#anyways i think i have the situation under control lol

[truecorvid]

got a tattoo last night (cool) (halloween tattoo) (from the artist i really like) with a lot of blacked out patches in the design (also cool) (looks sick) which meant that it immediately started bleeding/weeping/creating ink sacks in the saniderm (looks kind of cool. i guess?) and then somewhere in the 10 minute drive home it immediately started leaking (definitely NOT cool)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[pawsitivevibe]

I dunno why everyone says they hate grooming and hand stripping dogs. I find it so soothing. I would probably go for hours if Arthur didn't let me know he was done with it.

[vaguely-concerned]

for what it's worth I personally don't believe spite had anything to do with the pantry near-kiss experience at all. I think that was a 100% lucanis naturel disaster no supernatural additives present or indeed required. at most spite was watching that whole situation go down with mild puzzlement about approximately every part of it, I don't think he'd have much interest in it one way or the other. the explanation seems much more mundane and grounded and in some ways much sadder to me.

if your nervous system has never been in a place where any surge of emotion, even -- in fact sometimes especially! -- a good and exciting one makes you feel like your soul just touched a hot stove it can't get away from, then sincerely, from the bottom of my heart and without a trace of snark, thank goodness and I hope you never experience it. For the rest of you... fistbump of solidarity it's rough out here but *grits teeth* we stay silly etc. In the place lucanis is in during that part of the game, feeling like you're losing control (again even for ostensibly good happy reasons) can feel an awful lot like you're dying, or worse. on top of everything else going on for him -- again going only with non-supernatural elements and not even comprehensive: a year of non-stop horrific trauma added to pile of previous mountain of childhood and attachment trauma. chronic sleep deprivation. apparently dead grandma doubling as mother figure. cousin-brother aggressively fucking around and in real danger of finding out. fucked up the ONE thing he thought he knew how to do that's been the central pillar of his identity. the world might be ending even more than it already was because of it. keeps faceplanting with barely any dignity and having to get up again with alarming regularity GOD how could I ever not save treviso this man desperately needs a W (just one!!) like few people in the history of the world have before him. he's more caffeine than man because the alternative feels worse. it's bad in here. and ON TOP of all that he's in the process of falling just. appallingly soul-shrivingly in love, which can notably be playing on hard mode even when you're in a mostly functional place, that shit routinely rocks people to the core under the best of circumstances.

so I'm not surprised it's too overwhelming for him to handle when he tries to throw himself in head first -- in fact I'd have been more surprised if it weren't lol. he clearly wants it so much, which only makes it so much more painful that he can't actually bear to touch it when it's offered to him freely and eagerly. this is the tantalus-level awfulness of this kind of attachment trauma; food seems to be right there, you can see it, almost smell it sometimes, but no matter what you just can't seem to reach it. seemingly not for any flaw in the existence of the food, but because of something broken in you that can't or can't bear to actually eat. his deliberate flirting routine is kind of deeply dorky tbh lol (in the most endearing way possible let's be perfectly clear) and I don't think it's entirely natural to him -- that's a hastily cobbled together 'oh god I am getting the vibes here it is happening for some reason they like me for my personality quick what would illario do' approach if ever I saw it, supported by the fact that it never really makes a return after this --

BUT I do think his obvious near-unbearable delight with rook's existence and person that shines through in that scene is entirely real and unfeigned. he likes them so much. he wants so bad to be able to be close to them. he's so hungry for the reprieve and release and relief they represent to him, just for one moment, just one break from all the awfulness to have something uncomplicatedly good. and it's here, it's been offered, he's welcome!!! and he has to flinch away at the last minute anyway because he's an exposed nerve of a human being. there's a point at which every sensation including joy becomes indistinguishable from agony. he's pretty much exactly at that point. for the love of god have some mercy on him people. the feeling that salvation is right here but you're too broken a vessel to hold it is one I wouldn't wish on anyone. let him have a few moments to stare into the void before he's ready to get back up and try again surely we all deserve at least that much lol

[awkness]

No Man is an Island

(Paternal Platonic Yandere oc & Injured Teenage Genderneutral Reader)

You and a small group of people are left stranded on an island, struggling to survive. One member of the group, Henry, has grown a paternal attachment towards you and has taken on the task of caring for you, but are his intentions truly as benevolent as they seem, or is there something much more selfish behind them?

Content warnings: injury, plane crashes, talks car accidents, coma, and child death, and general yandere shenanigans

Authors Note: This is much more chill then what I usually write. Don't be fooled, though, this dude is still messed up lol

You were on a plane alone, flying back to see your parents when the plane begins to experience severe turbulence. The captain tries to reassure everyone that things are under control, but it only gets worse. It feels like you're in the middle of an earthquake. Oxygen masks fall from the ceiling, and you can barely put yours on before blacking out

You wake up to a horrible, throbbing pain in your leg, and a sticky, humid feeling everywhere else

You're near the shoreline of the beach, a canopy of tropical trees shielding you from the sun. Turning your head, you could make out the main wreckage of the plane. There's a crudely made splint on your left leg, which is swollen and covered in bruises. There are no people in sight

Panicking, you start yelling, trying to find someone, anyone to help you understand what's happening

A middle-aged, gruff looking man comes from the wreckage. He introduces himself as Henry and helps you calm down before explaining the situation to you

The plane had crashed on an unihabited island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, an unknown distance away from the mainland. All of the crew were dead, and most of the passengers were as well. The only people who survived were you, Henry, and no more than ten other people, all variously injured

None where as injured as you, though. Henry says that you had most likely broken your left fibula and tibia when the plane crashed. As the bone hadn't broke through your skin, he says that it should heal on its own, but it would take months, most of it spent on bed rest

The first few days were the roughest. You spent your time in a haze of pain and heat from the brutal and humid temperatures from the island. It was hard to make yourself eat, and you often felt like you never had enough to drink, as your group had decided to ration the fresh water and food that was scavenged from the crash

The other survivors didn't interact with you often. It wasn't on purpose, but they were too busy working to make this place temporarily habitable, and they had no time to think of an injured person who couldn't help them. Plus, you weren't much for conversation anyway, given your current state

The only person you did see regularly was Henry. He checked on you often throughout the day, acting much like your self-appointed doctor. He seemed to have a basic understanding of what medical care to provide you, though, so you weren't about to protest

His bedside manner was good as well, knowing when you were in too much pain to make conversation and when you were lucid enough to want company. He was your only source of companionship for those first few days, being the one to bring you your daily rations of airplane pretzels and coconut water and make sure you were eating.

