your peers think if they saw you taking your professors cock so beautifully?”

He pulls free of your cunt with a single fluid motion and you feel the heat of his release as it spatters across your cunt and ass, his erratic grunts barely restrained while you clench your throbbing cock around nothing – disappointed that he chose not to finish inside.

The mess between your legs is intense; the physical mess of your combined release dripping down your inner thighs as your cunt feels raw and aching due to the ferocity of his thrusts. Your clit twitches with the vague aftershocks of your dual orgasms and it takes a solid minute for your legs to stop trembling fully as Crane slips forward to press himself flush against your back once more.

"You make a very entertaining proposal, little mouse. Provided that discretion remains a priority, I wouldn't mind a continued tuition in such a manner."

Working through his stuffy speech pattern with your post-orgasm brain, it takes a moment to realise what he means and you tilt your head back to meet him – catching his gaze with your own and taking note of how satiated and relaxed his features are.

"You want to…again I mean?"

"You graduate within two months and your academics prove your abilities,” Crane hums and his hands are everywhere as they roll across your hips before tugging your skirt down to cover your ass. “I doubt a session or two with your most dedicated professor will have much impact on your achievements."

Not quite ready to move just yet as you mistrust the strength of your legs, you can’t help but feel that ‘a session or two’ may not be enough to fully quench the thirst which the new development has planted deep in your thoughts.

[stargirlfics]

sweet as silk, just like lavender

Alfred Pennyworth can’t keep his hands off you even if he tried

1.3k words - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: semi-public sexual acts, exhibitionism

from this ask prompt: alfred being obsessed with having his fingers inside you at all times

He always had you so eager for these moments, even if you were shy to admit it, Alfred could always tell by the way you melted into the flex and curl of his fingers buried between shaking legs, that you loved this just as much as he did.

Muffled moans and the hushed curses that leave your parted mouth are just encouragement, the loveliest kind of reward for a man so enraptured by the way his fingers filled you this perfectly. 

It’s like you were made for him and must be why he can’t ever get enough. 

Always left aching with need at the thought of watching you unravel before him, sweet and sticky folds parting for a thick middle finger because he was far from undisciplined in taking the time to stretch you out, he liked to be thorough with you.  

And judging by the way you were already grinding your hips into the pump of his forearm, the slick mess from your pussy leaking around his knuckles, Alfred thought maybe he could fit in a third after all. 

“Please! Feels so good, oh god…” You’re pleading, unable to keep your body from chasing after his touch, desperate for more but also painfully aware of where you were. 

You were supposed to be keeping quiet, had promised you’d behave and not draw attention to the creaking wood of the reading bench tucked in this quiet section of Wayne Manor’s library.

It was just impossible to do so when he leaned in like he was doing now to hush your cries with his free hand.

“Oh fuck…look at you. So gorgeous when you do that.” He groans when your tongue suctions to the two fingers keeping your mouth occupied, pleased by the frantic little whimpers he could still hear in your throat. 

It makes him throb when he glances down to watch where your pretty, greedy cunt is taking what he was giving, gripping him so tight he doesn’t think he can stop. 

He’d never want to either, not when you look up at him with glossy eyes that begged for the release so close to crashing down over you now. 

You were addictive in every sense. 

The first time Alfred remembers doing this together in precarious places it was his office at work, the memory making him smile. 

It was his fault for getting you so worked up throughout the day, he could say that, but then there was one too many heavy looks exchanged, your enticing voice in his ear asking him to touch you and suddenly he was doing exactly that, nevermind locking the door properly. 

He had you on your hands and knees that time, right there on the sofa across from his desk, being only slightly firm with his tone when he scolded you for driving him crazy but really he wasted little time before his silver beard was tickling your thighs as he tasted you and teased your clit at the same time. 

“You’re all I think about, you know that darling?”

Rumpled waistcoat’s and ties be damned when you were bared for him, the urge to devour and savor, to give and push you was too compelling. He knew right then and there that you could reach back and grab his hair and he wouldn’t mind if you tousled it.

How could he when he’d finally slid a finger inside and watched your lashes flutter, the quiver of your shoulders, that lovely little gasp and all the moans that followed. 

No, he didn’t mind one bit, it was perfect, he even had to retrieve your underwear from between the cushions afterwards. 

You’re a bit less concerned about getting caught than he is but he thinks that’s part of why he loves getting you off like this, the thrill is exciting.

It makes his heart swell and his cock harden that you trust and desire him so much to let him keep you teetering on the edge for however long he wanted to keep you there and then hearing you beg like that, he wanted to earn every praise and cry for more. 

You always listened so well too, determined to be rewarded with a ride on his fingers, reminiscent of that time in his car where he’d made such a mess of you. 

The windows were just beginning to fog when he pulled away from a heated kiss to reach over the console, curious hands roaming underneath clothes. 

Until he was touching the soft velvet that was you, moving back in for another embrace with a growl on his lips that you swallowed without hesitation. 

“What am I gonna do with you, hmm? Feels like you’re about to come all over my hand and I’ve barely started.” 

You answered with a whine then, needing to grab his shoulder to steady yourself the tighter the tension inside you swirled until he was withdrawing his touch to taste your very essence off his fingers, uninterested in keeping you waiting any longer. 

Even in the awkward confines of a car he could curl his fingers just right, nudging against that sweet, spongey spot that made you melt into pieces, the pleasure climbing with each slow and measured push of his wrist. 

Alfred could be so gentle but intense, nearly overwhelming you with bliss and leaving you happy and hazy for hours after and nothing short of that was acceptable for him. 

He’d spend hours like that if he could. 

It’s why he’s got your legs pushed back almost to your chest in this private corner of the library now, your t-shirt bunched around your waist and presently what he was using as leverage to rock you back into his thrusts. 

“Think you’re ready, love?” 

“Yes, fuck yes please. I want it…want you so bad, Alfred.” 

The way you say his name cracks something open in him and he’s fitting a third finger next to the two already filling you to the brim. 

Pulsing and warm, the added stretch has you covering your mouth to stifle the noise threatening to rip loose from your chest but the ache of pleasure just seemed to grow spreading from your center to the tips of your pointed toes. 

“That’s it, there you are such a sweet little thing. Mmm, I’m proud of you, darling.” Alfred coos against the inside of your knee.

He can’t help but swell with pride, his eyes trying to commit the sight of you to memory. 

Dew beading up on your pretty, bronze skin and the taut tremble of your muscles as he picks up pace just a little, striving to make your head fall back against the stained glass window above you. 

In his mind you deserve to be immortalized in the glass too, the vision that you are. 

His forearm braces when you jolt into his touch, fingers pushing a little deeper and keeping that relentless pressure against your walls while his thumb rubbed soothingly over your clit, again and again. 

“Ohh thank you, I’m-shit I think I’m-“ You’re trying to warn him, caught off guard by the sudden grip around your hips with his other hand, effectively keeping you in place. 

He doesn’t have to say a word, knows you’ll be dripping down his palm any second now as your head tips back and exposes your neck, pulse beating wildly.

You let yourself float away, leaning into everything you were feeling and letting go like he would want you to do, your lips meeting his again in a fiery heat, a passion so white hot you want to scream from how it makes your nerves tingle. 

But Alfred is right there to hold you together as you fall apart and he’s all you see when the pleasure begins to ebb and the warm comedown washes over you. Just like always. 

It’s delicious and delectably filthy and neither of you wanted it any other way. 

Forever thinking about being in compromising positions with that old man! This was fun to write and I hope you enjoyed! Also listened to DRIP by EVAN GIIA while writing this/brainstorming for this, the title comes from the lyrics and now I’m gonna go look at pics of Andy Serkis hands, do not disturb lmao

Thank you for reading 🫶🏾

<3 dividers by @/saradika-graphics <3

[fandomfloozy]

Bittersweet Nothings

Pairing: Durge x Gortash, reader x Gortash

C/W: gn reader, redeemed! durge, platonic/romantic soulmates, sfw

~°•*~

It's just a glass of wine, you'd told yourself. What's the harm? You'd naively asked.

Having the newly appointed Archduke of Baldur's Gate set up in your camp was unprecedented enough, but to agree to join him in his tent for a spell was hardly appropriate. Especially now that over half the bottle had disappeared in no time at all.

You were hardly to blame, to be fair. He had a certain air about him that had drawn you in from the beginning. A comfortable familiarity with you that left you equal parts confused and amused. He was charming, as is his way. Which is why when he'd asked you to share a drink with him, the only response you could scrounge up was a shrug and a "What the hell, why not?"

Which left you here. Sprawled out on an assortment of cushions and floor mats, a slight heat in your face that spread from your cheeks to your neck, cackling at whatever sad attempt at comedy has just left Gortash's mouth.

