#anyway; I feel like it's difficult for me to argue with people over this because they'd need a lot of fandom drama context and receipts...

[lokiinmediasideblog]

Talking shit with nuance in the DMs with someone who's also seen the horrors of Loki TWT is nice ^_^

For context, I really HATE Loki TWT (I find Lokiblr more tolerable, maybe because it's easier to avoid shit as I have the algorithm recommendations turned off. Y'all should try that.). Everyone's awful over there, be it anti series, Sylki, or Lokius.

Like do they all know they can express grievances without getting ableist and nasty?

But some people from Loki TWT unfortunately are also on Tumblr...

[discoreptile]

Beasties of Greenhollow soundtrack! Some tracks on this are from older projects like elphame but all of them have been reworked in some way. Most of them are entirely new. Enjoy!

[girlsworldillusion]

we can't be friends

Ex!Aemond - Fem!Reader

Exes to lovers

Summary: After a whole year together, he broke up with you like it was no big deal. What happens when you see each other after four months apart? In the middle of Baela's birthday party, can you control yourself enough not to cause a scene? You just need to get through the night and then you can forget again the man who broke your heart, something that becomes increasingly difficult as the hours go by.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 9k

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Enjoy!

⚠️ English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find ⚠️

Daemon and Laena Targaryen’s luxurious mansion buzzes with polite conversation and classic music. The expensive, sophisticated decor and lavish catering service speak of the family’s high status — a grand, refined event that not even the birthday girl could refuse, even though she had vehemently expressed the entire way that would prefer something far less formal and elegant than this.

A raucous celebration at a bar somewhere in town, surrounded by loud laughter and the indiscreet company of her truly friends, if you were to guess.

A celebration that you, like any good friend would, were secretly orchestrating to throw after this seemingly endless event — a sort of surprise after-party so that she could actually enjoy her own birthday.

But the Targaryens had a reputation to uphold, and the birthday of Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter was a social event that could not be easily ignored. So, in a moment induced purely by her almost desperate pressure, you promised that you would be here tonight, supporting your friend during this unnecessarily ostentatious party with people that, for the most part, you didn't even know.

But that was a monumental mistake.

Well, realistically, you know why you were here and you know that it was the right thing to do. But still...no, you don't know why you thought for a second that this would be a good idea.

"Maybe you should just talk to him."

Baela, the sole reason you had subjected yourself to being among these people, comments quietly to you. Her violet gaze peeking discreetly over the rim of her glass at something - someone - behind you.

"Wait, w-what -" You ask more shrilly than you intended, almost spitting out the bubbly sip of champagne you had just poured into your mouth, narrowing your eyes at her. "Why? Why would you say something like that?"

"Um, maybe because he's been staring at you all night? Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if there were holes in the back of your head right now. He's not being the least bit discreet about it." She shrugs, giving a tight, artificially friendly smile when a lady twice your age walks by and compliments her on the elegant decor of the party. Baela rolls her eyes as she walks away, determinedly taking another generous sip of her drink, as if seeking liquid encouragement to continue enduring these interactions.

"You guys should just talk, is what I mean." She waves her hand lightly at you, as if the situation were so simple.

You don't agree out loud with her first observation, but inwardly you find yourself unable to deny it. Your skin is crawling and your senses are on high alert, feeling the weight of his attention on you like a tangled web of webs that you can't untangle.

"Don't be dramatic, I won't do such a thing. Just ignore him, he'll give in eventually." You mutter sullenly.

Baela tilts her head and arches a silver eyebrow, sending you a look that you immediately interpret as a 'you know who we're talking about, right?', but you just roll your eyes as click your tongue, determined not to let her push the subject any further.

"Anyway, don't you have anything better to do than sit here worrying unnecessarily about my life? For heaven's sake, you're the birthday girl, go entertain your countless guests and leave me alone for once."

She's about to argue, but fate seems to be on your side for once and Laena, her mother, appears at that moment.

"Baebae, sweetie, come with me, I'd like to introduce you to a great friend from the office. Oh, you're going to love her!" The elegant woman beams with excitement, sending you a mischievous wink as she basically pulls her daughter away.

"Hey, mom! W-wait, I was in the middle of an important thing and-!" Baela stumbles, both over her words and her own feet, as she is insistently dragged into the room, turning her head to you with a frustrated cry. "Don't even think this ends here, we'll talk more once I get rid of her!"

"Sure, sure, I'll be waiting right here." You shout back, pressing your lips together to suppress your smile before lifting the glass and taking another sip of champagne.

The funny scene, however, distracts you for only a few seconds and soon you find yourself alone and very out of place in the center of the main hall, surrounded by strangers and fancy music, with your ex's intense gaze burning into the back of your neck like lasers.

With a polite tilt of chin you greet a university fellow who passes by you, taking the opportunity to gracefully turn your body and face the other side of the hall. And, despite your common sense, you find yourself unable to stop from peeking over the rim of your glass in the direction of he-who-must-not-be-named.

And oh, yes, there he is.

You haven't seen him in months — at least four, since he broke up with you on the eve of the university graduation. And, unlike what you imagined for him all this time, the breakup didn't do him any apparent harm. He seems as good as ever.

You and Aemond had an unexpected but incredibly intense dating history. You both met through Baela many years ago. Neither of you hit it off right away — he openly ignored you, and you disdained even his shadow. It was a perfectly comfortable relationship for both of you that lasted for years, until everything changed during a single drunken night. You don’t remember exactly how it started, but one moment you were downing glass after glass of your fruity drink, glaring daggers at him from across the balcony, and the next you were kissing and making out in the dark upstairs hallway.

There was no awkward conversation the next day or either of you trying to pretend it never happened. You just made a mutual agreement to keep doing it, gradually sinking into a frighteningly perfect relationship that lasted a full year.

You burned brightly. You were both madly in love, and it was obvious to anyone. Within just a few weeks of dating, everyone on campus had come to associate you with each other, so great was your rapport. Baela wasn’t surprised when she found out, claiming it was obvious that all that blatant disdain and sharp glances meant a lot of pent-up sexual tension.

Together you were intense, a force to be reckoned with. Like fire and ice, but even greater — like all the light and darkness in the universe, somehow intertwined to create the perfect pair.

And then you fell.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly where things took a turn for the worse. But finals season was approaching, as were the pressures of careers and futures after graduation, and reality set in for both of you. Slowly you stopped going everywhere together, and your couple’s banter began to evolve into intense arguments that made everyone in the dorm cringe. Suddenly Aemond had no time for you anymore, divided between his studies and his internship at the family business. You were relegated to the background, like a toy that had been used for too long and was now of no use.

Until the day inevitably came when he just stopped showing up at your dorm. You sought him out some time later for some kind of explanation and he seemed so different then, and yet so identical to the Aemond you knew all those years ago; disinterested, overwhelmed, serious, unreachable. In that moment you knew it was over.

Then finals passed, graduation came, and your intense relationship melted away under the weight of adulthood.

And it didn’t matter anymore. You wanted to settle down, to get deeper into your newly started career, and the two of you were not supposed to contact each other anymore. And things were going well — you couldn’t go so far as to say you were completely over him, but you had accepted the fact that the relationship was over. Everything was fine.

Until tonight.

Aemond is casually leaning against the wall, one leg folded over the other, arms crossed in front of his broad chest. A petulant king with boredom and entitlement dripping from his posture.

He is the same, in every visible way.

The same pale, flawless skin and the same surgical eye patch hiding the severe wound over his left eye. The same long, icy white locks carefully arranged to look purposefully disheveled in the low ponytail he wears tonight, two long strands framing either side of his face. Well-defined eyebrows lowered over an intense violet gaze that watches you with unabashed interest through an aristocratic nose. The flushed lips, pressed expressionlessly together, belonging to the same mouth you’ve lost yourself in so many times before…oh…the memories come to you unbidden, leaving your skin warm in response.

Shaking your head discreetly, you try to focus on his attire for the evening. And at first glance, you could tell he would be more suited to a funeral than a birthday party. But that wasn’t anything new either.

Dressed entirely in black, from the dress pants to the blazer, to the soft silk shirt underneath and shoes that are surely worth more than the small apartment you bought for yourself, he looks like an elven king of the shadows or a seductive vampire from a romance novel. The haute couture pieces fit the length and curves of the muscles on his body as if its had tailored specifically for him - and you know its had.

Nothing has changed in his outward appearance or his personality, from what you can tell. Aemond still exudes power and dominance in the room as if it were some kind of natural substance seeping from his pores, choking your throat as you struggle to maintain an indifferent gaze, trying to remain unfazed even though you feel anything but.

He even has the same look in his eye, Aemond is almost always watching. His one eye is fixed on your skin, heated and electrifying. It hasn’t changed, especially, the way it sets you on fire. His scorching gaze on your skin.

Flustered and embarrassed by this, you tip the champagne glass to your lips in order to keep your nerves in check, only to realize that you’ve already drunk it all.

Cheeks flushing at having made such an embarrassing faux pas under Aemond’s annoyingly watchful eye, you lower the glass to the table next to you.

With a fake bored sigh, you try to pretend that none of this happened, prepared to go back to pretending that he doesn’t exist. Until, out of the corner of your eye, you see him push his body away from the wall and then your attention is painfully fixed on him again, his gaze locked on yours as he stoically marches in what is turning out to be exactly the direction you’re standing.

Your heart races in your chest, palms beginning to sweat at your sides as he intercepts a waiter in the middle of the room with an elegant wave of his hand, grabbing two glasses of champagne from the tray before continuing to walk towards you.

And you, deeply torn between the desire to run as far away as possible and to stay exactly where you are so as not to show any sign of weakness, end up deciding to do something in between. You don't run, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable swaying on your feet as you stand there and you pray that he attributes it to some kind of natural movement due to the classical music playing in the room and not some nervous reaction caused by, gods above, his presence.

"Hey," he says when he's close by, extending his right hand to offer you the glass of champagne, his lips slightly stretching into an almost compassionate expression. "Here."

His voice, all soft, lazy velvet, a little rough around the edges, still makes your head spin.

“Hey you,” you say, the red dust on your cheeks deepening, all too aware that you were just fantasizing about those same lips just a few minutes ago. You accept the drink without a second thought, needing it now more than ever. Your fingers brush against each other for a single awkward second, seemingly long enough to send a subtle shiver through your body. “Thank you.”

“Having fun?” he asks as you take a sip of the sparkling beverage.

With a shrug you lower the glass, sending him the most casually indifferent look you can muster at the moment, considering the frazzled state of your nerves. God, you’d somehow forgotten how tall he was; athletic and tall enough that even in heels you still had to look up to meet his gaze and respond.

Tonight was going to be a bigger ordeal than you’d thought.

“It’s a perfectly nice party.” He knows you well enough to know you’re lying, and it’s clear from the unsurprised raise of his eyebrow, an amused smile barely concealed by the rim of his glass as he sips his own champagne, his other hand elegantly hidden in the pocket of the pants. You pout a little, irritated that he thinks he can still read you like this.

“Hm, you look beautiful tonight,” he comments, so calm and sincere, looking straight into your eyes, and you forget your earlier irritation. “Blue looks really good on you.”

You glance shyly down at the light blue dress you’re wearing; the satin straps held together by a delicate bow on each shoulder, the top fitting tightly across your chest - soft, full skirt starting at your waist, falling gently down your hips and thighs, to just below your knees. On your feet are a delicate pair of high-heeled sandals, thin straps wrapped around your ankle. Your hair slides over shoulders in soft waves. And on your face the lightest of makeup. You looked passable, in your opinion. Elegant, but understated compared to the others in the room.

“I—huh, thank you. You look good too.” You mumble, cheeks warm, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “B-but what about you? I didn’t think you were the type to attend birthday parties so easily, even those of your relatives. I thought you couldn't stand that kind of thing.”

You rush to change the subject, a sympathetic smile on your lips as remember how uncomfortable he felt when he was asked to attend such events — avoiding most of them whenever possible.

Aemond shrugs, unfazed by your abrupt change of subject, but blessedly going along with it.

“I knew you’d be here.”

For the second time that night, you nearly choke on your drink.

Your eyes wide and surprised stare at him, unsure of what to make of this information thrown out so naturally.

So what if you were here? You’re done, aren’t you? Why should Aemond care where you are or what you’re doing?

“Aemond, what are you—”

“Can we talk?”

He cuts you off in a lower voice, taking a step closer, close enough for you to smell his woody, masculine scent, the smoky notes of cigarette.

"But..." You blink quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. "We're already doing that."

He breathes out in frustration, looking away subtly.

"Alone."

You look away too, noticing some attentive glances at the two of you, curious to know what the ex-lover couple was doing together again. The embarrassment grips you tighter.

"Aemond, we have nothing to talk about alone. Look, it was nice to meet you tonight, but I really should go look for Baela and..." You look back as speak, trying to locate the woman among the crowd of people, but a soft, almost imperceptible touch on the back of your hand makes you suddenly freeze, slowly turning your face to the contact. His knuckles are brushing against your skin, discreet and gentle, only drawing your attention to him again.

When you look up, lips parted and eyes uncertain, he’s staring at you with such intensity and focus that it makes your knees feel weak for a moment.

“Please.”

Unfortunately, it’s not just your knees that are weak.

Whatever he’s planning to do now is a very, very bad idea. You should refuse; any interaction with Aemond after so long apart is a slippery slope, especially after his earlier cryptic statement.

But with a stiff and mostly unconscious nod of your head, he steps away to lead you to a more private place.

You know you shouldn’t. You know.

But you do it anyway: you follow Aemond up the stairs, focusing on the silky sway of the strands that are loosely tied in the ponytail at the nape of his neck, falling down the length of his spine almost to the middle of his back. The icy white contrasts with the darkness of his blazer.

You ignore the knowing look Baela sends you when you spot her a few feet ahead - still caught up in a visibly boring conversation with her mother and that woman from the office, raising her glass to you in an encouraging and mischievous motion.

Your face burns with shame and humiliation, feeling weak for being in this situation - for having been unable to say no to him, as you should have.

"Please be direct, I don't want to linger here and give people the wrong idea." You say, awkward and nervous, as the two of you enter one of the guest rooms upstairs. Aemond closes the door with a tired sigh, and you swallow hard at the sound, adjusting your posture to appear colder than you actually feel.

"I never got over you."

His delivery is abrupt and direct, everything you had asked him to be, and yet the statement catches you off guard. It unsettles you enough to make you stagger back slightly, your lower back hitting the corner of a dresser. He continues, despite your obvious daze.

“It crossed my mind that you might come tonight, being Baela’s friend and all. But I didn’t see you at first, so I figured you had something else planned for her.” And you did, but you don’t say it, afraid that he’ll interpret the comment as an invitation and the situation will get even worse. “I was hoping to see you...the last time we spoke didn’t go well, since—”

“Since you dumped me,” you spit before realize, recovering from your daze with a speed that’s surprising even to you. Aemond shivers at the sudden, icy words. “I mean, what else is there to talk about after that?”

“Clearly there’s something I should talk about. Because I think you hate me,” he says, still calmly, but a little more frustrated - pulling his blazer down his arms to toss it on the bed in an uncharacteristically eager gesture. He pulls an expensive pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter, lighting the end to inhale slowly; everything under your watchful scrutiny. “Which you have every right to if that’s the case, but it doesn’t mean I like it.” He finishes the thought with a puff of air, the smell of nicotine and swirling smoke making you wrinkle your nose in response, your expression showing all the distaste for it. Aemond knows how much you disapprove of his little vice after all.

“Well, that’s too bad. But those are my feelings. It’s none of your business what they are or not.” You cross the arms in front of you, feeling petulant and provoked. “So don’t go around assuming I hate you or anything. That just makes you an asshole.”

He brings the cigarette held between his fingers to his mouth again, inhaling slowly as he looks at you with his nose up and narrow gaze - having clearly noticed your bratty attitude. You reinforce your defiant expression, even though feel yourself wilt considerably inside at that look.

Memories. So many memories.

In a nervous gesture, provoked by the absolute silence he maintains after that, nothing but soft drags on his cigarette and thick puffs of nicotine as he stares at you intently, you shake your hair back. The mistake is recognized immediately, but it is already too late to correct. His gaze, unwavering and dark, descends the delicate curve of your neck in a familiar movement, but quickly freezes when he notices something different there.

The mark of a particularly rude hickey left by Benjicot Blackwood - better known among students as Bloody Ben. A drunken mistake made a few nights ago. The man, also a fellow student, was not only a nerd with strange tendencies as some claimed, he was also absolutely wild in bed - which, of course, seemed like a good idea at the time. Not the next day, though.

And maybe it wasn't just the alcohol. Yes, you were drunk that night - you don't think you would have had the courage to flirt with Bloody Ben if you weren't. But it wasn’t just that, if you were being honest. There was something else there, something motivating you to make such a bold move.

Revenge, maybe. Something to rub in your ex’s face, something to hurt him. It wasn’t decent, or the adult thing to do, but hey, you didn’t say you were being coherent. And your actions couldn’t be taken seriously in the drunken state you were both in, could they? You just wanted to hurt Aemond as much as he had hurt you.

And if that was the case, so what if you let some guy with weird fetishes bite on you like a chew toy? Who cares?

Aemond, apparently.

“Who…?” He asks, lowering his cigarette slowly, his jaw clenched.

“None of your business.” You repeat your earlier argument immediately, even though your heart is fluttering in chest and cheeks burning with shame at your own actions. "It's none of your damn business who I sleep with or not, Aemond. You made it very clear four months ago that you don't care about me or our relationship. It's over."

The months may have dulled that unbearable bite of pain that burned in your throat, but you remember those last few days all too well. The tortuous stab of being slowly abandoned, of not being important enough to be worth fighting for. Why weren't you worth fighting for? What could you have done to be chosen?

And, fuck, you don't want to cry. But just being here, facing the reason for your suffering and being able, for the first time, to truly make him understand how much he hurt you, makes unwanted tears well up in your eyes. But he's not worth it. If you're not worth it, neither is he. You blink rapidly at the ceiling to ward off the urge to cry, licking your lips.

“You’re being so,” he waves his free hand at you, face still twisted in disgust at the mark on your neck, “so fucking cold about this. For a moment there I thought we were doing better.”

