#and the fact that it has removable parts means it doesn’t have to be so noticeable from outside clothes

[charmac]

thoughts on charlie learning how to read?

As to the effect, I think we’ll have to wait to see what really comes of it, considering the very final joke of the episode is he thinks “guest” on the scoreboard says “ghost,” they definitely made a point to make it clear he’s not necessarily literate by any means beyond “enough to graduate kindergarten”

I do like what Justin and Patrick, the EPs for Abbott said about the longevity of that establishment:

In the end, it’s definitely what Sunny and Charlie Day decide to do with this canon. We know the Abbott ep was filmed before any of the episodes for Season 17 of Sunny, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility that they do stick with the idea that Charlie doesn’t struggle as much with reading and writing and maybe has a little kick in him to keep practicing.

Personally on the existence of the storyline now incorporated into Sunny canon, I think they did it in such a fantastic way it’s hard for me to argue anything against or say anything negative. I loved watching it. The thing I love about Abbott is the heart they have in the stories and how real a lot of what they address and tackle in childhood-into-adult development is, and you feel that here, for sure. And we’re watching Abbott, not Sunny, so it’s something removed from the purgatory of the bar.

For those of us that know and love Charlie, I think it’s hard to not feel soft toward this idea that (even if it doesn’t stick or it’s so so basic) there really truly are ways for the Gang to develop and improve on their faults/stubbornness to change, provided it’s treated the right way. And that can only be done (and maybe only continue) in a completely different environment, like Abbott.

The tragedy of Sunny and the Gang is that they’ll never treat each other in that way and therefore can rarely develop. It’s not that they don’t necessarily care, but that their communication methods are so crude and fulled by (often trauma-born) selfishness, they can never give each other the support needed to help improve each other. They make each other miserable in most cases, but they’re also content with that because they almost equally inflict what they take on....

Though Sunny isn't all complete misery, as we all know. They do love each other in fucked up ways and (maybe) almost wish they could help each other in certain respects. Mac's support and encouragement of Charlie being able to read is evident in many Sunny episodes, so it really warmed my heart that Charlie was so eager to show Mac how he had learned and could do a more difficult part of the book for him :) In my opinion, they kept it well aligned with Sunny canon. The Gang don't have the tools to teach Charlie to read, but they do all support and even partly enjoy him learning if they don't have to do it themselves.

I think what we see of Charlie in the Sunny episode will be interesting. Since he's the A plot in Abbott, I have to imagine he has a minor role in Sunny, but will certainly be present. If the idea here is that everyone other than Dennis is serving to distract the teachers, and Charlie only learned to read for the week and goes back to his baseline state of illiteracy, I think I would accept that too.

The lasting effect of the plot doesn't matter too much to me. I think instead the idea that, in the right environment, Charlie can learn to read (and even gets some sense of pride and excitement out of being able to read) but Paddy's and the Gang are really what hinder him from being able to do so (despite the Gang not necessarily against the idea, and considering the fact that Charlie contributes to and prefers the environment they've created) reinforces the Sunny that we hold dear.

[darlinimamess]

.

[fortythealien]

The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive. — He must have died.

The monster swallowed him again, but this time, his enemy is not another person. The imposing armor stayed quiet. He was grappled and imprisoned within those pair of arms. The speaker was the woman with sunglasses.

"Listen, I can always kill you again, otherwise I can't bring you back." Her voice was very gentle, and even the monster inside his body stayed silent to listen to her. "But I don't want to." The woman leaned down and whispered in his ear. It was a deal he couldn't refuse. "What do you people want?" "Is there anything more satisfying than seeing how the undying die? That's what 'he' said."

The giant armor loosened its arms. "Destiny" was ahead, and he will be leaving with them. "Listen, Bladie, loosen up." "Listen, don't think about anything at all." He nodded. The woman walked to his side, smiling. Yet he thought her smile looked very sad. "Maybe someone left her before they could listen to everything she had to say," he thought.

-Blade's Character Story: Part III

I love how tender Kafka and Blade's relationship is.

Pretty much every time Blade's onscreen he's getting hurt, going berserk, bleeding, killing, beating up his ex husband's boyfriend's son, etc...

Except Kafka's companion quest, where he is calm and sedate (and engaging in some very elaborate sensory deprivation/hypnotism kink, which, I'm jealous, but whatever)

ANYWAY. Kafka, known for being a ruthless, borderline sadistic dominatrix, does not have to do all this for him. They could've and should've left the Xianzhou sooner, but she has to stop and make sure Blade's okay. And there's just something about the way she talks about him. She literally cannot feel fear, but there's an intense need to keep him from suffering unnecessarily.

And Blade appreciates it! Most of Blade's party join lines are vaguely annoyed or a little threatening, but when he sees Kafka in the team, he's happy. He's even a little silly! He's excited to kick ass with his best friend!

I think it all boils down to the fact that Blade doesn't trust anything - not his past friends, not his hands, sometimes not even his own mind.. but he trusts Kafka, and I think that's beautiful

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Viktor being an antagonistic figure towards both Piltover and Zaun is a poor writing decision for a number of reasons, some more obvious than others.

Of course, Arcane was never going to be a one to one of League lore, that much is clear from season one, but there was still a lot established that felt as though it would still lead to the character established in the games, Viktor especially.

Season one focuses heavily on his deteriorating relationship with Jayce, and his conflicting feelings towards Piltover, most obvious in both his terminal illness, and Piltover wanting to use his creation against Zaun, when his intentions had always been to use Hextech to help Zaun. Even though his lore is different, we can still see how Viktor would make the choices he does, and how choice is deeply important to his character as well.

‘There is always a choice.’ Is a line that sticks out to me, especially given the context it’s displayed in, with Viktor choosing to disarm Jinx’s bomb and thus choose to live.

The minute you take away Viktor’s choice and grey morality, you completely push aside everything about him that was established in season one, which is unfortunately what season two does.

Part of me thinks that the reason this was done is because to have Viktor question Piltover further, to have him present for Cait’s rise and the gassing of the Undercity and growing brutality towards its people, would mean that it would have to be acknowledged deeper, and that there would have to be actual consequences. Viktor’s arc cannot centre around the conflict of Zaun vs Piltover anymore, because to do so would mean actually addressing the horrifically inhumane acts of Piltover, and the centuries of oppression in a way that justified Zaun’s violence and anger.

Viktor’s arc cannot centre around him choosing to become the Machine Herald, because that would mean acknowledging that he has a right to be resentful and hurt, that the fact he was dying was caused directly by Piltover.

Viktor had to be removed from the main narrative until the end, which lost so much of his character and what made him interesting in the first place.

And back to my initial point as I fear I’ve strayed from it. Viktor simply doesn’t work as this all-powerful antagonistic force that brings the cities together, because it erases the fact he’s a Zaunite from the narrative, and here his people are, dying in enforcer uniforms because of him. Viktor’s actions don’t feel like a choice here.

Another issue with him as this force is that magic doesn’t work as the main threat in Arcane, as I feel like a key part of season one was how Jayce and Viktor adapted magic into technology, and how humans wielded it, and the double-edged sword of technological advancement: healing vs violence.

Again, Viktor’s character and conflict is erased by centring him around magic.

Another less obvious point I think is both finale’s centre around the actions of a singular Zaunite. Jinx destroys the council, which causes them to backtrack on peace, as the action of one person from the Undercity in their eyes is the action of them all, as that’s what they expect from them. It’s similar with Viktor, except, because he has help from Noxus, it’s seen more as an outside threat, and so the show again doesn’t have to address how Piltover actually feels about Zaun.

If it was just Viktor attacking, he’d be the same as Jinx.

Not sure if I’ve worded that last bit as well as I did the rest, but I hope it does make sense.

All in all it just leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I think Viktor should have had a season long arc of him becoming the Machine Herald — I really do.

[originalwinnerfanfish]

Well, I did it

Megatron - I love his tfp design. Probably one of the best iteration of Megs. He is huge, heavy armoured, his face covered with scars… He doesn’t looks like an ordinary military leader who is only capable of giving orders, but like real warrior who can destroy any enemy with his bare hands.

So, in the WOF version, he definitely shares some features with Princess Burn, not only because of his might, but also because of his horns shape and dirty-dark scales (that absorbed blood of his enemies)

Starscream - Boy, I hate him so much 🤣… but in the good way, trust me! In my opinion, when the show's creators make you feel such strong negative emotions towards a villain, it means they've done a great job. Also, I think that his animation in the show was absolutely incredible, because even though he's a 3D model, he still manages to move like a 2D character, which is amazing!

I feel that in my design he still looks more like a skywing, than an icewing (which is kinda logical)

Soundwave - This one was tricky. I couldn't figure out what his mask would look like, so I just made his face a really dark color. I think Soundwave has both gifts of the nightwings, and he’s equally great at telepathy and a future vision. So he doesn't really need equipment to predict enemy movements, which makes him an ideal communicator in the WOF setting. His Laserbeak is part of the armor enchanted by Shockwave, and it might also allow him to open portals (but I'm not sure with this one)

Shockwave - My favourite evil genius. He would definitely have animus magic and mind reading. I think Shockwave is the only one who has advanced the study of magic so far, precisely because he combined it with scientific knowledge and created safer methods of using it, that don't damage the mind. It's like if a Mastermind got animus magic in books.

I also like to think that he didn't heal the damaged part of his face just so that his enemies would fear him more)

Dreadwing - This man deserved better! It's really a shame that he was removed from the show so quickly due to financial problems. It would be great if his arc got a proper conclusion in season 3.

Considering that I didn't want to make him a hybrid, it was difficult to choose a suitable color palette. So let’s just say, that I tried my best😅

I don’t think that he would have any nightwing powers, but honestly it doesn’t even matter - this guy can make a bombs, what else does he need to be cool

Arachnid - Did anyone even doubt that she would be a hivewing? Damn, she even got her own “Othermind” virus. Her design was the easiest to work with - just a little poisonous ass (suspiciously similar to Maleficent).

Just like Starscream, I hate her, but in a good way. She's one of the creepiest characters in the entire series, who’s acting like a fucking heartless monster, especially with Arcee, but even so, there's always was something mesmerizing about her. I just really like strong female villains

Knockout - Wery bright and charismatic guy, definitely one of my fav cons!

I tried to draw him as handsome as possible. Worked a lot on the face shape and coloring, and as for me it turned out pretty nice (finally).

Most decepticons think Knockout is as stupid and lazy as all the other rainwings. And it's not like he completely disagrees with that. Of course he’s not stupid and lazy, but if it’s means less dirty work on the battlefield, well, he’ll continue act like a tipical rainwing

(I also believe that Megatron keeps him as an “art”)

Breakdown - Fun fact: "Operation Breakdown" was the very first thing I saw in this series. And it was an interesting experience for 8 year old me. Maybe that's why I'm so scared of eye gouging scenes in movies now…

I think that he didn't have any siblings initially due to his parents nature, and even after meeting Bulkhead, he felt uncomfortable among the other mudwings. And this is why he later chose the side of the decepticons. And maaaaybe because of one cute rainwing influence)

P.s.

I think that, being mostly nightwings and icewings, the decepticons are much more concerned about purity of their blood and rarely accept half-breeds into their ranks.

During the war, there were many animus dragons among decepticons, which is why they have so many artifacts that allowed teleportation and communication at a distance. But, honestly, I still can't imagine what Nemesis would look like in this AU

[corollaservant]

oh noooo kinks post is gone 😭😭

buddy, you lurkin? this was up for an hour 😳 jk jk—this was filthy, made me feel like i was too disgusting on the internet or shadowbanned. anyways yk what? here you go (cause it was fun to write) <3

(18+) MHA kinks (shiggy, overhaul, dabi)

cw: coercion/gaslighting, edging (lol?), s/m, asphyxiation(implied), kai's mysophobia (the correct term is microphobia but anyways)

Shigaraki: i think he’s into gaslighting and coercion and ik the latter doesn’t classify as a kink (more like an offense) but hear me out:

he brought you to that miserable bar the LoV hangs out in and can’t stop touching you, while you’re forced to sit on his lap. you love public, right? well, no and he knows. whether the LoV watches or not doesn't matter, he wants to see your attitude change, once you can't hide the fact he's fucking you over fabric anymore. his cock twitches, when he stops and you silently beg with your eyes. he'll tell you that he thought you didn't like this while you’ll apologize for even thinking that.

when alone, he’ll have you sprawled on the bed, parting your legs and asking you which you prefer, his fingers or tongue. you’ll brokenly breathe out a “fingers, please” as he’ll sneer and..oblige. he’s clearly skilled, his fingertips tease your cunt as if he’s strumming close chords on a guitar and fuck—you look pretty as shit watching him push them inside. ‘’so you’re saying that you don't like my tongue, yeah?’’ he’ll feign sorrow, you never said that but he makes you reflect on it. ‘’you know what i think? i think you’ll like my tongue just fine’’ he’ll tell you and start sucking on the swelled nub as you tremble. ‘’actually.. you’ll like it more’’

once you shamelessly cum on his tongue exhausted, he’ll continue. ‘’ready for the main event?’’ he’ll ask as you beg him to at least wait a second, you ache down there but he obviously doesn’t care. ‘’there’s no time to wait..come on baby, you know it feels better the second time around.’’ he’ll tell you as his tip splits your folds. you ultimately consider that he might be right after all. actually, he’s never wrong.