Whether it was the pain subsiding or you simply adjusting to it, you began to pull yourself out of your pain driven stupor and started talking to Henry more, out of the pure loneliness and boredom of your situation

He was very easy to talk to despite his outwardly serious and borderline intimating disposition. As you talked to him more, you found him to be friendly and a bit corny, occasionally cracking a stupid dad joke or pulling light-hearted pranks on you. He seemed fairly competent at reading people, able to sense your loneliness, and often encouraging you to open up whenever he had the chance to talk

You didn't know if it was out of genuine interest or pity for your circumstances, but you found you couldn't refuse his company. Before you knew it, you started oversharing about your life. Within the next two weeks, he knew pretty much every major thing about you, from your family, your hobbies, where you lived, what your future goals and aspirations were, and so on

On the other hand, he seemed more reluctant to open up, often getting quiet or withdrawn when your questions got too personal, with what constituting 'personal' varying. You eventually picked up that something troubling must of happened to him in his past involving his family, so you stopped pushing, letting him bring up his past on his own time

Outside of superficial facts about him, the only thing you knew was that he was a former US Army Special Forces survival expert, which was how he knew how to treat your injury, and how he knew how to survive on the island

When you were feeling well enough, he would teach you some of survival knowledge he had, teaching you different fire starting methods, how to build a lean-to, and how to crack open a coconut to get the milk. He seemed rather anxious about watching you wield his knife, though, so he did that for you when he could

Things take a turn for the better as the group finds decent shelter that isn't the plane wreckage in the form of uninhabited caves in the heart of the island, along with a waterfall spouting drinkable water

Some are reluctant to leave the shoreline, as the group had taken to maintaining a bonfire there to hopefully signal passing planes or boats for help. A compromise was reached where they would move to the caves and would continue to maintain the fire in shifts

The trek towards the caverns was especially hard on you. The rest of the survivors had gone ahead to carry the supplies to the caverns, leaving Henry to guide you through the thick foilage and uneven terrain

Henry had given you a walking stick to aid your journey, but because of your prolonged bedrest, there were often times you had to be carried, making the journey a slow and tedious one. You apologized, but he brushed it aside, saying he didn't mind, as he often had to carry much heavier loads in the army. He then went on to tell you cherry picked stories from his time in the military to distract you until you reached the caves

He had decided that it would be best for you to sleep near him, in case you needed assistance or if there was an emergency. His reasoning seemed sound, and you were inclined to trust him after all this time, so you agreed

With this newfound stability, things finally seemed to slow down, as people weren't constantly threatened with death by starvation, dehydration, or exposure

This was also the time that the other survivors began to talk to you more regularly

It was how you learned that Henry had become the defacto leader of sorts, given he was the most qualified out of the group. People often came to you to see if he was there whenever they needed him, asking you to pass messages along to him when he wasn't there. Which was pretty often, given how he was usually the person to help gather food or scout out new parts of the island

It was after one of these outings that you began to learn more about him

It had been a rainy, stormy day, which made the groups whole mood sour. Henry was out with a small group to gather food, and you were with the rest of the survivors, hanging out in the main cave

It was easy to overhear conversations in the main cave, noise often bouncing about the walls. It's how you and the rest of the people in there were forced to listen to a heated conversation developing between two of your members

Apparently, one of the more toublesome people of your group had been caught stealing from one of the other members of the cave. Their talking turned to arguing, and the arguing became shouting, which became shoving, which was steadily growing more violent by the second

Some had tried to break up the fight while everyone else had managed to move away except you, who could only slowly hobble away

A fellow survivor was trying to usher you away when someone knocked into you, causing you to fall and hit your head on the cavern floor. You lost consciousness

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the pain in your head, throbing like a pulse. The second was that you were back in your bed (if you could call a platform of crushed bamboo and palm leaves a bed), a blanket tucked to your chin. The third were the footsteps of Henry as he came over to kneel beside you, his face creased in thought and worry

He then went to question you on how you were feeling, if you knew who you were, if you remembered what happened, as well as checking your eyes and testing your muscles and general coordination

It was only after he was satisfied you didn't have any severe brain injury that he finally relaxed and explained what happened

After you were knocked unconscious, the fighting had stopped, and you had been taken back to your part of the cave to be taken care of as they waited for Henry and his group to arrive

The conversation then faded into silence, as you were too caught up in your pain to keep talking. You closed your eyes and laid back down

It wasn't until later that night that you finally noticed that Henry was still in the room, watching you, face blank and motionless as if he were in another world. You've never seen him look that way before

You nudge him and he startles, completely caught off guard, apologizing for worrying you

You ask him what's wrong, and instead of brushing your question off like he usually does, he hesitates before going on to speak about the family he used to have, a wife and a child, who he loved dearly. One day, they ended up in a car crash. He lived with minimal injuries, but his wife died, and his child ended up brain dead with no hope of recovery. He had kept the child on life support for months before finally pulling the plug

"When I was waiting for you to wake up, it was like I was back in the hospital, hoping beyond hope that a miracle would happen, and I would see them open their eyes again... Y'know, it's the craziest thing. While I was watching you, I kept thinking about how they would've been your age if they were still here. They would of looked just like you."

You apologize, unable to think of anything else to say. He waves it off and tells you not to mind what he said and to go to bed. He was still sitting and watching you as you fell asleep

About five months after the crash, when the group had started to lose hope of there being a rescue, someone had spotted a plane flying across the night sky

Everyone scrambled to strengthen the bonfire on the shore, yelling at the sky in a desperate attempt to be noticed

With Henry's help, you made your way to the fire as well, propping yourself up with a walking stick to keep your weight off your broken leg, waving your free arm to the sky as you joined in the shouting

But it didn't matter. The plane flew away, disappearing into the dark

Some people cried, others flew into a rage, and the rest didn't say a word. Eventually, people slowly made their way back to the caves, disheartened at their loss

After a few hours, it was just you and Henry left on the shore, the dying embers of the fire next to you as you both stared at the sky. He seemed content

You break the silence and ask him if he thinks there will ever be another opportunity for rescue

"I don't know, but I doubt it. With how long it's been, that plane probably wasn't searching for us. We probably won't see another one anytime soon."

"You don't sound too broken up about it" you say.

"I guess I'm not. If you can overlook the heat, this place ain't half bad. Fresh seafood, clean water, a built-in shelter, and 24/7 access to my own private beach. Shit, I don't even have to pay taxes anymore, either. This is the closest thing to paradise I'll ever find."

"You can't mean that, right? We can't stay here forever."

"Of course we can. We have everything we could need. Plenty of people have lived in worse places."

That's not what I mean, what about my family? I want to go home!

The mention of your family leaves him stunned, like he forgot they existed. He quickly regains his bearings and continues

"I don't mean to make you upset, kid, but I think you're misunderstanding me. I know it hurts now, but there's nothing stopping you from living a happy life here. You've got food, a roof over your head, and someone to take care of you, what more could someone ask for?"