“Because I accepted your drink downstairs? Because I was polite enough to answer you without causing a scene in front of those people? Is that why you thought—” You let out a tearful sigh. This is not going according to plan. It’s in direct opposition to the rule of not getting involved with this man ever again in your life.

“You know what—I’m fine. Really.” You sigh, tired, soft. “I shouldn’t have come upstairs with you. We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“Are you too busy?” he presses, impatient and grumpy.

“I am, actually,” you say, too honest. “I better get back to Baela, like I tried to do before, I promised I wouldn’t leave her alone with all those vultures. We can continue this some other time,” you blink away and then back at him with a raw, teary glare, “in the future.” 

You should leave now. Why are you still here? Why are you—

Aemond clearly wants to argue, but decides not to. He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk next to where he stands, not looking away from yours for a moment. You hold his gaze and feel nothing but aching longing and the smoldering hurt you were so sure you had managed to put behind you.

“Okay.” He murmurs with a sharp gaze, but he’s approaching you with careful steps, afraid you’ll back away.

“Okay.” You murmur back.

Except neither of you move toward the door. What you both do is Aemond stares at you and you stare back.

Alarm bells blare in the back of your mind, screaming at you to run immediately or you’ll never know peace.

Because that imposing, intense stance sounds so much like Aemond Targaryen, and that’s all well and good, except this is the Aemond you know, someone you’ve sworn never to let near you again. And he’s so close now and the room is quiet except for your anxious breathing and the distant purr of the air conditioning system — and when his thumb comes up to rub the skin just below your bottom lip, you stay there and let him pull it down.

He gives you only a second to absorb what that means before he crashes his lips to yours, end of conversation. He licks his way past your lips to swallow the agonized noises in the back of your throat. And it’s nostalgic, instinctive, a little bit needy and a lot of longing, the kind that would drive anyone crazy. And it feels good, letting go like this. Letting yourself sink into the familiarity of his mouth on yours, even if it ends in tears and ashes.

Aemond’s lips taste like cigarettes and mint, just like you dreamed. They’re also as soft as you remember, fitting perfectly against yours. It’s intoxicating, the way he kisses — with enough urgency to make anyone feel intensely wanted, but also with so much passion and care, with the softest touches that lull you into the kind of state of mind you shouldn’t be in with him.

His hand is sliding down the curve of your throat now, circling to grip there — a loose, gentle grip, just using it as leverage to pull you to him.

“Mm?” he hums — pleased with himself and almost smug in his ragged breaths. “Yeah, baby?” He’s not allowed to use that voice with you. The low, breathy voice that turns into a raspy sound. This is so fucking unfair, and you’re as angry as you are aroused right now.

“You have to go,” you gasp, lashes fluttering with every lick over your own tongue, every teasing bite to your bottom lip, “please, Aemond. We—”

“I missed you,” he whispers, returning to the wet space of your lips. The hand at your throat squeezes gently, his thumb stroking the path of a pulsing vein there, leaving tremors in its wake. “I miss you so fucking much.”

You no longer have your hands clasped together, instead they’re open at your sides, shaking, and you’re dizzy. Dizzy because something painful and tight in your chest that’s lain unacknowledged for four months has finally let go. And the knowledge that this, the two of you, might not be over after all is leaving you breathless and confused.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his ridiculous velvet voice low and sincere against your skin, “it doesn’t make up for any of the shit I’ve done, it doesn’t even come close, but I’m really sorry. I’m an asshole. Such a fucking asshole for letting you go."

When Aemond meets your eyes again, a spark of heat shoots through your belly. And while his words don't erase the pain, they do burn something in you. Whether you're fighting now or not, you crave him, and nothing about that has changed in the months you've been apart. Your mind may be full of arguments and hurt, but your body never got the memo, and it's reacting hotly to this man's presence.

You want to feel him holding you again so badly. You want to feel more of his mouth on yours, his soft hair tangled in your fingers, his warm breath on your neck. Fuck, how are you still so in love with someone who broke your heart into a million little pieces without even a decent explanation?

“Tell me you're not interested,” Aemond demands, after you've been silent for too long. You open your mouth to tell him to go away, for real this time, but the words won't come out. “Tell me you don't want me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You take a deep breath and try again.

“I want you,” is what your traitorous mouth says, but Aemond looks so relieved by this that you grab the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. He shifts his body and places his other hand on your hip, pushing you hard against the dresser. You follow him and hold him by the back of the neck, his breath heated on your throat when he breaks the kiss. You feel Aemond bite and suck gently from your collarbone exposed by the party dress to your ear. He pinches the sensitive lobe and tugs lightly and you feel a shiver run through your entire body.

His hand on your neck pushes your head back and his mouth is on yours again and this kiss feels different. Aemond isn’t holding anything back now and he’s kissing you like he’s pouring all his love, apologies and desire into it. He’s kissing you like you’re the only thing he needs in the world, and you let yourself revel in the feeling of being wanted and loved. He pulls you back with him until you’re both at the edge of the king-sized bed, and you push him so that he falls lightly onto the soft mattress.

Aemond arches an eyebrow in curiosity and amusement, but parts his legs slightly so that you can slide between them, settling his back against the headboard as you straddle his lap - and even fully clothed you feel a thrill run through your body as press yourself against him, feeling how hard he already is.

Your hand slips into the soft silk of his shirt, undoing the first few buttons to caress the hard planes of his broad chest, nails gently scratching that expanse of pale skin. He rumbles a low growl and you capture his lips in another desperate, hurried kiss, your tongue thrusting into his open mouth, tangling with his.

His fingers tighten in your hair, using it to drag you closer to him, gasping in pleasure as your hips buck against his to feel that hard cock rubbing against your panties through his pants. He continues to pull on your hair, wrapping the strands around his fist over and over and tilting your head back as he kisses you back, chasing his tongue back into your mouth. There’s nothing careful about the way he takes your lip between his teeth, biting and sucking on it like it’s some kind of punishment, and it doesn’t take long for you to remember that you don’t mind a little pain — not when he’s the one inflicting it on you.

"Fuck, I love those cute little noises you make, baby," he breathes into your mouth, gripping your hair to tilt your face up and lick your jaw, "I love the way you let me do whatever I want to you - a pretty, precious little doll to play with, hm?"

You open your eyes, looking up at him through heavy, watery lashes. His violet eye is glazed with lust, his mouth drooping with heavy pants, the tops of his cheeks lightly tinged with the dusty pink of a blush, and you tug at the surgical eye patch he wears, the movement almost like muscle memory. Your lips kiss almost reverently over the rough outline of his scars and what's left of his mutilated eye as your fingers wrap around the elastic in his hair and tug to let the silky, silver strands fall freely down his back and front of his face - longingly welcoming the same earthy, organic scent of the amber shampoo he used when you were still together.

“Aemond,” you say, and now his mouth moves to your ear, nipping lightly with his teeth before licking, “Aemond,” your fingers curl deeper into his hair — not to push away, no. To bring him closer. “Aemond,” you keep chanting his name like it’s the only one you know, like you’ve forgotten other words exist.

“Fuck yes, I’m here, baby. I got you.” When he kisses you this time, so fucking good, like he wants this as much as you do — you can feel him wanting it. You can feel him wanting it. He growls and reaches up with both hands to grab your ass.

“Ah-!” you moan, pushing yourself back into his hold, the movement sending a line of heat and friction up and down your spine as your private parts brush harder against each other.

“I—Aem, touch me please,” you beg — and you really don’t need to tell him twice — Aemond reaches for the hem of your party dress, pushing it so the delicate fabric pools above your hips, massaging your ass with his other hand, loving the small noises of pleasure you try to suppress as you kiss him. He strokes the lace side of your panties for a few seconds before pushing them aside, and then he goes for your pussy like he’s been missing it, wanting it, dreaming about it for years.

“Wet,” he pants against your cheek, sliding his thumb along the slit of your pussy. “So wet for me, baby,” he says, and sucks kisses down your neck.

“Aem...ond,” you whine between gasps, high-pitched and whiny. The way you always do when you’re too turned on, like what your body is experiencing is too much for you to handle.

Two of his slender fingers press against your entrance and you gasp as he slowly plunges them in. Your head falls back as you lets out a low moan and you can’t help the way your thighs are already shaking. Of course he’s still really good at this.

He sets a lazy pace, fingers moving in and out of you as he focuses his mouth on your neck for the next few minutes. His fingers are so long and when he curves them, you go rigid.

“Ah, ah,” you moan. His fingertips rub against that spongy spot inside you and as he drags them out slowly while grinding against it, you sigh.

“Talk to me, baby. Does this feel good? Is this what you wanted?” You give another enthusiastic nod, mumbling a string of ‘yes, yes, it feels so fuckin good’, moaning deep in your throat as you grind your hips against his fingers. It’s intense, breathy, needy and beautiful. Aemond gives you another slow thrust in and out, brushing the soft pad of his thumb over your clit once and you nearly fall forward from him, your legs are so weak.

“You feel so beautiful when you take it like this, so good, baby, so good for me,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing your throat, your pulse point - his other hand massaging your scalp in a soft but possessive grip. “Makes me want to eat you." He pants, thrusting his fingers into your heat a fraction faster, flicking your poor clit just enough to drive you wild, slow in a way that feels more like torture, “I want to eat you so bad baby, lick that pussy until all I can taste is you. I fucking miss that.”

"God! Please, l-later...please, Aemond, later..." The noise that leaves you is not unlike a sob. "I need to feel you now, I need this so bad, please - it's too much, and it's not enough. I think I'm dying." You cry, so desperate, feeling too much. Just too much. All you want to feel is Aemond.

"Yeah?" He asks with a harsh sigh, arching his neck to look at you, flushed and just as breathless as you, but somehow still maintaining such a perfectly composed, mischievous appearance that it just makes you want to shake him and cause some chaos.

Your face burns with flames as he slowly and teasingly removes his fingers from your heat, lifting them both to his lips to clean them.

“A full fucking feast as always, love - thank you.” He hums huskily, eyelashes fluttering in pleasure as he sucks your juices from his fingers without taking his gaze from yours.

“S-shut up you pervert.” You mumble and he just chuckles, letting his back fall back against the headboard, giving you silent permission to proceed in whatever way you prefer. But even so; even beneath you, without his usual eye patch and with his hair messed up by your restless fingers, shirt askew and half open to expose his defined, pale skin, lips parted and moist with your arousal and narrowed gaze - he is anything but submissive.

Swallowing hard, you eventually pull away, sitting a little lower on his thighs, hand sliding down past his waist, searching for the evidence of his pleasure. Small fingers feel the expensive fabric of his dress pants, sliding over the thick tent of his cock in the material, feeling delicately before nudging the clasp.

He lifts his hips, aiding your efforts to push his pants down over his ass, freeing his cock for your eyes, and you moan at the sight. He’s just as gorgeous as you remember. His cock is long and thick, the tip a dark flushed color, slick with precum. You close your fist around him, biting your bottom lip when you can barely wrap your fingers completely around his thickness. Your eyes are half-lidded as watch your small hand work his shaft, reveling in the way the slow thrusts make him twitch slightly, his breathing coming harder.

“You're determined to make trouble, aren't you?” he pants raspily, and you do your best not to whimper as the rumble sends another wave of fire licking your pussy.

Deciding to stop teasing, not for his sake - or at least not just for his sake - but especially because you yourself can't go another minute without having him inside you again, you move forward.

Lifting your body higher on your knees, you use a free hand to pull the small gusset of your thong aside, revealing a perfectly shaved mound to his view. Aemond groans lowly as he looks at you again and you blush, your body tingling at the thought that you still please him so much. Holding your panties aside, lowering yourself so that your soaked pussy lips are cradling his shaft, you rock back and forth a few times, coating them with your arousal and his, both of you letting choked sounds of pleasure spill freely from your lips.

Your thighs tremble every time the ridge of his cockhead brushes against your hard clit and you rock against that throbbing shaft, your desire burning through your blood as heated as his cock sliding against your slick slit. He slides past your entrance again and you can feel your walls trembling, both wanting him to push inside and fighting against such a thick intrusion. Aemond bites his lip with each teasing thrust, his entire body shaking beneath you as he tries to maintain control. With each brush of his cock over your clit, you hear yourself moaning louder, your nails digging deep into his neck and shoulder, no doubt making this difficult for him.

Unable to take any more of this, you reach down to grip his cock so you can line it up with your entrance. You slowly bring the head inside, both of you panting, your eyes locking and you use your hips and the hand at his base to take him inside.

Your entire body tenses as you try to fight against the thick intrusion, your entrance stretching as you feel yourself being filled with his cock. It’s almost painful after so many months without it, even with a random one night stand with Ben, and you cling to him, breathing deeply as you force yourself to relax.

“You’re so good to me, aren’t you, baby?” Aemond murmurs against your loose lips, savoring your breathy intake of breath and mixing it with his own, cupping your hips in his wide palms. “Such a good, sweet girl, taking my cock so fucking good. Keep going baby, you can do it.”

You moan, feeling your walls quiver around his pulsing length, allowing you to feel every inch of his steel shaft inside them - the shape of the head, the veins, the slight curve it had as it slid a little deeper when, blessedly, your walls begin to relax a little. You swallow a little air before kissing him desperately as if he were your air now, your eyes watering with emotion. He greedily devours your mouth, as if he craves it too, savagely plunging his tongue into your throat as he holds himself perfectly still, waiting for you to adjust.

A few panting breaths later, you finally feel relaxed enough. You move both hands into his hair and the back of his neck, seeking support.

“Aemond,” a sigh, your voice shaking.

“I got you, beautiful,” he replies between kisses and ragged breaths. "But please, move. It's so fucking tempting to feel that pussy squeezing me after all this time."

Aemond, unlike his stoic and silent persona in any other social setting, has always been a dirty talker during sex. But his direct, filthy words still surprise you, evoking a mix of mortifying embarrassment and pure heat in your veins.

You bite your bottom lip, holding onto it as you awkwardly begin to move up and down on his cock. He doesn't seem to notice your rusty practice, groaning at the feel of you like this again, pulling your skirt up higher so he can watch your pussy swallow his cock as you rides it.

You blush, but buck your hips for emphasis, hissing as he slides in a little deeper than before. When you move up and down again, giving a single roll of your hips that has you seeing stars as he rubs your sweet spot before he slams back up into you, sheathing himself to the hilt. Cries fly from your lips as he repeats the movements, making sure you truly were ready for him. The suspense of those agonizingly slow thrusts had you moaning, your entire body shaking.

Aemond lets out a deep growl that has you clenching around him and you lean forward, your breast pressed against his chest. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking on your skin, leaving behind a deep hickey.

“F-fuck,” you moan, rolling your hips in his lap.

“That’s it, ride me babe,” he growls, using his hands to lift your ass. “Use me.”

You help him, sinking your knees into the softness of the mattress, moving your hips back and forth in his lap. The sound your bodies make together is obscene, all lewd licks and rough slaps of skin meeting skin as your ass slaps against his thighs. You do as he asks, taking what you need, feeling close to the edge already. Aemond throws his head back against the headboard, watching you through a half-lidded slit, his lips stretched into a lazy, lustful smile. 

“There you go love,” he encourages, rocking his hips upward every time you move. “That’s it, fuck. Tell me whose cock you’re riding.”

“Y-you Aemond, your cock—” You answer immediately, your mind a little too foggy to understand the real meaning of his question.

“Oh baby, already all cute and dumb on my cock, hm?” He chuckles close to your mouth, nudging your nose with his to get your attention. “You know what I want to hear. Let's try again, come on. Who are you riding?”

And through the rhythmic slap of your skin together, the pressure of your orgasm building marginally in your belly, the confusion in your mind, and the feeling of having Aemond like this after so long - you understand what he wants.

The position you’re in, bobbing up and down on his lap, heat and sex surrounding you like a dome of ash and sin, keeping him deceptively submissive beneath you, taking what you needs…

You know what he wants to hear.

You flush bright red and mortified from your cheeks to your neck and close your eyes, straining once against his firm grip on your ass, swallowing again. You might actually be fuming, you realize in stunned amazement.

“M-my dragon. Riding my dragon.”

My dragon. A nickname you gave him a few weeks before the breakup, a representation of his abrasive, brash personality hidden beneath an indifferent, impenetrable exterior.

“Did you miss this?” he asks with a teasing, breathless grin, squeezing the soft cheeks of your ass between his fingers to help you undulate your pussy relentlessly on his cock. “Did you miss riding your dragon like this?”

"Aemond-" You blush deeply at his question, trying to look away from his, even as your body continues to roll against his in that ancient, natural dance.

"Answer." He presses, lifting a hand to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger and make you look at him, straight into that violet expanse.

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?" He pushes.

Face burning, you sigh.

"I missed riding my dragon like this. I missed it so fucking much, Aemond..."

He nodded, his eyelashes fluttering, brows furrowed.  

 "Yeah you do. Never again baby, you'll never go without riding that cock. I'll make sure of that."

Your pace quickened, despite the burning in your thighs, and he kissed your jaw, nibbling at your skin. He slapped your ass and you bucked against him, the sting making the pleasure sweeter.  

“Come on, baby, you’re doing so good, I know you’re close. Just a little bit more, I can feel it, I can feel how tight you’re squeezing, fuck, this is going to kill me…” He babbles his dirty nonsense close to your ear, his control slipping as the grip on your flesh increases to the level of pain. “Use me for what you need. Cum hard on this cock.”

But what finally pushes you over the edge are sharp teeth sinking into your throat, paired with a skilled thumb that suddenly slithers over your clit in quick strokes. Your vision goes white and you barely have time to realize you’re coming as the cacophony of sensations floods you. Your ears ring as the pain in your neck makes the pleasure burn hotter, driving you higher and higher until you’re thrashing against the heavy pressure in your abdomen. You’ve grabbed onto everything you can - his shoulders, his hair, gripping and digging.

You float and fall and fly all at once and it’s perfect, moaning breathlessly with your head thrown back, feeling Aemond grip your hips with one hand, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull your body in front of him. With you like this, bent over and still shaking with your orgasm, he thrusts his hips upward with a hellfire vigor and you can’t help but hold on to him for dear life.