Overhaul: this man has an edging kink.. before you say anything, it’s not what you think.

he’ll have you on that examination table (not too heavy on his medical kink tho), mask and gloves on, of course what did you think? that he’d make an exception? the fact he’s even touching you is enough boundaries crossed for him. his gloved hand will spread your juices across your pussy, as he winces behind the bird mask. he hates dirt, bodily fluids, liquids, any bodily emission/discharge, call it whatever you want. the moment he senses your pulse and legs jerking, he’ll remove his hand in fear you might cum on his gloves. you’ll whimper upset but he doesn’t really care, you should thank him for allowing you this proximity in the first place.

same with sex. condoms with him is like the concept of gravity — self fucking explanatory. sometimes he’ll even use two. don’t get him wrong, it’s not like you are the problem, it’s more like your body, he feels like he purifies you each time he thrusts calculated in your cunt (he's delusional). he likes you being vocal as long as you don’t accidentally spit on him, which will earn you a slap.

to prove that the issue is not you, the man will not allow himself to cum inside you, even with the (2) condoms on. he just prefers transmitting the ‘filth’ directly onto you, which means he’ll have you pump his cock and receive all his load (wherever it lands, he makes sure it's angled towards you). 

he's a weirdo of course, but he makes up for it in aftercare. he sterilizes you like there’s no tomorrow. if you’re lucky and you make him cum quick and clean, he might offer a cup of tea and your favorite snack. 

Dabi: sadomasochism. i’ve seen both variations separately done for him before — i just think he’s both.

obviously he’s more into the first (sadism). will treat you like a potato sack, lifting you up without asking, throwing (literally throwing) you to the bed, not caring about where you’ll land and ripping/burning the fabric that clings onto you. assaults your cunt—spits on it and slaps the clit with his hands (sometimes too hard, it makes you cry).

facefucks you the minute you get a hold of his cock, he doesn’t even give you a second, he will grab your head and move it to an unforgiving pace. definitely a cheek slapper — needs to feel his dick in your gums from outside. he might pinch your nose shut and leave you with no airway to..survive. but it’s ok, you make it out alive.

has ropes and recently bought a leash and a collar. it’s red with a black handle and he uses it each time you talk too much. might get bored just holding the handle as he needs to touch (bruise) you, so he’ll hang it to the bed’s end and just pull at the steel. shoots his cum inside only when you're loud enough to make his ears ring. (rip neighbors, they're already considering moving out after they called the cops on him and he almost fried them)

until..

the thing is.. Dabi lives in the past, he doesn’t share his life with anyone so how is he supposed to not dwell on it by himself? has a lot of inflicted pain he can’t share but subconsciously craves. the first time you take liberty in causing him pain ever so little is accidental. you are on top, he’s setting the pace, sure, but your weight falls on his face as your arms enclose his neck. you’re not trying, hell, you don’t even know how to choke someone properly (why would you?) but you need to hold on to something and you think you’re imagining it when you hear a very soft moan. no, you’re definitely imagining it. it will cross your mind later on.

after that, you try to experiment in the territory, you’re in missionary and he thrusts inside you while you bring his neck close and squeeze again. this time you deliberately apply pressure as he hisses a fuck so.. you slap him. it’s a light, small smack on his cheek, again, you don’t want to piss him off but he groans, this time louder and you grin. you might end up slapping him harder the more the sex progresses, the staples hurt your knuckles but he’s making desperate (sexy) sounds.

he’s not gonna be descriptive since he is waay too embarrassed (you will never hear a ‘’shit, i love it when you cause me pain, babe’’) but you don’t care, his expressions tell you everything you need to know.

the next time you’re on top and test the waters, you grab the leash and collar from the nightstand and raise a brow. that’s how most of the communication flows, with mute understanding. he’ll huff in annoyance while his hips involuntarily buck up and he’ll mutter: ‘’shit, whatever.. get this over with.’’ (i hc he calls you bro when embarrassed lol) breath already hitched as you adjust the buckle to his neck. safe to say you’re more than proud to see him fall apart, even if tears never spill from his eyes. 

[cy-cyborg]

How The Owl House did amputee representation right before Eda ever lost her arm - Disability in Media

[ID: A screenshot of Eda from The Owl House, an old woman with pale skin, very large, grey hair and pointed ears in a red dress. Beside the screenshot on a dark pink background is text that reads "Disability in media, How the Owl House got amputee representation right before eda ever lost her arm." /End ID]

Dana Terrace's The Owl House has some of the best disability rep I’ve seen on a Disney channel show in a long time, with Eda, the main character’s mentor, being one of many stand-out examples.

Plenty of people have discussed how Eda’s curse and the loss of her magic can work as an allegory for disability and how refreshing it is to see a story (especially one aimed at a younger audience) who’s focus is not on her “overcoming” it, but learning to accept it as a part of her and go from there. Eda’s story tackles a lot of subjects that are often mishandled in other examples of disability representation, from the subject of parents who refuse to accept, to glass siblings and much, much more, The Owl House handles all these topics beautifully.

But one thing that dawned on me during my most recent re-watch of The Owl House is how well Eda (and later Lilith) worked as amputee representation, long before Eda actually lost her arm.

One of the side effects of Eda and Lilith’s curse is that sometimes their body parts, mainly their limbs, can fall off. It doesn’t hurt them, and Eda is seen removing them intentionally at multiple times in the series, but they can always be reattached.

[ID: an image of Eda holding her sister Lilith's hand. Lilith is a pale woman with long, black hair, wearing grey clothes. She is looking at her other arm suprised, as her hand is missing. Luz, a Latina girl with short brown hair and a purple hoodie is looking on, smiling. /End ID]

While most likely unintentional, the way the show depicts this with Eda in particular is exactly what I wish more people would do with their prosthetic-using amputee characters.

Eda detaches her limbs, especially her legs, when they’re inconvenient or when she’s relaxing.

[ID: an image of Eda laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

The fact that this is mostly played for laughs is actually a good thing in my opinion (though obviously, the show’s overall tone is part of that), as it shows the audience who are mostly children and teens, that in a world of weird and downright scary (from the perspective of the characters) things, this isn't one of them. It’s just a thing she and Lilith can do, and it can even be funny.

[ID: An image of Luz and Eda dressed as pirates. Eda is sitting on the ground, her legs detached and off screen somewhere. /End ID]

It does startle Luz and Lilith on a few occasions, but that’s more because they didn’t know the curse could do that, but once they’re introduced to it, it’s never really brought up as a big deal again.

I’d love to see more amputee characters who do this with their prosthetics. So often media is almost afraid to have amputees take their prosthetics off on camera or on the page. For some folks, our prosthetics are like a part of our bodies, but that doesn’t mean we never take them off. Show your leg amputee flop on the couch and throw their legs across the room. Have them go without on occasion, not because they have to, but because they just don’t feel like putting them on.

Likewise, the owl house creators never shy away from showing Eda when her limbs aren’t all attached. A lot of media, and kid’s shows in particular, will avoid having an amputee character’s stump visible if they ever do take their prosthetics off - treating that part of the character’s body the same way they treat gore or nudity. I’ve talked before how this actually does have a real impact on how kids in particular react to amputees - I’ve legitimately had kids I worked with cry when I took my prosthetics off, then immediately calm down when they see there’s nothing "scary" under my socks. As much as I love How To Train Your Dragon, it’s very guilty of this. Hiccup looses his leg at the end of the first movie, and wakes up with his prosthetic already attached. The Netflix series has a few instances where he has his prosthetic off, but the camera almost always avoids showing it until he can cover it up again, or is super zoomed-out so you wouldn’t be able to “see anything”. To their credit, they do get better with this in the last movie (though it's still always covered), but for the majority of the series, they are very reluctant to have any shots where hiccup’s leg is in view without the prosthetic (unless they’re very far away).

[ID: a screenshot of Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon 3, a white man with short brown hair, and one leg missing, wearing armour made of black dragon scales and no prosthetic. He is holding onto toothless's head, a black dragon. /End ID]

Ironically, Eda does (permanently) loose an arm at the end of season 2, but I don’t really have much to say about her as amputee representation on that front, since she’s absent for a lot of Season 3, and when we do see her again, everything is so hectic, the story doesn’t really have any time to focus on her missing limb (which is reasonable). I will say, I do appreciate that they kept the amputation when she's in her owl-beast form in the finale, but there's honestly not much more to say about it. We do see her again in the epilogue after she’s had some time to settle into the amputation, wearing a hook prosthetic, but it’s, once again, too quick to really say anything from a representation standpoint. There's a few little nit-picky things I could bring up, like the fact they seemed to change the type on amputation she had (when she looses it, we see the split was very close to the elbow, but in the epilogue she has most of her forearm again) but those read to me more like animation mistakes or an odd prosthetic/clothing designs rather than a representation issue - and as someone who's worked in animation, given the stress the team was under for the finale, I'm not really worried about it. Like I said, it's more nit-picky than anything.

[ID: A screenshot of Eda, her hair tied back and wearing a red robe and a hook for her right hand. /End ID]

Despite all that though, I still think Eda is still good amputee representation, but mostly because of how they depict her curse’s side effects rather than her actual amputation. She’s honestly one of the only characters that I think you could refer to as “amputee coded” (outside of maybe Teen Titan’s Cyborg), and I genuinely wish more creators would treat their actual amputee characters the same way the Owl House treats Eda in that regard.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I don’t know if you have this but please can i request headcandons of the spiderverse Boys with their lover reader wearing their (spider boys) clothing like a hoodie or a t shirt?

Miles thought he had stopped breathing when he saw you wear the jacket he has been searching high and low for the past fifteen minutes.

He had been wanting to see you in his clothes but the poor boy didn’t know how to say it without tripping and stumbling awkwardly over his words like a new born baby deer.

‘Hey, have you seen my jacket-‘ his words faltered and then later died on his lips when he raised his eyes as he entered his room, only to see you wearing the very jacket he had been searching high and low for. ‘You’re wearing it.’ His voice cracked and out of embarrassment Miles cleared his throat and tried again. ‘You’re- You’re wearing it.’

You smiled at him, finding his attempts in keeping his cool amusing, especially when it was doing something small like wearing his clothes but you couldn’t help yourself! The jacket was still somewhat warm from previous use and smelt like him, which brought you comfort for the days where he couldn’t always be with you as it felt as though you had a part of him always with you. Though it doesn’t compare to actually having Miles with you, it still brought you a sense of relief and security that you always get when with the young lad.

‘Did you want it back?’ You asked, about to take it off when Miles exclaimed ‘no!’ Making you both jump with how loud it came out but made you both laugh none the less. ‘I mean, no, keep it on as long as you want. You look great in it.’ Miles admits, running the back of his neck, highly aware of the heat radiating within of every part of his body, from the tips of his ears to his chest and even to his feet, as though it was going to burn him from the inside out.

‘Just great?’ You teased, brows raised.

‘Did I say great? I meant you look beautiful, handsome, pretty, beautiful, cosy, comfy.’ Miles rambled and you knew you had to intervene before he hurts himself, which lead you to walk towards him and hold his face in your hands, internally melting when his beautiful doe brown eyes looked into yours as though they’re the only thing grounding him right now. ‘Relax, I’m only teasing babe.’ You reassured him, thumbs stroking his cheeks as means of calming him down. ‘Now are you comfortable with me wearing your stuff because I can stop if you want.’