"You're positively primeval," you laugh as you playfully push at his shoulder, which is lightly adorned with just a black dress shirt. His overcoat lay forgotten in the corner somewhere, shed about two glasses ago.

"Oh, come now," he grins slyly in response, face leaning against his hand as he lay facing you. "You always liked that one."

You can tell in the way he says it and in the moment that follows that he knows not what he said or how it came across. The words flowed out of him without thought, as if by nature.

And you're no fool. You've scrounged up enough clues and hints of a past alliance. Words written in your own hand, and some in his, that tease at something even deeper than that. A friendship. A bond. Maybe something more, if you look real close, if you squint.

It's circumstancial at best. Letters can be fabricated, feelings can change. One page of a book tells only a fragment of a story. Yet it's moments like these, where his facade cracks and his defenses drop, that cement a truth in your mind: you meant something to him. Mean something to him. And a lifetime ago--a gruesome, gory, painful lifetime ago--he might have meant something to you.

And you don't remember it.

He's too engrossed in pouring his next glass to notice your shift in mood. You almost feel sober, idly circling the rim of your glass with a finger.

And yet the alcohol definitely plays a part in loosening your tongue. "You know, in our travels," you begin. His gaze shifts to you again. "My group and I, we've come across many an expert who have taken it upon themselves to inform me of just how..." You struggle to find the words, yet he hangs off each one in rapt attention. "Mutilated my mind truly is. In a very literal sense." You don't gauge his reaction. The ichor of the liquid in your glass seems far more fascinating right now.

This subject matter makes you feel shy and exposed, and yet his response is nonchalant. "Yes, well, it should come as no surprise how thorough Orin was in her brutality." You can hear the roll in his eyes.

The mention of her name leaves a foul taste in your mouth and a tightness in your chest. "I've no doubt she took great pleasure in her work," you retort, emulating the exasperation in his tone. Your feelings pertaining to Orin are complicated, and this wasn't really the direction you intended to steer the conversation.

There's a hand at your chin and suddenly your eyes are level with his. "Dear assassin, take comfort in the fact that you were always her better." His expression is fierce. A sense of sort of... pride emanates from him. "She lies in the very bed she made and you alone stand victorious, as is your right." There's a finality in the way he says it. He sounds so sure, as if it was written in stone. As if he'd known this would always be the outcome.

You realize his finger and thumb linger on your chin. The exaggerated sense of warmth is dizzying. You blame the wine.

You attempt to refocus, smile with an exhale. "While I appreciate the sentiment, that's not what I was getting at."

"Speak then." He adjusts his frame. The hand remains in place, save for a rogue thumb that travels upward, brushing your bottom lip. "What troubles you?"

He asks in a cavalier sort of way, but his eyes carry an earnest. I'd move mountains to ease your troubles. It makes you hesitate before you continue. "Well, because of the sorry state I'm in." He chuckles at that. "It's entirely possible that... no amount of magic or healing could ever restore my memories. Return me to I was--"

He scrunches his brow quizzically. "I'm sure some way exists. We are set to conquer an elder brain, after all--"

"If your Grace would allow me to finish my thought." The words spill out of you with a laugh. Playful yet frustrated. So frustrated, in fact, that you've grabbed the hand that was at your chin. It's still in your grasp as you huff out a puff of air at the unperturbed face of Enver Gortash.

Your display apparently gives him no pause. He only raises a brow in amusement. He allows his hand to remain in your grip as he brings the other to his grin. He mimes zipping his lips shut and bows his head as a gesture to continue. You have the floor.

You sigh. "Were it possible... By some miracle or great power, to restore my mind to what it once was..." You look down and fiddle with his fingertips as you try to organize your thoughts. He lets you. "I'm not even sure that's something I'd want?" It comes out as a question. Rhetorical in the sense that you have no answer and Gortash doesn't offer one, true to his promise to let you continue uninterrupted. So you do.

"I'm free of my father. I've no concept of what it was like to submit to him fully, and I don't think I want to." The you that you hear about sounds nothing like the you you know. The you that was willing to watch the world burn--willing to be its last inhabitant, its last sacrifice to your god, your very blood--isn't you anymore. Everything you've heard has led you to believe the person you were was disturbed, deranged, unhinged. Who was that person beyond the madness? Was there one? "That part of me feels better off lost... Lest I lose my current self to it."

When you meet Gortash's eyes again, they're still on you, expectantly. His lips are sealed, determined to a fault to allow you to finish--somehow aware in the first place that you aren't yet.

He waits.

The bastard.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You sit up to your knees, now holding that hand so fiercely in both of yours. "I'm so certain of this. But..." Your brow furrows. "When one decides to leave their past behind, there are tradeoffs. One truly leaves everything behind them. Other aspects of my old life are simply lost to me. I know not who raised me up, I know not whether I was sweet as a child, I know not whether some trace of who I am existed in the person I once was." You bring his hand up to your forehead and shut your eyes as you confess. "And I know not who you are, Enver Gortash."

You either still have the floor or he doesn't know what to say. Either way you keep going.

"While I've come to respect you, and somewhat even trust you, no part of my mind remembers you."

You look down at him and search his eyes in desperation. The amusement in his face has softened into something else you can't quite place. He looks up at you, not having torn his gaze away.

You don't remember him.

"And yet, dear tyrant." You've known something from the moment you first met. "Some part of my soul knows you..." You exhale a laugh without humor.

"And I don't know what to make of that."

~°•*~

[aleki-lives-here]

I read that one long meta post I just reblogged and a fanfic snippet of the tech working with MB's POV was born. So here.

Part 1??? (I might have a few more ideas for snippets from this POV)

[Look at this

Attachment: funky_graph.image.]

Ginson was really supposed to be working. Te didn't need the fines for getting distracted at ter workplace, te really didn't, but when did Minoa do anything but be distracting? He'd be the death of ter, Ginson was sure.

[What's that?]

[Come on, its work. Just take a look]

Te gave in. [Huh.]

[Fascinating isnt it? It f-ing shifted the whole statistics up with that stunt]

[What happened there?]

[Well thats what I hoped youd tell me :}

Attachment: unit.link]

Ginson glanced at the clock. (Well, te did the feed equivalent of glancing, which really was more like briefly shifting your attention to a background process and suddenly knowing the time. Te always found it annoying that there just weren't the right words to describe what working in the feed felt like.) Te wasn't supposed to take a break for another half hour, but, damn it. Te was nothing if not curious. And Minoa was right, it was work! …almost, in any case. Ginson wasn't the statistician, te worked with constructs directly, as individual Units.

So te loaded the profile and wasn't surprised when ter clearance was enough to access everything. Of course it was one of ter Units. Minoa wouldn't have come to ter if te didn't have what he wanted to know.

Ginson poked around the data, then sent an excerpt. [Client chance of survival predicted at 8.27%. Extraction successful.] Te wondered if it came across as bragging. It sure felt like bragging: that was ter SecUnit! And look at its performance!

[ :( no juicy detail?]

[That's Unit's logs, not your serials.]

[Awww :( ]

Ginson minimized the connection, focusing on the logs of the SecUnit te was actually working on. Te was trying to figure out if a more thorough memory purge was in order. The contract it returned from wasn't the kind of occasion that made such measures mandatory, but it was nasty in the “clients involve their SecUnits in petty infighting” kind of way, and te hadn't yet booted the Unit on to check its performance reliability, but considering its history and age and time since last memory purge...

[There cant not be smth special about the unit.] Minoa sent, because of course he wasn't going to leave ter alone. [Its performance baseline level’s better than most for the last half year, ignoring the spike (which, woah but could be just luck). 

Whats so special about it??

Every other unit is gonna look like theyre underperforming if this goes on XD]

Ginson sighed. The NDA didn't really prohibit ter from talking to another company employee working with the same Units about the information he might actually find useful in his job. And it's not like there was any privacy concern. Te didn't know why te was hesitating, alright? Te'd put a lot of work in here (including unpaid overtime ter manager praised with the kind of smile te hated, it's not like te did it for her, and if she was so happy with ter performance she could hint to the supervisor that a raise is in order, which she hasn't), just to erase the effects of the incident. Bringing it up after that felt… wrong, somehow.

Which, of course, didn't make any sense. And Minoa wouldn't leave ter alone until te admitted, so. [It was from Ganaka Pit.]

[!!!] Came an instant reply. [Damn

Werent they all nonfunctional after that?

How the f did you do that?? :0]

[Memory purge.]

[Ha! Keep your secrets, tech magician

Technician = tech magician. In your case]

Well. It's not like Ginson wasn't proud of ter work here. Te’s done a really, really good job with this one. 

(Te knew that couldn't be the reason for the Unit’s better performance. Returning it to the baseline functionality? Sure, that was ter. And that was a damn good achievement in itself. But te knew te hadn't done anything that would explain the sudden climb of the statistics that happened months after the incident and the repairs. That was the Unit itself.