“Shit, you’re so..!” He presses you tight against him as he snaps his hips upward, holding you still for his cock, making sure he gets as deep as physically possible. “Fuck, baby,” he nearly growls as your back arches and you cry out, with the overstimulation, with the pleasure, your entire body tensing as he takes his own satisfaction from you. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight, so hot around me, it feels so fucking good around my cock. I'm gonna cum. Shit, I need to pull it out, I-"

"I-inside...please, cum inside me..." You whisper desperately and tearfully into his ear, panicking at the possibility of him pulling out, feeling him shiver and groan at your words. "It's safe, Aem. I want it inside me, - give it to me, please!"

"Fuck," he growls and tightens his grip on your waist, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he begins to lose his rhythm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, you're so...you're so fucking..!" He can't find the right words, eye closing and brow furrowing, thrusting his hips up with enough force to push you further up his body if he wasn't holding you so tightly.

He takes a few deep breaths, and you watch him fall almost in a trance, his handsome face flushed and lips parted, a hoarse, broken groan as he thrusts himself deep one last time before exploding, a guttural sound rolling through his clenched teeth as he comes to the feeling of your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he has. Your hips buck with the force of it, snapping against his in slow strokes as you greedily ride out every drop.

You shudder above him, exhausted body tingling with the sensation of his heated seed spilling deep inside you, filling you until you feel like there’s no more room. “Aemond,” you whimper, your voice cracking with hypersensitivity as you struggle to roll your hips one last time before you can’t take it anymore, a shaky exhale blowing past your lips as you collapse onto him. “Fuuck.”

“Yeah,” Aemond exhales, his chest heaving rapidly beneath you. “Holy shit, that was…that was…fuck, what the fuck were you thinking when you asked me to cum inside you like that?” You lift your head as you feel his gaze on you, his words making you both flatter and shy at the same time. “Was that on purpose, baby?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you sigh, chuckling softly when he snorts. “But it’s good to know I still have a trick or two in store.”

“Well, it worked like a charm, baby.” Smiling lazily, he cups your cheek and pulls you into a soft kiss, sighing as your chest hums contentedly. You slide your hands into his hair, kissing him back until you’re both out of breath. “Are you okay?” he asks when you break the kiss to catch your breath, a worried frown on his forehead.

“Yeah,” you tell him, a blush staining your cheeks as you realize you’re still firmly joined, neither of you showing any signs of wanting to break the intimate contact. He kisses your forehead, pushing the satin straps of your dress up to your shoulders again, caressing your skin gently.

“Aemond...what does that mean?”

You don’t want to ask him that, not really. All you want is to keep enjoying this moment, for as long as it lasts. But there’s a small part of you, the one you’ve silenced for all these months, that’s terrified at the mere thought of being abandoned once again. With the thought of it being a casual encounter for him, regardless of his words spoken in the heat of the moment.

“I-I don’t want to assume, but I can’t do this again if it’s a one-time thing for you...I can’t go through this again...” your nerves start to take over when he doesn’t answer right away, your gaze shifting from his in an anxious gesture.

He guides you to him once more with firm fingers, stroking your cheek with his thumb when he makes sure you won’t try to turn away.

“I want to fight for this. For us. I know I was an asshole before, I let myself get carried away by family pressures and I lost sight of what really mattered. So pathetic. I regretted it as soon as I left, but I didn’t know how to go back...how to fix the shit I did.” He’s serious when speaks, owning up to his mistakes with a degree of confidence that leaves you speechless. “If you don’t want to...if it’s too late...I understand, but please know that I love you. I’ve loved you the whole time we’ve been together, I’ve loved you while we’ve been apart, and I’ll continue to love you even if you don’t want me anymore.” He looks straight into your eyes and says, “I want to fight for you because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it. I’m sorry I made you believe otherwise.”

You feel unshed tears pooling on your lashes and you blink them away, but a few still escape. Aemond wipes them away with gentle fingers, and slowly leans you toward him, barely brushing his lips against yours.

“Always a crybaby.” He teases, but you can still hear the note of affection in his voice, how he’s laid himself bare for you — even if he’s trying to cover it up with sarcastic jokes.

You can’t manage much more than a broken noise as you bury your face in his neck, and Aemond doesn’t press you. He just holds you, for a long time, he just holds you -- until you almost feel the tendrils of sleep reaching for you. Nothing but the cozy feeling of being close again; the warmth of his body heat against yours, his breath in your ear, his heartbeat in yours -- even his cock still buried inside you. You and him, together again.

"I planned a party for Baela at the Red Keep Bar later..." You mumble into his chest after a long time of silence, fingers playing with the soft silk of his black shirt. "Would you like to go? I mean...with me, you know - like...well...together...?" You stumble over the words, blushing hard as you feel his chest tremble when he laughs at that.

"Of course I would, baby. But two parties in one night? What are you trying to do to me?" He breathes, half bored, half elated, taking your nervous hand in his to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

"Still a social butterfly, I see." You huff, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck, letting his woody, smoky scent completely relax you.

"Only the best for you, love." He murmurs contentedly, snaking his hand between your bodies to fish the lighter and pack of cigarettes out of his pants and light another one, inhaling slowly as he keeps you tightly tucked into his body with one arm, his cock twitching inside your walls to make you blush and look at him suspiciously. But he doesn't make any move on it, just keeps dragging on his stupid cigarette.

"I hate this thing, you know?" You mumble lazily and almost disappointedly (even though you're still completely sore from the previous session) when he turns his head to blow a cloud of smoke away from you, though the smell still makes you wrinkle your nose anyway.

"Yeah, I know. And I must say, I'm looking forward to all your long, passionate speeches about how this is detrimental to my life and the lives of others." He has his one eye closed as speaks, leaning his head against the headboard with a satisfied and sincere smile on his lips. "I've missed this so fucking much, princess."

He laughs louder when you slap his arm in offense.

-----

Aemond isn’t the kind of guy who pees on his girl to mark territory. Oh no, he’s above that.

But when Aemond spots Benjicot — the infamous Bloody Ben — later that night after finally getting the scoop on who gave you that hickey, he holds the guy’s curious, dissatisfied gaze as he shifts you more comfortably on his lap, your back against his broad chest.

He’s not marking his territory when brushes the hair away from your pretty, delicate neck, gently kissing a particularly obvious bite mark.

HIS MARK.

He’s not marking his territory when he grips your waist to pull your hips toward his, making you let out a shy, startled squeak, scolding him ever so slightly with your bright doe eyes.

He’s certainly not marking his territory when he ignores your cute warning and wraps his hand around your hair to pull your head back, sealing his lips with yours in a deep, sensual kiss, hidden by the darkness of the club — but not hidden enough that damned Bloody Ben doesn’t see you both.

Aemond isn’t marking his territory.

He’s just holding on to what’s always been his, and nothing and no one could ruin that. Not even Aemond himself.

To hell with Bloody Ben.

[destinysbounty]

I think I wouldn't mind Zane's NPC-ification quite as much as I do, if it didn't feel like they were also retconning the fact that he was ever a person to begin with.

Like, sure, I totally understand. Dragons Rising has a huge ensemble cast, and the RGB trio + new ninja are the clear focus. And I don't mind that! Everyone who does get proper narrative attention is written so wonderfully and I adore what we have. But...sometimes it feels like they're just kinda divvying up everything that makes Zane who he is and giving it to everyone else, and never even briefly acknowledging Zane's ties to those traits.

Remember when Zane used to have prophetic dreams foretelling future events? Me neither. Hey Lloyd, how are your visions coming along?

Or, y'know how one of Zane's most integral plot lines, character details, and motifs is his struggles with memory and identity? Remember that time he got amnesia and was then both manipulated and magically corrupted into being a villain? Nah that never happened, anyway check out what Jay is up to now

Or, does anyone recall how Zane is a canonically really good cook with pies so delicious they made Jay cry on screen? No that's Arin's thing, actually

Heck, we even have our quota of ~Silly Robot Beep Boop Bop~ jokes fulfilled by Lobbo!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on any of the other characters for having these traits. Nor am I arguing that Zane should have a singular monopoly on these types of storylines. But when they take traits that have for so long been primarily associated with Zane, like cooking and visions and amnesia, and share them with someone else without even briefly acknowledging Zane's prior involvement...idk. It just feels like they're trying to repackage all the things that make Zane interesting while still writing him out of the narrative. It feels like they're going "whaat? Zane, have personality outside of being a generic robot character?? That never happened!" Like they're just trying to have their nindroid and kill him too.

And I mean, to some extent I can understand their hesitation. It's the same reason the Mr. E/Echo reveal got scrapped in s8 - theres just way too much going on right now, and the narrative load required to explain somwthing this complicated during a reboot/sequel would just bog down an already very complicated story. Zane has a very convoluted backstory that, for new fans dropping in to the sequel series for the first time, may be difficult to explain. How do you recap Zane's history with amnesia in a neat an tidy way for the next gen story, when there's already so much going on?

Like i said, i get that. But they could at least make, like, brief blink-and-youll-miss-it allusions, yknow? Like how they played the Ice Emperor theme during Zane's existential crisis during drs1, or when Zane told Zanth not to follow dancing birds in drs3. Tasteful, subtle, doesn't require much insider knowledge and newer fans could easily interpret it as a noodle incident comment without losing out on their comprehension.

Maybe after Jay gets eliminated from the Tournament, Zane offers to go after him saying, "I've lost myself once or twice before. If anyone understands what he's going through, it's me." And if you want to preserve the plot unobstructed, maybe you can have it so that either Zane fails to get through to Jay or Jay is gone without a trace before he can get to him. Maybe there's a brief scene of Zane making a pie to try and cheer Sora up, but she can't eat it because it reminds her too much of Arin. Or maybe Lloyd has a panic attack over his visions and Zane is the one to offer him the advice about not fighting the vision and letting it come naturally.

Don't you see how easy that is? You would change literally nothing about the story at large, and you're not detracting from the main plotlines or character arcs that are quite validly dominating this series. But you're also throwing a bone to the people who actually like Zane. Like???? I'm not even asking for much here, man :/

Idk. Maybe I'm just bitter and need to touch grass, who's to say

[demonic0angel]

Jazz gets sick, and asks Bruce to hide her so her crazy family (and Jason) don't suffocate her trying to take care of her.

"Hey— oh! Sorry!" Dani squeaked before she quickly closed the door.

Bruce watched her leave and didn't say a word before silently pulling the covers over Jazz tighter, hiding her further. Thank goodness she wasn't seen.

The poor girl had come to Bruce's door, practically delirious with fever but unwilling to be cared for her by her siblings, almost begging him to hide her. Since Bruce had nothing better to do than his paperwork while he was healing from a broken rib, he relented and she hid within his sheets like a child.

It reminded him of his own children, back when Jason was young and used to sometimes sneak into his bed at night to test him.

Jazz reminded him so strongly of his children.

Jazz was not his daughter (—yet. Jason really needed to hurry up with the ring, because Alfred was starting to win the bet—), and even though they differed in so many ways, argued about the countless ways they handled issues, screamed at each other about Jason, and fought about philosophy and morals and ideals, Bruce couldn’t help but feel like she was his anyways.

Well… her and her entire family of siblings were orphans, so it really wasn’t hard when they always stuck around his own kids.

It wasn't difficult to love Jazz as his own daughter when she loved his family just as strongly as he loved hers. She was a guardian and protector, just like his own daughter, Cassandra.

But at the same time, they were different too. Jazz was not like Cassandra, who was strong because she could stand on her own. Cassandra was a fighter, a warrior, a silent protector who understood violence and hated death, no matter who dealt it or who deserved it.

Jazz was a support, a healer, a shield who more often than not wanted to tuck away her loved ones underneath her wings, doing whatever she could to keep them safe. She was strong because she had people behind her, people who looked up to her as a pillar of strength.

Bruce petted Jazz’s hair and she gave a sleepy mumble. She had finally passed out from exhaustion, her hand limp on the open page of her book.

Bruce gently plucked the book from her grip before securing the blanket around her more tightly, and then dialed up Jason’s number with his other hand. It took a while before he picked up.

“What?!” His son snapped. “I’m busy!”

“If you’re looking for Jazz, she’s with me,” Bruce said. “But if you’re coming to get her, you have to promise not to smother her.”

“It’s not me she’s bothered about, it’s her siblings,” Jason grumbled, tone much more calm and even a littler softer. “She hates it when they take care of her.”

“Hmm,” Bruce hummed, silently cataloguing that in his head. It definitely sounded like her.

“I’ll come get her,” Jason said, and true to his words, he arrived only minutes later, opening the door quietly and sliding inside. At the sight of Jazz, he softened like butter and then immediately went to picking her up.

“Thanks, old man,” Jason murmured, distracted as he kissed Jazz’s head, adjusting his hold on her. “Get some rest. We wouldn’t want you getting sick too.”

Jazz sighed happily and clung to Jason, immediately recognizing his touch. She smiled in her sleep and buried her face into Jason’s neck and he practically beamed, open and almost adorable.

Sometimes, seeing his family, his sons and daughters bruised up and broken from the fight that he had pushed them into, made him wonder why he even fought for peace at all, when they were all so shattered and bitter. But moments like these made Bruce feel better.

Bruce chuckled, putting down his pen. “I will. Take care of her, Jason.”

Jason snorted. “You know I will.”

There was always love to look forward to.

[sepublic]

            I find it interesting that even in the epilogue, four years after Camila has had time to be more acquainted with the Boiling Isles under non-threatening circumstances, she’s still creeped out by it. And this is fine! The narrative isn’t condemning her for it. It’s not demanding that she enjoy these things like Luz does; It’s just asking for her to respect its existence, and to support Luz’s interest in it and love her too.

            In For the Future, we see Camila horrified by what she encounters in the Boiling Isles; But she also spends the whole episode pushing through it anyway for Luz’s sake, being there for her as much as she can. Because she knows these are just feelings and nothing more, and she’s choosing to be kind in spite of them.

            By contrast, in this same episode we find out Belos does feel empathy and guilt towards his brother and nephew, he wasn’t purely 100% only interested in what they could do for him; And yet, he’s still just as cruel and violent towards them. He’s still cruel and violent towards witches and demons, sometimes using the ‘tragedy’ of Caleb as a justification. Hell, he even resents the ghosts for making him feel guilty, telling them to “Shut up.”

            Isn’t that fascinating? Disgust is portrayed as a morally neutral thing. It’s not an indictator of morality, it doesn’t mean something is bad… But it doesn’t mean the person who feels it is bad, either, people don’t consider that enough. It’s just a gut reaction. Sometimes people have internalized biases they need to work through, but other times, it’s pretty harmless as long as they’re self-aware and don’t do anything bad over it; This even applies to the process of unlearning the aforementioned biases.

            Likewise, empathy and guilt don’t actually, necessarily make you a good person. The example with Belos shows how some people will actually be crueler because of empathy, because they resent people for being upset, and thus making them feel upset because they naturally empathize. Hence those who get angry at people in pain and need for “ruining their vibe,” because now they feel bad too.

            There’s a juxtaposition in how Camila seems genuinely more scared and creeped out by the isles on a visceral level than Belos, and yet Camila has the common sense to still respect and fight for its existence; Whereas Belos chooses to make a mountain out of a molehill because it’s not just hatred, it’s pride. It all boils down to his ego at the end of the day. In many ways, other characters struggle with dilemmas more difficult than Belos’, yet still do better than he ever has.

            This all plays into my thesis that TOH is arguing your feelings are secondary to your actions, and that the latter is what decides whether you’re a “good” person or not. In the end, someone who’s had a good life and was a dick for selfish reasons, only to choose to be better, is more sympathetic and morally superior than someone who suffered a million unfair grievances, and proceeded to dole out a million unfair grievances, with no sign of stopping; Especially from an IRL perspective, and I think our IRL feelings sometimes influence how we engage with media, and vice-versa.

            That’s why the finale –and the show as a whole– emphasizes choices, over inherent, instinctual feelings. A decent chunk of Camila’s arc could be summarized by the word Squick; In the sense that it’s meant to describe things that one feels personal disgust and discomfort towards, but otherwise has no moral condemnation or problem with; It’s just a Me thing, is the point of Squick. Camila is like that sex-repulsed ace who nevertheless supports kink at Pride.

            That gets me to how my ruminations were prompted by a similar observation; How some people lump sex-repulsed aces in with the oppressive Puritans who hate sex in anything, but that’s not true at all. Obviously there’s the rare Exception, but as a whole, sex-repulsed aces are on the side of other queers who ARE sexual and are demanding to let these things be normalized; It’s not for them, but they have no moral condemnation and will fight for it in solidarity anyway, especially since both are hated by the system regardless. Sound familiar?

[a-b-riddle]

Different Tastes: John & his Sweetheart

The '141' stops as soon as they are back home. After that, they are just close friends. Simon, John, Kyle and Johnny had managed to settle down and find themselves sweet little things. All who adore their brave men and all who share different tastes

In this 'series', it's essentially bits of each of the 141 one and their kinks they have with their partners. With that being said, I don't really care if you think that Soap is submissive or Ghost is into CNC/Primal play. That's great. But in this fantasy, this is what it is. It's what I wanted to write. If you want Kyle Garrick to be a pleasure Dom and John to be a Daddy Dom. Cool. Go find other fictions that write that, or be the one to write them. I'm not going to argue about what kinks they would really have.

CW: NSFW. aniligus on male and female anatomy. D/s dynamics. Name calling. Degradation. Oral. Humiliation. Aftercare. Mentions of pornography. Not establishing safe-words. Poor understanding of establishing BDSM boundaries too late. (Not in a non-con way. But two people who don't really have prior experience to BDSM).

MINORS DNI

John and his girl are perfect for each other. For his career, it's very difficult to turn the Captain mode 'off'. He's used to giving orders and taking control over situations. It had been a problem in all of his previous relationships.

So when he found you, his perfect girl, he would have moved the moon if it meant making you happy. Add into the fact that you did like to switch your brain on autopilot and let John control mostly everything, it worked out well for both of you.

Where do you want to eat tonight?

What do you think I should wear?

I'm getting kind of sick of my hair? What do you think? Longer, shorter? Darker? Lighter?

You always relied on his opinion and followed it.

John couldn't get enough. You never got sick of hearing his thoughts and opinions. You didn't get pissed when he gave you what sounded very much like an order. To you it was John being John. He didn’t simply stop being a Captain when he wasn’t in the field and you were content with that. Liked it even.