Just when you were about to pulls your hands away from his face so you could remove and hand back his jacket, Miles placed his hands over yours, keeping them glued to his face as he looked at you adoringly. ‘It doesn’t bother me at all.’ He tells you. ‘In fact it makes me really happy just seeing you in my stuff,’ he chuckles to himself. ‘I swear it feels as though I’m still dreaming sometimes.’ He finishes.

Miles loves it when you wear his clothes as it means that even when you were apart, you’re thinking about him, always and wishing for his safe return. He feels loved, extremely loved.

Pavitr’s day is immediately made a thousand times better when he notices that you’ve been wearing his clothes. He fucking adores it so much to the point that he’s already making plans on just letting you use his wardrobe at your disposal.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad day because seeing you in his clothes even on days where he’s mentally, emotionally and physically okay, he’s automatically made even more chipper and happy to the point he will not shut up about his rant on how cute and adorable you look in his shirt.

He’s talking about a mile a minute that you were starting to get concerned when you saw he wasn’t stopping for breath. When he does remember to breath, you were able to realise the breath that you didn’t know that you had been withholding yourself.

Probably has a multitude of pictures of you wearing his clothes and might’ve made one his lock/Home Screen or maybe both, so that when he was doing his spider-man stuff, he’d be reminded that you were waiting for you Pav to come back safe and sound.

He will shamelessly scream it from the rooftops that you were wearing his clothes and say loud enough for all those within the radius to hear. He’s not ashamed in the slightest and will brag about it until he can’t no more. His friends, Hobie, Miles, Gwen and Margo were often subjected to these bragging sessions more so then anyone else.

To the point where Hobie and Miles dog pile him in getting him to shut up about you wearing his clothes for a second. Yes they get it, it’s really cut that your wearing his clothes and how when you return them to him they smell like you’ve never left.

They get it, Pavitr is an absolute sucker for you in his shirts and whilst they found it cute themselves, pav didn’t need to get all dramatic with his long winded speech about how his clothes on you looked as though they were tailored to fit you like the did him, nor how he believes that was a sign for him that you two were meant to be together forever.

Overall Pavitr gets overwhelmingly affectionate when you wear his stuff to the point where your being smothered alive by his constrictive hugs and flurries of kisses raining down on your face. He loves, loves, loves seeing you in his clothes. It makes him happier then he’s ever been.

Hobie is the definition of ‘what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours.’

So let’s say you find his vest with the pins spanning across the lapels and the spikes that traversed across the shoulders, draped over the door and decided to wear it for a while until Hobie notices it’s absence.

Jokes on you though because Hobie never left anything of his without it being purely intentional and Hobie left his vest over at yours with the intention that you’d pick it up and wear it out of your own fruition, rather then having him telling you to wear it.

Outwardly his reaction upon seeing you wearing his vest is relatively neutral but that’s only to those on the outside but you could see the smile etching it’s way across his face along with the mischievous, all knowing glint within his eyes that told you all that you had willingly fallen right into his trap, just as he expected.

You’ve been had but you couldn’t be mad because it meant that Hobie had this in mind for a while and played the waiting game to execute his little plan. He wanted to see you in his clothes that he was willing to leave his beloved vest in your hands.

Hobie isn’t territorial but just seeing you in his clothes makes him feel all sorts of things but he just chalks it down to being a spider attribute he got from the bite and nothing else.

All this cheeky fuck would say to seeing you in his vest is; ‘guess I was right, it suits you.’ Which might as well have been his way of telling you that you were more then welcome to steal his clothes but just don’t be surprised when you start seeing some of your own stuff disappearing now and then.

Can’t find your crop top?

Hobie’s wearing it the next time you see him.

Needless to say Hobie loves it when you wear his stuff, so he’s going to do the exact same but with your clothes because he loves the expressions he gets when you ultimately realises who had been stealing your clothes for the past few days.

Miguel may act cool, calm and collected with a smidge of feral his heart isn’t immune from melting at the sight of you wearing his clothing.

It doesn’t even matter how long you’ve been doing it as it always made this secret softy feel as though it was the first time all over again.

Miguel is so occupied with his work to unhealthy extent that he doesn’t realise your wearing one of his shirts, and even when he does; it takes him a minute due to the lack of sleep affecting his ability to comprehend his reality before he’s doing a double take upon realising that yes, that was his shirt your wearing.

It’s cute watching his eyes nearly pop out of his head upon realisation.

‘Is that my shirt?’ He’d ask, although already knowing the answer. He’s not against it, he’s just surprised that you’d even want to wear anything of his. He doesn’t think he’s deserving of such a gesture but it touches his heart nonetheless.

‘I missed you.’ You replied, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. ‘You’re so busy with work that I don’t often get alone time with you anymore. So whenever your away and I’m missing you, I go through your closet and pick a shirt out, and wear it for the rest of the day because it makes me feel as though your here with me.’ You finished with a shrug.

Miguel couldn’t help but feel his heart hurt upon your admittance of missing him. He knows how often he prioritises his work that he was completely blindsided by how it affect you, so much so to the extent that you sought out comfort from his clothes because he was nowhere to be found.

‘You look at home in my clothes.’ He tells you as he decided then and there to cut out some time of his day just for you and be there for you like a lover should be. ‘And I’m sorry that I haven’t been here as much as I should but I promise that’ll change.’ Miguel practically pleads to you as he holds you against his muscular chest, his hands rubbing your back, secretly loving how his shirt looked on you more so then anything.

Seeing you wear his clothes became Miguel’s favourite sight to see first thing in the morning and last thing at night. He takes pride out of it but the reasoning behind it will always make him upset at himself at his failings of being a partner.

It’s something he’s improved on ever since and you couldn’t help but get giddy when you felt him walk up behind you in the mornings, burying his head into your neck, greeting it with kisses, as his arms enclose on your waist, speaking to you in his low raspy morning voice about how beautiful/ handsome/cute/pretty/stunning you looked to the point where you wanted nothing then to bury yourself into his chest so he couldn’t see the dopey, lovesick smile beaming across your face.

Miguel isn’t immune to seeing you wearing his clothes and he never will be because it’s a declaration of love in its own unique way.

Peter B would find you wearing his clothes unbearably adorable.

He just wanted to squeeze you tightly but knew that probably wasn’t the smartest idea considering with his strength but that never stopped him from taking photos of you doing mundane things in his shirt or sweatpants that you had to tie up by the drawstrings.

Peter has taken too many pictures that he might as well have dedicated an entire album to you wearing his sweats, shirts or even his pink bathrobe and doing mundane things such as making breakfast, watching your favourite shows on tv, playing with Mayday and the like.

So don’t be surprised when he starts showing anyone that would listen over at the spider society pictures of his lover looking absolutely gorgeous/handsome/pretty/beautiful/adorable in his clothes 24/7. Miguel especially but Jess, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Hobie and Margo were also some that got pestered by Peter.

Peter B is also very vocal and would smother you praise of how good you look in his clothes because what he says is 100% genuine.

For example;

‘Look at you! You look amazing!’

‘You’re so cute in my clothes, please don’t stop wearing them.’

‘How could my lover look even better when they’re wearing my clothes. It shouldn’t be possible but here you are, proving me wrong.’

This corny bastard would teasingly call you a mini version of him since you want to wear his stuff so badly.

You’ve defiantly caught him admiring you from afar when you wear his clothes. His eyes are soft and half lidded as he rests his face against his hand, he wasn’t aware that he was leaning so much to the point that before long he was on the floor. It’s so cartoonish and goofy but it’s just so Peter that you can’t help but let out a little chuckle before going over to help your lover off of the floor.

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

[trippinsorrows]

what the heart wants + one

authors note: here we are again with another au. this one, however, is a hot ass mess. i condone none of this shit.

also, this particular au will be told through a set of interconnected, non-chronological oneshots.

warnings: angst, some minor smut, and a shit ton of mess

words: 6k

suggested listening: 'a drop in the ocean' by ron pope

There have to be over a hundred different ways Solana predicted her life would turn out. Almost all of them ended with letters after her name, a white coat and stethoscope around her neck, and a set of children and husband in a cozy, white picket fenced house somewhere in the suburbs.

Such a traditional, stereotypical, happy ending of sorts. But, it’s an ending she settled on being hers.

If only things ended up that way, because nothing about her current situation is anywhere near the path to that standard domesticity. 

Solana’s hand naturally falls to her stomach, pushing past the fluffy material of the dress. Material that hides the secret she’s been sitting on for almost two months now. A secret that stands to ruin, quite literally, everything.

“Solana!”

The woman in question jumps and quickly removes her hand, focused now on the icy glare of her older sister. A stark contrast to her cruel expression is the natural beauty Samantha “Sam” Miller has always possessed. Her makeup is light, as anything heavier takes away from her natural beauty. Her dark, long, loose curls cascade down her back and complement her practically perfect complexion. The white, bodycon type dress hugs her curves in all the right ways and highlights the toned planes of her body, including a flat stomach.

She looks perfect.

She always has though. 

That’s always been part of the problem, because how could Solana ever compete with that?

“Sorry,” Solana mumbles, nervously fiddling with the side of her dress. “What—”

“Why aren’t you wearing the dress I picked for you?”

Solana tenses. Another issue she’s been avoiding that ties back to the biggest issue she’s avoiding. 

The answer, as rehearsed, is simple. “It—it doesn’t fit anymore.” Not an entire lie. The dress Samantha selected for her bridal party to wear at the wedding rehearsal was always a bit snug. Still is. The difference now, however, is that it’s even more snug in the stomach area, the same area Solana needs to keep cloaked as if her life depended on it.

And in some ways, it does. 

Samantha’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean it doesn’t fit anymore?” She scoffs, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Oh my God, I knew you were getting fatter.” Solana would have more of a reaction if not for the fact that she’s used to these kinds of comments. She’s heard them her whole life from her sister. “Jesus, can’t you do a crash diet or something? It’s not fair that I—”

“Samantha, what’s wrong?”

Nina’s smooth voice enters the conversation. Both sets of eyes fall on the woman with a grace and beauty about her both physically and non-physically. Nina Miller’s presence is usually felt before she enters a room. She truly is someone who commands the attention of all nearby, including that of a now embarrassed Solana.

“Mom, your fatass daughter can’t fit the damn dress I picked for her to wear tonight, so she’s got….this on instead.”

Again, Sam’s words don’t really do much to Solana. Nina’s almost disappointed expression almost does though.

“Solana.” She gives a faux smile that doesn’t reach her warm eyes. “Honey, you know how important this night is for your sister. You should have been mindful of your food intake these past few months.”

“More like her whole life.”

As always, Nina ignores the cruelty extended from one child to another. Her judgmental gaze takes in Solana’s alternative outfit. “It doesn’t look awful, but it does make you look bigger.” She reaches a hand and places it on Solana’s shoulder. “I’ll send you over some articles for a few diets that might be good for you.” 

Solana still says nothing. This also wouldn’t be the first time her mother has tried to help her with her “weight” problem. 

After all, as Nina has said multiple times, “no one’s going to want a fat person for their doctor, Solana.”

“Sam.”

Another voice. One that makes the hairs on the back of Solana’s neck stand up, that has her wishing for quite literally anything to happen that will cause the earth to swallow her whole or somehow grant her invisibility. 

He stands behind Nina and Sam, her sister’s height partially obscuring her view of him, but most definitely not his view of her. 

And the minute his penetrating gaze falls on her, Solana knows she needs to make herself scarce.

“Roman.” Her mother’s sickeningly sweet address of the man Solana should technically also address, as per protocol, is just more fodder for the youngest Miller girl to try to quietly make her escape.

If not for her damn sister.

Solana tenses when Sam reaches and grabs her arm. Their eyes lock, and Sam glares, “did you acknowledge him?”

Did you?

It takes a lot for her to keep that snarky comeback locked within the confines of her head. A wise decision, as she knows the rock on Sam’s left finger is all the acknowledgement she needs to give.

Just the thought of it has her chest hurting. A pain that intensifies as Solana forces her gaze to lift to Roman’s. His eyes are piercing into her, questioning, inquisitive, curious, wanting.

There’s a heaviness in the back of her throat as she forces out in a leveled but low voice. “My Tribal Chief.” And just like that, before he can offer any sort of response, Solana is turning to leave, desperate to put as much distance between herself and him as possible. 