You don't reply. Sensing your darkening mood, he offers to help walk you back, and you accept, both of you slowly making your way through the foilage in silence

You fail to notice that the fire was left unattended and how it had slowly died out, leaving the island invisible to any help that could pass by

The next morning, no one bothers to reignite the fire

Afternoon rolls around and Henry leaves, going to fish for your next meal. You pray it isn't sea cucmbers again

Someone comes up to you, asking for some cordage they had lent to Henry. Instead of waiting for him to come back, you decide to search for it yourself

You search his part of the cave and almost give up before spotting a bag hidden in a crevice of the cave. It was so well hidden, you're afraid you might lose sight of it if you turn away. What could he have in there? You're almost certain Henry wouldn't keep rope tucked so far out of sight. But you couldn't help your curiousity. You've been in here countless times, how didn't you notice this? Against your better judgment, you open the bag

You don't find the cordage

Instead, inside the small bag is the bright orange of a flare gun and several unused flare cartridges

[thegtgarbageman]

So I've been thinking about Axle's early past a bit.. uhhh

Yeah here are a few doodles and a sketch. Along with a small bit of Axle's early childhood life. I got carried away

Just some simple doodles of Axle's childhood. He technically grew up in a lab although he wasn't born in captivity. Most of his early childhood was doing puzzles or tests, lots of observation as well.

His development is similar to that of a human in terms of brain growth and physical form. He grows at about the same rate as a human just on a far smaller scale.

For the most part in his younger years he mostly did cognitive testing and development. They mostly used simple tests, and some general animal psychology experiments. Such as seeing what he did for fun, for food, and some logical reasoning.

The odd time the scientists still would do a surgery or two on a young Axle, but it wasn't the norm at that time.

However as time went on they began to do more invasive tests.

Axle had always liked the scientists growing up, as he was younger he'd seen them as a sort of family, having favorites and having preferred caretakers. But at the age of about 12 years old even the nicer caretakers had begun to grow sour.

People were being more careful around him, using gloves more often, constricting his movements more often, and other things of the sort which Axle noticed.

The experiments eventually began to get more invasive, such as when he was 13 he had his first brain vivisection specifically. It was a procedure to place wires into his brain to do more invasive tests on his nervous system.

He tried asking more questions, which quickly he learned would get him nowhere. Soon even the nice humans he'd barely see anymore or they would just leave all together. It was at the age of 13 he'd decided he didn't like the humans or how they kept him captured. He didn't know what else there could be, but he knew from the little bits and pieces he was able to listen to that there had to be more than the lab.

At the age of 14 Axle was being treated more like the mice he'd been raised with than a person that the scientists would talk to passively. Axle only grew more resentful as the months went on and the rotation of scientists got more harsh.

At 16 he was being treated as though he was completely feral. He refused to cooperate with the humans but they would refuse to let him feel like he had any form of control over the situation whatsoever.

Ok so this was just a doodle that got out of hand and colored. It's not great but it's the best I got rn. I'm pretty stressed out lol

Anyways. Axle had a pretty traumatic upbringing, but it did teach him to never trust humans which was probably the best thing he could have learned for when he did eventually escape one day.

He did have his mother with him at one point in captivity, but one day she disappeared and he never really figured out what happened to her. Current Day Axle likes to think she managed to escape one day and was free somewhere.

Axle after that day grew up around mice, usually a circulation of mice that were young enough not to be a danger to Axle. But this really took a toll on him when eventually all his mice friends would get taken away and he'd have to get attached to new friends all over again.

Sometimes the scientists would have him do experiments alongside grown mice, sometimes he would remember them but usually not. Under normal circumstances the mice were never aggressive with Axle, but were usually more curious about him.

Ok my unorganized ranting is over. I'm not sure. I think it's fun to share my silly cringe lore.

Thanks for reading it! Or thanks for just looking at the art ^^

Sending positive vibes y'all

Till next time

[jason-todd-fangirl-14]

Jason Grace Dating Headcanons!!

Thank you to all who begged for this after I mentioned I wanted to write it. This one goes out to ya’ll!! Other PJO characters dating hcs may come out as well, probably sometime after the new year if I decide to write them at all. Lmk any male characters you’d like to see if I were to do them. In the meantime, enjoy our blond Superman’s dating hcs!!

•for starters, Jason would 1000% be a gentleman. You cannot convince me otherwise. •if you’re with him anywhere, in public or in the privacy of your own space, he will make sure your hand is in his basically at all times. If you pull your hand from him, he will give you such a disapproving look LOL. •if you’re ever out driving just you two, he will almost always be in the drivers seat. He just loves driving his passenger princess around anywhere she wants. This may just be me, but I feel like he’d have bad motion sickness in the car, especially after his mother died in a car accident, and the only way he'd be able to be in the car is if he’s the one behind the wheel. •book advent calendars every Christmas, Valentine’s Day & your birthday! •Jason Grace is definitely a chivalrous man, and nobody can convince me otherwise!! He carries all of your bags if you go shopping at the mall, opens every car and building door. Heck, he will even carry you around like a bride on her wedding day if you’re too tired to walk or if you injured yourself. He won’t ever complain. •he definitely will spoil you. •I feel like his love language would be acts of service, physical touch or gift giving—not really receiving. He won’t ever turn down a gift from you, but he prefers to be the one giving the gift instead. He still lets you anyway. •let us all never forget that Jason is definitely a hugger. I mean he tried hugging Nico until he realized he didn’t like hugs, and immediately backed up and apologized. •because of this, if you happen to be like Nico, in the sense that you too don’t like hugs, he’ll back off and apologize to you, as well. Which brings me to the next headcanon:

•RESPECTFUL™!!! Must I elaborate farther??

•as for dates, he’s definitely the type to set up a picnic under the stars. •for food served at your picnic date, I think Jason will ask Leo to help him make your favorite meal. It will end up turning out amazing because duh, Leo coached him! •he’s definitely the type to date for marriage, and I think he’ll know very quickly if he wants to marry and settle down with you. I mean, he was already imagining a future with Piper not long after they began dating, sooooo. •also to go with that one, he definitely already has money laid aside for your engagement ring. •on another note, I can see Jason letting you try on his glasses. He will definitely comment on how he thinks you look better with them on then him. •so. many. compliments!!