But soon enough his bossing around had taken you both down a slippery slope. You had always wanted to explore BDSM and each order in your everyday life made you fantasize about John as a Dominant. Your sex life with John was already fantastic and he always took the lead anyway. So it felt only natural to add-in some kinkier aspects. John wasn't opposed to tying you up. Dishing out occasional discipline when you did something wrong until you ultimately admitted you hated it.

You felt when he 'punished' you, you disappointed him. John's palms started to itch when you confessed that you would much rather him spank you simply because he wanted to. So he did. Whenever he pleased. Often bending you over the counter and giving you a few swats. Your pussy already dripping for him by the time he was finished.

Deeper and deeper you dove down to more than just tying you up and spanking your ass until your juices practically leaked down to your thighs. Service submission had been what you liked the most. If John told you to be on your knees when he got home with a whiskey neat in one hand and a plate of food in the other, you did it.

When you told him this, he started casually mentioning what kind of wedding ring styles you liked.

Eventually you admitted you like being degraded.

"I know you love me," you said one night. Lazily sitting on the couch with John after a dinner date with Kyle and his girlfriend. "And respect me." Butterflies fluttered uncomfortably in your stomach. You didn’t want John to think you liked being abused per se, but this is something you’ve wanted to try with him for so long. "but I don't always need to feel like I’m respected during sex."

John didn't pull his arm off of you as he turned to face you better. His head tilting to the side when he asked you to elaborate. You felt your cheeks heat up as you told him how you wanted him to treat you like a toy. That during a scene, you wanted to feel like he had total control over your body. You could outline actions and phrases you were okay with if it made him feel better about doing it. Even developing safe words.

There hadn't been a need for safe words up until this point. If you asked John to stop, he stopped. If you complained about something hurting, he still stopped and either readjusted, or ended the scene. But this time you confessed that you didn't want ‘no’ to be an option. No felt like you weren't being his good girl. You knew it didn’t make you bad for stopping but it just helped in some weird way you couldn’t quite explain.

He agreed. First came the colors. Then the limits. And most importantly, the fantasies.

After that John finally admitted that he wanted to try anal play on you since you didn't list it as a limit. He’s always fantasized about it, but he had always felt uncomfortable asking you. At first you thought he simply meant a finger up your ass. Some poking and prodding that led up to anal.

However, with the new found confidence to truly divulge his desires to you. John laid it all out.

Price knows what he likes and he absolutely loves worshipping any part of you he can get his hands or mouth on.

The first time he ate your ass it quite literally stole your breath. He had you bent over his desk; his scattered reports long forgotten. You had just gotten home from work. He heard the opening and shutting of the door before grabbing his phone. He had texted you to come into his office in 30 minutes.

Your outfit is on the bed. I’m in my office. Bring me a drink. Daddy feels like drinking some whiskey and eating a peach.

That was your signal. You were a nervous fucking wreck as you got ready.

Before you knew it, he had you bent over with two fingers in your cunt, rubbing that sweet spot while his tongue explored a place no one else ever had.

Months laters, neither of you were no longer shy about John taking you however he wanted. Whether that was hogtied with your ass in the air or you humping his boot when he ordered you to show him how much of a desperate little slut you were.

He loved seeing you so desperate for him. He was obsessed in the way you tensed when he had you bent over. Licking a long stripe from your clit all the way to your puckered hole before settling there.

What was once an occasional thing became a weekly occurrence.

As expected, the two of you eventually tried anal after realizing how good his tongue felt in your ass. The first time he fucked your ass he spent what felt like forever working his thick fingers inside of you before finally working your way up to take his cock. He refused to have such an intimate first thing be in any sort of scenario where he wasn't soft and loving. If you wanted it to be degrading, it would just have to wait.

John was a stern man, but he took care of you. This wasn't something that would be initially pleasant for you and he was damned and determined to make this a good experience by the end of it.

Because of the lack of pressure he put on you to just take it, you had loved it. Even craved it now. You loved when he called you a pathetic little whore after you followed his order of bending over and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You loved when he told you how pretty you looked before landing a glob of spit on your puckered asshole. You loved how he made you beg him to fuck your ass when it was that time of the month; that you were so desperate for his cock you will take it in any hole.

But funny enough, as much quality time John seemed to have with your asshole, you can't really remember if you've ever seen his. Sure, you’ve seen his bare ass sauntering around the house and in the shower, but he’s never been in a compromising position while naked.

Even funnier, you're not sure if you've ever really seen a guy's asshole. So down the rabbit hole of pornhub you went until you found what eating ass was also known as.

Rimming.

And more importantly, how men were rimmed. Your curiosity had eventually grown to wondering what it was like. What would it be like?

So you just asked him.

At first he laughed, assuming you were joking. But then you shamelessly admitted to finding it hot. You confessed how the porn you’ve been watching had pretty much centered around male worship. Although the underarm area and feet were usually something you skipped over, seeing women on their knees giving rimjobs was something that made your core ache when you thought about doing it with John.

To say he was flustered was an understatement. He tried to dissuade you. Insisting that it was, well, gross were his exact words. When a flash of hurt crossed your face he realized his mistake.

It wasn’t that he thought the act itself was gross per se. He felt as though he was gross. "Too gross to let a pretty little thing like you do that." Yet it didn’t deter you from showing him how much you wanted him.

With a little bit of assurance that it’s something you wanted to do, not just reciprocate what he had been doing, he relented. Although, having you on your knees, hump his boot practically begging to with tears in your eyes did make him believe you actually wanted this. John loved when you begged him, but always felt the need to tell you yes when he wasn't serving as your dominant.

Yes. John loved taking charge, but he hated telling you no when you hardly ever asked for anything.

So. It was a safety measure John and you had put into place. When you wanted something that he may say no to because he felt as if it would degrade you as a partner, you didn’t ask as his partner; you asked as his submissive. This put in the acknowledgment that he wasn't making the decision as a partner. John was going to do what he thought best, whether or not you agreed to it. You always set the precent, gave him the permission to be the one to make the decisions. It showed him that you trusted him and whatever he decided.

John always felt more freely when you had gotten in your sub space. He felt more confident in telling you no or giving you orders. He had spent so long being the one to call the shots in his career, he was always afraid of his domineering nature taking control in the relationship.

Your confidence in him meant everything.

He had just gotten home from an extended stay on base. Usually you were able to get a facetime or a call here and there, but besides the occasional texts you were met with radio silence for almost five days.

It wasn't until he came home Saturday just before lunch. You had snacked all day, suddenly feeling guilty you hadn't even gotten groceries for the week. You offered to order something when he told you he hadn't eaten lunch, but he declined.

"C'mere, sweetheart." He ordered pointing right at his boots. A soft smile played on his lips as you sank down to your knees and crawled over to him. John took a deep breath. Reminding himself he can't fuck you right now. Not when he finally built up the courage to do what he was about to do.

“I need to freshen up." He said, squatting down until he was almost eye level with you. "Open." He ordered. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, tongue out prepared to let him do whatever he wanted. He gently grabbed your tongue, holding it between his thumb and finger before giving it a light squeeze. Drool already slipping out of your mouth. "When I get out of the shower, I expect you to be in our room, on all fours with this pretty little tongue to worship me. Understand, sweetheart?"

Your eyes widened as you felt your core involuntarily clenching around nothing. Fuck. This was so hot. Fuck. This was happening. It was happening.

John stood at his full height before heading to the master bedroom. You waited until you heard the clicking of the door before practically sprinting behind him.

You sat on your knees, anxiously listening to the sound of the running water from the bathroom. You wondered how he would discuss it. Both of you played out possible scenarios and weeded out ones you were absolutely not okay with doing.

One scenario you agreed on was you laying on your back with your head hanging off the bed. John would face fuck you for a bit before he got into a sixty-nine position. He would have the view of you playing with your greedy little pussy. You would lap at him like a pathetic whore while he stroked his cock before he finally came all over your tits.

One thing John didn't feel comfortable doing was simply bending over on his hands and knees. Hiking up a leg, sure. But something about the position made him feel vulnerable and he just didn't want to try it.

Waiting patiently by the foot of the bed. On your hands and knees like a good girl, you head the water shut off.

Fresh out of the shower, John walked over to you before sitting down on the bed. You waited for his order. Never jumping the gun and simply taking him the moment he waved his cock in front of your face.

He spread his thighs apart, letting his limp cock hang near the edge of the bed. "Put my cock in your mouth, but don't suck. Just want you to warm him up a bit." You immediately take him in your mouth without hesitation. Loving the way you feel his cock slowly harden.

You maintain eye contact, trying hard not to move your tongue. Fighting every urge to start sucking and being a good little whore. When he finally give you permission, he still sets the pace. His hand firm on the back of your neck.

"Go at your own pace, sweetheart." He said, kissing your forehead. "Just remember," He reminded, his voice still gentle. "Mo fingers and stop if you need to, yeah?" You nod, remembering that he's doing this for you.

He scooted down further on the bed before laying on his back. Legs spread.

You weren't really sure where to start. So you just started slow. Built up to the same way John did to you when he was the one licking your ass. You started with soft kisses. Letting your teeth graze over the skin of his thighs, getting closer and closer to where you wanted to be.

You felt him stiffen as you got closer. You gave a soft kiss before waiting for him to tell you to stop.

He doesn't.

You continue.

You start soft. Closing your eyes and licking and mouthing at his asshole like you were making out with it.

"Fuck." You hear him curse, but he doesn't tell you to stop.

"Can I please rub my pussy, Sir?" You asked, your hands aching to touch your wet cunt.

"Yes." He granted, his hand starting to slowly stroke his cock. "But you still need permission to cum." He reminded before closing his eyes and letting you continue.

With low curses and gasps falling from his mouth you became more and more enthralled. Your face pressing harder and harder against him. Trying to get your tongue as deep inside him as you possibly could.

The humiliation of it all making you feel already so close to falling over the edge. Your fingers rubbed methodical circles around your clit as you began mindlessly nodding your head along, tongue sticking out; lapping at his asshole like the stupid little bitch you were.

“You like that, huh? Licking me like the dirty little slut that you are." He said, knowing that was something you wanted to be told.

“Yes, Sir." You admitted, only breaking away briefly to answer him before resuming servicing him.

“Damn fucking right.” He growled out. "That's my good little whore. Worshipping my fucking asshole." His words made you clench around nothing. Making you wish you had asked to use a dildo or the fucking machine instead.

Next time. You thought.

"Can-fuck-" He pants tugging harder at his cock, his orgasm building. "Can I push your head, sweetheart?" It wasn't something the two of you had went over, but he wanted to be sure. During blowjobs were fine, but you had never done this before.

"Yes! Please!" You pant out before feeling his hand grab a hold of the back of your head and pulling you deeper into him.

You manage to spit, making it sloppier, wetter. Easier for you face to glide and knowing it probably felt better for him too. It's not too long before Price finds himself grinding pathetically against your face. "Fuck, sweetheart." He pants. "Fuck that feels so good."

You could barely breathe. Your mouth too busy lapping away at his asshole to bother breathing. Your nose pressed too hard against his taint to get any air. You decided if this is how you die... well, you wouldn't hate it. Hard

"Can I cum? Can I cum?" You repeated. Your voice muffled, but John knew what you wanted.

"Cum, but don't you fucking stop." He ordered. His grip tightening, legs beginning to tense. "I'm so close. Don't stop, sweetheart."

You kept going. Your jaw beginning to become sore as you kept going. Not even stopping when you felt John's body shake. Not stopping when your own orgasm took hold of you. Tears falling from the intensity of it all.

Not stopping when you heard him release a string of curses and praises. Not stopping when you felt his cum landing on the top of your head. Only slowing when he began to relax. Only stopping until he finally pulled you away.

You sat on your heels. Hands placed on your thighs. Waiting for him to look up at you. You were in position just waiting for fall apart. Trying so hard to be his good girl.

Finally he collected himself enough to manage to sit up. He looked down at you, marveling at the sight.

Mascara smeared. Face covered in spit. His cum now dripping from your head down to your face. Fuck, you looked beautiful.

Fuck.

Your hair.

Was that something you agreed on doing?

Fuck.

You had both agreed on him coming in you, on your face, tits, pussy or ass. Hell, you even agreed to lick it off of him or if any of it fell onto the hardwood. But you never went over if coming in your hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He apologized, swiping at a string of cum on your eye brown, threatening to make its' way into your pretty eyes. "Should have asked if your hair was okay." You smiled hazily at his concern, but honestly thought it was a little funny. This man pushed your face into his asshole while he called you filthy things and he was worried that you were concerned over a little cum in your hair.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" All you could do was nod as John hauled you to your feet and practically carrying you to the shower.

Tenderly, he got the oil based cleanser and began to clean your face as gentle as he could. It wasn’t methodical and not necessarily the best way, but he was too worried about rubbing your face too harshly knowing how raw it probably felt.

You didn’t care. You always marveled in the tenderness of his touch after an intense scene. Basked in his words of praise and adoration after he debased and dehumanized you. It was therapeutic. To be taken so low only to have the same man build you back up.

He spoke lowly in your ear. “Did so well for me, sweet girl.” After he ran the soft spray of water over your face, he pulled you tightly to his chest. You felt his lips press on your wet hair. “Made me feel so fucking good.”

You felt your knees weaken, but John continued to pamper you. Being sure to take extra care in washing your face again until at the remanets of your messed up make up was gone.

"You liked it?" You asked, closing in your eyes. Relishing in his touch.

"Yes, baby." He answered. "I loved it." Your chest swelled with pride. He liked it. He liked your fantasy too.

"Would you wanna do it again?" You asked, praying the answer was yes.

"I'd love that." You hummed in contentment as he turned you around, now starting on your hair.

Although John had never came in your hair before, he had learned your washing routine to the point of perfection and honestly his touch felt so much better than your own. It was a way of aftercare now, but initially he learned when you had hit a sub drop.

Neither of you knew that it even existed before it was too late. And two days after an intense scene you still hadn't washed your hair.

When he finally finished, he grabbed one of the microfiber towels you used to dry your hair. He methodically and gently squeezed out the access water before wrapping you in a huge towel. He stayed behind in the shower for only a minute to wash away your spit before joining you.

He took your hand, leading you to the sinks before turning you around to face him. You hated this part. It was when you were the most exhausted and you wanted to just crawl into bed. "Gotta dry it, Sweetheart." He said, sitting you down on the bathroom counter. "Just relax. Let me handle it."

So you did. You let John handle it. Let him have the power. It always worked out better for you anyway.

Eventually, John was satisfied and picked you back up. You were half asleep, barely holding on when he tucked you in. He pulled your back close to his chest.

It was nearing the end of your aftercare. John was scrolling on doordash, trying to find something that would be good to eat as he always did, asking for input. Sometimes you offered it. Mostly you said anything he wanted was fine. He always made sure it would be delivered after an hour. Giving you enough time to bask in the post-coital cuddles.

He continued talking. How much he enjoyed it. What he wouldn't mind trying next. Your eye were growing heavier and heavier the more he spoke. A brief moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“You know,” he started. “Johnny was mentioning something about pet play with his girl.” It wasn't surprising. The four men of the 141 weren't shy in telling the others what them and the missus had been up to in the bedroom. Even going as far as to let the girls play together, but making it a point to never share.

None of them had any interest in letting another man touch what belonged to them, but they didn't mind letting the girls indulge in a little girl time.

“Heaven knows that MacTavish needs to be collared.” You said, feeling the edges of sleep beginning to take over your vision. You tried to stifle a yawn as you spoke, to no avail while John barked out a laugh.

“Who says Johnny's the dog?” He asked.

[wholoveseggs]

Hello, how are you? Could i request an angsty but smutty and fluff fic of Elijah and reader where they get into a fight but makeup in the end?

Stubborn

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You and Elijah get into a fight about his protective nature. He thinks you are too stubborn, and you think he's too controlling. How will you resolve your issues?

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I don't know if this is very angsty, but it certainly is very smutty ♡♡

4.1k words - Warnings: smuttttt, very little plot, Cami being the best, dom!elijah (you like him in control? well... here you go...), fingering, squirting, angry sex...

"I'm not some damsel in distress, I don't need your protection!" You yelled, louder than you meant to. Arguing with Elijah was always a test of your restraint. He made it so damn difficult, he was always calm and composed. Sometimes you just wanted to push his buttons.

"Darling, I have so many enemies, and you're not invincible." He tried to reason.

"Don't patronize me, I know that, but you treat me like I can't take care of myself!" You snapped, pacing around the living room. You tried to calm yourself down, you didn't want to say something you'd regret, but the anger bubbling inside you wouldn't go away.

"I'm not trying to patronize you, I just think you could make better decisions." He said softly, his eyes following you as you paced.

"It's like you're treating me like a child! We're supposed to be equals, and you always talk to me like you're the parent and I'm the kid!" Your voice cracked a little, when you got angry you also would cry. You hated that about yourself.

Elijah could see the pain in your eyes, you were his soft and sweet y/n. He just wanted to protect you. He tried to approach you, to hold you and comfort you, but you pushed him away.

His actions made you feel weak, and foolish, here was a man that faced countless dangers, he was centuries old, he fought vampires and werewolves, witches and even his own siblings. And you were just this fragile thing, this tiny human he had to watch out for. It made you feel so weak and pathetic, all your insecurities bubbling up inside you, the tears falling down your cheeks.

You stormed away from him, and he let you, because he knew if he pushed you, it would just make things worse.

You had been dating Elijah for two months now, and in that time, he had taken on the role of a protective boyfriend. You liked being taken care of, but sometimes it felt like he didn't see you as an equal.

You had been arguing about this a lot lately. You didn't like being treated like you were breakable. You weren't. You had dealt with plenty of dangers in your life, and he didn't give you enough credit.

He was a stubborn man, and you were a stubborn woman, so the tension kept rising, until you finally had to get away from him. So you decided to stay at Cami's for a few days, she was a good friend, and she didn't judge you. She could always use some company anyways.

"So, he's a bit over protective, huh?" Cami asked. You were curled up on her couch, drinking a glass of wine. You were both having a night in, wearing pajamas and doing self-care.

"Yeah, and I know he means well, but I really value my independence, it's not something I'm willing to give up," You admitted.