But, as have been most things in her life in the past couple of months, the universe has something else in mind. 

Because Solana is halfway down the hall of the church, a partial view of the restroom signs in her line of vision when she hears someone call after her.

Another familiar, unwanted interruption. 

She starts to ignore him, actually does so as she continues walking, only for him to catch up to her, grabbing her arm and moving in front of her.

“Solana.” 

She closes her eyes, unable to handle the almost pleading expression on his face. Swallowing, she addresses him, “Jey.”

It’s clearly not the kind of address he was looking for, but he leaves it alone. “How you doing?” 

A stupid ass question, one that has her scoffing as she asks, still not looking at him, even as he drops his hand from her. “What do you want, Jey?”

“I been calling and texting you.”

“What do you want?”

There is full recognition of her rudeness in this moment. Solana knows this, and she also knows that it’s not entirely directed toward the man before her. Knows that, if anything, he’s the one who should be upset with her. 

And the minute she finally allows herself to look at him, she sees that warranted frustration.

“What’s your problem?” Another fair question with a loaded, layer answer not appropriate for this setting. “Trying to check on you. Trying to check on the bab—”

“We’re fine,” is her clipped answer. She hugs herself, trying to move past him. He stops her, however, prompting her to plead, “Jey, please—”

“Why you acting this way? Huh?”

She closes her eyes again. “I’m not acting any kind—”

“Bullshit.” An appropriate callout, but one that has her eyes watering again. “I don’t get it. One minute you was all over me, now I can barely get you to fucking look at me.” And she still doesn’t, not until the next thing that leaves his mouth practically forces her to. “At least, I’m trying to be involved. Trying to step up. What the fuck has Roman done?”

That’s when she finally meets his pointed gaze. Swallowing, she warns, “don’t.”

“Why?” Jey is clearly unwilling to back down. Unsurprising. He has more in common with his cousin than he’d probably like to admit. “Man, when you gon’ get over him? He’s marrying your sister. Even if it is his—”

“Then, it’s none of your business,” Solana pushes back, once again trying to leave only for Jey to continue to block her. “Mo—”

“But, if it isn’t, then it is my business.” 

And that brings about an uncomfortable truth that Solana is not fully ready to admit out loud. Not even in the slightest, because she shouldn’t want either of them to be the one. Jey is, in many ways, the best outcome.

If only he was the one she wanted.

“Be honest with me, Solana.” His voice does an almost 180 from the previous irritated tone, shifting into something also solemn and vulnerable. “Was any of it ever real?” Another question she wasn’t expecting, just like any of this. “Did you ever actually give a fuck about me or were you just using me to get over him?”

Solana swallows. “Jey, I never—”

“Answer the damn question, Solana!”

“Hey!”

Another new voice enters. One Solana is actually grateful to hear.

Vai marches over to them, shoving on Jey, forcing him to move out of Solana’s way. “Leave her alone, Jey.”

He looks down at his cousin with an almost sneer. “Aye. This don’t involve you, Vai.”

Vai, however, has never and will ever be that person to back down. “The hell it doesn’t! You all only know her because of me.” A true statement that could either be a good or bad thing, depending on the perspective. “Come on, Sola.”

Solana is grateful and keeps her head down as Vai ushers them past a still watching Jey. But, it’s only when they’re in the privacy of the restrooms that Solana finally cracks.

She cries into her hands, overwhelmed and overcome with the heaviness of it all.

“Oh, Sola….” Vai comes up to her, engulfing her in a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Solana cries into her, clutching her almost. “I—I messed up.”

“Solana, this isn’t all your fault. My dumbass brother and cousin played a role in this as well.”

“But, I should have known better,” Solana argues, placing the bulk of the responsibility on herself. “I—I knew it was wrong.”

“So did they.” Vai has never been unafraid to call a spade a spade. Someone who agrees with holding all parties responsible. It’s partially why Solana values their friendship so much, because just as Vai can be a hot ass mess on any given day that ends in ‘Y,’ she’s always been in Solana’s corner, ready to support and go to war for her.

In many ways, a better “sister” than Sam has ever been. 

“Look.” Vai steps back and wipes away some of Solana’s tears. “I know it’s a lot, but we just have to make it through the next couple of days, and then we’re out of here for a month, so you can clear your head and get away from this all.”

And it’s in a set of back to back interactions that Solana completely forgot that while the next few days are bound to be some of the hardest of her life, going to spend a month in Mexico with her best friend and abuela is truly bound to be the kind of escape she needs.

Because Vai is most definitely right when she says that Solana needs to get away from all of this.

From them. 

Blowing out a breath, she shakes her head. “You’re—you’re right.”

Vai rolls her eyes. “Of course, I’m right.” She gives a playful smirk, lightly nudging the other woman. “You may be the smart one, but I have my moments, too.”

A light, bitter chuckle. “I don’t know too much about smart anymore.” 

Vai gasps. “No way. No way will I let the smartest, prettiest, finest girl I know talk down to herself.” She points to the mirror, ordering, “assume the position.”

Solana sighs. ‘Vai, no—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Vai objects, starting to push Solana in the direction of the wall of mirrors. “Come on.” Solana gasps when Vai’s hand comes down on her ass. “Get to it.”

“Vai—”

“Fine,” she relents, pulling out her phone from the small Chanel bag on her shoulder. Tapping on the screen, Solana rolls her eyes as the music fills the bathroom. 

I am healthy, I am wealthy

I am rich, I am that bitch (Yeah)

I am gonna go get that bag

And I am not gonna take your shit (Uh)

“Vai!” Solana giggles when Vai climbs up on the counter and starts twerking, rapping along with Baby Tate. “You are so bad! We’re in a church.”

“I can’t hear you,” she ignores Solana’s protest, moving off the counter to grab her phone, opening up Snapchat to record them. Her influence pays off as she dances on Solana, eventually peer pressuring her best friend since elementary school in joining her for the singing. 

It’s a silly little thing that truly lifts Solana’s spirits. Helping her feel a little more hopeful and a lot less helpless. 

—--------

It’s painful.

All of it. For a variety of reasons. The biggest and most impactful of which largely due to the 6’3 man who makes intermittent eye contact with her throughout the entire evening. Even as her sister walks down the aisle during the ceremony rehearsal, Solana can feel his gaze on her instead of his bride to be. 

And, it takes everything in her to not run off, simply rub at her eyes to avoid anyone from finding out her tears are far from the happy ones shed by her mother at the thought of this all being finalized in just a few days.

The thought alone makes Solana sick to her stomach. 

Just like any time she catches a glimpse of Sam holding onto Roman’s arm, laughing unnecessarily loud as they interact with other attendees. More her than Roman. Solana knows better than anyone how he’d much rather be anywhere other than here.

She knows, because she feels the same. 

And because there’s nothing more truly mind fucking than seeing her sister harp on and fawn over a man who just this morning was in Solana’s bed, fucking her, whispering all the sweet, sinful things that should be reserved for his fiancé.

Not his fiancé's little sister.

But, as already stated, the whole situation is just fucked up. 

And it somehow becomes significantly worse during the rehearsal dinner. 

They’re in the midst of toasts, Solana’s parents standing to offer their insincere words of support for the marriage. Insincere because they truly only care about the wealth and status that will be afforded to the family once Samantha becomes not only a Reigns, but thee Reigns. 

The wife of the Tribal Chief.

Just thinking it makes Solana sick to her stomach. 

Not as sick, however, as she feels the minute Jey literally stumbles into the dining room. His eyes are glazed, a silly look on his face, bottle of Hennessy in one hand, mic in the other.

And just like that, Solana knows shit is about to go from bad to inconceivably worse.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he starts off with a sly smile. “I heard—I heard we wishing good luck to the happy couple, right?”

The worry spreads across the room, including Vai who sits beside Solana wearing a trepidatious expression. “Oh no….”

Oh no is exactly what it is. 

“Look, congratulations, Big Dog. Got you a bad one. Samantha fucking Miller. Fine ass been fine like goddamn.” For some reason, Solana finds her gaze falling on Roman who sits there, unlike almost everyone else, unworried and clearly pissed off. 

Jey is in the middle of the room, brows furrowing. “I just got a question though.” He then points between Roman and Samantha with the clearly empty bottle. “How you gon be married to her—” the bottle shifts to Solana. “—when you fucking her?” He laughs to himself, as Solana feels her soul slip away from her. “Matter of fact, how you gon be married to her when you done knocked up her sister?” 

Never in Solana’s 26 years has she been so mortified to have so many sets of eyes on her, all presenting with the same level of shock and disgust. 

As if knowing she’s seconds away from panicking and causing an even bigger scene than what’s occurring, Vai reaches to grab and gently squeeze Solana’s hand.

If only that did any fucking thing.

“Wait, shit, my bad. It might not even be your baby, cause she been fucking the both of us!” Eyes shutting, heart crumbling, Solana has never felt so low. “So hell, maybe I’m the daddy!”

“But, hey, look! Solana!” Jey continues to talk, even as Jimmy and Solo are attempting to get the mic from him. “I got a surprise, too! Guess who also pregnant?” He tosses the bottle to the ground, shattering it, causing a group of the guests to gasp. “Nicki!” Breathing isn’t something Solana is certain she’s even capable of anymore, as an inebriated Jey continues to twist the knife. “So not only is my wife pregnant, but my side bitch might be carrying my baby too—”

Roman seems to come out of fucking nowhere, tackling Jey to the ground, immediately beating on him. And from there, even more chaos, security and other family members attempting to pry the cousins apart. Guests looking around and at the scene before them with all the bewilderment.

“You fucking whore!”

That’s all Solana hears before she’s grabbed by her hair and dragged out of her seat, thrown to the ground. There’s only seconds between Samantha going to kick her and Vai jumping out of her seat, tackling Samantha, effectively keeping her away from her intended target.

“I wish you fucking would touch her, you bony ass cunt!”

And because Vai is an actual Reigns, the baby sister of the Tribal chief, the princess of the Bloodline, security is by her in seconds, ready to defend if need be. 

Meanwhile, Nina and Xavier are rushing by to check on Samantha, helping her to her feet, Nina’s horrified gaze on her youngest daughter. “Solana. Tell me….tell me it’s not true.”

Xavier’s gaze is less judgmental, almost sympathetic. “Sweetheart….”

Solana can only cry, struggling to get back to her feet, ignoring the brawling around her. It’s not nearly as heavy as the scene before her. “Daddy, I—”

“Of course, it’s true!” Samantha shouts, Nina having to restrain her daughter. “That’s why she’s gotten so fat! She’s pregnant!” 

“Samantha, please,” Xavier sighs, running a hand over his face. Vai moves to help Solana stand, hand on the small of her back. “Solana Miller, don’t lie to us. Is this….is this true? Are you…..are you…..are you really pregnant with—with Roman’s child?”

In all the ways this unfortunate set of news could have been broken, for it to be laid out so publicly and brutally, it’s something she would have never foreseen.

Ever. 

And with all the regret—and embarrassment—in the world, Solana answers, “I don’t—” She closes her eyes, never in her life feeling so much shame. “I don’t know if he’s the the father—”

“Oh my God,” is all Nina can say, hands covering her mouth, thus freeing Samantha who goes to swing for Solana once more. Vai, however, is having none of it. She jumps in front of her best friend without an ounce of hesitation. 

“Hit me, bitch! Let me see you do it!” She challenges, knowing full and well, even with her rage, Samantha isn’t stupid enough to try anything. Not with a slew of security ready to make the upcoming wedding a funeral real fast.

If there even still is a wedding. 

“How could you do this to us?” Nina demands, anger overpowering shock. “To your sister?” Solana would give anything to not exist in this moment. Anything at all. “What kind of whore have you become?”

“Nina,” Xavier says in an almost quiet voice. Solana would appreciate the almost sign of defense if not for his next question. “Why have you not terminated it?”

It’s a question Solana isn’t entirely surprised by, but it’s the way he asks, the fact that he’s asking now, even as the crowd has started to disperse, security directing people near the exits, that stuns her.

“I don’t—”

Samantha scoffs, eyes wide. “You’re not keeping that thing!”

“Samantha. Calm down.”

Xavier’s words seem to do the complete opposite. “Calm down? This whore fucked my fiance! And now she’s potentially carrying his baby, and you want me to calm down?”