•expect a bouquet of flowers from the Demeter/Ceres cabin on your front steps of your house and/or cabin every month. •little notes left by Jason with poems, reminders or words of affirmation will be all over your home/cabin. •despite the challenges he faces with learning disabilities, I can see Jason being an huge reader, and I can see him reading all of you favorite books so he can sit down together to discuss things with you. •encouragement in every single situation, good or bad. •your well being and needs will ALWAYS come first, he even vowed it on the River Styx. •if you have a fear of heights, he’ll for sure be down to help you overcome it. Keep in mind tho, he won’t ever push you into facing it until you’re ready. •if you’re afraid of thunder and/or storms in general, he will be definitely down to cuddle to make you feel better. Tho he has some control over thunderstorms, he wouldn’t be strong enough to go up against his dad (also only one with a death wish would be willing to go up against Zeus), so cuddles and distraction is the only way for him to help you.

anyways, overall, Jason is 10/10 husband materiel!!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

🤠🫶:

I am CACKLING like a cartoon villain oh my GOD you are a genius!!! Of course the toxic king breaks his back of COURSE he does the fucking idiot (affectionate), so there's fuck-all he can do with reader's big announcement that this was all worth it and he can totally get some...yknow, in a couple months. AHHHHH. And she just wanted to give him something to look forward to, motivation for the physical therapy <33 (she boops his nose while he lays there wishing for death and cowering from her, of course she does, omg. i love them your honor!!)

and maybe she gets more confident now that he can't fucking move 💀💀 (lmao, oh god. König if you weren't such a menace this would have been easier for her a lot earlier and nobody would be in this situation) and maybe this leads to way more sensual  touching from her on her own initiative; she's curious, after all, and she does like him a lot and she's just trying to help him get better, you know? and König eats that shit up, starts telling her all about these itches and sore muscles he can't reach, could she be a dear (trying to act like he's not literally begging for her touch) and then he basically blacks out the first time her hands linger and drift, but probably better that than the things he was going to say to her. So König wants to die, this is too much, he's done, he's a goner each time she visits him. and damn her, she's a devoted little thing, never misses visiting hours. Always so sweet and caring towards him and it's the perfect image of a faithful, doting housewife without the wife or the house or the sex part of it lmao. And of course he can’t move when all this is happening!!! so basically just more torture and his mind just kind of breaks into little tiny pieces held together by demented lovesick lust-filled fantasies. he says some absolutely filthy things (makes the cunt licking look family friendly in comparison), he can't control it really anymore, and poor reader is shocked/horrified and blushing furiously, but thinks it's the medications and the pain and whatnot, tries to be understanding, only chides him once she gets her shock under control (and he's actually stone cold sober the entire fucking time lmao, but he ain't telling her that, she'd run if she knew). 

AND THEN MAYBE~~ (dun dun dun) one day reader is FINALLY reaching under the stupid hospital bed blanket - he can feel her soft little fingertips and carefully manicured nails travel down his abs, trace the V of his hips (my man is going to black out again, good lord) and she's looking at him with big round eyes and she's nervous she's going to do it wrong and he won't like it (as if), and it's taking FOREVER for her to get her hand between his legs bc sweet little thing just wants to do it right, and he's out of his mind, half-crying, whisper-begging at this point (it's probably not even English, not German either, just mindless pleas). Her hand FINALLY wraps around his length and he's lucky he doesn't cum right then and there; she's blushing so violently at taking a man in her hands for the first time and she's seeking HIS approval with those pretty doe eyes as she bites her lip. So of course that's when there's a knock at the door (the universe hates him, he's going to scream, whoever this is is lucky he can't move and they might die anyway from the blast radius of sheer rage) and a doctor comes in for daily rounds. Reader barely has time to yank her hand back before doc sticks his head through the privacy curtains and yep our man's heart might actually just stop, he is just going to keel over right then and there. 

so not even a handjob for our poor king <3 if he doesn’t die (lol) he transfers to in-home care IMMEDIATELY and finally gets reader to himself in a more private setting where he can lock the fucking door. this is the part where I look away lmao, I'd leave him blue-balled & suffering forever ...am i a mean person?? also RIP to that doctor. this verse is so hilarious & wonderful and i love it, feels like a tug of war between tropes and genres if that makes sense which results in your delightful genius works, thank you thank you <333

This is so beautiful. I am puddle & I can't thank you enough for collaborating & I LOVE YOU Howdy anon 💋 and um, I think I got a little too excited about their first time lol oops (I can't leave him blue-balled forever! Poor man would die of heart failure 🥺)

(Tamara and Demon (1864), Mihály von Zichy)

Word count: 3.7 k

CW: 18+ NSFW. Corruption kink goes brrrr. Masturbating, dirty talking, obsessive/yandere König. Awkward handjob. First time/virgin!reader. Kinda sweet and fluffy 🩷 Also coersion/mildly dubious consent, tread carefully!

A/N: You can find the story of König x virgin!reader and their relationship so far by following the tag (könig x virgin reader)

Oh she visits him alright!

She’s much braver now that König is bedridden and can’t move. They actually spend more time together after the weightlifting accident. The intense stares haven’t gone anywhere, he's actually gotten worse in that department, but otherwise, König is behaving quite nicely.

He seems to like it when she reads to him next to his bed, which is immensely cute in her opinion. Armed with a new book in the crook of her arm, she’s on her way to visit him again for another session.

She's already accustomed to simply floating in after giving his door a light rap. She's also gotten used to the sight of guns and knives and the smell of army storage, even the manly, pungent stench of sweat that lingers on top of it. 

But it’s not the potpourri of masculine military scents that stop her at the door and nearly make her drop her book.

The King himself is lying naked on the bed – well, naked except for the bag of a mask he seems to hold on to like it’s his soul. This time, she doesn’t even see it: her eyes fly straight to the towering erection he’s stroking, urgently with one hand while the other cups a pair of shaved, pale balls.

"König…?" 

The man who calls himself King curses – in German or in English, she can’t tell. The sight of him there, caught red-handed on touching himself, only makes her feel sorry for him. König has nowhere to run and hide, nothing to cover himself with, he's not supposed to even move yet. And he is not the one who should be embarrassed, after all, she's the one who barged in on his privacy. 

Although… König doesn't look embarrassed. 

He only looks drunk and sweaty and in need.

She thinks about turning back and leaving him with hurried excuses because what the hell is she supposed to do…? Read him a book? He is still gripping his cock like it’s a sword or something, breathing like he just ran a marathon. 

And speaking of swords, that weapon is far too big for her... Hell, she doesn’t know much about swords but she would deem that sword far too big for any woman.

If she were clever, she would run away from that stare and that huge, monstrous cock. But she’s not that clever, that much is clear because everyone she’s told she’s dating König have warned her about him. Every cell in her body is warning her of danger, but she keeps running back to him, over and over again…

Well, at least he can’t move, she thinks, takes a hesitant step, and places the book down on a table. Just when she’s about to whisper some calming, soothing words to this beast, the beast speaks.