"Do you feel like he doesn't respect you?" She asked, taking a sip of her own wine.

"No, he does, I know that, but it feels like he doesn't trust me." You said, looking down into your glass.

Cami stood and grabbed some snacks, tossing you a bag of your favorite chips. "I don't think that's it, I think he's scared. Scared to lose you. He's been through so much, and he's lost a lot of people he's loved." She said, plopping back down on the couch.

You let out a long sigh, you knew of his pain, but it was still hard to hear out loud. He held all of his trauma inside him, and sometimes it was difficult for him to share, even with you.

"I love him Cami, it's just hard. I've always had to take care of myself, I guess I just have a hard time accepting someone wanting to do that for me." You said softly, feeling the tears brimming your eyes.

"Have you told him that? That you love him?" She asked.

"No, I... I want him to say it first." You admitted.

Cami chuckled and took a long sip of her wine, then grabbed the remote and turned on a movie. It was one of those sappy romances that were so over the top and cheesy. But that's why they were so fun to watch.

"Just tell him. I'm sure he loves you too." Cami said, her gaze fixed on the tv.

"I know," you sighed, "I just want him to initiate, his so reserved, and I'm tired of always being the one who has to take the first step." You grumbled.

"He's probably worried about scaring you away, or making things awkward, you know how he can be." She said, turning to look at you, giving you a comforting smile.

"Yeah, I guess." You mumbled, curling up further on the couch.

Cami gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and the two of you continued to watch your movie, the sappy love story playing out in front of you.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "how's the sex?"

You choked on your wine, sputtering a bit before regaining your composure. Cami was a little shit sometimes.

"The sex is amazing," You said, smirking at her. "But... I'm always the one initiating it. Sometimes I think his biggest problem is that he's too gentlemanly."

"Well, what have you done to make him be more spontaneous?" Cami asked, grabbing the bottle of wine and pouring more in her glass.

"Me?" You squeaked. "What did I do?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to take control because you never gave him permission." She asked.

You sat and thought about that. You were usually the one who would start things. You initiated kisses, hugs, hand holding, even the sex. Elijah was so reserved, so proper, he didn't want to overstep. It made you feel like he didn't desire you, which was ridiculous, you had seen him undressing you with his eyes.

"That's fair." You said. "I didn't realize he was waiting for permission."

"Men are idiots." Cami stated, making you laugh.

"Sometimes," you said, chuckling. "I just want to see him be the one to initiate, you know?"

"I know." She said, leaning back on the couch.

You finished the bottle of wine and watched the rest of the movie. It was so sweet, the ending was a happy one, the couple was together and they were in love. You wished life was that simple.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. Cami was already awake, making coffee.

"Ugh," you groaned, rubbing your temples. "I should have drank more water,"

"I tried to remind you." Cami said, smirking at you.

"Well, excuse me for being drunk," You replied.

She handed you a mug of coffee, and you sipped it slowly, letting the warmth of the drink soothe your throat.

"Thanks for letting me stay here," you said.

"You know I don't mind." She replied, sitting on the couch next to you.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, sighing.

"I love him, but I think I need some space. Some time to myself." You said softly.

"I think that's a good idea." She replied.

"Are we doing the right thing? Am I being selfish?" You asked, chewing your bottom lip.

"No, you're not. You're being realistic. You need some space and some time to yourself." She replied.

"I'm going to go to the compound and pick up some clothes and stuff." You said.

"Want me to come with you?" She asked.

"No, that's ok, I think I can handle myself." You replied, smiling at her.

She gave you a reassuring squeeze and you got up, feeling a bit better after your talk.

"Thanks Cami, I'll call you later," You said, grabbing your keys and heading out.

Elijah was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of whiskey, and he had a book open in front of him, though he wasn't reading it. His mind was too preoccupied. He missed you terribly, it had only been a couple days, but it felt like an eternity.

He thought back to the last conversation you had had. You had stormed off, and he hadn't chased after you, because he knew you needed time to cool down. He wanted to tell you he was sorry, but he knew you didn't want to hear it right now.

You were the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he didn't want to lose you. He was used to losing people, he had spent centuries running, he had been betrayed, lied to, hurt. But he had never met anyone quite like you.

You were sweet, funny, smart, and caring. He had fallen for you quickly, but he had been too afraid to admit it. Like if he said it out loud, everything would fall apart.

But in your absence he realized his mistake, and how foolish he had been. No more wasting time, he needs to tell you that he loves you, despite how stubborn you are.

You walked into the compound, it was eerily quiet, you hoped Elijah was out. So you could just quickly grab your things and leave.

You didn't expect him to be waiting for you in the kitchen, his face was serious, but his eyes were full of emotion.

"Elijah, I'm just here to pick up some clothes," You said, trying to walk past him. He stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

"We need to talk." He said, his tone firm.

"No, we really don't, I just want my things," You said, trying to move around him. He moved again, his arms crossed, and his face was stern.

"Stop treating me like a child! Let me by!" You yelled. He let you pass him and you ran up to your bedroom, grabbing some clothes.

He followed you and stood in the doorway, watching you, his eyes boring into your skin.

"Stop looking at me like that," You said, throwing some clothes into a bag.

"I hate seeing you upset," He replied, his voice soft.

"I'm not upset, I'm just angry." You said, moving past him to go into the bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush.

He followed you and leaned against the doorframe, watching you gather your toiletries.

"Please, let's just talk." He pleaded.

You sighed, looking up at him, his expression was pained, his jaw was clenched. You could see the desperation in his eyes. Your anger was still in charge though and you pushed past him again and started packing your things on the bed.

"So talk, I'm listening," You said harshly, still not looking at him.

He took a deep breath, his fists clenched, and he closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. He knew he couldn't get through to you when you were angry like this.

"You're right," He said, opening his eyes and looking at you. "I'm sorry. I haven't been treating you fairly. I've been trying to protect you. But you are being stubborn and you're not letting me explain,"

You turned to look at him, trying to ignore how good he looked. His hair was messy, like he had been running his hands through it, and he was wearing a black shirt, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie was hanging loose around his neck. A part of you wanted to just give in and kiss him, but the other part of you was still pissed off.

He could hear your heart beating faster, your body temperature rising. He knew that he had an effect on you, and he was enjoying seeing you get flustered. He gave you a crooked smirk, and took a step closer to you, and you backed up, hitting the bed.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady your breathing. You were angry, but his presence always made your body react, and your head spin.

"So stubborn," he growled, pushing you onto the bed.

"Fuck you, Elijah," you hissed, trying to sit up.

"Not today," he smirked, pinning you down with his weight.

"I said, fuck you," You growled, pushing on his chest.

He chuckled and leaned down, his face inches from yours. His eyes were dark, his lips curled up in a devilish smile.

"Say please," He purred, his breath ghosting over your lips.

You let out a frustrated groan, and he kissed you, hard. You whimpered, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring it, tasting you.

"Is this what you want? To be fucked?" He whispered, his lips grazing your ear.

"No," you lied, trying to squirm away from him, but his grip was too tight.

"Don't lie, darling, your body betrays you," He growled, nibbling your earlobe before leaving a trail of hickeys down your neck.

He suddenly tore the shirt off of you, making you gasp. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, his other hand moving to your waist, pulling your skirt off.

"Eli- my clothes!" You whined, but he just chuckled, his eyes roaming your body.

"I'll buy you new ones," He smirked, nipping at your jaw, then capturing your lips with his.

"You can't just-" you were cut off by him biting your lip. You groaned and he released you, his hands roaming your body.

"Stop being so stubborn," He whispered, his fingers brushing over your lace panties, making you shiver.

"I'm not," you argued, biting back a moan as his fingers teased your clit.

He laid on his side next to you, opening your legs and pushing your panties out of the way. He grazed over your clit with the pad of his index finger, teasing you slowly. He loved this, teasing you, torturing you. You were so beautiful when you were desperate for him.

You whined and pushed your hips against his hand, and he pulled his hand away, smirking.

"You're such a tease," You growled, glaring at him.

"You're cute when you're angry," He smiled, his fingers returning to your pussy. He tapped your clit lightly, his lips ghosting over yours. You tried not to react, but it felt so good, this dominant side of him was driving you crazy.

He slid two fingers into you, and began thrusting them slowly. You gasped and arched your back, moaning loudly. Watching your reaction was thrilling, his cock was painfully hard, but he wanted to make you cum first.

"Listen to those sweet sounds," he purred, pumping his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right. “So filthy and wet, the way your body responds, it's like you were made for me."

"You're a fucking asshole," you moaned, trying to buck your hips against his fingers.

"I can stop, if you want," He whispered, his voice dark. 

"No," You whimpered, "I-I'm close."

"Oh, I know, darling." He smiled, "You're going to cum, and I'm going to make you cum again, and again, until all the stubborn thoughts in your head disappear."

His fingers were pumping fast now, and you couldn't help the noises you were making. Your orgasm was building in such a way that you knew it would be intense. He was right, you were stubborn, you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan, but it was becoming more and more difficult to hold back.

"Eli- wait, your gonna make me-" You stuttered, gasping as he added a third finger, stretching you even more.

"Make a mess?" He purred, curling his fingers just right, hitting your g-spot.

The lewd, wet, squelching noises coming from your pussy were embarrassing, and the fact that he was enjoying them made it worse. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, your whole body trembling, you were so close.

He sped up his pace, and he could see the moment when you reached your peak. Your body tensed up, your back arching, and then a loud cry escaped your lips.

Your juices spilled out onto his fingers, covering his hand. It was so much, you had never squirted before, and the look on Elijah's face was pure lust and amusement.

It made you embarrassed and a bit angry and you tried to move away, but he kept his fingers buried deep inside you, not letting you escape.

"Don't be ashamed," He said, kissing your forehead, his fingers moving slowly, causing your legs to tremble.

"I'm not," You panted, glaring at him, trying to suppress a moan.

"Really?" He purred, his eyes locking with yours, "Then why are you blushing?"

He smirked, and you tried to hide your face in the sheets, but he wouldn't let you. He was still smirking, and you were getting angrier.

"I'm not-"

"Shh, love, you can't hide from me," he cooed, his fingers still pumping into you, stretching you out. Building up another climax.

"Eli-fuck," You gasped, the pleasure building.

"That's it, let me hear those pretty sounds," He whispered, his voice husky.

He was still fully clothed, and he hadn't even touched himself, he was only focused on you.

He kept fucking his fingers into you, his thumb circling your clit, making sure every inch of your pussy was being stimulated.

Your body was trembling, and you could feel yourself getting close again, you pushed your heels into the bed, trying to get away, but he didn't stop, he just kept going, his pace relentless.

"I can't- oh fuck-," You gasped, arching your back as the orgasm crashed over you. Your wetness soaked his hand and the bed below.

Elijah pulled his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean. Then he kissed you, his tongue pushing past your lips, tasting all of you.

You tried to glare at him, but he was now kissing your neck, his free hand moving down to cup your breast, teasing your nipples.

"I'm still mad at you," You panted, trying not to moan.

"I know," He smirked, "And I'm not finished with you."

He grabbed your thighs, spreading your legs, and settled between them, his eyes roaming over your body.

"Such a pretty thing," He murmured, tracing patterns on your skin.

He took ahold of your waist, pulling you towards him, and began to grind against your wet pussy, making you whimper.

"You're so sensitive, baby," He cooed, his lips brushing over your collarbone.

You could feel his erection straining against his pants, and you could tell he was enjoying this just as much as you were. He undid his belt, pulling it out of the loops, and tossing it to the floor.

He pulled your arms above your head, his hand gripping your wrists. He unzipped his pants and took his cock out, pressing it against your entrance.

"You're already soaked for me," He whispered, kissing you deeply.

You moaned into the kiss, and he pushed his cock into you, making you whimper. He was so thick, and his length filled you completely, making your body tremble.

He began to thrust into you, his pace steady, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing over your skin.

"I'm not a toy," You managed to say, your voice strained.

"No, you're not, you're mine," He growled, his hips slamming into yours, his cock hitting all the right spots.

"Fuck," You gasped, arching your back.

His grip on your wrists tightened, and he spread your legs even wider. He grinded his hips slowly, wanting to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible.

You could feel the pressure building, and it was becoming harder to concentrate, all you could focus on was his cock, his weight on top of you, the way he was looking at you.

"Say it," He growled, his hips moving faster now. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," You moaned, your voice cracking, your resolve breaking with every deep stroke.

The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy filled the room, mixed with your moans and gasps, and the way the bed was creaking. He knew you were close, he could feel your muscles starting to clench around him.

"No no stubborn one, you don't get to cum yet," He growled, nipping at your ear.

He wrapped your legs around his waist, pinning you to the bed. His pace increased and he leaned in to kiss you.

"Come on darling, give in, admit I'm right," He whispered.

"Eli, please," You moaned, your fingers gripping his shirt.

"All you have to do is submit," He cooed, pressing his lips to yours.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to resist the urge to give in, but it was so intense and his pace was relentless. He wasn't going to stop, not until you broke.

"Look at the way you open up for me," He said, his voice husky as he grinded against you. "Your needy little pussy, milking my cock, begging to be filled."

You looked down at where his cock was buried inside of you, moving in and out of your pussy. You could see how wet you were, covering his pants and your thighs, making a mess of the sheets.

"Hmm, you like that? Seeing how wet you are, all for me," He whispered, leaning down to kiss you. "Just admit that you are stubborn, and we can cum together."

Your whole body was shaking, your orgasm so close, but you fought it, squeezing your thighs together, trying to close your legs, but he wouldn't let you.

You gave up, you didn't care about the fight anymore, you just wanted to cum, you just wanted him to stop torturing you. You couldn't think straight, everything was too much, his thrusts were deep and hard, his cock was filling you, stretching you out, he knew just how to fuck you.

You couldn't hold back anymore and you finally gave in, submitting to him. "You're right," you gasped, your voice barely audible. "Please, Eli, fuck, I'm sorry, just let me cum."

"Good girl," He groaned, leaning back and spreading your thighs wide, pounding into you. He began to stroke your clit with his thumb, drawing circles, as his hips snapped hard and fast.

It was all too much, and you felt an intense release, your body convulsing, your wetness soaking him, making a mess of the clothes he was still wearing and the bed.

He chuckled, watching your cheeks flush in embarrassment as he fucked you through it. He made you squirt all over him, submitting to him completely.

You were still trembling, trying to catch your breath, you couldn't focus, your whole body was tingling with pleasure, you felt like you were floating.

He kissed you deeply, pressing his body to yours before he let out a low groan and came inside you, his cock twitching. You shuddered, your pussy still sensitive, but he didn't stop, he continued moving his hips slowly.

You could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, his cock throbbing, his breathing uneven. He kissed you softly and slowly, his fingers brushing over your cheek, caressing your face as he pulled out of you.

Now that you had come down from your high, you felt a mixture of frustration and humiliation. You tried to move, but he held you there, a devilish grin plastered on his face.

He shifted onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You straddled him, your body on top of his, your chest pressing against his chest.

"I love you," he whispered, pulling you in for another kiss.

"Eli," you muttered, burying your face in his chest. You couldn't believe he had fucked you in that way, and now he was saying the three words you wanted to hear the most. He was so perfect and so infuriating at the same time. You were angry that he was able to make you give in so easily, but it was worth it. It had never felt so good.

"I love you too, asshole," you replied, making him laugh.

He kissed you once more before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His hands rested on your lower back, tracing lazy circles.

"I'm sorry for being protective, it's not because I don't trust you, it's because I'm afraid of losing you," he said quietly.

"I know, and I'm sorry for saying that you're a control freak," you apologized.

"No you're not," He smirked, kissing you again.

"I'm getting there," you sighed.

He laughed, tracing the curve of your hips with his fingertips. You could feel him harden underneath you, and it turned you on again. And you slowly ground your hips against his, teasing him.

His eyes grew dark, and he placed his hands on your ass, squeezing firmly. "Darling, don't," He said warningly, his voice strained.

You ignored him, rolling your hips, grinding into his lap, you wanted more.

"Don't be so stubborn Eli-,"

You were on your back before you could finish your sentence, your legs spread, his lips on yours.

You were definitely going to fight with him more often…

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana ♡ @cs-please

[copperbadge]

I guess you probably get asked why you’re converting a lot but I still want to ask,

I dunno, I don't think I really get asked all that much, to be honest. Usually when I do it's like -- I mention I'm converting to a Jewish person and they'll be like "Getting married?" and I'll explain I'm not, which does necessitate an additional explanation.

It's difficult to vocalize, which is interesting because it has really very little to do with faith, and that's usually the most difficult part of discussing any conversion, I think. Often I'll just say, "I heard a call". Which is actually a rather Christian way of putting it, but I think it's probably the easiest way to explain, especially in a heavily Christian culture.

I had...I don't want to call it religious trauma exactly because compared to most people I know who exited Christianity, it wasn't traumatic -- I was just raised in Christianity and had trouble buying the faith in the various ways it was presented to me, and there's a certain type of ardent Christian who comes at you hard if you're in their church asking awkward questions. A few encounters with some egregious megachurches in my youth left a bad taste in my mouth, so in my twenties I really wanted nothing to do with religion and didn't have the time or energy anyway -- I wasn't actively anti-religion, just disinterested.

But in my thirties I had to ask myself, do I wish to be part of a faith community? And once I'd decided that despite being pretty heavily agnostic I did want that in my life, I had to decide what I wanted it to look like. There are churches within many branches of Christianity that are fine, and there are whole branches that are fine too, but I kept tripping over my disinterest in Jesus. I did almost become a Quaker but although I really like a lot of the Friends' attitudes towards social justice and I enjoyed silent Meeting, it eventually didn't feel quite right for me (the Quakers in my life refer to me as "Friend-ly"). I looked into Zen Buddhism but didn't click with it in quite the way I'd hoped.