“Yes, because if you don’t, I’m about to beat the shit out of you,” Vai cuts in, unafraid to be the mouthpiece Solana clearly needs at this moment. She looks toward Xavier and Nina. “This isn’t the time or place for this conversation.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Vai,” Nina’s objection is cold and her stare is icy. “This is a family matter.”

“Solana is basically my family, and the baby she’s carrying is either my niece, nephew, or my little cousin, so yes, it absolutely does concern me.”

Vai reaches for Solana’s hand, making one final statement. “Another time.”

And without giving anyone a chance to beat down more on Solana than she was already beating on herself, Vai guides them out of the place, just as Solana catches Roman’s intense eyes burning into her as he moves in their direction.

It only makes Solana walk away faster.

—-----

There aren’t words accurate and applicable enough to describe just what emotions are coursing through Solana’s body. Not as she empties her stomach over the toilet, only partially due to morning sickness. Not as she cries into her best friend’s chest, Vai doing her best to offer words of support and comfort. And certainly not as Solana takes in the gravity of what just occurred.

Not only has her pregnancy been outed in front of everyone, but to make matters worse, she’s completely humiliated her family. 

Samantha’s dislike of her was already magnanimous. Now, her hatred will be unfathomable. 

And her parents…..

God, Solana will never be able to wipe away the memory of their disappointment as they looked at her. They were already on shaky terms following her taking a year off from medical school, something that was met with disagreement and judgment. But this?

This is an entirely different ballpark. One that she doesn’t know how to navigate her way out of. 

So, she’ll do the only thing she can in such a situation.

She’ll run. 

Solana was already planning to leave, to go stay with her grandmother for a month after the wedding. But now….

Now, even if there is still a wedding, there’s no way in hell she can attend. That she’s even still invited. 

Samantha would soon rather kill her than see her present on that big day.

And because Vai truly is the guardian angel Solana was blessed with, she agreed to accompany Solana on the trip that's now been moved up, citing she’d rather be chewed alive by a pack of rabid dogs than sit there and watch “that bitch and my brother exchange vows.”

A sentiment that Solana partially shares, as she’s been doing her best to prepare herself mentally for that sight. 

Just the thought of it has her eyes watering yet again as she folds another dress and packs it into her suitcase. 

The silence of the apartment doesn’t help the bombardment of thoughts in her head. So many racing thoughts that have her wishing she hadn’t told Vai she’d be okay until morning where they would board one of the Reigns’ private jets and head to Mexico.

And while a welcomed escape, it’s not her preferred destination.

No, given what’s occurred, Solana would prefer to head to Georgia. To spend time away from it all with Trick, her older half brother, his wife, Ashanti, and Solana’s “aunt” Melody, Trick’s biological mother. The woman who’s been more supportive and loving than Solana’s own biological mother at points.

She knows she’d find nothing but support from the older woman. And would from her brother as well, who’s always been there for her, if not for the fact that Jey is one of his good friends, and thus this situation would potentially put a wall between them.

But, even more, Trick and Roman hate each other, and Solana would not be surprised if her brother literally tried to kill Roman. 

So yet, another mess that this situation has created. Not only has she messed up a marriage before it began, potentially ruined an almost lifelong friendship, heightened a decades long feud but also interfered with an actual marriage.

Because Nicki, Jey’s wife, being pregnant is something she could have never seen coming. He told her they were separated, that he was finally done with her. And Solana believed him.

The same way he believed her when she told him she was done wanting Roman, even if she was lying through her teeth and knew it at the moment. Was just too weak to be honest with him. 

And herself, to some extent.

Additional tears fall freely as Solana moves to her dresser to pull out more clothes when she hears the doorbell. A glance at the clock on her nightstand reveals it’s almost 11pm. Too late for any visitors. If this was an average day.

But today was far from average.

Solana heads out of her room and to the front door where she leans up to look out the peephole, instantly regretting it.

Feet flat on the ground, eyes closed, her first instinct is to ignore him. To leave him outside for however long it takes for him to go away.

But, she also knows him. Knows that he’d kick the damn door down if that was what it took to see her. 

It’s why, against her better judgment, for the second time today, she lets him in. 

And as soon as she unlocks and opens the door, she brings her eyes to where he stands before her, expression filled with concern, no sign of him being involved in such a violent scuffle earlier. 

That means Jey got the short of the stick. 

Yet again. 

“What are you doing here?” Solana redirects her attention and focuses on the door instead of the intense way he’s looking at her.

His answer is instant. “I needed to check on you.” 

It’s the needed that makes her chuckle bitterly. “Just leave, Roman.”

“No.” An expected answer. As long as she’s known him, Roman has never responded well with being told what to do. “Not until I’m sure you’re alright.”

And, it’s that infuriating alright that makes her snap her focus back on him. “Alright?” Just saying it leaves a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. “Roman, nothing about what has happened is alright.” 

He swallows. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” she counters, the emotion building back up. “Because it wasn’t you who was humiliated tonight in front of everyone, Roman. It was me.” 

His expression hardens just slightly. “This shit involves me too, Solana.”

Her grip on the door tightens as she lays out for him the double standards he seems to not understand. “Roman. You’re the man who’ll get props for fucking sisters. I’m the whore who doesn’t even know who the father of her baby is.”

His eyes shift from irritated to something almost soft at the ending part of her sentence. “It’s my baby, Sol.” 

She feels such a mixture of frustration and appreciation for that one sentence. “You don’t know that, Roman. You shouldn’t want that.” Even if she also wants that. Doesn’t matter. It’s wrong. “This whole situation is so messed up, and the fact that you don’t see it just shows how unaffected you are by it all.”

“How the hell am I not affected by this, Solana?” His anger is rising, the two somehow moving from by the door to the interior of her apartment, near the living room. “Am I not in the middle of this, too?”

She scoffs, throwing her hands up and pointing at him. “You know what, you’re right, you are in the middle, because you started all of this!”

He pauses. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Solana presses her fingers to her temples, expressing aloud, “God, I wish you just left me alone.” And to emphasize the accountability on both parts, she admits, “I should have left you alone.”

A brief moment of silence followed up with a quiet, “you don’t mean that.”

“Of course, I mean it!” She shouts, gesturing around the room. “Roman, look at what’s happened. Nothing good has come out of this. My sister, who already hated me, is never going to forgive me. My parents have threatened to disown me if I keep this baby.” Just recalling the long, ultimatum of a text message she received has the tears brewing again. ‘That’s why—why I can’t.”

Roman’s shoulders drop. “Can't what?”

And for the first time since being backed into decision-making corner, Solana says aloud, “I’ve decided to put the baby up for adoption.”

Silence

It’s the longest bout of it that’s existed between herself and the man before her. 

Shaking his head, Roman takes a step toward her, voice low but firm, “Solana, you….you can’t do that.”

Backing away and wiping at her wet eyes, she affirms, “yes, I can, and I will.”

It seems her answer triggers another set of anger for him. “The hell, you can.”

Looking away, Solana finds herself sharing some of the things she had to consider when coming to this decision. “Roman, what kind of life would this baby have?” An honest, fair question she’s asked herself since finding out she was pregnant. An answer she’s finally come to after the events of tonight. “If it’s yours, he or she will just be the shunned bastard child of the Tribal Chief with a step mother who would never accept them.” She crosses her arms, playing out the alternative. “And even if it’s Jey’s, he or she isn't much better off dealing with Nicki as a step-mother.” A sure shitfest of a situation, given everything she knows about Jey’s wife. “It’s wrong to bring a child into this mess!”

Roman, as always, shows no signs of backing down, matching her volume. “It’s our child!”

“Stop saying that!” She snaps, loosing the already limited control she held with her emotions. “You don’t know that! Until we can get a paternity test—”

“I don’t care what the fucking test says!” He shouts. “This is my child!”

Solana’s eyes shut. Just like that. Just like that she’s taken back to all the moments shared between him. Those memories that showed a different side of the man known as the Head of the Table. A softer, vulnerable man. A loving man. 

A man who’d do anything for her.

Even claim a child that’s not even biologically his. 

“Roman…..” Her voice is significantly quieter, but her determination is unwavering. “I can’t be a mother right now.” She just can’t. “I’m supposed to be finishing medical school next year. I—I have plans—”

And once again, another wave of anger with both harsh and cruel delivery. “They’re not even your fucking plans, Solana. Those are your parents' plans because you’re too goddamn scared to stand up to them and be honest with yourself.”

She’s less taken back by his tone and more the words. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Roman doesn’t hesitate or stutter as he explains, ever so clearly, “it means you keep living your life for others instead of yourself. Doing what you think makes everyone else happy instead of yourself.”

If not for this whole situation, Solana might be able to acknowledge the truth in those words. Recognize how a lifetime of feeling never enough has created a tremendous amount of people pleasing. 

But, this isn’t that. 

Her voice is pointed and tight. “I tried to do what makes me happy and look where it got me.” A powerful, telling statement followed by the heartbreaking acknowledgment of all that’s been destroyed. “Look what it’s cost me.”

His eyes soften as he attempts to comfort her. “Baby—”

Solana turns away and shares what, in hindsight, she should probably keep to herself. “I can’t—I can’t stay here anymore, Roman. I—I need time to—”

He cuts her off, asking almost urgently. “What do you mean you can’t stay here?” When she says nothing, he asks directly, “you’re leaving?”

Solana looks away, unable to handle whatever his nonverbal response is. “Yes.” She closes her eyes, sharing, “I’m—I’m going to stay with my abuela for a little while—”

“Solana, please—”

“I can’t stay here anymore.”

“We can figure this out—”

“It’s too—it’s too hard—”

“I can’t lose you—”

“It’s never going to work, Roman!” She yells, once again losing the battle with her emotions. Watery eyes on him, she pours out all of her emotions. “You are marrying my sister! You’re going to make her your wife! She will give you and be the mother of your children. Not me.”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I don’t want her?” There’s an almost blunt coldness to his rhetorical question. But, it’s contrasted and negated as he steps toward her once more. Solana doesn’t back away this time. “I want you.”

Her eyes close once more, almost on their own accord as his hands move to her face. 

“I love you,” he breathes. Whispered, sacred words spoken against her closed lids as his grasp on her waist tightens just not enough. “And, I need you….”

“Roman,” she whispers, unable to stop herself from moving her hands to his chest, fingers grasping at the soft material of his shirt. “We—we can’t.”

He doesn’t say anything, the same way she doesn’t say or do anything when he hikes her up on his waist and walks them back to her bedroom. 

“You can’t leave me.” An almost pleading tone laces his words, a weight to them that matches the light weight of him on top of her as he lays her down on the bed and hovers over her slightly.

His hands moving under her shirt, his big hand rubbing over her small baby bump. An act he seems to do every time this happens between them ever since it appeared almost overnight a couple weeks ago. “Roman, n—”

“Please don’t leave,” he all but begs, effectively pulling her shirt over head, tossing it to the floor. Mouth back on hers, he breathes against her lips, “stay with me.”

Her eyes shut are clenched shut as he continues to tug her clothes off, followed by his until they’re in a crumpled pile on the floor that’s similar to the crumpled, pathetic thing that is her resolve.

“You can never leave me, Sol.” It’s another desperate plea that tumbles out his mouth at the same time he enters her, her mouth falling open at that delicious, addictive stretch. 

“Roman….” Nails pressed into his back, thighs tightened around his waist, the resolve is all but desolate.

“Mine,” he vows, restricting her hands above her head, claiming her lips in a possessive, needy kiss. “Tell me,” he presses his forehead against hers. “Tell me you love me.”

And as much as she would love to deny him that, to deny him something, she can’t. Not that. Never that.

“I love you,” she whimpers, overwhelmed and overcome with it all. 

Because she does.

Because as wrong as it is, Solana loves this man. Loves the man she can never have, and it’s that part of it that has her determined to follow through with her plan.

Because loving in him is nothing but a dead-end to heartbreak. 

So, tonight, she’ll have this. Have him once more. One last time. Because come morning, this time, it’ll be him who wakes up alone.

[sugarushwriting]

bad idea right? frat boy sunghoon, #3

part 1, part 2

“i only see him as a friend, biggest lie i ever said.”

hehe, here’s the dirty part. pure smut to the best of my ability. enjoy 🤍

not proofread. please share, reblog, like, comment all of it! pls do not repost or translate. ty!!!

wrote 97% while at work on break in 30 minutes.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

“too bad peach, means you’re not getting fucked properly.”

your eyes widened and you stood frozen in your spot. towel tightly wrapped against your naked body, goosebumps appearing on your skin.