"Take your clothes off," comes a husky command from the bed, and she freezes with her fingertips still on the cover of her cute little book about German fairytales (she knows König likes his fairytales bloody). 

Normally, she would make a scene out of such audacity. She might even storm out of the room and vow to never speak to him again for daring to talk to her like that.

But… 

He looks so desperate. König looks like a giant bound for torture on that bed. And he's not the only one who has been tormented these past few weeks… The incident at the hospital has plagued her dreams every night as she has tucked herself in with the memories of König's… sword.

Perhaps it would help with his pain if she offers him relief in his time of need. No harm can come from that, surely. She doesn't know how exactly taking her clothes off will help, but if that is his wish, then it’s the least she can do. 

To her and his surprise, her hands drift to the hem of the top she’s wearing. She’s feeling rather wild – something about seeing König completely naked yet unable to move is making her act like this. Like she's the brave one. Like she’s in control now.

Dedicated to her task, she pulls the shirt over her head.

Nothing moves on that bed for a good long while. As far as she can tell, König might've stopped breathing. But by the time she takes her bra off, there’s a swallow under that hood. Then the hand slowly starts to stroke again, the moist, slick sounds continue as her breasts fall free from their confinement. 

She’s breathing heavily too, and the man on the bed is stiff as a stone: every single muscle in his body is pulled taut as he stares at her breasts like they’re the Revelation of John. Then those blue eyes lift to her face just before another command is issued.

"Take off the rest."

"The–the rest…?"

"I just want to watch you." 

His voice is hoarse and croaky, and she feels even more sorry for him – König must be in so much pain and she just keeps on teasing him. She started this, so perhaps it’s better just to see it through. 

What’s crazy though is that he actually moans when she gets out of her pants, socks, and finally, her underwear. The slick sounds of fapping increase, and he’s moaning.

She hasn’t even touched him yet… She’s just standing there before him completely naked, heat pooling low in her belly as König continues to work himself with what looks like both pleasure and pain.

"Komm… Come here," he orders next, out of breath but surprisingly politely, and she has no other option than to approach his bed. She sits down as chastely as possible, then almost jumps back up when a steel-hard thigh brushes against hers.

"Touch it. Ja?" 

Her eyes grow as wide as they can go as she takes in the cock she has touched once before, briefly and under a hospital sheet. Now it’s right there, foreign and demanding. 

Better just to see it through, her mind tweets as her hand reaches out through what feels like water. Like before, there's a sharp intake of air under the hood as she takes him in her hand. It’s even hotter than she remembered, and gives a tight pull the instant her fingers wrap around it. 

"Like this…?" 

"Just like that…"

Her meek little mouse peeps and multiple bats of eyelashes are like drug to him, it seems. The man is as tight as a bowstring when she starts to move her hand up and down, mimicking the motions she just saw him do. They're not as fast as his, and her grip must be way gentler, but she seems to do surprisingly well for an inexperienced virgin. The poor man looks like he’s about to faint on that bed. 

What she doesn’t expect, however, is König to touch her.

A large, warm palm sweeps across her ribs and lands on her breast, softly, as if he's concerned that he might scare her off. She's the one who's stopped breathing now… And then he rubs her, squeezes her. Gently… Reverently.

"You're soft," comes a strained sigh from the bed as she tries to keep her own grip both tight and gentle. She’s starting to get so wet she fears she will stain his sheets. Bewildered, she tries to change her position, but the palm cupping her breast seems to have bound her to the bed too. Nothing moves, except her hand and his as they explore each other. A giant and an angel...

Something hot and wet meets her hand as she strokes him – is he cumming already…? But it can't be, she has heard there’s supposed to be quite a bit of it when a man cums, and there’s only a few ample drops of clear liquid oozing out of the slit on his tip.

"Can't wait for the day I get to make you scream," he rasps, and her heart is hammering in her chest as more cum-like liquid streams from the slit of his cock, adding to the lewd, moist sounds of the handjob she’s giving him.

König doesn’t know she has never even kissed a guy… 

"We'll… we'll get there," she tries to soothe him, thanking her lucky stars this man can't move.

"I want to fuck you," he continues, sounding more and more desperate. "Good and hard… until you cry under me. Want to see if you can take it all in."

"König…"

"It’s a long cock, ja? I can make you squirt."

"König, I'm still a virgin… You can't–"

"Nh–Sorry… sorry."

His head falls back on the pillow, his muscles relax just for the tiniest moment. But if she thought he would finally leave her to it, she was wrong. The hand of a giant killer drops between her legs next. 

She’s sitting on the bed like she would sit on a side saddle, with one leg slightly bent, giving the horniest man on earth good enough access to the heat between her legs. She doesn’t stop him – she doesn’t even want to – as broad fingertips meet her pubic hair and slip between her already slick folds. 

"...Was? Pretty angel is all wet," he comments on her state of mess. Approvingly: like all his fears have suddenly disappeared. 

She has to fight the urge to roll her head back and moan as those agile fingers start to give her full, generous strokes. She almost messes up her rhythm while stroking his cock, which seems to have gotten even harder.

His fingers delve into her with more courage, they tease her tight, tender nub with excited circles. She tries not to jolt and shiver as he makes her even more slick, tries to ignore how her nipples grow hard from that burning stare alone. 

"Such a pretty girl… and so wet. You sure you don't want it?"

She thinks about it – how it would feel if he somehow was able to take her on that bed. If he pushed that cock inside her and if it would hurt or make her moan even more. Even the thought of trying to fit that inside her makes her thighs feel like pudding.

"I don’t know… You're still recovering."

"Heh… That's not a problem. You can be on top. I'll help," he offers as if it’s a gentlemanly thing to do, to help her bounce on that huge cock. 

"I–I'd rather do it the classic way."

"I'll show you classic when I get better," he promises with unconcealed greed. "I'll show you all the other ways too. We’ll do it any way you like."

She tries hard not to whimper when hearing his promise. She tries her best to pleasure the biggest cock she’s ever seen. It’s ridiculous that it’s the only cock she’s ever seen... What sort of a cruel joke was it from the universe to choose this king-sized Austrian to be her first man? 

She wonders how König would react if she told him he’s too big for her.

Would he try to change her mind? Would he have a meltdown? 

Would he cry…? 

She doubts if this man ever cries. The last time a brutal soldier like him shed tears was probably when he was a kid. But he did look like he was about to cry that one time when she booped his nose... 

And despite being a cold-blooded soldier and somewhat awkward at times, König has always been so, so delicate with her. He's tender even now, touching her with the gentlest avarice there is. But that searing stare wants to possess her, devour her, and it makes her bite her lip nearly to the point of drawing blood.