Ginson wasn't looking too hard into how it achieved that. What mattered was that it worked, and it worked well.

It looked good on ter resume.)

[slut4thebroken]

Punishment

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Nightwing x criminal!reader

Summary | When all of Nightwing’s usual methods for stopping criminal!reader are unsuccessful, he tries a more… unconventional approach.

Warnings | Smut, sexual content, 18+, knife play, blood (barely), masturbation, sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Words | 4.5k

Notes | There’s already a part 2 in the works but I’m working on other fics rn so don’t expect it soon lol

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Groggily opening your eyes, you looked around the dark room to try and figure out where you were. When you moved to get up is when you finally noticed your wrists were tied to the arms of a chair. This guy was thorough because he also restrained your ankles and the tops of your shins to each leg of the chair. You groaned at the sting on your skin as you pulled harder against the restraints. 

“You’re just going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that.” Your head snapped up when you heard the voice from behind you. Of course it’s him. 

“I’ve broken free before. I’ll take my chances.” You replied, continuing to pull on the rope. 

“Not from these.” He chuckled and you eyed the intricate knots holding your wrists down. 

“What are you a fucking Boy Scout?” You muttered, giving up on your wrists and trying to move your ankles. 

“Not quite.” He was closer now. The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you anxiously waited for your captor to show himself. You couldn’t even hear his footsteps. Finally you saw black and blue out of the corner of your eye. 

“I didn’t know vigilanties started taking captives.” You said, voice dripping in contempt.  

“Just the pretty ones.” He stood in front of you now and you looked up at his face, then quickly rolled your eyes at the smirk on his lips. 

“I’m flattered.” You deadpanned. “Why am I here? Has Blüdhaven’s hero finally gone off the rails and resorted to kidnapping? What’s next, are you gonna kill me too?” 

“I would never kill you.” He grabbed his bird shaped shuriken and leaned down so his face was just inches from yours. “Maybe some light maiming…” He purred, dragging the tip of the weapon down your cheek. “A little torture- though I reckon you’d enjoy that.” He smirked, using it to pull your bottom lip down. Before he fully released it, he used the edge to lightly split the skin, making you hiss in pain but mostly surprise. 

“But that’s not why you’re here.” He said, suddenly standing up. He moved behind you again, then grabbed the back of the chair and started dragging you to the side of the room until your back was to a wall. 

“Fuck you, bird boy. Let me go.” You spat indignantly as you pulled on the restraints again. 

“Don’t rush things, sweetheart. That’s for later.” He jeered, taking a few steps back, and you scoffed. “But for now… I think I could use a little target practice.” You stared at him with wide eyes, trying to mask fear with anger. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spat, squirming in the restraints again. He took the shuriken in his hand and tossed it up into the air a little, letting it spin before finally catching it. You froze and clenched your jaw, trying not to show any sign of fear, but he practically had a sixth sense for it. 

“Don’t try to act tough. It’s hotter when you’re scared.” He smirked, then quickly threw the weapon at you, making you flinch and let out an embarrassing yelp. You only opened your eyes when you heard it hit the wall behind you. 

“What the fuck?!” You screamed, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. He grabbed another one and ran a gloved finger over the edge as he watched you. 

“If I were you, I’d stop moving. I’m a little out of practice.” The glint in his eyes made you both nervous and horny. He always makes you feel like that though. Your breath hitched as the second one flew by your face, landing on the wall a little left of your head. 

“Good girl, keep that up. Although you could scream a little more for me.” He critiqued you casually, as if he wasn’t currently throwing weapons at your face. And despite your pounding heart and sweaty hands, you could feel warmth pooling in your stomach. You wanted to blame it solely on him calling you a good girl, but you know for a fact that’s not true. 

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, watching him reach for another. Sick of the humiliation you felt from being so scared, you tried to get some semblance of power back. 

“You must be pretty sick in the head if you’re getting off on this.” Your faux confidence shattered the second the corners of his lips turned up. 

“If I’m sick then what does that make you?” He raised his brows as you floundered for a response. 

“I- I’m not…” 

“Sorry, what was that?” He held the shuriken up behind his ear, pretending to use it to hear you better. 

“I am not getting off on this, you sick fuck.” You spat, glaring at him. 

“No?” 

“N-“ The third shuriken hit the wall before you could even finish, making you gasp. You bit your lip to contain the sounds crawling up your throat. 

“So if I checked right now, you wouldn’t have soaked through your underwear already?” He smirked and you gritted your teeth. 

“No.” You decreed. 

“Well now you’re just lying.” The bastard looked so fucking amused- but doesn’t he always? Anytime you fight, he enjoys riling you up, letting you get a few hits in before easily beating you, always making sure to rub it in during and after. 

“Is this the only reason I’m here? So you can get off on trying to scare me.”

“Trying?” He scoffed a laugh, making you huff in frustration. 

“Why am I here?” You pressed and he paused, eyes roaming your body as he considered you. 

“That’s not the only reason, no.” He said simply, making you even angrier. 

“Why?” Your voice was firm as you stared at him, waiting for a response. 

“Clearly the cops aren’t equipped to handle you since I’ve handed you over to them six times now, and every time you’ve escaped.” You tried to ignore the way your core ached at how that almost sounded like a compliment. “And since I can’t hold you forever and I’m not going to kill you, I figured a punishment might do the trick.” You scoffed a laugh at that. 

“Really?” You deadpanned, raising your brows. He just continued as if you hadn’t even spoken.  

“But I knew it had to be a special punishment. One that would really resonate with you.” 

“And this was the best you came up with?” You replied in disbelief, poorly containing your laughter. 

“I haven’t started the punishment yet. I’m just having some fun fucking with you while also getting you ready for said punishment. Multitasking.” He explained with a shrug. 

“So what is the punishment then?” You forced yourself to ask even though you probably didn’t want to know the answer.   

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Not unless you ask nicely.” 

What the fuck does that mean??

He grabbed another shuriken and you let out a heavy breath. He’s not going to hurt you, you tried to remind yourself. 

“I wonder…” His gaze moved between you and the weapon, before he finally held his free hand up to cover his eyes. 

“Wait-“ You cut off with a sound that was partly a gasp and partly a whimper when the edge grazed your ear. You stared at him in shock as he removed his hand from his face. “You fucking cut me!” You yelled, feeling the hot sting on your ear. 

“Calm down, I barely grazed you.” He scoffed and you clenched your jaw, trying not to explode from anger… and arousal. He walked toward you and leaned down. Taking your jaw in his hand, he turned your head to examine your ear. “So dramatic…” He muttered under his breath. 

When he released your jaw, you took the opportunity before he moved away to slam your head into his. It hurt really fucking bad, but the satisfaction you felt from watching a trail of blood fall from his nose made you forget all about it. He brought his hand up to feel, smearing the blood with his finger. You couldn’t help the smirk growing on your face. When he looked away from his finger to your face, his jaw clenched as he let out a heavy breath through his nose. 

“Fine. I won’t be nice anymore.” He stood back up and you could hear him grabbing the shurikens from the wall. 

“That was you being nice?” 

He rounded you again and crouched down between your open legs. He lightly dragged his hands from your ankles to your knees, making your breath hitch. 

“W-what are you doing?” You gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. His hands continued up your thighs, painfully slow. “What the fuck are you doing?” You snapped, voice raising in volume. When his hands kept going up, you started pulling on the restraints again.

“I’m seeing if you were lying.” He all but shrugged, glancing at your face before looking back down to your legs. His hands reached the top of your thighs and you took in a sharp breath when he squeezed them. You knew if it was skin on skin, he would’ve been digging his nails into them. 

“Kidnapping and now rape? Didn’t know you had it in you.” You said breathlessly, making him release a low chuckle. 

“Always so dramatic.” His finger brushed your heat and you choked on a gasp. Finally he removed his hands and you let out a heavy breath. He quickly untied the knots on your legs and then moved to your wrists. When you were sitting there, now fully free, he rose to his feet and took a step back. 

“Go ahead. Leave.” You stared at him in confusion as his words repeated in your head. 

“What?” 

“If you really don’t want to be here, then leave.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. You tentatively got to your feet as you rubbed your sore wrists. You took a small step away from him, never letting your gaze leave him. 

“What are you playing at?” You narrowed your eyes at him and he chuckled under his breath. 

“Nothing. If you’re not even a little bit curious about what’s going to happen, then go. I won’t stop you.” You took another step away but froze once his words fully registered. Fuck… you are curious. And the bastard knows it. 

You know you should run, not give him a chance to turn you in again. But he said himself that he’s going to try something different. You just don’t know what that something is and it’s killing you. As is the growing knot of arousal in your stomach. 

“Tell me.” You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“No.” 