“uh—i, huh?”

“aww did i make you speechless?” sunghoon chuckled.

you nodded. you literally were speechless.

“didn’t you just say you weren’t trying to woo me into bed?”

“all i did was state a fact, peach. if you aren’t sore after sex, then the men you pick aren’t doing it correctly.”

you scoffed, “and what, every girl you’ve had sex with has been sore or trouble walking afterwards?”

sunghoon smirked, “yes, peach.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“then ask them yourselves for proof. i am sure some have pictures of my handprints and marks i’ve left.”

oh. “oh, uh—,”

“or my bite marks.”

you started to feel hot. everywhere.

“sunghoon—,”

“yes?” sunghoon was giving you lustful eyes, and continued to have a smirk etched on his lips.

“you—you can’t just say things like that!”

“you started it.” sunghoon shot back.

“huh? when did i ever bring up sex with you first?” you crossed your arms over your towel covered chest.

“that night you high jacked my bed. and i quote, you said, ‘would you have sex with me if i asked? or kiss me? would you even hug a girl like me?’” sunghoon had said back to you what you said that night you were drunk.

“i don’t remember that.”

“probably because you were drunk out of your mind and sad.”

“then it doesn’t count!”

“drunk words are sober thoughts, peach.”

you opened your mouth to shoot off a reply but sunghoon cut you off, “do you want to know my answer?”

“what?” you asked confused.

“after you asked me these questions you didn’t even give me time to reply. you answered for me and said that i wouldn’t. but do you want to know the truth?”

you swallowed. did you? did you want to know the truth? you did, so you nodded slowly.

“yes peach. yes i would have sex with a girl like you. yes i would kiss a girl like you. yes i would hug a girl like you.” sunghoon listed.

all during his answers, he walked closer to you, you not even moving, now you both stood toe to toe.

you could feel his breath, that’s how close you were standing. it seemed his breathing had picked up, so had yours due to the intensity of the conversation.

“actually peach,” his tone change a little darker.

you heartbeat quickened in anticipation of what he was gonna say next.

“i wouldn’t just have sex with you. i am going to fuck you.”

going to? was that a threat or promise?

it was both.

you squeaked before sunghoon’s lips attached to yours in a heated and hot kiss, his tongue immediately seeking permission to find yours.

you let his tongue meet yours, and felt his teeth bite your bottom lip.

sunghoon’s hands went to grab underneath your ass, to lift you up to where he was holding you, your legs wrapped around his waist. not once did the heavy make out session stop.

you both moaned into each other’s mouths, it seemed you two weren’t getting enough of each other as you pressed your body closer to his as possible.

sunghoon had walked you both to his room, and gently placed you on his bed.

he slowly removed his lips from yours, you whining at the loss, you unconsciously following his lips.

you sat in the bed in the towel, sunghoon leaning over you by having his arms on either side of you as he leaned down so his face was in front of yours.

he had a drunken smile on his face. licking his lips, his eyes flickered down to your towel and back up to meet your hungry eyes.

“you may not get on your knees for anyone peach, but you will get on your knees for me.”

you whimpered and grew wet at his words.

“get on your knees.” sunghoon all but growled in a deep tone.

you obeyed. you, without even thinking slipped off the bed, your eyes glued to sunghoon’s, and rested on your knees.

sunghoon had a proud smile. his hand came to cradle your cheek. “my good peach.” his thumb traced your bottom lip before he forced that thumb into your mouth and on your tongue.

reaching down with his free hand, he undid the towel so it slumped to around your lower half, revealing your naked body.

he removed his thumb, and both hands got busy to his belt and pants. first the belt came off, but he didn’t toss it. instead, he gripped it in one hand. then he continued on to unbutton his pants.

“unzip and pull them down.” he ordered.

your hands slowly did as he said. your hands went to pull his boxers down but he tsked.

“eager are we?” he chuckled. “did i say to pull down my boxers?”

you shook your head.

“words, peach.”

“no.” you pouted.

“on the bed all fours.” sunghoon stated and took off the remainder of his pants as you got up onto the bed and got into the position he wanted.

from behind, sunghoon took off his boxers and shirt as well.

sunghoon pushed your upper body into the bed, your cheek smushed against the comforter. from the corner of your eye you could see sunghoon was naked in all his glory.

and you saw what hung between his legs.

you snapped your eyes shut. holy fucking shit.

you had no time to think as sunghoon’s belt came to snap against your ass.

you screamed in both pain and pleasure, mixed with a loud moan.

you’ve never had this done to you in bed. why? why have you never done this? you got wet just from the slap, and even wetter at the thought of him using it again.

sunghoon’s lips met your ass cheek for a soft kiss then used his palm to soothe.

“i would use more peach, but i know your butt hurts from your falls on the ice.”

you felt a hint of teasing in his tone.

his body covered your backside, his lips meeting the nape of your neck.

“i will take my time with you, and admire your body. but first, i’m fucking you.”

sunghoon grabbed both your wrists to bring them to behind your back, using his belt to tie them together. your chest and right cheek were pushed into the bed.

his right hand held your hands that were tied together. “you yell red if you need me to stop peach.”

you nodded, and heard sunghoon shuffling through the table beside his bed. in no time, the condom was on, and his index and middle finger rubbed circles on your clit.

“while i please you, i want you to be vocal about it peach. i don’t care if the boys here you. i want to hear you.”

sunghoon wasted no time pushing his dick inside your slick cunt, your walls gripping him with ease.

“oh fuck.” sunghoon groaned under his breath, as you let out a moan.

just as you thought he was done, he kept pushing, until you swore you felt the tip of him hit your cervix. that’s how deep he felt.

you were sure you could possibly see a bulge in your stomach if positioned just right.

sunghoon’s hips snapped back before the ruthless thrust began.

“fuck, sunghoon!” you screamed.

he was right. you weren’t getting fucked properly. whoever you slept with beforehand was always too gentle. left you unsatisfied.

sunghoon was about to satisfy you in many ways in just under a minute.

“peach,” sunghoon moaned out breathlessly, “you feel so good.” he swallowed, trying to find words. “just right for me. fuck why haven’t i done this sooner? why haven’t i tried to get your attention before this?”

his hips snapped against yours, sounds of skin on skin, groans and moans only to be heard.

“hear that peach? that sound? it’s your cunt. all wet for me. all wet and taking me in.”

if sunghoon kept up with the dirty words, you surely were going to come sooner than you wanted.

you wanted to feel him inside you longer. maybe forever.

his hand kept a grip on your wrist, pulling you up a bit, where your body hovered over the bed.

“look at how your ass ripples from my fucking. so good.”

“so good, sunghoon.” you moaned out.

sunghoon forced your body to lie flat on the bed as he kept fucking you at a ruthless pace.

oh his tip was hitting the right spot. your cunt seem to moan for itself, you were so wet, it was squelching.

“listen to your pussy talking to me, peach.” sunghoon moaned out in a deep tone.

yep you were done for.

your walls squeezed him tighter. “oh sunghoon.”

“your pussy is clenching for me. begging for me. fuck, i should’ve fucked this pussy raw. to fill you up with my come.”

your thighs tightened. “sunghoon, i—i’m gonna come.”

“let go for me peach. come around my cock.”

with a loud grunt and moan, you came around sunghoon, you forcing your ass back to have him as deep as possible. sunghoon came right after you, riding out both your orgasms.

you buried your head in the pillow as you literally began to cry at how much pleasure you felt.

sunghoon pulled out, untied your wrists, threw the condom away, and rolled you over to your back.

his head came to nestle in the crook of your neck, as he left soft kisses against the length of your neck before he found a spot he liked, and began to suck.

you bit your bottom lip, now being conscious of your volume for some reason. his teeth, specifically his sharp vampire-like teeth, nipped and nibbled on your skin.

your legs went to wrap around his waist again. his bare tip rubbing against your aching and over sensitive clit.

“playing with fire, peach.” sunghoon laughed against your skin.

you smiled in a daze, wrapping your hands around his neck. you overcame with confidence, kissed his cheek, then lifted his face to above yours and pulled him into a heated kiss.

“mhm, what was that for?” he smiled after he ended the kiss.

you bypassed the question. “why do you call me peach?”

sunghoon smiled, hand twirling a piece of your hair before tucking it behind your ear.

“because one, you are like princess peach.”

“i look nothing like her.”

“i’m talking about always happy and excited. i don’t know just something.”

“oh.”

“also whenever someone says or calls you a peach, it means you’re a good person, and pleasing. you’re just, peachy. peaches are also juicy.”

sunghoon smiled and gripped your ass and you squealed in surprise with a laugh. sunghoon laughed with you and gave you a quick peck.

he rubbed circles on your hip, then pinched it. “mhm, i want you again already. not finished with you.”

you smirked. “gonna keep your promise or was it a threat?”

sunghoon sighed. “which one?”

you started to play with the hair on the nape of his neck. “fucking me so good that i’m sore. and fucking me raw.”

“oh peach, those were both promises. be careful what you wish for.”

sunghoon rutted his dick inside you, bare.

“mhmm,” you moaned against his lips. he used his tongue and licked your neck up to your chin, up to your lips.

“pussy still so wet for me.” sunghoon gripped each of your thighs that were wrapped around his waist, as he sat up. dick still buried in you.

your hands reached up above your head.

“want me to fill you up, peach?”

“yes please.” you moaned.

sunghoon, while still buried in you, kissed down your neck, to your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth, giving it a quick lick before biting down softly.

your back arched, your hair tugging on sunghoon’s strands.

he hovered his lips over yours once again. “don’t know if i want my dick or tongue in your pussy.”

you literally flexed your walls around him at the thought of his tongue, sunghoon smiled, pulling out.

“tongue it is, peach.”

wasting no time, sunghoon got to his knees, face hovering over your lower half. his tongue licked between your folds before diving right in. literally.

you’ve never been ate out so good. literally he just started.

he licked, sucked, nibbled, spat, and even used his heavingly fingers.

two of them. then three.

your walls began to tighten up as he used his free hand’s thumb to put pressure on your clit.

just as you were there, he stopped, removing his tongue and fingers, just to as quickly replace it with his dick once again.

“mhmm.” you moaned softly, gripping his back.

sunghoon—let’s say, never fucks a girl in missionary. he prefers doggy or reverse cowgirl. you’re the second girl he’s done missionary with.

(his first being an official girlfriend a few years ago).

he enjoyed the look of pure pleasure on your face knowing he was the reason for it. the way you squeezed your eyes tightly when your pussy clenched for him, the way you tried to contain your volume by biting on your lower lip, but failing.

he loved the way you dug your nails into his back, as he dug his into the flesh of your thighs. he was making sure to leave his mark.

in addition to the 2 marks he left on your neck.

at first, he only wanted to fuck you to get back at karina for the way she treated you. but then, he genuinely just wanted to fuck you.

he enjoyed his time on the ice with you, the way you made him smile and laugh when you fell or how cute and happy you got when you skated for more than 2 minutes without falling.

his peach.

he was making sure to mark you up so you’d remember him. you’d remember the way he made you feel.

“i’m close again sunghoon.” you moaned.

sunghoon leaned down to attach his lips to yours, heavy make out session, while his thrusts became sloppy, more skin on skin noises, your wetness leaking on to the bed, down your thigh, and covering sunghoon’s lower stomach and upper thighs.

his fingers dug deeper into your skin, your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, trapping him.

thank goodness you couldn’t get pregnant.

“peach—i have to pull out.” sunghoon groaned.

you shook your head. “in—in me, hoon.” you moaned pulling his body closer to yours.

the thought of accidentally impregnating you should scare him.

but it didn’t.

it only made him want to come in you more.