"Sit on my face?" he offers next, this time sounding so desperate it's almost pathetic. 

Sit on his face… 

What would he even do? Lick her? Try to push his tongue inside her while finishing himself?

The thought alone makes her mess up her rhythm again and causes her pussy to pulse more wetness on his fingers. She secretly hopes he would slip at least one of those fingers inside.

"Let me see your cunt," he begs. God – this giant mercenary is begging to see her poor, aching pussy. "Just… let me at least taste you–"

She can’t even reply before the hand between her legs gives a sudden twitch and stops those delicious rubs. Actually, his whole body is going rigid. 

"König…? Am I hurting you?"

"I'm–gonna cum…" 

Oh god.

Oh god ohgod-

She's not sure what gives her more of a fright: the sound that leaves her soldier boyfriend as he cums, or the bright, hot flash of liquid that shoots from the cock in her hand.

He groans like it’s torture. Long and hard, so loud that she’s sure other people can hear it in the neighboring rooms, perhaps even further than that. There’s one, two, three spurts of thick, hot liquid, after that, she loses count because it spills to coat his stomach, it runs down her hand, and she’s pumping him in a frenzy while he just keeps on moaning.

"Slow, slow down–" he tries to groan in the middle of his climax and she obeys immediately, reveling in how his cock still throbs in her hand when she finally stops moving altogether. More cum gushes out with every strong pulse, even if the eruptions are less violent. Ropes of it already cover his abs, it coats her hand with thick film – it's far more than she would ever have expected, and a shiver goes through her as she imagines what it must feel like to take all of that semen inside her… 

"Ah… Das war wirklich…" König sighs dreamily while she must be looking like a startled deer.

Yes, that was really something… She doesn’t know what to do with his cock, or her hand, or the mess that coats half his body.

Luckily, he instructs her to take his old shirt from the floor and clean herself with it. She cleans him with it too, dabs the black t-shirt over his muscled stomach, even tries to swipe his crotch with it as gently as she can. 

König looks happier by the minute, looks at her like she’s an angel or something, and when she fully commits herself to getting him cleaned up, he gets another erection. She’s quite horrified – how is this even possible…? She thought men would need at least hours to get it back up again.

"Come on top," he offers, sounding all but seductive with that commanding tone. 

She swallows, thinking if König wants to be a "gentleman" and finish her too. With his tongue... or something else.

"Just for a hug? We don't have to put it in."

She seems to be under some spell tonight, because she simply drops the poor, cum-stained shirt back on the floor and crawls to the bed and on top of him.

König is hot and lean as she presses herself against him, her thighs now straddling the intimidating thing between his legs. Her head falls right beside his mask-covered face, and the smell of guns and fuel and sweat is prominent there, as is his natural odor, the woodland musk she has grown so fond of.

"There we go," his arms go around her waist, pressing her tighter against him. There’s no escape now, she thinks, but like always with König, she eventually softens and relaxes, molds against him… Accepts her fate.

"You did well, Meine Liebe," he even caresses her head as she slowly melts into his hold. "I’m sorry if I frightened you. Will you forgive me?"

"Um, of course."

"A gentleman should always apologize if he has upset his lady. Do you agree?"

"Uh… Yes."

"I promise to be a good man. The best man you could ever hope for."

She bites her lip as König continues to caress her. She’s far from upset, but she doesn’t want to tell him that and excite him too much. Otherwise he might end up hurting himself. He hugs her tight, and seems to have calmed down more than ever.

Is this what an orgasm does to a man...? The change is drastic, and her lover feels warm, and tender, and inviting. He even whispers more promises on her skin. They're nonsensical but gentle, König is probably trying to be romantic, but she can feel how his breaths grow heavier as time goes on. After all, they're both naked, pressed tightly together, closer than ever before, and he's having an erection again...

She tries not to shiver at the things he tells her. The husky promises of love and protection: "You are mine now, ja? Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt you. I will always keep you safe." And then, "You’re still wet, mein Mädchen… How about we practice just a little bit? We'll do it slow. Ja? I will make you moan…"

He coos those things in her ear while holding her in place for his cock. She starts to move on her own accord; it’s like her hips have their own will. Soon, her entrance meets the tip of him, still hot and bulged, and she starts to grind against it with barely restrained greed. She is wet – wetter than ever. 

König curses multiple times under his breath, and she feels so, so filthy for loving how unhinged he is, how unhinged she is – spread wide on top of him like that, trying to get off of the faintest touch of his cock. She’s so soaked that the hot tip of him glides across her folds with no effort at all. 

She feels like she’s doing something forbidden, taking her pleasure from him like that, but König doesn’t seem to know what the word filthy even means. He keeps praising her, guiding her, helping her, telling her how good she feels, that she’s doing so, so well.

Soon, he’s asking to put it in – just the tip. 

She tries her best not to sound too needy as she breathes a soft, mousy "Yes."

"How does that feel?"

He’s panting, few inches of thick cock inside her, and she thinks, did she just lose her virginity? Is this it? Why isn’t it hurting?

“You like that, hmm?”

He feels so, so good, pressing her against him, spreading her legs with his own, trying to feed more of that marvelous thickness inside. It doesn’t hurt, at least not yet. It makes her dizzy to even think what she must be looking like, with her legs spread and a huge cock partly inside her.

She should say something… What was it that he asked? Oh yes, if she likes it. She more than just likes it, and tries to push herself down to get more of him in. König reacts immediately with a ton of praise leveled at her in the softest possible way.

“That's it, that's it, pretty girl, take it in…”

Him cheering her on like that only makes her decide that it’s time to let go and let go for good. But she can’t get him in by herself, not while he’s holding her a prisoner like this.

"More… König, please," she hears herself whimper. 

God, is this all it took...? Him holding her close and letting her find the joys of sex herself? Apparently so, because he sounds goddamn smug when he turns his head to rasp more needy, throaty things in her ear.

"Ah… Knew you'd beg for it… "

His voice makes her inner walls clamp down on him, and that’s when it hurts, but only slightly. She wants him so much that it’s painful. And König… God, he keeps on showering her with praises and promises.

"I'll show you how good it can be… That's it, let me hear you. It's a good cock, ja? Good cock for a pretty girl…"

It’s not even fully in before he starts the thrusts. That’s when she knows she has lost her virginity. She’s being plunged. Not taken… Just… loved, thoroughly and deeply. 

When she moans, finally sounds as filthy as can be, he tells her how tight she is. How good she feels. He says he’s going to cum again soon. But not before her…

He doesn’t need to instruct her to rub her clit on his pelvis in rhythm with the thrusts. She is smart enough to do that by herself. And the thoughts of This is it, I’m not a virgin anymore have turned into Is it possible to cum on your first time…?