Judaism didn't feel perfect, but unlike other faiths, after several years of study I have yet to reach a point where it feels "not for me" in the way the others did after a few months; even when I struggle with some aspects, instead of saying "I don't think this is it" I dig deeper, and Judaism is a place where you can just...keep digging. I like the sense of history, I like the idea that you can argue not only with other Jews but with the divine itself and maybe even win; I don't like arguing but I like that the option is there, which it never was in my Christian confirmation classes. I like the way Judaism frames community and family, I like the emphasis on scholarship and exploration. I've had to unlearn a lot of weird Christian and atheist attitudes about the Torah, but that's been educational too. Ancient cultures have always interested me and Judaism is sometimes the practice of actively conversing with ancient history that has been incredibly preserved but not calcified. I like that I can be an agnostic Jew if I so choose, once I finish conversion.

(Sometimes I joke, "Eh, I'm not really a huge fan of pork, either, so it's an excuse not to eat pork chops," but that's a joke for very specific company. I don't keep kosher or plan to, but I like that there is an option to show one's devotion through acts of nourishment, and that food is always such a huge part of Jewish ritual. And I like Jewish food.)

There is something in me that reacts to Jewish storytelling -- the fear and fasting of Esther, discourse on the sacrifice of Isaac, grumpy Rabban Gamliel from the Talmud, even the history of the Piazza Alla Cinque Schole when I stumbled into it in Rome. I didn't care particularly about the story of Moses when I learned it as a child, but I sniffle at the parting of the Red Sea in Prince of Egypt every damn time. Not even because of the miracle! I'm simply moved by the vision of a people going to freedom, scared but going, protecting each other and singing as they go.

Anyway. I'm in a conversation with Judaism that isn't over yet, and either eventually I'll reach a point where it ends, or I'll convert and be in this conversation the rest of my life. Kind of fun not to know yet which it will be.

[wuucchoo]

Understanding Tsumiki and Megumi's relationship

Hey there! It's me, Megumi's defense attorney - here once more to defend my boy.

I've been seeing A LOT of people saying they cannot sympathize with Megumi's grief because they don't know Tsumiki that well. And although I would argue that you don't need to know the person who died for you to sympathize with the one who was left behind - I do understand what these people mean, i don't agree with them! But I understand why they think this. And yes, we dont know Tsumiki.

However, we first need to understand why gege chose to present Tsumiki this way. On a surface level, she can only be seen as 'the thing that would cause Megumi's downfall' - we dont know her thoughts, her ambitions, her real personality, anything really - except for what Megumi says about her. A 'textbook good person'.

And that's because she is a character that we were only able to see through someone else's eyes. We don't know Tsumiki, because Megumi doesn't know Tsumiki.

BUT WAIT!! What do I mean by that?

Before that though, I would like to say first! This doesn't mean that Megumi's love for her is diminished by this. Just because he doesn't know her doesn't mean he doesn't love her. Megumi cares about her more than anyone in his life, and that's a fact!

Now we can proceed! What does this mean? Let's look at this page from ch 56: origin of obedience:

This was a case that they have been investigating, and it is pretty damn close to Megumi's and Tsumiki's old school. And yet, the thought that Tsumiki might have went to the bridge with her classmates never crossed his mind. He doesnt know that Tsumiki is someone capable of breaking the rules, going against curfew, and joining her friends to go to a haunted bridge in the dead of night. This boy Megumi thinks his sister is a damn saint.

He put Tsumiki on a pedestal, and it resulted in her turning into nothing but the mold of a good person Megumi uses to judge other people. If a person is not Tsumiki-shaped, then they're not worth saving. ((Luckily for Yuuji, he IS Tsumiki-shaped lmao. But anyway!))

Truth be told, I used to think it sucks that we never knew Tsumiki outside of what Megumi says. I never felt bad when she died, I felt bad that Megumi's sister died. I felt bad FOR Megumi.

And now that I actually think on it, THAT was the exact point. We dont NEED to know Tsumiki, we only needed to see her through Megumi's eyes - and through that, understand that Megumi doesn't really know her that well.

It is something that Megumi have to mull over. Why did he keep Tsumiki at an arm's length despite how much he cares for her? Why is it so hard for him to let people in? Why is asking someone for help so difficult for him?

ITS BECAUSE OF THAT MFKER TOJI!!!! IM TELLING YA'LL!! /hj

Look at the face he was making in Toji's memory. That's a kid who shows his emotions outright. My boy is pouting (つ╥﹏╥)つ. But when Gojo met him, Megumi has become a total idgafker (at least on the outside). And thats not only because Gojo was a stranger - coz thats how he looks like when he talks to Tsumiki too. It's because he became that way when Toji left.

Anyway, my point is, due to Megumi's abandonment issues - he never let anyone in. EVER. Not even Tsumiki. Megumi put a wall between him and other people - for his own protection. The one who came a little bit close into breaking that wall is Yuuji (and we are yet to see how that goes).

And this is why, we as the readers are all detached from Tsumiki's character. Because we saw her through Megumi's eyes, who loves her and cares about her very, very much - yet despite that he never let her get too close. (っ- ‸ - ς)

If you read up to here, whats up! Thank you for reading! Feel free to counter it or anything, Im happy to discuss!

((also something to add: Megumi cares so much about Tsumiki because she's the first one who actively chose to stay - amidst all the people who left.

this was inspired by a great megumi character analysis i found on twitter:

read it if you have time! its really good!

[bomber-grl]

Percy Jackson x Child of Apollo ☀️

Pairing(s): Percy Jackson x Gn!Reader

Honestly I like the idea of an Apollo kid(aka you) looking down on Percy

Not necessarily with being evil but rather being competitive and having fun

Maybe this is when Percy decides to walk on by, he’s extremely skilled with swords so why not see what others do with their respective weapon?

He’s walking by and that’s when he sees you in particular

You’re shots are extremely accurate and one after another with little hesitation

Just because Percy’s a camp legend doesn’t mean he’s excused from doing chores

And so, he’s paired with you and some other people to clean out the restrooms

That’s when a friendly banter blossoms and you’re going on about how awesome arrows are to use and how his only power is water when you’re throwing out trash

He gasps in feign offense and tries his best to convince you water is just as cool as arrows

Although that may prove to be difficult to argue to an archer, and arrow enthusiast

The talents and impressiveness that Percy feels only doubles when he learns of your other skills

The moment he learns you can draw is when he’s amazed

He was never particularly good in the arts but he loves people who draw and paint or anything really

He may or may not be a little annoying with asking you to draw him but he doesn’t even need to ask

We all know an artists love language is drawing their s/o and just as that was inevitable, as was Percy finding said drawings

Not that they were ever secret

And if you ever do the trend where you draw each other? He’ll keep the portrait you painted of him and hang it on his wall with the rest of your drawings.

Anyway moving on to instruments

He’s also immediately fascinated

Something about Percy is that if it’s not something he can do he’s intrigued and if it is and you’re better then he’s ready to learn

Honestly? I feel like Percy gives drums or guitar vibes

Idk maybe it’s just me 🤷

He’d definitely ask you to teach him though, I don’t make the rules

He’s always wanted to learn but with school and constantly having to prevent wars and save the world he never had enough time

Plus with him you’ve got your own built in audience that’ll cheer and give praise

Even more ways to bond

There are a good amount of campers that belong to the Apollo cabin so when Percy is introduced to the them he’s met with a culture shock

Not exactly but it’d be a comparable idea to what he was feeling

He was alone most times (except for when Tyson was around) so he was used to be alone

But with the Apollo cabin? That was the opposite

It was warm and friendly and honestly was sad

Because although it was tight knit we all know that the cabin used to be tied with the Hermes cabin at camp until the titan war..

On a more happy note, now that I’ve mentioned Tyson let’s talk about how you meeting him went

I mean he was immediately nice to you as you were to him but if you show him your skills and specifically healing

You and Percy were hanging out with him near the lake and a very notable flower on the ground was crushed

Sure, Demeter children handled plants but healing was a universal effect

And so you made the once shriveled dry flower, seem alive again

Tyson is so intrigued and wants you to do it over and over again

Which is eventually stopped with Percy explaining why you can’t

It was sweet, and you even gave the flower to Tyson

Later you found out he kept it with him where he went, although it was delicate as it had already dried

I feel like an Apollo kid that can heal is so helpful for Percy

We all know how often he gets hurt so having a built in hospital is all he could need

Only downside is your constant scolding of course…

[darkfictionjude]

Okay so I know this is a touchy subject already especially since certain people have already been bitchy about it before, but sometimes Crowny is genuinely difficult to play as. I feel super conflicted about them since they're the literal personification of "damn bitch you live like this?"

Realistically, progress isn't linear and different people get different results even if they do the exact same thing, but as of now it feels like they aren't really allowed to improve at all. If you study you're still mediocre leaning towards bad in terms of understanding. You try to workout you see absolutely no results, not even the tiniest bit. When it comes to the other characters, it's always one step forward and two steps back. When you give them a hobby or try to get them to pick up a skill they find little enjoyment. When people bother them they barely fight back or even argue, and when they do it's like a sarcastic quip or a grumble at most. By the end, they haven't even made a dent. These don't make them less of a person and it doesn't make them a failure since the world is quite literally out to get them, but it's like they aren't allowed any satisfaction in their life. (Yeah it's been like a month, maybe barely scratching two in the current timeline so maybe this contradicts what I first said about progress but I'm dumb as hell)

It's wild to go from the side quests, backstory segments, interactions with the ROs and then Crown family just for all the hype to fade when there's a segment with just Crowny all alone. I know that there's a reason for why they are the way they are, but I literally have to take breaks from reading their solitary moments sometimes because it seems to drag on. I know things aren't easy in this universe, I know the world is supposed to be cruel and unfair, but like can they at least get a cake for their efforts? Or a hug? Or be able to sleep through one night and wake up well rested?

I hope I'm not sounding like an asshole or a insane here. Personally, they're relatable in a lot of aspects. I may not have had supernatural shit going after me, but I had a lot of issues that many of their experiences brush way too close to. It's just the way it's presented that makes them feel like they're like the random piece of chewy cartilage in an otherwise perfectly cooked steak, unpleasant but I'm gonna eat it anyway.

I literally just wrote a whole ass book complaining, but I at least wanna say I do love your work, Crowny included even if my words seem to say otherwise, and I'm super excited to see what happens in the timeskip since i know this is like JUST the beginning. I'm like seriously praying my tone is coming off the right way if that's even possible. If you read through all this thanks. I'm not gonna hide behind anon because I at least wanna be able to explain myself if this comes across wrong.

but like can they at least get a cake for their efforts? Or a hug? Or be able to sleep through one night and wake up well rested?

Well no 😭😭

And that comes from the fact that they are self loathing, depressed as hell and have virtually no support system while dealing with things that they aren’t mature enough to handle, actually their mental health is getting far worse which is by design

I feel like perhaps some readers have not realized just how depressed crowny is. All the things you described about them finding little enjoyment, etc., are key markers of major clinical depression

I feel also people did miss the fact that crowny kind of exploded in the library they didn’t shut up, they didn’t let it go which I think is a positive because this is the first time they’ve have enough to say “enough”

Sorry but I like my things slow burn 💀 that Halloween party is meant to be a breakthrough for them and I think perhaps it’s been glossed over by some because what happened to James has gotten the most attention and the final moment in the woods. Crowny outed their “friends” for the first ever and fought back against their tormentor in only one single night. James for all his issues did the one thing that broke the camel’s back and pushed Crowny over the edge, all 7 episodes have led to this

Crowny is meant to fall before they come up that’s how I wanted it because realistically someone could not handle all of this without losing their mind. It has barely been two months, Crowny has only seriously hit the main plot in episode 4 which in the current timeline was about 3 weeks ago (from episode 7)

Truly the progress that crowny did make in episode 7 should have taken longer, people with crowny’s issues spend years in therapy before they feel they have the right to fight back.

There’s a reason episode 7 is the midseason finale. It’s not only about the plot but about crowny themself….

Dw you’re tune is fine I can usually tell when someone doesn’t think before they write 😭

[mslovett]

okay so I'd like to make a case for why holden caulfield is actually a likable character

first and foremost is the fact that he's incredibly vulnerable, he doesn't have the narrative voice he does because he's annoying or just a bad person - he's a child who's traumatised. throughout the book it becomes very obvious that holden has no support system. and yes, to be fair, that is partially his fault because he is a self isolating and self alienating character, but that is a direct response to him not wanting to get hurt (will expand on later). i'd specifically like to point out the lack of support he has from his family. a quote that stuck with me quite seriously is from chapter chapter 20 when holden is at central park, imagining that he is going to die and how his family would react. he says "I felt sorry as hell for my mother and father. Especially my mother because she still isn't over my brother Allie yet." holden is extremely aware of the people around him, and whilst he may often come to dubious conclusions from his observations (he is the unreliable narrator, afterall), I'd argue that this time it's a reasonable and likely true observation. allie's death affected holden directly, but it also affected the rest of his family, thus affecting him indirectly as-well. to further this point, regardless of whether allie's death affected how emotionally available holden's parents could be for him, they have a rocky relationship regardless. (in reference to his mother) "She bought me the wrong kind of skates - I wanted racing skates and she bought hockey - but it made me sad anyway." (chapt. seven) now I get that this could seem insignificant at first, his mother got him the wrong skates, so what - he sounds ungrateful. but really this quote symbolises the miscommunication between holden and his mother. whilst his mother wants to understand holden, she's probably struggling to do so. this then stems outward, as throughout the book, holden feels as if no one understands him at all. holden's father doesn't come up as much, but from what is mentioned, they don't seem to connect a lot either. in reality, it seems that the only people in his family that holden feels connected to is his brother D.B. and his little sister, pheobe. but of course, holden still limits himself with D.B. because he assumes/perceives phoniness in him (+ there's the physical distance and practicality issues with them communicating). and whilst pheobe does have a positive impact on holden, she's still just a very young child and would realistically not be able to (and shouldn't be made to) help holden process his own struggles. so it is established that holden has no support system. this alone, paired with the fact that he is only sixteen and navigating an undeniably difficult transition into adulthood already makes him vulnerable, but what makes it worse? the fact that he has unprocessed trauma and grief surrounding the death of his younger brother, allie. personally, i'd argue that allie is what the whole book comes back to, constantly. holden idealised allie (and continues to throughout the present setting of the book) as innocence personified, and as this amazingly kind and intelligent person. and then he died. this was something incredibly unfair, and obviously there wouldn't be any reason for it, something that'd make it incredibly hard for a thirteen year old to process. basically, at thirteen, this was holden's first insight into the adult world, where things happen out of your control, even if they're unfair. this is also likely the first time holden took to isolating himself as a coping mechanism "I slept in the garage the night he died," (chapt. 5), inferring that holden's unhealthy self-isolation stems from this trauma, which I think is something we should have sympathy for.

however, despite being self isolating, holden does try and connect to people, it's just that he has a tendency to foil those relationships (usually because he is reaching out to people who are completely mismatched to him) e.g. carl luce and sally hayes. still, I think the relationships established at the start of the book are more significant. with stradlater, holden really tried to be friends with him. he defended him to ackley, even though he himself thought of stradlater as a vain womaniser, and he wrote a composition for him, despite not having to. it was only when stradlater was ungrateful in respect to the composition that holden wrote, not knowing that it was about his dead brother, in which holden reached his breaking point with stradlater. ackley is quite the contrast to stradlater, though. he's generally disliked/a loner, and holden doesn't sound very forgiving of him initially, but the way holden acts suggests sympathy towards ackley. yes, he's cold with him, but he does let him stick around (despite having many gripes about ackley's poor hygiene or lack of room-reading skills), because he wouldn't want ackley to be lonely - because holden himself is lonely, and there are more similarities between holden and ackley in that sense than holden would likely be willing to admit. jane gallagher also comes up whilst holden is still at pencey, and she's unique because she's the first person we're introduced to who holden feels positively about for the whole novel. but there are only two really significant reasons why holden likes her. the first is that she's someone whom holden can actually relate to, she's gaurded and won't be vulnerable with people she hasn't known for a long time; "Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row" (chapt. 4) shows her reservation. the other reason why holden likes her so much is because he views her as innocent, and innocence is the one thing holden values and wants to protect. this becomes evident when holden recalls a time she cried infront of him, and he began to kiss her tears away, but wouldn't (and jane wouldn't let him, either) kiss her mouth. this theme becomes more prevalent throughout the book as holden is very nice to children, all the while resisting his transition into adulthood because he doesn't want to lose his own innocence (or, lose any more of it) and lose sight of what's important to him. I think a lot of people take issue with holden's incessant complaints about phoniness, but the truth is, he's only scared of becoming phony/an adult because he thinks he'll forget about allie if he does. his issue with phoniness isn't necessarily that people are being fake: [at a movie theatre] "She had this little kid with her that was bored as hell and had to go to the bathroom, but she wouldn't take him. She kept telling him to sit still and behave himself. She was about as kindhearted as a goddamn wolf." (chapt. 18) holden thinks movies are phony because he sees people get emotional over them whilst ignoring real issues. in this case, a mother is prioritising the movie over her son, and holden worries that if he engages in 'phony' activities such as movie-watching, that he'll no longer care about allie. and right now, he cares a lot. ultimately, the point i'm making is that holden has a lot of positive traits that are seldom acknowledged, but you have to look beyond the surface of his character to recognise them.

the other point i'd like to make about holden is that he's a tragic character. even if you ignore the fact that he's a child who was made to grieve his younger brother's death at the age of thirteen, life is repeatedly slapping him in the face. the entire book is him trying desperately to find meaning in life, and struggling. in school he's completely unable to connect to any of his class-mates, or the subject material. instead of anyone trying to understand and deal with this problem, his parents just constantly send him to school after school after school. holden's self-esteem is non-existent and he constantly thinks he'd be better off dead. he is constantly let down by adults in his life, a glaring example being mr. antolini, the one adult holden liked and thought he could trust. holden is so isolated and lonely that it eventually builds up to a mental health crisis that leaves him admitted to a sanatorium. sure, he's a rich kid who likes to complain, but he's also been dealt a really tragic deck of cards.

anyway, uhh... i think i'm done, though I probably missed a lot.

[sammylkcho]

"Deeper, sinking, ever frowning" P1- ?

You had to cover two coworkers' shifts in the afternoon due to a "family emergency" that both of them had at the same time—quite the coincidence. You accepted covering their shifts without any issue because you didn't want to argue over the cheap excuse they were using, not to mention you already had enough of your own problems. So, your shift that was supposed to end at 4 p.m. stretched until around 8:45 after covering both shifts.