“fuck peach, you are just for me.” he whispered against your lips, as you came around him, and he followed soon after coming deep in you.

he held you down as he kept his dick buried in you as deep as possible. “mhmm peach, gotta make sure my come doesn’t drip out of you.”

he loved that you milked him dry.

you both, breathing heavy, stayed in that position for a while. sweaty bodies, sunghoon on top of you, dick still in you (slowly softening), your cunt still clenching around him.

breathing heavily in each others mouths, you kissed here and there, with tongue and without.

sunghoon put his head against your collarbone, and slowly pulled out, making sure you didn’t waste a drop.

he rolled over on the bed to his back, as you laid there unable to move.

suddenly exhaustion washed over you.

sex with someone never did that to you. pleasing yourself never did that.

how did sunghoon, of all people, make you exhausted like that?

without much thought, your eyes began to close and sleep took over.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

you awoke in a soft bed, your body dressed in nothing but a tee shirt and covered in sheets and covers.

opening your eyes slowly, you adjusted your vision as best as you could. next to you, sunghoon laid on his back, eyes closed, chest moving up and down, as he softly snored and slept.

you couldn’t help but stare and realize how attractive he was. you finally noticed just how attractive park sunghoon is.

no wonder karina and other girls fell to his feet.

your eyes widened.

karina! fuck! what kind of friend were you? wait, were you two even still friends? wait who cares?

you did.

you swallowed. sometimes you really did hate being a good person with a good heart.

you reached over to cradle sunghoon’s cheek, causing his eyes and lashes to flutter.

he yawned with a stretch opening his eyes. you didn’t take your hand of his cheek.

he smiled when he looked over at you.

“did i fuck you good peach?”

you giggled. “yes you did, hoon.”

with a smile he leaned over and kissed your nose. “mhm, love that nickname for me.”

fuck karina and fuck her feelings.

[gb-patch]

Sorry to send another ask amongst the sea I'm sure you're receiving, but I find myself more concerned about Rose being a sensitivity reader as I find more information. One of Rose's friends continues to insist that the conversation about Tamarack and male MCs was part of a larger discussion about biphobia in the fandom. However, they claim that Rose's position is "people erase Tam's bi/pansexuality by refusing to portray [her] as being attracted to anything other than men." This explanation of Rose's belief is, in-and-of-itself, biphobic. It claims that portraying Tamarack as attracted to men erases her queerness. This is textbook biphobia and bi-erasure that I as a bisexual encounter every day. It is NOT a good-faith defense of a queer character. It reduces us down to our partners and makes the claim that if we end up in a relationship that's "straight-passing," we're erasing our queerness. Especially as a bi sapphic myself, it reduces my identity strictly to the perceived-man I'm dating, and not my inner or previous experiences, or those of my partner. It's very uncomfortable that Rose, a non-bisexual, was discussing this like they're defending Tamarack's queerness when they're doing the opposite.

This is a doubly strange position when Our Life is a game about the acceptance of love in all its forms. The conversation could be different, MAYBE, if Our Life was a TV show or a book or a comic. But this is a game where people are meant to play as characters of their own design. I do not feel confident about Rose being a sensitivity reader for a game with bi/pansexual love interests if these are their beliefs about bi/pansexuality, particularly if they're unable to adapt their opinions to be relevant to different formats of media; this shows they're lacking in skill in the areas of media literacy and critical thinking.

I’ve been trying to make a post that presents the concerns people have about this, but your ask touches on the points I was going to, and I’d say it’s better to have it said by a player than me deciding what people are thinking. So, this is something that I want to make clear- that I see this and other asks/comments about it. What you’ve said is something a lot of people are unsure and upset about. I am sorry that you feel so out of place in this community now. And I am also sorry to players of any sexuality who use a male MC. That comment dismissed players and Tamarack’s identity.

It did come from a longer discussion about bi-phobia issues. The overall feelings were “if people did only want Tamarack to be interested in men, I really wouldn’t like that and wouldn’t it be a funny concept if Tamarack then left them for a woman?”. The comment itself didn’t encompass that idea at all. It does not give a good impression about where they’re coming from. It was unkind.

The viewpoint Rose is trying to have isn’t that “Tamarack can never express an interest in men” which would be wrong, it’s “I stand by the fact that Tamarack is someone who wouldn’t only be interested in men and no one else”. If it’s true that Rose likes Tamarack being interested in all genders and doesn’t want her bi-ness to be forgotten, I’d say that’s an acceptable view. If the point actually is that Tamarack should only be with women and if she’s not than Tamarack is no longer bi or she’s a bad character, then you're right- that isn't acceptable and that is going to get someone removed from the project. I do believe Rose agrees with what you’re saying and means it when they say they want to stop bi-erasure, not participate in it for real. But they had a very harsh way of talking about it.

I understand that people don’t know Rose and this situation has made them believe they do seriously hold that first view. But from working with them, there’s never been any feedback that shows an opinion of the sort.

Right now, I think that comment was being edgy and making a quick, very poorly-worded quip to people they’d been chatting with about that topic already. Rose has left the GB Patch discord servers, they used to be a mod, and may or may not ever be back in there. Rose won’t make blog posts responding to players going forward. They’re going to take a break from this and then try to give helpful feedback. We’re going to see if things can be okay from here.

And with this coming up, we’re all really aware that it’s something to consider about the game. I’m going to be as conscious as I can for any advice that seems to go against the character’s identities and I’m going to question my own knee-jerk choices for how I handle things. Other sensitivity readers will be able to give their viewpoints as well, so will the players. If the game’s content isn’t welcoming or is biased people will notice, and I’ll be here to accept what I’ve done. I don’t want that to be the result of this, of course. I hope the game will be thoughtful and considerate, but I can’t fire Rose at this point to try doing that.

No one has to keep following the game, though. I’m sympathetic to anyone who is too uncomfortable with all this to stay around.

[mariacallous]

A woman without biologicalchildren is running for high political office, and so naturally that quality will at some point be used against her. Kamala Harris has, in the short period since she emerged as the Democratic candidate for US president, been scrutinised over her lack of children. The conservative lawyer Will Chamberlain posted on X that Harris “shouldn’t be president” – apparently, she doesn’t have “skin in the game”. The Republican vice-presidential candidate, JD Vance, called Harris and other Democrats “a bunch of childless cat ladies miserable at their own lives”.

It’s a particularly virulent tendency in the US, with a rightwing movement that is fixated on women’s reproduction. But who can forget (and if you have, I am happy to remind you of a low point that still sticks in my craw) Andrea Leadsom, during the 2016 Conservative party leadership election, saying that Theresa May might have nieces and nephews, but “I have children who are going to have children … who will be a part of what happens next”. “Genuinely,” she added, as if the message were not clear enough, “I feel that being a mum means you have a real stake in the future of our country, a tangible stake.”

It’s an argument about political capability that dresses up a visceral revulsion at the idea that a woman who does not have a child should be vested with any sort of credibility or status. In other comments, Vance said that “so many of the leaders of the left, and I hate to be so personal about this, but they’re people without kids trying to brainwash the minds of our children, that really disorients me and disturbs me”. He appears so fixated on this that it is almost comical: a man whose obsession with childless women verges on a complex.

But his “disorientation and disturbance” is a political tendency that persists and endures. It constantly asks the question of women who don’t have children, in subtle and explicit ways, especially the higher they rise in the professional sphere: “What’s up with that? What’s the deal?” The public sphere becomes a space for answering that question. Women perform a sort of group plea to be left the hell alone, in their painstaking examinations of how they arrived at the decision not to have kids, or why they in fact celebrate not having kids, or deliberations on ambivalence about having kids.

Behind all this lies some classic old-school inability to conceive of women outside mothering. But one reason this traditionalism persists in ostensibly modern and progressive places is that women withdrawing from mothering in capitalist societies – with their poorly resourced public amenities and parental support – forces questions about our inequitable, unacknowledged economic arrangements. A woman who does not bear children is a woman who will never stay home and provide unremunerated care. She is less likely to be held in the domestic zone and extend her caregiving to elderly relatives or the children of others. She cannot be a resource that undergirds a male partner’s career, frailties, time limitations and social demands.

A mother is an option, a floating worker, the joker in the pack. Not mothering creates a hole for that “free” service, which societies increasingly arranged around nuclear families and poorly subsidised rights depend on. The lack of parental leave, childcare and elderly care would become profoundly visible – “disorienting and disturbing” – if that service were removed.

“Motherhood,” writes the author Helen Charman in her new book Mother State, “is a political state. Nurture, care, the creation of human life – all immediate associations with mothering – have more to do with power, status and the distribution of resources … than we like to admit. For raising children is the foundational work of society, and, from gestation onward, it is unequally shared.”

Motherhood, in other words, becomes an economic input, a public good, something that is talked about as if the women themselves were not in the room. Data on declining birthrates draws comment from Elon Musk (“extremely concerning!!”) . Not having children is reduced to entirely personal motivations – selfishness, beguilement with the false promise of freedom, lack of values and foresight, irresponsibility – rather than external conditions: of the need for affordable childcare, support networks, flexible working arrangements and the risk of financial oblivion that motherhood frequently brings, therefore creating bondage to partners. To put it mildly, these are material considerations to be taken into account upon entering a state from which there is no return. Assuming motherhood happens without such context, Charman tells me, is a “useful fantasy”.

It is a binary public discourse, obscuring the often thin veil between biological and social actualisation. Women who don’t have children do not exist in a state of blissful detachment from their bodies and their relationship with maternity: a number have had pregnancies, miscarriages, abortions and periods. A number have entered liminal stages of motherhood that don’t conform to the single definition from which they are excluded. A number extend mothering to various children in their lives. Some, like Harris herself, have stepchildren (who don’t count, just as May’s nieces and nephews didn’t). A number have become mothers, just not in a way that initiates them into a blissful club. They experience regret, depression and navigate unsettlement that does not conform to the image of uncomplicated validation of your purpose in life.

But the privilege of those truths cannot be bestowed on creatures whose rejection of the maternal bond has become a rejection of a wider unspoken, colossally unfair contract. Women with children are handed social acceptance for their vital investment in “the future”, in exchange for unrewarded, unsupported labour that props up and stabilises the economic and social status quo. All while still suffering sneeriness about the value of their work in comparison with the serious graft of the men who win the bread.

On top of that, women have to navigate all that motherhood – or not – entails, all the deeply personal, bewildering, isolating and unacknowledged realities of both, while being subject to relentless suffocating, infantilising and violating public theories and notions that trespass on their private spaces. With that comes a sense of self-doubt and shame in making the wrong decision, or not being as content with those decisions as they are expected to be. It is a constant, prodding vivisection. That, more than anything clinical observers feel, is the truly disorienting and disturbing experience.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Love, The Man Under the Hood

Part 2 of The Man Under the Hood (requested by @fried4chicken)

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader

Summary: After learning that Jason Todd is the Red Hood, he tells you everything.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death in nightmares, fluff, comfort at the end, lots of Jason Todd storyline spoilers (Batman: Under the Red Hood spoilers for sure)

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

A/N: Ignore the fact that this pic is a different Jason than the pic for the first part. I didn't use a specific one while writing so just pick your fav! (Mine's WFA Jason!)

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

“But you can protect me. Right, red?”

Jason wanted to tell you about everything, but you figured it out before he could. After a frightening encounter with the Red Hood, you learned that the big, unreadable guy who terrified you was the same one who held you and comforted you afterward.

Now, though, Jason knows that he was right from the beginning. Regardless of what Dick said or the fact that you stayed beside him after your life-changing realization, Jason shouldn’t have told you. Not because he doesn’t love or trust you but because he put you in danger. He failed to protect you from himself, Gotham, and the people who made him what he is.

“You didn’t protect me, red,” you whisper weakly.

“Hold on for me,” Jason begs.

Your blood coats his hands, and the light in your eyes dims before Jason wakes. Alone in his apartment, he pulls his legs up and drops his head heavily into his hands. It’s a new nightmare, but losing you forever hurts worse than watching you walk out of the door.

Jason looks at his phone beside him. His heart begs him to call you, to hear your voice and know without a doubt that you are okay, but his mind says no. He already put a target on your back and won’t bring you closer to the Red Hood than he has to.

Your life hasn't changed much since you discovered Jason Todd is Red Hood. You haven’t talked to him about his vigilantism as you work through your questions alone. You continue inviting Jason into your life and home regardless of your questions or doubts. He told you the moment you first called him red that he would wait for you, and in the meantime, Jason would take what he could get. Neither of you want to lose each other, but the nagging questions in your mind – Why didn’t he tell me? What really happened when we were kids? – threaten to push you away from him.

As you walk home after a late night at work, questions about Jason, his “death,” and Red Hood fill your mind. You’re only drawn from your answerless wonderings by someone moving in the shadows. Gotham may be full of vigilantes, but it will never be safe.

You remove your phone from your pocket and press Jason’s contact, increasing your speed as it rings. The line connects nearly immediately.