Everything’s perfect, all things considered. But there’s something missing.

"König," she swallows arduously. "I’ve never been kissed... Would you– Could you…?"

He stops moving, releases his hold a little. A strong heart is hammering inside his chest, she can feel it against her own fluttering heartbeat. 

Is it stupid of her to ask…? Will he only laugh at her for being so sentimental?

Apparently no, because it’s the warmest possible command that surrounds her this time.

"Lift the mask, angel."

By the time their lips meet, both hesitant and needy, he's fully inside her and holding her like a mountain. She feels like she's in a fairytale now: the only thing that moves is his mouth, and hers. Theirs is a slow, hungry rhythm. 

Her first kiss is not only awkwardly romantic and sweet, it’s sinfully good. 

The kiss also does things she did not expect. Her pussy goes tight around him, so tight that a whimper or two escape her nose, and König only purrs – she feels like the softest little creature in the embrace of a lean jaguar.

And she thinks… 

Why on earth didn't they do this months ago?

[literatureloverx]

How do you know fyodor so well? Have you personally met him? Lol!

Anyways, can you please make a scenario with fyodor x reader whose little daughter has became a tween/teen? So suddenly she's starting to act all grown-up, mature and stuff.. And sometimes she talks back to reader and fyodor (Not in a spoilt way but since she's growing up ofc she's gonna feel other emotions like anger and irritation) I would love to see fyodor's relationship with his teen daughter and how he would handle such situations..

I’m giggling 🤭🥰 Thank you so much! ♥️ I hope it’s to your liking. I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted from me, and it’s really hard to write Fyodor in such a role. I hope it satisfies you! ♥️

Fyodor x ideal type fem!reader, husband!Fyodor x daughter x wife!reader , teenage daughter

some tween problems

Your 12-year-old daughter slammed her door with a loud bang. You sighed, standing outside the closed door as your husband entered the room. He looked momentarily perplexed by your little angel’s sudden outburst; she was usually so calm and sweet, a perfect mix of his keen intellect and your compassion.

It was out of character for her, this smaller version of the two of you, to act like this. Fyodor observed that it was likely her age—transitioning into adolescence, a time of change. The realization tugged at his heart. Yet, ever the man of logic and strategy, he approached you, placing a steady hand on your back. His expression was soft but measured.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

You huffed, “She’s acting up again. This is the second time this week. I handled it last time, but I think I upset her.”

He caressed your back gently, his fingers tracing deliberate patterns. “I’ll speak to her,” he said after a moment. His tone was calm, not rushed—he already had a plan. “I believe I understand what’s troubling her.”

You glanced at him, uncertainty crossing your features. “Are you sure? I don’t want to push her too hard.”

“There is no rush,” he reassured you, his voice even. “But she needs guidance. I’ll make sure she sees things clearly.”

You nodded, but a sinking feeling settled in your chest. You felt like a failure.

What kind of mother couldn’t help her own daughter through such a simple thing as a mood swing? Was this normal? Did all mothers feel this way, unsure of how to support their child when she needed it most?

You wondered how your own mother had managed—how she had helped you navigate the emotional storms of growing up. She always seemed to have the answers, but now, standing here, you felt lost.

The doubts gnawed at you, making you question if you were really enough. Were you doing something wrong? Were you too soft, or maybe too hard on her? It was as though every decision you made was under a microscope, and nothing felt quite right.

Fyodor’s hand on your back brought you back to the present, grounding you. His steady presence was a reminder that you didn’t have to face this alone, but still, the weight of inadequacy lingered.

You hesitated but then nodded, watching as Fyodor knocked lightly on your daughter’s door and opened it. He stepped inside, his movements deliberate as always.

“May I come in?” he asked quietly.

“Whatever,” she muttered from behind her crossed arms, sitting stiffly on the edge of her bed.

He stepped closer, careful not to invade her space, yet his presence was commanding. “You seem upset,” he began, his voice measured, free of judgment.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“Fine is often a mask for something deeper,” he said smoothly, sitting down beside her but maintaining distance. His tone was cool, but not cold, as he sought the source of her frustration.

“You’re overwhelmed.”

She scowled. “You wouldn’t get it. You’re…you’re always in control, dad.”

“Not always,” he responded calmly. “And even if I were, control doesn’t negate emotion or confusion. What you’re feeling is part of the process of growing up. It’s not about avoiding struggle—it’s about learning to manage it.”

She shot him a quick glance, the skepticism still there. “I feel like I’m failing. I can’t keep up with everyone’s expectations. I’m supposed to be smart like you, but I just… I can’t.”

Fyodor’s gaze softened, though his tone remained rational. “That pressure—most of it is created by you. Others see your potential, yes, but it’s you who holds yourself to impossible standards.”

He leaned forward slightly, his words deliberate.

“Intelligence is not the absence of struggle. It’s knowing how to approach and learn from that struggle. The more you face now, the more capable you will become.”

She frowned, absorbing his words but still feeling burdened. “But it’s too much sometimes.”

“There’s no shame in feeling that way,” he said smoothly. “Even I—your mother—everyone has moments of doubt. But those moments …are part of growing stronger,” Fyodor continued, his voice unwavering. “The key is not to avoid them, but to use them. Every challenge, every setback, is another opportunity to sharpen your mind, to understand yourself better.”

She looked up at him, her expression softening slightly, though the frustration still lingered in her eyes.

“But you’re always so calm about everything. I’m not like that. I feel like I can’t measure up, no matter how hard I try.”

“You’re not meant to be exactly like me,” he said, a trace of warmth in his usually composed tone.

“You are your own person, and you will find your own way to handle these moments. Comparing yourself to me—or anyone—will only burden you more. You are extraordinary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t struggle. It means you’ll learn from it faster and come out stronger.”

She fell silent for a moment, chewing on her lip, her thoughts visibly swirling. “But… what if I don’t? What if it’s too much, and I can’t keep up?”

Fyodor shifted slightly, leaning just enough to make his presence more reassuring but still leaving space for her to process.

“Then you adjust. Intelligence isn’t about never failing—it is about adapting, learning, and improving. You will stumble, yes. But that is not something to fear. Each misstep is a lesson, and you are more than capable of learning.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I just don’t want to disappoint you. Or Mom.”

His expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes. “You won’t. Your mother and I don’t expect perfection. What we expect is for you to keep trying, to grow through your challenges. That’s all we ask. And that is enough.”

Her shoulders finally relaxed, though the weight of her worries hadn’t fully lifted. Fyodor noticed, understanding that these feelings wouldn’t be resolved in a single conversation, but knowing his words had planted a seed. The rest would take time. And he would ensure that his little princess reached her full potential in the end.