When you finished packing up your things and saying goodbye to your night-shift coworkers, wishing them a good evening, you decided to walk home. It was only four blocks, and you'd be there in no time. You were eager to get home since you and your fiancé had agreed to make some delicious cheese empanadas when you got off work, meaning you'd have to apologize for being late.

While imagining the dramatic little scolding Sebastian would give you when you arrived, a small smile played on your lips as you twisted the silver ring on your finger back and forth.

You couldn’t wait for the big day. You already had a bunch of ideas to share with the wedding planner.

Only two more blocks to go before you reached your home, and just thinking about the empanadas was making your mouth water. Sebastian had passed on his love for them to you.

You were about to pull out your phone from your pocket to text Sebastian that you were almost home when the flashing red and blue lights stopped you in your tracks.

You were already there. You didn’t have any blocks left to go.

You blinked several times to realize that police tape was surrounding much of the street, along with three police cars parked right in front of your house.

This must be a mistake, right? Maybe there had been some kind of disturbance on the street or at a neighbor’s house, and they wanted to see if anyone knew anything.

It had to be that.

With shaky steps, you approached the police cordon, only for one of the officers to roughly grab your shoulder, causing you to stumble awkwardly over your own feet.

"Excuse me, do you live here?" asked a blond-haired officer, holding a small notepad in his left hand.

You looked him up and down for a few seconds before nodding, your head lowered, unsure of what was going on.

"Yes, I live here with my fiancé. Has something happened?"

The word "fiancé" left a sweet taste in your mouth, but you brushed it aside for the moment to focus on what was happening and to find out with more certainty why they seemed to be investigating your house.

When you lifted your head, you noticed the officer rubbing his nose in frustration, as if irritated by something in particular.

The seconds dragged on, feeling longer with each passing moment. The silence was maddening. You had no idea what was going on, and that was frustrating. Was Sebastian even aware of this? Where was he, anyway?

"You see... There was a murder of about nine people recently, and the killer wasn't found at the scene. Now," the officer paused, tapping the small notepad with his index finger, seemingly trying to find the right words. "it seems that your fiancé, Sebastian Solace, was the perpetrator of those murders."

"Excuse me, but that has to be a mistake." you said, your body going rigid as you listened to the officer from start to finish.

You felt as if you were on autopilot, no longer fully aware of your surroundings after hearing his words. The world seemed to stop for a long fraction of a second as you tried to process what you'd just been told.

The situation felt unreal, like a bad dream you were having because you’d fallen asleep at the counter during one of your breaks.

Sebastian could never have done something so horrible, let alone murdered nine innocent people. He would never do something like that.

The Sebastian you knew was the most loving, caring, and playful person you'd ever met. He was both your best friend and your future husband. He’d been with you through every difficult moment. He was the little and big brother who liked to annoy his two siblings, reluctantly helping his younger brother with his homework when he came over, and buying little gifts for his older sister, things they used to do together when they were younger. He was the best son, always there for his mom, even if they argued over some silly thing. He always apologized to her for being an idiot.

Sebastian Solace wasn’t capable of something like this.

You forced yourself to snap back to reality when the thought of finding Sebastian crossed your mind.

If the police had been here for a while now, they must’ve found him already, right? They wouldn’t have taken him away to the station or somewhere worse by now.

Court would be too soon of a step, and you hoped they hadn’t taken him there yet.

"Miss, I ask you once again to come with me for questioning—" The officer’s words fell on deaf ears as you rushed past him, your eyes scanning for any sign of Sebastian.

Your gaze darted back and forth as you tried not to trip over your own feet, your body trembling more and more from the anxiety eating away at you.

When your eyes landed on a particular police car, with about four officers surrounding it, you got the idea that someone might be inside.

You hurried over, faster than before, not caring about what might happen next.

You felt a brush against your shoulder, like you’d bumped into someone, but you paid it no mind and got as close as you could to the car’s tinted windows. It was hard to see inside, but when you squinted, you made out a figure handcuffed in the middle of the back seat. Blue eyes met yours for a split second before you were abruptly shoved back.

A policewoman had pushed you, gripping both your shoulders to face you.

The only thing you noticed was her lips moving quickly and firmly, as if she was reprimanding you for something. But you didn’t bother to process her words, nor her appearance—your mind wasn’t on your side at that moment, nor was it focusing on reality.

You were only thinking of those blue eyes you had seen for a fleeting moment but had known almost all your life.

They’d already arrested him. Had they even given him a chance to explain or defend himself? Once again, the situation felt too surreal.

You wanted to do something, anything, but you didn’t feel strong enough.

You had to do something—you couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.

[crackedpumpkin]

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟏 |

a/n: about fucking time lol im so exhausted. hope yall enjoy <3

Warnings: Contains cursing

AU Inspo: Soulmates can hear each other listening to music. The further the distance, the softer the music. The closer, the louder until they find each other.

| [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] |

— — — — — — — — — — 

“Soulmates are essential to survive. There is nothing like the sensation of meeting each other for the first time, and subsequently knowing that you’re fated to be with each other forever. Through thick and thin, they'll always have your back.”

You snort. Miss Grenadine lifts her brow into a delicate arch, her unamused expression remaining the same as you cover your mouth, trying to fake a cough. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class on your last day?”

People around you start to snigger, and you can feel the glances poking your skin like tiny mosquitoes buzzing all over. “Not really.”

“No, no. Please, enlighten me as to what exactly you find so amusing about soulmates.”

“Maybe it’s because she hasn’t found hers yet?” Another classmate suggests. You turn around to see Henry smirking, high-fiving the rest of his friends who’re evidently entertained by his jab.

You roll your eyes, letting a huff slip past your lips. “And you keep arguing with yours, no wonder I’m not jealous that I don’t have one yet.” His friends suck in a sharp breath between their teeth in a hiss, glancing warily between you both. 

“Thank you for your input, Henry. But I asked your classmate, not you.” He’s silenced from uttering another word under Ms Grenaline’s sharp gaze, wilting into his seat with a muttered retort under his breath. 

You turn your attention back to your teacher who’s waiting patiently, hands folded over her stomach in a motherly manner. But you know better. This is fake sympathy, flaky pity in her eyes as she thinks to herself how unlucky you are for not having yet met your soulmate. 

You get it. You’re an anomaly. It’s ‘not normal’ for people to not yet meet their soulmates by the time they’re 18. One way or another, the universe always finds a way to pull two people together by the age of 16. Yet, you’re the exception. 

“I just think the whole music thing is annoying. I mean, do you all not get annoyed? What if you hate metal, but they love it? Even then, it’s just insane how much our lives border on needing someone. Why not just travel alone? Enjoy life?” You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms defiantly as Ms Grenaline’s eyes widen with every word.

You watch her take a moment to compose herself, plastering a smile on her face as she comes up with the right words to say. Honestly, you couldn’t care less what she wanted to say to you; it’s your last day here anyway. 

“Well,” She pauses, clearly struggling on how to phrase her words in a way that wouldn’t get you to retort once again, “It’s…a very difficult process to describe in words. I understand where you’re coming from with the music aspect, but over time just like how one day you can wake up and decide that you like the colour purple, you’ll experience something similar.”

“You’re right.” You nod. She’s momentarily taken aback by your agreeable response, only to frown when you continue speaking. “It is a difficult process to put in words. And you know what? Maybe not everyone needs a soulmate.” You flash her a toothy smile just as the bell rings, grabbing your bag and starting for the door. “Been good, Ms G.”

You don’t turn to see her reaction, focused on getting to the diner on Sixth Street where you’d promised to meet up for one last meal with your friends before you moved to Ninjago City. Putting the earbuds into your ears makes you wince, shaking your head slightly as the familiar yet nauseating sound of jazz plays faintly in the back of your mind. 

Stupid jazz, stupid music, stupid soulmate.

Right. Your soulmate. You still haven’t told anyone this, but a few months ago, you began to hear the faint sounds of smooth jazz play now and then in your head. You thought you were just going crazy at first, but upon further observation, you concluded that there could only be one cause: Your soulmate was nearby. 

But for some annoying reason, your soulmate loves jazz with a passion. it was always either that or soft rock. Plus, they’re always annoyingly far enough to not have it impounded into your head, but still close enough to have it constantly on repeat in your head. 

The day it first started, you had just finished watching a horror movie and were about to go to bed. However, your soulmate had decided that 5 AM was the perfect time to start listening to soft rock. The sharp twangs of an electric guitar and the steady beats of the drums were enough to keep you up instead of getting your beauty sleep. 

lil binder [ 02:00 PM ]: u otw yet? 

You grin at the message on your screen, typing out a reply to your friend, Melody, as pop music blasts away through your earbuds and effectively drowning out the beginnings of a saxophone.

smartie pebble [ 02:00 PM ]: yea be there in 7

Melody was just one of many of your friends. She had found her soulmate at the tender age of 15, accidentally spilling ice cream on him because she had been too distracted talking to you. Having bore witness to the entire ‘love-at-first-sight’ moment between them, you scooched away as she proceeded to forget about your entire existence in the next hour.

However, now Luke and her were inseparable, and wherever she was, he was bound to be there too. Luckily though, you had bonded with him over your mutual love of cooking, with Melody constantly being on the receiving end of many of your competitive inventions. 

“Yo, it’s the one and only rockstar of our generation!” Luke crows as you enter the diner, and you instinctively stick up your middle finger at him. He grins, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you set down your bag in the booth seats. 

“About time you got here.” Brendan greets, subtly nudging Nico who glances up from his game for a moment to say a quick ‘hi’. The former is in his uniform as usual, while Nico decided to change out of his, relaxed vest and tapered pants his go-to outfit.

“You’ll never guess what happened today.” Nico arches an eyebrow, though his gaze is focused solely on the rhythm game on his screen.

“Let me guess, you got into another argument about soulmates again.” You look up to see Melody arrive at the table with a large tray of food, tucking away the strings of the apron around her waist. “When will you learn that it’s inevitable?” She sighs, pinching the skin between her eyes and shaking her head in disapproval. 

“Maybe it’s because she’s around us too much,” Luke pouts, snaking his arm around her waist. She grins, ruffling the top of his head. 

“Please, for the love of the First Spinjitzu Master, make it stop,” You groan, pretending to gag and narrowly dodging the packet of chilli she throws in your direction. Picking it up, you tear it open and squeeze out the sauce, dipping the fries into it and eating them with relish.

“So, what’d Ms Grenaline say this time?” Luke focuses his attention on you, letting go of Melody who slides into the seat next to him. Nico steals a fry, munching away even though his meal is right in front of him. He even put away his phone, eagerly waiting to hear what new fight you’d gotten into today.

“She just said some shit about soulmates being essential to survive. Y’know, the usual mumbo jumbo.” You shrug, unwrapping the double cheeseburger and taking a bite. 

“Sounds about right to me.” Melody raises her hands in surrender once you glare at her. “But hey, who am I to judge? Definitely not because I have a soulmate, and definitely not because he’s right next to me.”

“You’re so right.” She rolls her eyes at your automatic reply, barely audible through the massive chunk of pickle in your mouth. 

“I know your family’s kinda complicated, but it doesn’t have to affect your outlook on soulmates forever. Besides, aren’t you moving to the city for your stepmom? That’s kinda progress.” Brenden volunteers his opinion, sipping away at his diet coke. “Don’t you glare at me young lady, you know perfectly well why you’re going. You like her.” 

“As if,” you scoff, forcing down the last bite of lettuce and crumpling the empty wrapper. Melody doesn’t blink an eye at how fast you’ve consumed the burger, already having seen it for at least 6 years.

“She got you the signed copy of Black Beauty, remember?” Nico says quietly, tilting his head. “And besides, you haven’t fought with her in a long while.” 

You bite back a retort, hating how right he is. It’s been at least three months since you’d gotten in a fight with your stepmother - the longest duration so far. “Look, she can try to bribe me all she wants, but I’m going to quickly get through school and move out so I can travel away from her.”

“Mmhm. You’d have a good chance, considering that you got into Business Relations at Ninjago University, so…” Your friends go quiet at the mention, as if just realising that you’re leaving tomorrow morning.

“I’ll be back for summer vacation anyway,” you casually state, finishing off the fries with a satisfied grin. “With autographs from those ninjas you’re always raving about.”

“You promise? I’ll cut off your pinkie finger if it doesn’t come true. You know a pinky promise is legally binding.” Melody warns. 

“I don’t know how you put up with her.” Luke shrugs as you turn to him, amusement in his eyes as he glances at Melody who’s still glaring at you. 

“River time?” Brenden suggests, trying to lighten the mood. Melody nods, turning to face the kitchen staff behind the counter a short distance away. 

“Hilda, I’m heading out!” She calls out, untying the apron and draping it on the seat as everyone leaves the booth. 

“Fuck off!”

“Will do!” Melody grins slyly, gesturing to the exit. “Let’s bounce before she realises I didn’t clear the tables.”

“Love you too Hilda!” You shout back to the grumpy old lady with a fond smile, waving goodbye as you leave. 

“River time! River time! River time!” You join in on their chanting, laughing without a care in the world - and ignoring the faint sounds of guitars and saxophones playing in the back of your mind.

— — — — — 

The truth of the matter is, picnics by the river are among the top few activities you’d willingly leave the house for. After having a few drinks and getting up to a couple of shenanigans, your friends dropped you off at your place with tearful goodbyes.

Nico had refused to let go of your arm, citing ‘who would I hug when you’re gone?’ as the reason why. He had let go after you promised to hug him all he wanted when you came back. It was also then that you vowed to never let him drink again.

After showering and emerging from the steam with a clearer (and significantly less tipsy) mind, you make your way to the comfort of your futon, avoiding stubbing your toe on the luggage near the door. The moving company had already taken most of your stuff, and all that you have to your name now is a singular suitcase, a sling bag, and your futon. 

You wriggle under the blanket, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the tiredness finally hit you with full force as your eyelids slowly close. The warmth draws you to sleep, dreams calling your name and reckoning for you to come into their embrace. 

Unfortunately, your soulmate doesn’t like to sleep at 1 AM. Soft rock starts playing, and you press your face against the pillow to muffle your annoyed groan. You press the pillow on top of your face, wishing desperately for the music to stop, though you know it’d do nothing to help. Forcing your eyes shut and thinking of anything else to drown out the noise is the go-to method for you, and hopefully, it’ll work this time as well.

Stupid jazz, stupid music. 

Stupid soulmate.

— — — — — 

A quick Google search in the morning while you brush your teeth reveals a plethora of cafes in Ninjago City, all ready for you to explore. Accidentally clicking on a notification, however, brings you to a separate page where the headline of a news article practically screams at you.

‘Famous Author to make an appearance at Ninjago Museum Fundraiser! All proceeds from the auction are to be donated to preserve local history.

The bestselling author who goes by her pen name of Hanla will be making an appearance at the Ninjago Museum’s Fundraiser occurring next week. Locally curated pieces of artwork and a book of poems written by Hamla herself will be auctioned off. Hamla has also stated that 100% of all proceeds made in her name will be going toward the local conservation of Ninjago’s history. For all fans of her works - You, Me, and the Beat, Beauty and her Phone, and critically acclaimed bestseller Honey, Where Are My Pants?, be sure to stop by for an autographing session that Hamla will be attending! Our local heroes - the Ninja, will also be attending the session, so make sure to get your photos taken with them!’

 “Are you ready yet? We gotta leave in an hour, Munchkin.” Your father calls out from downstairs. You pause to spit out the toothpaste in your mouth, gargling the residue and letting the menthol sting your lips after rinsing. 

“Yeah, just gotta shower and I’m good to go.” You reply loudly, turning your attention back to the mirror. A round, puffy face stares back at you, eyebags apparent after only managing to fall asleep at two in the morning.

You really should stop drinking so late at night. Luckily, a shower helps to reduce the puffiness in your face, and you step out of your room looking somewhat presentable in a lavender hoodie and shorts. 

The gentle sunlight shining through the bare windows breathed life into the room and the curtains that once decorated the small window seat. Where your bed once sat was empty with the polished mahogany wood underneath. 

Endless nights of laying in your plush bed with your bedside lamp's dim yet warm glow seemed so distant in your memories. Your hand lingers on the doorknob, mumbling a soft goodbye before shutting the door and heading downstairs to where your father is waiting.

“Shall we?” He grins, placing the last of your luggage in the car boot. He closes it, offering a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to guide you to the front seat where the radio is already playing your favourite pop songs. 

As he starts to drive, you’re momentarily distracted with taking the perfect picture for your Instagram story, singing along with your tone-deaf father who’s belting out ABBA as he drives past the massive signboard signalling goodbye. You watch it pass, fields and clouds dotting the sky moving by steadily.

It’d be a lie to say you wouldn’t miss home. But this is a chance at a new beginning - maybe one that could change your life for the better. As faint jazz starts up in the back of your mind, you smile softly. Not even that could dampen your mood.

— — — — — 

You stir, eyes fluttering open at the annoying sound of drilling and construction. You blink a few times, sitting up from where you had slumped against the window while you slept. Your vision clears, and you move your hands away to see bright lights and skyscrapers galore around you. 

You're here. 

Ninjago City is filled to the brim with people and endless traffic. Your dad scowls at the long line of cars in front of him, glaring at the red light that seems to take forever to turn green. You fiddle with the games on your phone, focusing intently on beating the next level of Candy Crush. 

You mumble a cuss when 'Game Over' appears on the colourful screen, and he immediately turns with a suspicious gaze. You smile nervously, trying to play it off as though you hadn't said anything. 

Luckily, he turns back around, choosing to let it pass. 

You stare out the window, watching the shops pass by in a blur until you spot one that catches your eye. “Dad, could you drop me off here?” He doesn't question your sudden request, making a turn and parking next to the sidewalk. 

You open the car door and exit, looking up at the sign on the storefront. 

'Ninjago Doomsday Comix'

“Emily’s already making dinner, so just meet us back at the new apartment.” He texts you the new address quickly, eyeing you suspiciously. “Be nice.” He warns, satisfied with the small nod you give in reply. 

“Yeah, just gonna take a look around the place, y'know, before I get lost tomorrow.” You joke. You adjust the straps of your small bag before settling it in a comfortable position on your back. 

“See you later then, munchkin. Call us if anything happens. Should be safe since those ninjas are around.”