“Hey,” Jason answers. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just walking home. Don’t want another incident like last time.” You try to keep your voice steady, but it shakes when you turn and notice someone behind you. “Jay?”

“I’m here.”

“I think someone’s following me.”

“Where are you?” 

His voice drops as if he’s speaking through the hood. You make another surprise turn, and the man behind you seems closer now.

“Red,” you whisper quickly.

“We’re on the way,” Jason promises. “Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you admit. “I’m sorry for not talking to you, but I was scared.”

“I know.”

“Not of you.”

“I know.”

“He’s getting closer.”

“Breathe,” Jason demands. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“I trust you.”

As soon as you say it, Red Hood and Nightwing drop from a fire escape and land at your side. You feel safe standing between them, knowing who one is and suspecting the other. That doesn’t mean you throw caution aside, so you duck behind Jason’s shoulder.

“I got this,” Nightwing says quickly.

“Let’s go,” Jason tells you as he turns toward you. “Hold on.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, and your arms circle his shoulders. When he tightens his grip to pin you tightly against his chest, you nod. He raises a hand and fires a grappling hook over his head. You close your eyes against the wind over Gotham and squeeze them tightly until you feel solid ground beneath your feet.

“I got ya,” Jason murmurs.

You blink your eyes open slowly but only see Jason’s mask. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

The red hood before you nods once before he takes your hand to lead you to your apartment. It’s less than a block away, and as Jason enters your window, you know you’re ready to talk about everything.

“I have to go,” Jason says suddenly. “They-“

“Go,” you reply. You lay your hands on his shoulders and tilt your chin to kiss his mask. “I’ll be here when you’re done. If you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jason promises.

He disappears out of your window but ensures it locks behind him before he jumps over the railing of your fire escape. You watch the window for a while after he leaves, and when you finally turn away to change out of your work clothes, you smile. You love Red Hood because of the man under the mask.

Red Hood moves silently through Gotham, but Jason’s mind is on you. You kissed his mask, which solidifies his belief that you love him. You love Jason, so you accept Red Hood because of that love. The big, unreadable guy you ran from was your first call when you were in danger. Being in a position to help you today eliminates part of Jason’s memory of scaring you. Now that he has been seen with you and approached you as someone Red Hood cares about, a target is being drawn on your back. And it looks suspiciously like his mask.

Three quick taps to your window draw your attention away from the news report about Batman. You turn off the television as you stand. The moment you raise the window, Jason climbs inside. He forces the window back down before he pulls his helmet off, and you smile at the sight of the domino mask underneath.

“Hello there,” you murmur as he peels the mask away from his eyes.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

You shake your head at Jason’s flirtation but step closer to him. He pulls you into a warm, comfortable hug, and you sigh as you relax against his chest.

“Thank you,” you say again as Jason leads you toward your couch.

“Dick did all the hard work,” Jason deflects, turning away from your attention.

“I knew it was Dick,” you whisper.

Jason sits back with an arm around your shoulders. You lean against him; you want to stay close and crave his comfort more than anything. Not because you’re scared but because you love him. 

Your touch helps Jason, too, and he falls asleep on your couch. You could get used to this, welcoming him into your arms after he goes on patrol. Jason is important to you, and he deserves to know why you stepped back even after accepting his formerly violent counterpart. After kissing his forehead, you lie beside him and quickly fall asleep. No matter how good Jason thinks you are for him, he’s better for you.

“What did you do?” you accuse.

“I did it to protect you!” Jason replies. “I love you.”

“This isn’t love.”

Jason steps toward you with his hands outstretched. The fear you showed when you first met the Red Hood returns as you flinch away from him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason promises. His voice breaks as he watches you step back.

“I wish I could believe you.”

Jason thrashes beside you, and it’s impossible to ignore on the small couch. When he mumbles, “No, no. I’m sorry,” you move off the couch. Kneeling beside his head, you keep your hands away from him as you try to wake him.

“Jason,” you say. “Jay, baby.”

You lay your fingertips on his arm, and Jason wakes quickly. He grabs your wrist gently as his eyes meet yours. 

“You’re still here,” Jason whispers.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere, Jay,” you reply.

Jason sits up and pulls you against him. You move your knees to either side of his thighs to hold his head to your chest.

“It was just a dream,” you soothe.

You push your fingers through his hair as your heartbeat comforts Jason. His grip tightens on you as he pushes his head closer to you.

“I’ve had nightmares,” he begins quietly. “Since I came back to Gotham. You always left. You saw me for who I really am and then you left. But, last night… you died, and then today you flinched away from me like the first time. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promise firmly. You pull back, keeping your hands on Jason’s cheek as you sit back to look at him. “I’m right here.”

“I was Robin. The second one, uh, after Dick. Bruce and I followed the Joker.” Jason pauses and takes a shaky breath.

“It’s okay,” you whisper as Jason quiets. “Take your time, Jay.”

“He killed me. Bruce let him kill me. And then, suddenly, I was back. But the Lazarus Pit, the thing that resurrected me, put this storm in my mind that never ended. All I wanted was revenge, but you were always in my mind. So, I came back and found you as soon as I could. Since then, every time I close my eyes, I dream about losing you… I can’t lose you, I won’t. That’s why when Dick told me to tell you, I said no. He said you loved me through worse, but- but I’m not the man you think I am.”

“Dick was right,” you interject. “I loved you through everything, Jay. Including your death. When I lost you, I lost a piece of myself. But you came back. You came back to me, Jay.”

“I shouldn’t have. That pit ruined me.”

“It didn’t.” Jason shakes his head, and you brush your thumbs over his cheeks as you repeat, “It didn’t. You’re still Jason. And I still love you.”

“I’m putting you in danger just by being near you.”

“And I’m not letting you leave. Not again.”

“What if I can never be the Jason I was before?”

“People change, no matter what. I love you, Jason, and you will always be my Jason Todd.”

“I can protect you from Gotham, from the Joker, all of it. But you- you’ve been protecting me from the storm in my mind since I came back.”

“And I always will. Whether I’m looking at this pretty face or the red mask,” you promise. “I stopped talking about it because I thought you were doubting me, you would have told me if you wanted me to know, but I found out on my own. Whatever I thought was wrong, I know that. All that matters right now is that I love you, Jason.”

“I love you more,” he replies.

You smile and lean forward to meet Jason halfway. Kissing him is safe and makes you feel loved. Now that you know everything (including Batman’s secret identity), you will never doubt why Jason kept secrets from you when he returned. You love Jason Todd, the man under the mask, and every part of him.

[caorann8]

Grief in Dawntrail

Alrighty, here are my thoughts as a funeral director having finished Dawntrail. Obviously spoilers under the cut.

When someone says a game feels like work, that’s normally a bad thing. In this case it’s not. Two of Dawntrail’s themes are community/their different cultures and grief and while they’re explored more separately in the two halves of the story they are intrinsically linked. Funerals at their core are about remembering the person who’s died and coming together to support each other and remember the person. Even with the decline of “traditional” funerals, people who are just having a cremation and nothing else from the funeral home often say they’ll have something at home with their friends and family.

This is why Sphene pissed me off from the start. With the Yok Huy we see a beautiful funeral tradition. The body may return to the mountains but their legacy will always remain for their community to read and remember over and over again, even for future generations. Meanwhile Sphene echo’s the same message, “You will never die so long as you’re remembered” but then removes the memories as a misguided attempt to protect her people. They aren’t remembered, they’re actively forgotten by their entire community until those people die too.

Death and grief are complicated things. Something we learn in school is there are no stages as most people think. It’s a roller coaster that goes forward and back, has good days and bad days, and will sometimes crop up years later. What lessens it is allowing yourself to process it, and support from friends/family/community helps immensely. By denying them these memories, Sphene denies them growth and stronger bonds. A friend of mine said the people of Alexandria wouldn’t survive the Final Days and I agree. We even see this in the WoL! How many times are we able to quote Haurchefant or other characters who have died but made an impact on our journey? Even Emet-Selch asks us to remember them. The ancient’s love, their follies, the good and bad. While grief hurts in so many different ways, we often come out on the other side better, whether that be with new tools, new outlooks, or even just relief that the person isn’t suffering.

And this doesn’t just apply to people we care for. Look at the death of Zoraal Ja. Wuk Lamat hated him and he’d abandoned Gulool Ja. Regret or joy that it’s over are valid feelings . Both grieved in their own ways and had support to work through it. The fact that they were actively told to take a break to process everything, both after his death and after the attack on Tullioyal, was a beautiful touch. Grief is exhausting after all.

Finally, I want to talk about my experience going through Living Memory. That’s the part that truly felt like my work. Just sitting and listening to people say their final goodbyes to their loved ones. Some crying, some laughing at good memories, some angry, but all taking that moment. I didn’t cry really (except Cahcuia, that one got me), I got choked up and there was a heaviness for a lot of it, but there’s a joy in knowing nothing’s left unsaid. Even deleting the areas didn’t affect me much. They each got their last hurrah, like a eulogy at a service or stories shared over a meal. Plus the knowledge that reincarnation exists in FFXIV means they’ll be able to enjoy life again.

At the end of the day grief, in all its forms from the end of relationships, to what could’ve been, to death of a loved one, shouldn’t be swept under a rug. When people find out I’m a funeral director I often get asked if it’s “depressing with all the crying” and I always reply that I hear laughter coming from visitation rooms more often than tears.

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

It’s been discussed before yes yes yes but the fact that in Trespasser Solas declines your Lavellan from joining him because he doesn’t her want to see what he will become.

a) All Lavellan knows is the moral, ethical, and principled Solas, the Solas who acts defensively and practically. Solas has and will act/order others to act in such a way that would break many Geneva conventions if it means succeeding, and he doesn’t want to test Lavellan’s love for him by making her bear witness to that, to choose him when she has no idea the true cost of what she is demanding, not only of herself, but of the world that will be ravaged by all of the terrorism and political maneuverings meant to destabilize and destroy the only world she has ever known. There is nothing more heart-breaking than someone you love forsaking you, to reach that limit one has for another. But equally so, Solas does not want to be in the position where he may be left with the choice between choosing Lavellan or his mission. What he will become may just be a man that would sacrifice her for his plans. He will not let her potentially put her heart on the line like that.

b) He doesn’t want to make her a monster that participates or allows such things, because part of the reason he fell in love with her was because of her goodness. It wouldn’t be difficult to groom her into evil if love was added to the mix. Love can compel you to do terrible things for the sake of a loved one, and Solas does not want to take advantage of her in that way, does not even want to have that temptation or that possibility involved. He is distancing himself to avoid accidentally corrupting the nature of what he believes to be a good, pure spirit. Evil inevitably poisons goodness. The Evil he wields is utilitarian and remorseful and necessary but evil all the same because it will do harm to thousands via the removal of the Veil. The man is planning what is potential omnicide. You cannot participate in that and not have something about you change irrevocably to allow it to happen. Solas, again, thinks of Lavellan as a good spirit. He wants to keep as many “good-spirited people” (kind, good people) intact as possible before he executes his plan. Why, I do not know, but I suppose because he believes that possessing a good spirit means your life will be happier. To be good is to exist well, and as Solas explains, to be good of heart means you will attract good spirits in the Fade and thus your experience in the Fade will be more pleasant, so by this logic he believes that, ideally (strictly ideally, he knows how much reality does not reflect ideals), goodness begets goodness begets peace.

Solas needs to be a monster because truly effective warfare is conducted when principles and ethics are thrown out the window. He does not want Lavellan to witness that and be confirmed in how much of a monster he was, is, and is willing to be. He wants her to remember him as a civilian, as Solas the humble apostate, not Fen’Harel the shadowed and conniving guerrilla war general. Selfishly, he wants her to only love a part of him, the best parts of him, because he is afraid of the whole of him being rejected, because who he is in totality is so storied and convoluted and repugnant that it would require the most extreme cognitive dissonance to be able to love him, and if there is anything Solas hates, it’s people who ignore reality in favor of their own self-serving fantasies. Lavellan would be right to disavow him, and by the same token it would be so terribly selfish of them both if she forgave him of his crimes and he accepted that forgiveness, because his sins cannot be absolved with a single individual’s love. That is the tragedy of their love, because love cannot overcome all that has happened. It cannot redeem or wipe away what he has done, not unless he kills a significant part of who he is, the Ancient Elf, the Rebel, the Failure, the Veil Maker, the Doomer of the World.