You huffed and looked away from him, then started walking. You only made it a few feet before stopping. Letting out a heavy sigh, you cursed under your breath. This is a monumentally bad idea. Probably one of the worst you’ve had. You turned back to him and watched as he tried to hide the satisfied smirk on his stupid, pretty face. Taking a few steps toward him, you huffed and looked at the ground with a scowl. This is basically like waving a white flag and you fucking hate it. 

“Tell me and I’ll stay.” You said quietly. 

“But that would ruin the surprise.” He chuckled and you looked up at him. 

“I hate surprises.” You deadpanned. 

“Not this one.” 

He took a step forward and you instinctively moved back. He continued until your back hit the wall. Placing both hands on the wall on either side of your head, he leaned down a little until he was in your space. You bit your lip to hold in the sounds you wanted to make from him being so close. 

“Good girl. You made the right choice by staying.” He rasped and your breath hitched at the praise. “Now. I'm not done playing our game yet.” He smirked as he snaked his hand up your torso to the zipper of your cat suit. You let out a shaky breath as he pulled it down at a tortuously slow pace. You could feel your head getting floaty already and he’s barely done anything. 

“What game?” You whispered. He gave you a low chuckle and instead of responding, pulled the top half of your suit down your body. Your chest heaved as you watched his gaze trail all over your body. You stood there in only a bra, with your suit hanging around your hips, and even without the clothing, your body was practically on fire.

He pulled you back over to the chair and had your stand in front of it as he kneeled at your feet. You swallowed thickly as his hands burned a trail up your thighs to your hips. Grabbing the suit and your underwear, he slowly dragged them down your legs until they fell to the floor around your ankles. He didn’t even bother removing your shoes to fully undress you. 

He maneuvered you to sit on the chair, then angled your hips up so your heat was completely visible to him. You blushed and closed your thighs but he just forced them back open as far as they could go in the chair. 

“I don’t want to have to tie you up again, but I will.” He warned and you bit your lip and gave him a small nod. Before standing up, he dragged a finger through your slit, careful not to apply too much pressure. Pulling his hand away, he smirked at your arousal that was now very obviously coating the gloved fingertip, making you flush in embarrassment. He stood up and took a couple steps back as he looked you up and down. You could feel how sweaty your hands were as you gripped the arms of the chair. 

“Touch yourself.” 

“W-what?” You gasped out, eyes widening in shock. But despite that, your stomach still twisted at his words. 

“Do it. Show me how you make yourself come.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he widened his stance. 

“I usually have a vibrator for that.” You raised your brows and he gave you an amused smile. 

“I’m going to want to see that next time.” He smirked and your stomach fluttered at the thought of a next time. 

Tentatively bringing a hand down to your heat, you looked at him for confirmation. You didn’t get any, but his lack of response was confirmation enough. 

You let out a quiet gasp when your fingers met your clit. Wasting no time, you started rubbing circles over it, biting your lip to contain your sounds. 

“Ready to continue?” He asked and your brows furrowed in confusion but the expression quickly dropped when he pulled out his shurikens. Your hand slowed down as you prepared to object. 

“Don’t slow down. I said I wouldn’t hurt you but that is subject to change.” You hesitantly obeyed, maintaining constant, fast circles over your clit as he took a shuriken in his right hand, preparing to throw. You let out a low whine at the image of him handling the weapon and he chuckled. 

“Feel free to beg me to stop.” He gave you a small smirk then quickly threw it at you. You let out a loud gasp as you flinched and moved your hand faster. Before you could even say a word, he was already throwing the second one at you. 

“Fuck-“ You released a choked moan and quickly bit your lip to stifle it, but the damage was already done. 

“What was that about you not getting off on this?” He snickered. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. He tossed the third one into the air, then effortlessly caught it. 

“Look at how soaked your cunt is, I can see it dripping from here. Bring your fingers down, get them nice and wet.” You let out a loud whine at his words. Tentatively moving your fingers down, you barely had to move away from your clit until you felt your arousal. Your cheeks burned under his gaze, but it only encouraged you. 

You brushed your fingers through your slit, just barely dipping inside your entrance before pulling away and bringing it up to your mouth. You sucked your arousal off your fingers and practically beamed at the low groan he released. 

“Look at you,” He cooed condescendingly, “I didn’t even have to tell you to act like a whore. It just comes naturally to you, doesn’t it?” Letting out a whimper, you brought your hand back down to your core, this time slipping your fingers inside your entrance with a low moan. You immediately clenched down on the intrusion as your hips bucked into the stimulation. 

“Fuck…” You said breathlessly, watching his hungry eyes roam over your entire body. 

“Something’s missing…” He pondered, tapping the corner of the weapon to his lips. “Take your tits out.” He gave you a small smirk and despite this being one of the more tame things he’s said tonight, you couldn’t hold down the moan crawling up your throat from his words. You made quick work of pulling the cups of your bra down until they rested below your breasts. The cool air on your now bare nipples made you shiver. 

“Good girl.” He purred. Growing needier, you reached a hand up to play with your nipples and pressed the heel of your hand into your clit. Your back arched off the chair as your head tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan. When the shuriken passed over your face, only missing you by a couple inches, you snapped your head back up to look at him with wide eyes. 

“Look at me.” His tone left no room for discussion. So you did your best to keep your eyes open and on him. “One more?” He raised his eyebrows and you let out a quiet whimper. Instead of waiting for your answer, he took another shuriken in his hand and eyed you, deciding where to throw. 

“How about one more time without looking?” He smirked and you stiffened. 

“You fucking cut me last time. No way.” You spat, odium poorly concealing arousal. 

“Barely.” 

“You still cut me!” He was silent for a moment and you squirmed under his gaze. 

“Remember that one night? Gotham Museum of Antiquities?” You stiffened as you immediately recalled what he was talking about. 

“That was an accident.” You pleaded, even though you knew he wouldn’t believe you. 

“You still stabbed me.” He scoffed. 

“On accident!”

“How do you stab someone on accident?” He exclaimed and you huffed in annoyance at the arguing. 

“Fine! Go ahead and stab me so we can be even and you can stop bitching about it.” You weren’t serious. You knew he knew you weren’t serious. And yet…

“Fine.” Before you could protest, the weapon was already flying past you, grazing your bicep before hitting the wall. 

“Fuck! You fucking dick head- that hurt.” You yelled, removing your hand from your breast to grab your arm. He snickered and walked toward you, grabbing the shurikens from the wall, then returning to his spot in front of you on his knees. He moved your hand to look at the cut. 

“I’d hardly say we’re even. But if you apologize, then I’ll let it go.” He did a shit job at hiding his smirk and you rolled your eyes. 

“In your dreams, bird boy.” You scoffed. His eyes roamed your face for a moment, then he grabbed your neck and lifted you from the chair. You let out a whine at the loss of your fingers as he pushed you into the wall, holding a shuriken at your side. Right at the exact place where you had stabbed him all those months ago. 

“Should I make it even then?” He mused, trailing the cool blade up and down your waist, making you shiver. You reached out to move his hand away, but he quickly grabbed both of your wrists and held them in one hand above your head against the wall. His leg slotted between yours as he pressed his body weight into you, preventing you from moving. 

“Hm?” He raised his brows in question but the only sound you could release was a shaky breath. When you felt the sting on your side, you looked down to find a drop of blood trailing toward your hip. He pressed a little harder and that was all it took for you to concede. 

“Fine! I’m sorry, okay?” The pressured lightened, but he didn’t remove it from your skin yet. 

“Sorry for what?” He smirked, making you huff and clench your jaw. 

“I’m sorry for stabbing you.” You muttered, looking away from him. 

“I don’t know… I’m not entirely convinced you mean it.” He patronized, pushing the blade into once more. 

“Okay! Okay- I’m sorry! I’m sorry for stabbing you- honestly I am.” You cried, trying to move away from the stinging pain on your stomach. He removed the blade entirely and you let out a heavy breath. 

“Good girl. I forgive you.” You forced yourself not to scoff or roll your eyes. He brought the weapon up to your face, then trailed the tip of it down your cheek with a condescending smirk. 

“Now. Is your cunt nice and ready for me?” You nodded eagerly, feeling yourself clench around nothing at the thought of him being inside you soon. He quickly turned you around and pushed your chest into the wall, making you grunt from the sudden impact. You heard rustling for a few seconds, then felt the blunt head of his cock rub up and down your folds. He used one hand to hold your hips still, as the other lined himself up to your entrance. Not making you wait at all, he slowly pushed inside. You choked on a gasp at the burning stretch, then let out a whine as he just kept going deeper and deeper until his hips were finally flush with your ass. His now free hand also grabbed your hip and he held you against him. 

“Fuck- How are you so fucking big?” You whimpered, feeling his grip tighten. 