Before you can question what he means, he drives off with all the rest of your luggage. You were lucky that your dad had visited the city multiple times on business trips and that he was primarily a hands-off parent.

“Right. Ninjas.” You mumble with a shake of your head, striding off toward the comic book store. The door swings open easily, a jingle catching you off guard. A man at the cashier counter greets you with a friendly grin that eases your nerves, and you walk up to him. 

“Hi, do you know where to find Starfarer comics?”

“Well, right here, of course!” You cringe at his response, realising how poorly worded your question was. It elicits a chuckle from the man in front of you. 

“Just kidding. I'm Rufus, Rufus McAllister, or you can call me Mother Doomsday. You're a new face around these parts. What's your name?”

“I just moved here, so maybe that's why." You reply, clutching the straps of your bag with a small smile at the friendly man and throwing in your name as well as an afterthought.

“Well, welcome to Ninjago City! I hope the city treats you well. We got the ninja protecting us, so that's added security too.”

“Right,” You smile emotionlessly at him. Is everyone here such big fans of the Ninja? Sure, Melody’s a fan, but not as much as bringing them up every chance she got. “Good to know.” 

Rufus pauses with his lips parted, seemingly processing your words. A relaxed grin slowly forms on his lips. He glances towards a specific aisle, seemingly contemplating. 

“It should be fine then….” He mumbles. You're just lost in where this conversation had ended up. 

“Aisle Eight is where we keep the best-stocked Starfarer comics.” He gestures to the area he had been staring at earlier. You thank him with a brief nod, walking over. 

The aisle is relatively empty, save for two other people. A blonde guy in a green hoodie is flipping through the latest issue of Starfarer with keen interest, engrossed in the colourful pages.

Next to him is another boy with slightly wavy and choppy black hair, the smooth and silky strands making you both envious and curious about his hair care routine. In contrast to his friend(you assumed), he regards you with a suspicious gaze. 

Oh no. He’s hot.

You find it odd, feeling mildly unsettled by the intense stare he gives you. It wasn't a good one; more on the wary side than interested. You brush it off, ignoring the pair and scouring the shelves for issue number three.

You finally find the comic you're looking for, but it's directly opposite the pair. 

After all, what would you be if not cursed with horrid coincidence?

You practically tiptoe over, clearing your throat slightly as you grab the comic book and start reading. Green Hoodie(Greenie, you decide to nickname) looks up in surprise, only now noticing your presence. Mr. Grumpy Pants(The nickname suits him perfectly), on the other hand, doesn't bother hiding the grimace on his lips at your presence, looking away.

You stiffen, eyes shifting into a glare.

Rude.

Greenie hits his friend's shoulder in a light punch, looking at you with an expression of apology. “She should be fine. Rufus wouldn't send anyone over here without vetting them first.” Greenie whispers to Mr. Grumpy Pants, referring to his earlier behaviour.

“Yeah, but what if they're…you know? I don't want another repeat of what happened with Jay.”

Oh. Oh. I see now.

You almost drop the comic book in your hands, caught off guard by how attractive Mr Grumpy Pants' voice is. You tense, now more aware of their presence. Even though you don't want to eavesdrop, you can't help how your ears practically perk up, hoping to hear more of the deep voice from earlier. 

Plus, they weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversation a secret.

“I trust Rufus. He's a good friend.” 

“...Maybe.”

“Is that…? OMG! It's them!!”

You're interrupted from blankly staring at the same page for the past ten minutes, having focused on the conversation behind you, though the pair had stopped talking a while ago. You look up at the store's glass windows, startled by the sudden sight of a group of girls pressed against the glass, staring intently at the two boys behind you. 

“Fuck.” You watch all the colour drain from Greenie's face while Mr Grumpy Pants smacks his palm against his face, sliding it down and sighing heavily with an utterly defeated expression. 

"Not again…" You hear him mutter. “And watch your language,” He adds, elbowing Greenie who just sticks out his tongue. The girls grab their phones, snapping photos of them. You realise that you're probably in them, too, considering the lack of distance between you both. 

"Girls, there's the door!!" The tallest and most commandeering of the group holds open the entrance to the comic book store, and they swarm towards it.

"Cole, run!!!" Greenie yells, taking off to the back door that Rufus quickly ushers them both through. You grab the issue of Starfarer that Greenie dropped on the floor in his hasty exit, watching the fabric of Cole's shirt almost get stuck in the doorway.

At least now you know his name. 

You place both the comics back on the shelf, leaving with a quick wave to Rufus, who nods goodbye. You pull out your phone, look up directions to the apartment and slowly make your way there. You grab your earbuds, put them both in your ears and start your playlist from the beginning.

You're next to an alleyway, just steps away from a ramen store, when your arm is grabbed and pulled into an alleyway next to you. A yelp rips free from your chest, losing your balance and almost falling. 

A strong and warm arm holds yours firmly, pressing you against the cold brick wall. Your eyes automatically squeeze shut when your back hits the wall with a grunt, opening your eyes to see Mr. Grumpy Pants from earlier. 

What the everloving fuck-

His hand is pressed firmly against your mouth, and your hands curl into fists, summoning all the strength in your body to land a solid punch on his chest. He yelps, pressing his lips tightly together to silence himself. He glares at you, and you return it just as angrily. Your fingers close into fists, readying yourself for another punch, aiming for his jaw next.

He shushes you, and you only just notice his pinched brows and the shine of sweat on his forehead. He had tugged you behind a wall that separated into a small alcove, out of sight from the sidewalk you were on earlier.

"Turn that nauseating song off." Cole winces, muttering through clenched teeth. Your hands slow to a stop, confused by his words. He grabs your phone out of your hands, pressing pause on your beloved playlist before you can protest.

Your eyes widen in shock, staring up at his stupidly handsome face. His dark brown eyes are filled with the fear of being caught, and you catch yourself admiring the shaggy black hair that frames his face in the most annoyingly perfect manner.

Your mind races with incoherent thoughts, but one sticks out like a sore thumb.

Your soulmate's a celebrity? 

For a celebrity, his music taste sucks ass.

"Am I getting kidnapped right now?" You voice out the most pressing concern on your mind, though it comes out muffled. He turns back to face you with an incredulous expression.

"You don't know who I am?" His voice is hushed, waiting for the horde of fangirls to run past your hiding spot. Your eyes narrow, pushing his hand off of where it's placed on your shoulders. You try to ignore the tingle his touch leaves behind that spreads to your hands and how his choppy bangs somehow manage to fall over his eyes in a somewhat attractive manner when he turns to face you. 

"In the past twenty minutes, you've glared at me, been rude, and practically held me hostage," You snap at him, irritated by the lack of common human decency he seems to display. "And what do you mean nauseating? If anything, you're the one giving me headaches with that god-awful noise you call music that you play daily! I mean, who wakes up at 4 AM?? Only a psychopath, apparently."

You finish your mini rant, having reached the end of your already thinning patience with the boy in front of you. You pant slightly, trying your best to reign in your temper. 

"Noise? Noise?? I could say the same for you! You're disturbing my sleep at night with those ear-splitting synths and breathy singing that sounds like they're on the verge of hyperventilation!" Cole retorts with thinly veiled disgust, taking a step back, dusting off his hands, and wiping them on his pants. 

You eye the action, feeling insulted. Both of you stand in the alleyway, silently glaring at each other. Cole breaks the stare first, scanning the area behind him once he realises the fangirls are gone. You grin, elated at the quiet victory. 

“You really gotta get more variety.” Your smile drops as soon as the words leave Cole's lips, and yours press into a thin line. 

“Speak for yourself.” You can barely hold back another biting remark. If anyone were to see you now, they'd mistake you as enemies rather than the soulmates that you are.

He groans, rolling his eyes. You're tempted to ask what he does for a living but choose to stay silent. You shake your head, still in disbelief that you've found your soulmate. “Out of all people…” You mutter under your breath with a scowl. 

“I could say the same. I don’t know how someone like you ended up as my soulmate.” He retorts, seemingly having overheard. 

“I’m glad we share the same view then. At least that’s one thing we can agree on. Now, let’s make a deal. You go right, and I go left and we never run into each other again. Deal?” You propose, holding out your hand for a handshake. He eyes it for a solid moment, mulling over his decision. Instead of shaking your hand, however, he merely nods, crossing his hands over his chest. Your eyes narrow.

How insufferable.

“Looks like they’re gone.” He takes a moment to glance out of the alleyway, starting in the direction opposite and leaving you to your own devices. You continue to glare at his retreating figure, driving home your irritation by placing your earbuds back into your ears and hitting play.

Immediately, Cole's songs start playing in the back of your mind, much louder than before. You let out an irritated groan, turning to glare at his broad back. Curse his well-chiselled body and toned arms. 

Stupid soulmate.

— — — — — 

“So, how was your first day in town?” Your stepmother, Emily, sits down opposite you, taking out one of the hair clips she used to keep the bangs out of her face. Her hair is messy, tied into a ponytail and her skirt is stained with spaghetti sauce. 

“Decent. Went to a comic book place.” You say through a mouthful. Your response is short, but it’s more than what used to be quiet dinners around a tension-filled dining table in the past. 

“That’s good. Doomsday Comix, I assume?” She doesn’t flinch from your wide-eyed gaze, caught off guard by how eerily accurate her guess is. “I used to work there when I was younger. I hope you found the comics you were looking for. Starfarer, right?”

“Right,” You reply unsurely, spooning another bunch of pasta into your mouth. You forget that Emily had been born and raised in Ninjago, only having met your dad during one of her trips for ‘inspiration’. You and she had a rocky relationship, but one could say that you’re currently making progress - you think.

“Did you meet the ninja?” Your dad asks, taking some sliced-up steak on his plate and placing it on Emily’s. You eye the way she lights up at the action, a nauseating feeling beginning to stir in the bottom of your stomach. “I hope if you got in trouble, they got you out of it.”

“Oh yeah? What’re the ninja gonna do, spin me around till I get a headache?” You snort, chewing on an irritating broccoli stem that refuses to get chowed down on. “Mystify me to pieces? Bore me to death?” 

The sarcastic jabs don’t phase your dad in the slightest. He shrugs, used to your disbelieving comments. “Just be careful out there still, okay? I know Ninjago City is safe but there are still pickpockets around and petty crimes.” 

“Which is exactly why I called in a favour from an old friend.” Emily smiles softly at your father, but it fades slightly when she looks at you, uncertainty in her gaze. “He’s an instructor, and I’ve asked him to teach you self-defence so you can at least protect yourself.”

Your hand slows to a halt, the singular piece of spaghetti dangling off your fork as you blink owlishly at her. “I never asked for your help.” The words slip out before you can stop yourself, hurt flitting across Emily’s face before she composes herself, clearing her throat and picking up a piece of broccoli.

Aaand that’s a streak of 3 and a half months without being mean, gone.

“I just thought that maybe you should stay safe. Besides that,” You can sense the carefulness in her words, trying to choose the right ones to say. “I have an event coming up that I’d like you to attend. It’s a fundraiser, and I would like you to be there.” She pauses for a moment, looking from your father to you. “Both of you.”

“No thanks,” The clang of the metal fork against the porcelain plate makes her wince slightly at the harsh sound. You stand up with your half-empty plate, appetite vanishing just as quickly as a passing breeze. “I’m gonna head out. School stuff to catch up on and all.” You spot your father starting to stand up with a frown, only to stop when she places her hand on his arm and shakes her head sadly. 

You ignore it.

Besides, you have a best friend to call.

— — — — — 

“I think I met my soulmate today.” You instinctively pull the phone away from your ear just as she starts screaming. 

“What? Where?? When?? How????? WHO???”

“Comic book store, today,” you reply, playing with a strand of your hair to distract yourself. 

“Comic book store? Oh no, he’s a nerd.” The mock horror in her voice makes you suppress a defeated groan, picturing exactly how wide her smug grin is. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to inhale slowly. Damn. She remembers. 

When you were younger, you had made a bet with Melody as to what kind of person your soulmate would be. Being the naive child you were, you had bet on him being a superstar. 

Melody, on the other hand, had bet that you'd end up with someone the complete opposite of you. A secret nerd. 

Even at the tender age of 15, she had already read countless romantic books filled with cliche tropes. Right now though, this knowledge is absolutely terrifying to you. You hear a sigh of satisfaction over the phone, lips curling into a frown. “I’m not going to do it.”

“You have to! We pinky promised. Plus, Todd’s back home and if you don’t want me to tell him about-” 

“I’ll do it,” you groan, cutting her off from the effective threat. “The First Spinjitzu Master sent you down for just one reason and that was to make my life even worse.”

“Wait.” Melody says, “What happened to your whole spiel about ‘oh I hate soulmates and I never want to have one, bleh bleh bleh’ ?”

“First of all, that is not how I sound. Is that really how I sound to you??” You gasp. Maybe your whole stance against soulmates was getting a bit too much, even for Melody. “Besides, it’s nothing new. His stupid jazz started a couple of months back or something.” You grumble, deciding to collapse on your bed instead of pacing your room.

“And you didn’t tell me??” She says incredulously, her voice raised. You can hear a faint “What didn’t she tell you?” in the background, recognising the voice as her brother’s. 

“Nothing!” She shouts back at him, “I expect details. Right fucking now.”

“It’s not much,” You sigh, looking up at your ceiling and letting your phone rest beside your head, her voice filling the quiet room through the speakerphone. “It came outta nowhere and honestly? If nothing happened, no way am I about to fly across the world just to see him. I have school. And homework.”

“You’ve never handed in a single piece of homework on time.” Her voice has a hint of accusation. 

“What can I say? Moving gives you a whole new perspective on self-reflection.” You shrug nonchalantly, though you know she can’t see it. 

“What’s his music taste?”

“Smooth jazz and soft rock.” You groan at her awws on the other end, “Yeah, let’s see if you still find that cute when you’re trying to sleep and he decides to blast music at 4 AM.”

“An early riser. Maybe he works out?” Melody’s wistful voice doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“I sense dissatisfaction with your current soulmate.” Your snarky reply makes her chuckle. 

“You wish. Luke’s gonna start going to the gym 'cause I said I liked his biceps last week.” She says with amusement, “Right, I have a date tomorrow. Should I wear the pink blouse or blue?”

“Blue.”

“Pink it is.” 

“Why do you even bother asking me?” You say blankly, grinning when she barks out a laugh. “Have fun on your date.”

“Remember to get autographs!”

“I won’t if you don’t shut up and get to bed.” The call instantly concludes with a monotonous dial tone after you hang up, placing your phone on your table with a grin. You open your laptop with a new sense of purpose, searching for articles on the ninja. Your unfulfilled promise haunts you, knowing full well that although most of your friends thought it was a joke, Melody would be intent on at least fracturing your pinky finger if you didn’t get their autographs.

A sudden knock on the door startles you and your hands quickly close the laptop instinctively. The door slowly creaks open, and your dad steps inside. You turn away, pretending to busy yourself with tidying your desk with minimal clutter. “Is this about dinner?”

“Well,” you hear him hesitate. “Kind of. Look, it’d mean a lot to her if you went, y’know. Besides, the self-defence instructor we asked to teach you has already accepted.”

“Can’t you get a refund?” You finally turn to face him, lips parted to say more until you scan his face. Sunken cheeks and eyes filled with sadness stare back at you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d be more open towards his wife. Towards her. 

And just like that, your temper which had slowly begun to bubble up again at the mention of your stepmom dies down, left with nothing but wisps of resentment. You swallow down the lump in your throat, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Fine. Tell Hamla that I’ll go to her charity fundraiser, whatever.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief, while you focus on your fingers already picking away at the skin on your thumb. Tiny flecks of peeled skin land on the floor, invisible in the lack of light. The skin is red and raw underneath, but you can’t feel the pain, focusing instead on the repetitiveness of the action.

“Thank you, munchkin.” 

The door closes without any further conversation, and the weight on your chest suddenly lifts. It’s still there, but significantly less than before. You close your eyes, hands curling into fists as you breathe out slowly but shakily. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

You open the laptop back up, allowing the bright screen to distract you from any further thoughts. The picture of the ninja fills your screen, one in a black gi catching your eyes. What was he again? The Earth Ninja? 

Glancing at the closet, you mentally flit through your outfit options for the fundraiser. A thought nags away at your brain, as if on the edge of remembering one very important fact. You pull up the article from this morning, rereading it once more as it hits you, looking from the article to the picture a few times before your lips pull up in a slow smile.

Looks like you’d get their autographs sooner than you thought.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

you can tell that I'm starting to feel a bit more like myself because my pedantic tendencies are leaking out here: that person who tried to argue with me that vtubing is like sex work like 2 weeks ago on the basis that there are vtubers who play the character of your parasocial anime girlfriend is incorrect on the basis of assuming that all vtubers aspire to be parasocial anime girlfriends. vtubing is simply streaming with an avatar. there are big vtubers who lean into the parasocial anime girlfriend aspect, but to insist that it's predominantly what inclines people towards vtubing is the same as insisting that all streamers want to be like that dream smp guy. for as many vtubers there are consciously playing characters with the intent of monetization, there are as many being as much of "themself" as one can be in front of a camera. I Do Not Fucking Care about any conversation pertaining to the overlap between sex work and subsections of streaming. half of those conclusions practically write themselves. what actually interests me though is how many people do not realize the extent to which vtubing has functionally replaced pretending to be a guy called Kai the Dragon Master on an anime dress up forum.

streaming is a form of socializing and sharing media for a lot of people, and now with the privacy enabled by virtual avatars, permit a greater space for exploring/experimenting with identity, relaxing, and processing deeper emotions. in a world where online communication is becoming more mediated by video than text, how the average person will appear in front of a camera has never been more (but of course, not completely) casualized. in accordance with all of this, a lot of the >_< ^0^ behaviors that you would normally find conveyed in text or images are now being transmitted over video. that is to say, people are playing pretend. for fun. your avatar makes your emotions actually look like how they feel on the inside. it's not difficult to figure out why someone would be interested in a room of strangers thinking that their moving avatar of Kai the Dragon Master is funny and badass and cool.

anyway this is the last time I say that most vtubers (like most streamers) are dripless and unfunny 😔 everyone is on my ass attacking me with bombs and swords for this here