“How are you so fucking tight? I thought you said you were ready for me.” He groaned. 

“I thought I was.” You snapped, trying to focus on relaxing around his length. He slowly dragged his cock out until only the tip was inside, then forced himself back in. He repeated that slowly a few times before gradually increasing his speed. With each thrust, you could feel it getting easier to take him until finally all you could focus on was the blinding pleasure. 

His hips pistoned into you, each time making you let out short gasps from the impact. You clawed at the wall, scrambling for purchase as his thrusts started to speed up. His grip on your hips turned bruising and you let out a small whimper as it added to the growing arousal in your stomach. 

“Please.” You gasped out. No longer able to hold yourself up, your chest collapsed into the wall. You could just barely see him behind you with your cheek pressed to the cold concrete. 

“What are you begging for?” He wasn’t even slightly out of breath. 

“I- I want to come. Please.” You whined, knees starting to shake from his relentless pounding. 

“Not yet.” 

“Please!” He let out a dark chuckle that made you shiver. 

“You still haven’t figured it out yet?” He asked, amused. When you didn’t respond, he continued, “You’re not coming.” 

“W-what? Why not?” You whimpered, tears starting to well up in your eyes from desperation. 

“Bad girls don’t get to come.” You should have expected that. After all, he did say this was a punishment. 

“I won’t be bad anymore.” You cried, trying to turn your head more to see him better. “Please- I promise.” 

“I don’t believe you.” He said simply, making you let out a choked sob. His pace grew more frantic and it seemed like he was getting close- the knowledge made your cunt ache even more. 

“Please! I can’t hold it,” You were cut off by a hand wrapping around your throat, pulling you up and against his body, his thrusts never ceasing. 

“If you come, I’ll ruin it.” He growled, making you moan.  

“Unless you want me to come right fucking now, you need to take your hand off my neck.” The usual attitude in your voice was replaced by an embarrassing breathiness. 

“And make it easy for you?” You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking. After a beat, he spoke again. “How about this? You go one week without commiting a single crime and I’ll make you come.” 

“Why- fuck,” You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut because of a particularly deep thrust. “Why should I believe you?” You said through a breath, making him chuckle. 

“Because I’m not a liar, baby.” To be honest, you didn’t have a reason to not believe him. But you still wanted to come right now, which you made sure he knew. 

“But I don’t wanna come in a week, I wanna come now.” You whined and he didn’t respond. After a moment, you mewled quietly, making him chuckle. 

“Good choice. Oh also, if I have to ruin it right now, you’re not coming next time either.” You mentally begged him to finally come because you were embarrassingly close, even with the lack of stimulation on your clit. 

His thrusts grew more erratic until he let out a low moan and pushed you forward into the wall, keeping you trapped in place as his come filled your hole. You took deep breaths, trying to ignore the way his breath on your neck, the warm come coating your walls, and the twitching of his cock inside you were all adding to your burning need for release. When he pulled out, your knees trembled, but he caught you before you could fall. 

“Good girl.” He whispered against your ear, making you shiver. “Keep being good and you can come with me next time.” You nodded even though it wasn’t a question. “Think you can stand?” He asked softly. Putting your full weight on your shaky legs, you held onto the wall as he hesitantly let you go. 

He dropped to the ground, keeling in front of you, then parted your legs and put his mouth on you before you even realized what was happening. He lapped up his come that was starting to drip onto your thighs, then worked his tongue inside you. Your hands landed on his head and you pulled his hair, making him groan against you. He made his way to your clit, sucking the it into his mouth for only a moment before pulling away. Your hips bucked forward, chasing the pleasure, and he let out a low chuckle.  

“Just a little preview of next time, if you behave.” He smirked. Before you could even think about glaring at him, he was pulling your suit up your body as he stood. He helped your arms into the sleeves, then slowly dragged the zipper up to the base of your neck. 

“Be good. I’ll see you soon.”

[spade-riddles]

So Karlie has an interview for Elle magazine that I have conflicted feelings about. On the one hand, she ends it talking about the importance of heirloom pieces. Saying her husband bought her a Cartier watch for their wedding and one day she hopes to pass it on to their daughter, if she's lucky enough to have one. It would be stupid to pretend a potential surface reading of this isn't that she plans to stick it out in the lavender marriage with Jerk through a third child. I really don't want this to be the case, but I feel like they've teased us with the hope of it finally being over before, by going dark for weeks, only to suddenly show up again packing on the PR PDA. So . . . who knows. I've been burned too many times before not to be suspicious.

BUT.

If I'm being optimistic. An alternate reading is that the "husband" Karlie is referring to here is actually her wife. We've talked before about the symbolism of Cartier jewelry for these two, and the idea of Taylor gifting Karlie a Cartier watch on the day of her lavender "wedding" fits. Remember the "love locked down" locket during the Tayvin era? We speculated that was to represent Kaylor holding steadfast to each other during the lockdown of the Tayvin contract. Something they could draw strength from. Locket imagery then showed up in Taylor's lyrics, when talking about a secret love.

It makes sense to me that Taylor would repeat this and give Karlie a gift to hold onto during another tough time of romantic lockdown. And watches, clocks, etc have been a recurring theme in Taylor's lyrics since the lavender marriage, just like the locket was before. ("Our old spot by the gold clock" is an example that stands out especially. About a secret meeting place, with someone Taylor fears she keeps letting down. We never could quite figure that one out.) Taylor has also quite literally been wearing watches as jewelry for the TTPD era.

The way Karlie talks about this watch, I'm picturing a gold pocket watch, like in the Bejeweled music video. Fits for an heirloom, and would explain why we've never seen it. It would also explain why the gold compact mirrors keep recurring as imagery - maybe they're stand-ins for a look alike gold watch!

Also of note is that Karlie says she wants to pass this down to her daughter. It reads almost like it was a slip of the tongue? Like she then corrects herself by saying "I have two sons" and "maybe one day". I don't know. I just thought that moment was a little strange. You're pretty much the only blogger I know still on the train of "they had a daughter" and while I respect everyone's opinions on this and have no particular investment in it myself either way (they have kids and they're happy, that's all I need to know), it did seem like . . . in a certain light, you could read it as confirmation of this blog's theory. If we DO get news of a split soon, and this hypothetical third child with Jerk becomes impossible, then that's definitely the light I'll be reading those comments in. A little nod to the truth.

I guess only time will tell.

Thank you for this thorough review. I like your clock analysis. I read the article last night and had this exact same feeling about the daughter comment:

“It reads almost like it was a slip of the tongue? Like she then corrects herself by saying "I have two sons" and "maybe one day". I don't know. I just thought that moment was a little strange.”

Also, while it does imply she is still stunting, we do not know when the interview took place. I have no idea how long it takes from interview to articles published in those magazines. So trying to stay optimistic like you are.

Link to article

[bonny-kookoo]

LO King Yoongi, how did Yoongi and MC meet? How did their relationship evolve?

A/N: Warning for injury, blood, this is LO we're talking about after all haha

You hiss at the rather rough manner the nurse is cleaning the large gash over your back, your tears just quietly falling by now. Neither this planet nor their ruling species do really care much for empathy- you've learned that over the years you've been working at the palace here.

It's better than earth however, since you do have shelter and food here, at least.

You notice how a door opens, and everyone moves away- probably to address whoever just entered the room accordingly. And from the way the nurse closest to you bows, you can only assume who it might be.

"Leave." His voice is the only thing suddenly heard, low and rather monotone. "I'll take over from here." He states, and with that, you simply believe he's probably talking about getting rid of you. After all, you probably embarrassed him to high heavens- you honestly don't know what you were thinking.

It's quiet, the only thing you can hear the jewels on his robes moving as he takes the wet rag to tend to your wound- surprisingly enough a lot more gentle than the people before him. "Do you think of me as a king unfit for his role?" He asks, while he looks around for the needle and thread to sew the worst portion of the gash shut.

"..no." You mumble, voice quivering as you try and control your breathing as you spot him pick up the utensils necessary. His hands are warm against your skin, and you like to pretend that he's trying to sooth you with his touch rather than just doing it to push your skin back together.

"Then why did you do what you did?" He wonders, stopping for a split second as he feels you flinch from the needle going through your skin.

"..you weren't looking." You hiccup, wiping your cheeks quickly before you cover your front properly again. "It.. it wasn't fair." You just say, unable to shrug since you know that would just hurt.

Yoongi simply continues to sew your wound, hand at your front pushing you into a more straightened position, fingers able to feel you trembling from the pain. Did they not give you anything for the pain?

How long can you endure this with your weak body?

What you're correct about is the fairness of it all. The fight had been done, finished as the young man had willingly admitted defeat- just to get up and try to end the King while his back had been turned to return to his throne. And that's where you came in.

Hired from earth as a cheap worker at the palace, you'd been a little bit of a troublemaker all the time. According to other workers, you cry easily, or you'd hug and smile even more whenever someone showed you just a minimum of basic kindness. You're very openly emotional, something that doesn't fit within the usual standard of this planet's ruling species-

but he dismissed it, because down the line, you never complained, and never slacked on your assigned role. In fact, more often than not, you'd work like a ghost- Yoongi had to truly sharpen his senses to even hear you move around in the palace sometimes.

You're not even in a high position at all. You're just a helper that the general staff can use whenever they need you.

So when you jumped entirely out of line and shielded him from the attack he didn't notice quick enough, he didn't really know what to feel at first. In his culture, this is nothing but an insult to his abilities- but you're not of the same species, let alone culture.

You're human, and humans do things that sometimes don't make sense.

"You could've died." He says, trying to make it as quick but thorough as he can.

"..you're more important." You say, shrugging now- and immediately whimpering from it, making the king click his tongue in annoyance before he pushes the front of your shoulder again to make you sit straight.

"Keep that posture or you'll rip the stitches." He scolds, and you just sniffle, continuing to cry. "...I'll order them to give you something to sleep later." he mumbles.

"I have to finish the palace floors-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"You'll do none of that." He denies, quietly finishing your back before he moves to clean everything one last time, beginning to dress it. "You've earned your place." He simply tells you, placing the patches of dressing material dipped in medicine over your wound. He's silently impressed by how well you push through this- he's heard of humans passing out from much less than what you're experiencing right now.

"What do you mean?" You ask, as he wraps the gauze around you.

"You've proven strength." He explains, carefully finishing up his work. "And it's about time I chose anyways." He simply says, fixing the gauze before he let's go- making you turn a little bit, hands still covering your chest as you look up at him with eyes still full of tears.

"Chose what?" You wonder, and he reaches out to wipe your cheeks a little roughly.

"A fitting Queen."

[starlightiing]

NOT a fic, just a blurb. Pierresteban and 'frantic' 'desperate' or 'gentle' !

Pierresteban Request || Accepting!

Esteban does not panic. It simply isn't written into his blood like it is for some people. He works tirelessly on his mentality alongside his physical training to make sure he stays alert, focused, and able to roll with the punches that are inevitably going to be thrown his way at the dawn of a new race weekend.

He does not panic.

So its obvious to him that he is clearly not panicking when Pierre comes into the nearly-empty garage later that night looking for him. His elevated heart rate and shallow breathing will pass in time, just like they always do. He doesn't understand why Pierre looks at him with so much concern in those usually bright, sparkling blue eyes, or why he's being held up in arms that are familiar and yet oh so painfully unfamiliar at the same time. He can't understand why Pierre is speaking right in front of him but it sounds like he's miles away.

When did his body start trembling?

When did his face and hands begin to tingle?

"-teban?" Pierre's voice filters in and out, but the sound of his name is enough to grab his attention. He looks up at Pierre and - wait - why does he need to look up?

"-ban, look at me." Pierre's voice fills his head again, blessedly louder than the violent and frantic thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. Esteban is on the floor of the garage, Pierre's arms helping to hold him steady, with his gaze desperate and concerned as he makes firm eye contact with Esteban. "That's it. Don't look away."

"Why - why would I -?"

"Shh, not yet. We are breathing now. Deep breaths."

Deep breaths. Sure, Esteban can manage some deep breaths. Of course, it's only now that he realizes he's been hyperventilating for the past five minutes and suddenly the tingling in his hands and face make sense.

For fuck's sake, he's actually panicking.

"Pierre, I -"

"Ah, ah, breathing. Tell me after."

Esteban nods curtly, still feeling oddly detached from his own body as he processes the fact that he is panicking. His hands are shaking, his heart is racing almost nearly as fast as it does when he's driving - the rhythm so frantic and desperate that it almost hurts as it drums away in his chest. His breaths are shallow and quick, and he knows Pierre is right. He has to breathe, nice and deep and calm. He has to hold the air in his lungs a few seconds and let it out slowly, and continue this process until his body gets the message and calms itself down.

And Pierre is nothing if not thorough and on point. Esteban cannot find the rhythm himself so Pierre creates one for him, breathing in the exact pattern he wants Esteban to follow. Esteban watches Pierre's chest rise and fall slowly and finally decides to give it a shot on the third repetition. He breathes, following Pierre like a lost puppy, until he can manage to hold the rhythm on his own.

"There you go, you will be okay now." Pierre says gently, and though Esteban feels like he's just run a marathon and an endurance race combined, he nods.

"Thank you," he replies, once he finds the strength to use his voice again. "I don't know what happened-"

"I do." Pierre interjects, tossing Esteban a sad smile. "But we'll talk about that later. Right now, let's get out of this garage and back to the hotel."

Esteban nods.

Yeah, yeah. He will be okay now.

[thanklessindubai]

Armand & the Talamasca

I'm just gonna say, it would make so much sense to me if it was Rashid who put the Stein photos in Louis' portfolio. It's such an ultimately meaningless thing in terms of stakes for Armand, ("Wouldn't it make Louis happy to impress Daniel?") but it could mean a lot to the Talamasca.

Because fucking with Louis' shit and making it look like Armand did it drives another wedge between them, and that's perfect for Rashid's real boss, Raglan James.

The Talamasca wants the interview to be published (with them having the final edit) but as long as Armand is around, there's a good chance it'll be buried to protect Louis from retribution from other vampires, and of course, to protect all of vampire kind from hunters. Apparently, people have attempted to do what Daniel was doing before and they didn't survive.

Also, nearly all of the information Daniel uses to drive them apart comes directly from the Talamasca, like the '73 audio and the Trial script with Armand's notes.

PS, it would also be super fun to me if the Talamasca was fucking with Armand specifically, since in the books, Armand knows who they are, and they were, for so long, the only humans who knew who Armand was.

"No," Armand whispered. Small shake of his head. He was in a silent fury, Daniel could feel it. He had the rigid glassy look he always got when profoundly offended. "Talamasca," he whispered, with a faint uncharacteristic sneer.

"Talamasca." The word struck Daniel suddenly as beautiful. Talamasca. [...] "But what does it really mean?" he asked.

"It means Lestat is a fool," Armand said. Flicker of deep pain in his eyes. "But it makes no difference now." -- QotD

"The article's about him, and about his Theater of the Vampires. Here's an English journal from 1789. That's a full eighty years earlier, I believe. But you will find another very thorough description of the establishment and the same young man."

"The Theater of the Vampires…" She stared up at the auburn-haired boy kneeling in the painting. "Why, this is Armand, the character in the novel!" -- QotD

[jigensnacks]

okay okay hear me out

ima put this under a read more because i know there are people around who are generally uncomfortable with content relating to alcohol

but! I had a revelation about Jigen and his alcohol preferences.

Disclaimer, I am mildly tipsy as I am writing this. I may or may not get lost in my own thoughts, so please bear with me here, alright?

Content warnings: alcohol (of course), alcohol abuse, maybe more. I dunno at the moment.

Okay. Jigen's alcohol preferences.

At first I couldn't wrap my head around Jigen's appreciation of wine, like that guy's a borderline alcoholic with the way he drinks (which I extend into full-blown alcoholism in my writing, I'll get to this later on), he cannot possibly like wine, wine is weak, why would he even like the stuff?

I came at the issue from the point of view of someone who prefers liquor. Stuff like vodka, whiskey, borovička. You know, the heavy artillery. Poisons that dull the mind and destroy the liver.

But I've tried wine recently. Got the explanation of the ritual of wine-drinking.

And then it suddenly clicked.

Wine has its purpose in Jigen's toolkit of escapism. You have the cigarettes, a way to remind himself that he's not in danger, that he's out of the fight and just vibing, passing time, relaxing. Then there's scotch, the first-aid kit, when everything is too much and he's antsy and nervous and he needs to dull the edge. It's the painkiller, in a way. The glue to mend those invisible wounds, the cause and solution of all of world's problems.

And then there is wine.

It's not to be wielded like a sledgehamer known as liquor. Wine is a delicate tool, when liquor is too much, when he wants to relax, but he doesn't want to dull his senses too much. There aren't any demons to suffocate, he doesn't want to get drunk, his only intention is just to sit down, lean back, have a moment to himself.

To Jigen, wine is like classical music. It's not something to binge, but to immerse himself in, soak in it, have slow, ginger sips. Relish in the taste, the warmth. There's a reason the ancient Romans and Greeks had a god of wine.

Now, how does this tie to my 'Jigen is a barely functional alcoholic' headcanon?

It's the antithesis of liquor. Liquor is the main poison, Jigen pours it into himself to drown out the noise in his head, the lingering pains, to keep his limbs heavy and limp to keep himself from doing something worse. It's his salvation and his downfall, it frees the demons lurking in his mind, yet it keeps them docile, harmless. It allows his mind to swim along, face his fears, it frees his feelings... but it's also a pathway to destruction. With his thoughts and feelings freed comes a different danger - self-destruction. Liquor becomes not only the tool of healing, but one of destruction too. When a heist goes off the rails and they make it home, when the crushing weight of failure sets in and Lupin looks at him with a gaze full of apologies, that's when Jigen grabs his poison of choice and takes his anger out on himself. While Goemon subjects himself to gruelling training to make sure he doesn't fail again, Jigen instead drinks himself mute, lies on the ground staring emptily at the ceiling, reliving every past mistake. That's the start of the cycle, he falls into the drink, struggles to get out of it for months on end. Until his body starts showing the withdrawal symptoms when he's sobering up, the headaches, the feeling of a thousand ants marching all over his skin, the shadow people staring at him, the music plaing from the walls, the muffled conversations from other rooms that never happened, the way his hands shake...

Wine is a way for him to pace himself. His philosophy around wine is basically if someone drinks wine like liquor, there ain't no use hanging around them. Jigen doesn't want wine to become just another tool of thorough self-annihilation. Jigen sees wine as a way to regain control again. It's much weaker than liquor (if we ignore port wine, but I suspect he wouldn't like such wines), and, unlike the heavy artillery he relies on, wine has personality. While liquor is the path of scorched earth, wine is so much calmer. It has a soul, personality, it evolves like classical music. It has elaborate constructions, just swap the musical tones for taste ones.

He reaches for the wine when he doesn't want to fall into that horrible spiral.

Wine - along with food - marks the line between functionality and destruction.

Wine isn't something he can drink quickly. He tried, and found out it only makes him sick.

So he grabs a bottle of a four-year-old italian merlot. Pours himself a glass. Takes a sip. Feels the slight sourness at the back of his tongue. The woody tones playing at the rest of it. The sweetness at the very tip.

He stares down the beast. Sleeping, yet aware. And while he stays with the wine, it'll remain asleep.

I don't know where I was going with this. I blame the wine.

[nagannach]

Actually, Taco Did Abandon Book

(ft. a thorough dismantling of the "but she was in a jawbreaker" defense)

The Bleh arc is the worst thing to come out of the BFB series. The writing is sloppy, the characterization is sloppy, it has horrible morals, and its ending was incredibly unsatisfying. Many of these traits stem from the fact that the entire premise of the arc is false.

By far the most commonly circulated lie in the community is that Taco never abandoned Bleh. Not only is this not true, but it is an indisputable fact that not only did Taco abandon them, but she abandoned them multiple times.

It's a near-universal consensus among the community that Taco being in the jawbreaker for three weeks automatically means that she didn't abandon the team. This is not true; in fact, being in the jawbreaker for three weeks is proof that she did abandon the team. If she really was stuck in there for such a long time, how was she able to break out of it in such a short timespan in BFB 3? Why didn't she try that any earlier than she did?

If you look closely at the post-credits scene of BFB 2, you'll notice that Taco never actually made a genuine attempt to get out of the jawbreaker. She actually managed to lick her way through a substantial portion of it, but she would never try that again for the entire duration of her stay. She also never tried rolling around to get someone's attention even when people were running past her. Taco most certainly wanted to get out of the jawbreaker, but she didn't actually put in any work herself - she expected someone else to do it for her. However, none of her teammates were able to break her out because none of them knew she died in BFB 1, they didn't know she died because they all died before her, and they all died before her because Taco led them all to their deaths. Dora and Saw did survive, but since Dora couldn't communicate to the rest of the team what she saw, and BFB 13 showed that Saw is fairly tight-lipped, it's likely that they (and perhaps Lollipop) were the only ones who knew what happened.

I'd also like to note that Taco killing her teammates in BFB 1 is not only the reason why none of them broke Taco out of the jawbreaker, but also the reason why Taco was in the jawbreaker in the first place. In order for the jawbreaker challenge to be done, at least seven contestants would have to be dead at the end of BFB 1. There were nine, six of which were killed by Taco, including Taco herself. Had she spared just one of her teammates, she never would've been in the situation she was in - there would've been exactly seven contestants in jawbreakers after Four revived Tennis Ball, one for each of the seven safe teams. Everything bad that ever happened to Taco was a direct result of her own actions.

I've seen people defend her by saying that she was demotivated, which is a bit odd for someone who was so headstrong and arrogant that she led almost all her teammates to their deaths in the previous episode to give up so easily. First, her first "attempt" to get out of the jawbreaker (licking through it) came after more than 10 days of doing absolutely nothing. Second, since her first attempt actually bore fruit, it would've made sense for that to motivate her and make her continue breaking through the jawbreaker, but it didn't. Third, it's missing the point - BFB 2 and 3 showed that opening a jawbreaker isn't a difficult task, so Taco should've been able to get out very early. Fourth, it's ignoring the sheer amount of time Taco was in the jawbreaker for. Why didn't she get a sudden spark of motivation during the three weeks she was in the jawbreaker? Finally, if she really was as demotivated as she was, why was she so moved by Saw? How did she suddenly gain the mental fortitude to get out of the jawbreaker after allegedly spending three weeks trying and failing? All signs point to Taco never trying to get out of the jawbreaker until she realized that nobody would do it for her (but not realizing why nobody would do it for her).

No matter how you interpret the evidence, there are three facts you must concede: the possibility that Taco could've gotten out of the jawbreaker much earlier than she did cannot be denied, Taco has zero evidence in her favor ("she was in a jawbreaker" does not count), and Book has every reason to believe that Taco acted in bad faith (remember BFB 1?). These three facts will remain true throughout the entirety of BFB, and the evidence for the latter two will continue to pile up as time goes on.

If your team believes you abandoned them and all the available evidence suggests that you abandoned them (because you abandoned them), the last thing you'd want to do is abandon them again, but that is exactly what Taco did. Book never shunned Taco - Taco shunned Book. At no point in BFB did Taco ever try talking to Book or anyone else on the team (even after she was revived after being dead for two months - she didn't even say anything about BFB 6), and at no point did anyone prevent her from doing so - instead, she ignored them for just over two years.

After her team gave her a piece of their minds at the end of BFB 3, she pouted on the swing set instead of following them despite the fact that Book and Saw were visibly hurt by what she did. In BFB 4, she completely refused to stand near her teammates even though Book was still hurt. She didn't even apologize - instead, she minimized her feelings and acted like what she did "wasn't that bad". Taco treated Book like a disposable tool (using her once in BFB 1 and then discarding her), and instead of making her feel better, she poured salt into her wounds. In BFB 6, she abandoned her team in the middle of the challenge - there's no other way to describe it. Whether it helped her team or not (it really shouldn't have - there was so much that could've gone wrong with her plan that the only way it could've worked was authorial bias) is irrelevant. She didn't even ask if her teammates were okay with it or discuss her plans with them or even give them a heads-up - she just left. The next time she saw her teammates was in BFB 10, where she didn't even talk to them - instead, she talked to Bell solely because she thought she was still on her side. (Her intent wasn't to apologize - there's a reason she spoke to Bell and not her teammates.) Taco abandoned them again in BFB 11 - she didn't appear once during that episode and never volunteered to do the challenge. In BFB 12, when Book thought Taco abandoned her, Taco completely ignored her. Finally, in BFB 13, Taco abandoned the team twice, once before the challenge and once during the challenge, while also admitting that she never wanted to talk to anyone on her team. (Also, Saw revealed that she abandoned the team in the same episode with the flimsiest excuse imaginable, and nobody cared because screw Book, I guess.)

Not once did Taco say anything to her teammates from BFB 5 all the way to BFB 15, and there were only two episodes where she held a conversation with any of them: BFB 1 and BFB 16. Taco hurt people, but at no point did she even try to patch things up with them. Just like with the jawbreaker, she expected everyone she hurt to suddenly be okay with her while putting in zero effort to rebuild the bridges that she burned. However, unlike with the jawbreaker, Taco never realized that she actually has to work in order to get what she wants - BFB 10 and 13 proved that. She never thought about what Book or anyone else actually wanted - she only ever did what she wanted. She never knew what she did wrong and shifted the blame onto everyone else (as BFB 15 showed), and other people suffered because of her lack of self-awareness.

The community thinks so negatively of pre-split Book and so positively of pre-split Taco because that's what jacknjellify wanted. Throughout BFB, they intentionally ignored and invalidated her feelings and pretended she was never hurt when she very clearly was. The goal was to make Book look insane so people would instinctively tune her out when listening to her. By making Book look ridiculous, they drew attention away from the numerous times Taco abandoned the team. They also drew attention away from the way Taco treated her teammates (as well as Bell and Bottle) by focusing entirely on Book and making Taco look like the victim. In reality, Taco was the aggressor, and Book was the victim.

It's a common belief that Book never gave Taco a chance to prove herself. This is not true; Taco had many chances to show that she did care about the team. She just never took any of them because she didn't care about the team.

tl;dr Book is the one who was right all along, but for her, it wasn't better to be laughed at than wrong.

[wholesomefluffdaddy]

Wednesday's new court mandated therapist is having her keep a journal of her thoughts and feelings. Wednesday finds this to be a complete waste of time and decides instead to use it to record her observations of her unusual roommate Enid Sinclair. Wednesday POV.

——————————————

CW: Sexual arousal (nothing too explicit)

——————————————

Entry 11

Current Moon Phase: First Quarter 🌓

Enid has agreed to share some of her experiences on to how the different phases of the moon affect her. Had I known sooner that all I need do was ask - I digress. Enid explained how her canis lupus senses heighten as the moon waxes. I asked for her to elaborate further and provide examples; She decided to provide a demonstration.

As we sat upon her bed she suddenly sprung upon me and pinned me down. After the initial shock of the ambush subsided I calmly demanded an explanation and asked if she wished to be turned into a wolf skin rug. My threat was evidently ineffective, for she had a smug look about her. She informed me that she could 'smell' my mood and my bluff. I felt rather indignant at the accusation that I would make such an idle threat. She appeared not to take me seriously, for she rolled her eyes and did not release me.

I contested her assumption. She raised her eyebrows and leaned closer. I suddenly became aware that I was experiencing heart palpitations. She posited the query that if I didn't enjoy the current position; why had I continued to allow it? I was temporarily at a loss for words, perhaps because my mind was too preoccupied with the werewolf's lips, which I knew concealed a set of deadly fangs that could tear me to pieces. I begrudgingly had to admit I did not mind the physical arrangement. She asked me to extrapolate. I did not, for she did not need to know how being in the clutches of a formidable creature such as herself excited me. My werewolf is evidently growing bolder now that we are mates packmates.

She moved closer, while still maintaining her grip on my wrists. I caught the scent of peppermint as her breath rolled across my skin. She proceeded to initiate a typical werewolf greeting, one I have become most accustomed to over the past few weeks. However, she seemed to have miscalculated her aim as her lips landed upon my own instead of my cheek, which has been customary. My body, clearly fearing for its life, began preparing for a grand escape. I was keenly aware of my increased body temperature and growing tension in my lower abdomen. Likely sensing my distress Enid asked if she could 'continue?' I nodded for I appeared to be temporarily struck dumb. She greeted me several more times. Her aim was as equally bad as the first.

The way her lips crashed against my own, like the waves of the sea against the shore- Not wishing to be rude, and also hoping to affirm our bond, I greeted her back. I realized I must not be too harsh on Enid for missing my cheek, as my aim fared no better. I accidentally set my lips upon hers several times. The feeling was not unpleasant. Her lips were soft and supple and had faint traces of artificial cherry flavoring. I felt her grip tightened on my wrists. She asked if she could 'try something?' I acquiesced. She parted her lips as she pressed them once again to mine. Subconsciously, I began to mirror her, parting them ever so slightly. I was both surprised and not as her tongue ventured past my lips. With her heightened senses I assume she wanted to check my health; No doubt since I have been experiencing spontaneous fits of madness. Her tongue was most thorough in its inspection of my mouth, though it appeared to primarily focus on my own tongue. It seemed she wanted to wrestle it for dominance. I allowed it, for I assume it to be part of werewolf culture and provide her with further information.

As I submit to her tongue a new symptom suddenly overcame me that I couldn't quite place; a heightened sensitivity in my pelvic region. Though I was not within the predicted range of beginning my next menstrual cycle I felt a certain dampness becoming present. Enid's subtle placement of her knee between the fork of my legs only exacerbated the symptom. The feeling was not unlike an itch, however, I knew not how to 'scratch' this new sensation.

Having completed her inspection Enid withdrew and continued to greet me on the cheek. Perhaps driven by some other instinct, or werewolf custom, her lips soon trailed down to my neck. What I can only surmise to be a silent scream attempted to escape my lips as the apex predator osculated along my jugular.

Enid pressed closer as I involuntarily arched my back. I closed my eyes so as to focus through my other senses. I could hear Enid begin to growl subtly as she devoured my neck. I gasped for air as I realized I was forgetting to breathe. I felt her fangs drag across my skin as she opened her mouth. I waited on tenterhooks for an inevitable bite. 'Willa?' She had stopped. 'Am I going to fast again?' I was perplexed at her query and opened my eyes to check. From my vantage point I was able to confirm that we had remained stationary upon her bed. 'What?' I asked numbly. Her smile appeared nervous as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

'I just wanted to check because you seem like really conflicted or confused about something.' She stated. I blinked in surprise. Could she smell such a thing? Or perhaps taste it? (Would it be the levels of noradrenaline? Acetylcholine?) That aside, what would I possibly be confused about? As I pondered this she softly caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes at her touch, but for why, I do not know. It was obvious that I needed to keep my eyes open and fixed upon such a potentially dangerous creature. As I forced myself to open them an overwhelming pang of yearning suddenly gripped my chest as I was captured in the werewolf's cerulean gaze. I do not know for what I yearned, but it spread through my entirety, like a burning poison that set my senses ablaze.

The unexplainable madness had once again hijacked my body. My hand, under its volition, took Enid's and pressed it to my lips. The werewolf's eyes widened and color flushed her face. I tried in desperation to voice that I was not in control but the words that left my lips were 'I need something.' The increased heat radiating off the werewolf was quite noticeable. 'You need…?' For whatever reason her eyes trailed south. 'Oh!' She exclaimed quietly as her eyes darted back to mine. 'W-what do you need?' Her voice was somewhat timorous. I was flummoxed at my own question. What did the madness crave? 'I don't know.' Was my dissatisfying answer. The werewolf looked nonplussed. Finding her voice she asked 'Do you want me to-?' She made a foreign gesture with her hands. I furrowed my brow in response. 'You're horny, right?' She whispered the second word. My insanity was apparently contagious. 'I do not possess horns nor do I feel as if I am being prodded by any.'

Enid stared at me with her mouth agape. 'Willa, have you-? Have you never been horny before?' 'What?' I responded. Enid ran a hand through her hair. 'Have you ever had a certain, um, 'amorous' feeling before?' She asked with hesitation and possible embarrassment. 'What do you mean a 'certain amorous feeling'?' I requested for further clarification. 'You know, uh… When you feel- When your body feels 'hot' down there.' She seemed to be struggling with how best to phrase her explanation. She pointed downwards, toward my pelvic region. 'It feels tense and damp.' I stated. 'And yet I am not due to start my menstrual cycle for at least another two weeks or so and I don't appear to be incontinent.' More blood appeared to rush to the werewolf's face. In apparent self consciousness she covered it. 'Wednesday! You can't do this to me right now!' She exclaimed behind her hands.

'Do what? I have done nothing.' I frowned at her. 'Wednesday Addams!' She said sternly as she lowered her hands. I swallowed at the sudden change in her tone. I also observed that she had pinned my wrists down once more. Her lips captured mine and her tongue demanded entrance to my mouth. I allowed it without question. Clearly she needed answers that I couldn't provide in my current mental state. An unfamiliar sound rose up inside me as she pressed her knee more firmly between my legs. I struggled to escape her grasp and she released my wrists at once. She drew back, watching me closely. I was not done greeting her and pulled her back in.

The madness was evidently satiated by maintaining a physical closeness with my packmate. Out of curiosity I slipped my tongue past her lips. While I lack the canis lupus genes I still wondered if I could collect any information from the inside of her mouth. Enid allowed its exploration and decided to do some exploration of her own. I felt her hands trail along the sides of my body. For whatever reason the madness rejoiced at the contact and demanded more. I felt myself grip Enid tighter in an attempt to appease it. After a moment or two the werewolf had apparently finished greeting me and pulled away.

I was left panting for some reason, and my body screamed in protest at being separated from the werewolf. I tried to pull her back but she withdrew from my touch. 'Willa, as much as I want to continue, and I really want to continue, I can't.' She said seriously. 'Not while you don't know what 'that' is.' She gestured to my lower half. 'I feel like I'd be taking advantage of you.' I propped myself up and to my horror found that the dampness between my legs had grown exponentially. 'I shall see a doctor at once.' I informed her as I carefully climbed off her bed.

'Call your therapist.' She said bluntly before laying back down and covering her face with a pillow. 'Yes, of course, cara mia.' I froze as I realized what jeopardous words had been born from my lips. I quickly covered them to prevent any more folly. '…What was that?' Enid had begun to ask as she lowered the pillow. I fled the room.