After a moment of silence, she mumbled, “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, though it was small, subtle, a reflection of his reserved nature. “Of course.”

As he stood up, his hand gently reached for her head, caressing it softly, just as he had when she was a small toddler running through the halls after him. He glanced back at her one last time.

“Remember, you don’t have to figure everything out at once. Take your time. We’re here for you. And be mindful of your mother’s feelings,” he added calmly, his gaze sharp but affectionate.

“You know how much it matters to me that she isn’t troubled, don’t you, my little girl?”

She nodded, and with that, Fyodor quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He returned to you, finding you still standing in the hallway, your brow furrowed with concern.

“How did it go?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“She’ll be fine,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “She’s special, just like you. But she is struggling, and that is normal. Don’t doubt yourself—you’ve been enough for her.”

You looked up at him, uncertainty lingering. “But what if I’m not? What if I don’t know how to help her?”

He cupped your cheek gently, his gaze steady. “You are more than enough. You’ve given her everything she needs to succeed. She just needs time to understand it herself.”

His words were firm, and you felt some of the weight lift from your shoulders. Fyodor wasn’t one to offer empty reassurance; he always spoke with purpose, with the confidence of someone who had carefully analyzed every angle.

“Trust her,” he continued. “And trust yourself. You’re doing more than you realize.”

[voidcat]

i. welcome to summoners rift

characters: narumi gen, gn!reader

a/n: the game i had in mind while writing this is league of legends.. boo i know. anyways i tried to keep the LoL terms down so itll be easier to understand. reader is implied to be a part of first division- part time operations leader but more involved in data collecting and medical side of things, (I’ll decide fully later)

. i need to make this pathetic loser suffer in games so bad its not even funny anymore... first of many more fics to come im afraid

The first few times to play it safe and because it’s what you’re used to, you take a generic support class— Seraphine got crowd control, enough damaging spells to trigger a DoT or do some extra last minute damage, provides shield, speed and health.

A well balanced support and pretty, Narumi cannot help but think as the Seraphine on his screen hits ctrl+3 and dances for the third time while waiting for the opposing team to make a move. You seem to know what you’re doing, you placed wards, dance when it seems idle but keeping your attention enough to cut it when you suspected an ambush few times. Plus it’s one of the most recent skins you got for the champ so he knows you know how to play the champion, despite your low score on her-

After all, not everyone has been playing this damn game for 5 to 10 years now, a newbie is no problem as long as they know how to play and show it. You leave the minions to him, heal him at critical moments the enemies thought he was dying so he can attack back and get them one by one— you’re good, and you’re especially good with him.

By the time the entire team gathers on the same lane, pushing to the opposing team’s base, you send your ult at the perfect moment, charming four enemies at once and creating the dream situation of any player.

Well, the rest of your team slowly dies because of heavy damage over time they took but it’s alright. The screen says in big letters: PENTA KILL! With his champion icon right under it, and in the game chat even the opposing team congratulates him, saying it was insane game play.

Then Narumi hears that same melody since the beginning of the game whenever you hit the dance animation and a new message in the game chat:

> victory dance for that lovely penta ( *｀ω´)

Reading the message, he watches your champion dance with his eyes glued to the screen, heat rising up to his face… absolutely adorable is what it is. Standing there with his champion, he then hits ctrl+3 as well to join you on the dance, letting the minions carry on.

The game is about to end, the opposing team begs in the chat to not end, to keep playing, meanwhile his team makes some jokes referencing early minutes of the match. Then at the last second, Narumi quickly types in and hits send.

The chat box reads: ‘support diff’

Before queuing up for another game, his hand acts on impulse and invites you to the lobby.

And to his surprise, you accept!

The sound of message notifications reaches his ears short after and he quickly reads over.

>awww >seems like someone enjoyed my presence;P

Adorable and cheeky, this just might be his best in game interactions by far. without a word, he queues up another game and another, the night goes on.

messages from you in-game keep on coming, at one point he thinks to himself "what he hell is a fryslan bop" to which you just send a keyboard smash followed by a "its a song lol"

so you are a chatter, he gathers quickly. not often but when you do, you send in a lot. he soon catches up to when you're actually talking versus spamming a song's lyrics while having Seraphine dance in your stead.

until you cancel the queue start up and send a message.

>gotta go >its late >booo >we jst got started >work tmr sry T-T

with a sigh, he watches as you leave and tries playing another match, but for some reason during the entirety of the match, he has no fun.

when you log into your game accounts in the evening, relieved to have an easy day, you notice a few friend request. "kaijuslayer"

you click accept and before you can open another tab, you instantly receive a lobby invite. its unreal how quick this person is... and how much he enjoys gaming, apparently. with no plans for the night and no desire to do anything else, you accept the invite.

Narumi is over the clouds to see not only has his request being accepted but also his invite too. gaming is more fun when you are winning, and thus playing with people who know what they're doing. you pick the same champion again and accomodate to his various picks, supporting him however he needs. it's perfect, it's distracting. while the two of you wait for the client to find another match, you begin to talk. since it's a friday, he tries his shot and asks if you'll stay for longer this time.

>nah >my v much serious v grownup job has saturdays too >and awfully early waking hours >sucks to b u> v serious v grownup huh >yea? >im starting to suspect u might b a child >OLIFSDJFIGOJSDOLŞGJSDFOLŞG >the calls coming from inside the house

before Narumi can send a reply, the 'match found' screen pops up and the two of you leave it there.

the match starts off smooth. he's farming a good amount, the two of you reached level 6 before the others, and as the opposing lane tries an ambush, you hit them with your ult, charming them in the process. as narumi begins to unleash his combo, your slowing down waves slither there gently, quitely. then follows your shield and speed buff, and right before his very eyes, your now-powered-up-double skill hits the enemies and the screen reads: "TRIPLE KILL" with your icon next to it.

as much of an ideal support as Seraphine is, Narumi remembers the fact all too painfully that Seraphine was first released as a midlaner... a very much capable AP damage unit if built that way. a part of wants to see, and a part of him is afraid of what he might see if he goes to check which items you have purchased- or if it was a brilliant calculation by itself.

as Narumi stares at the screen, Seraphine dances again, sometimes ending the animation to go around him. seeing him frozen for far too long, you ping him few times. as if his misery, and his kills stolen wasnt bad enough already, your team's jungle has the audacity to send a message to in-game chat. 'supp diff'’

complimenting his support? his duo? Narumi begins to see red.

as you begin to teleport back to the base, you send an emote of one of the characters, tongue poking out, winking and doing a peace sign.

and on his side of things, narumi gen cannot find it in him to stay mad at the turn of events- because just look how endearing and cute you are! it's alright if you took a kill or two by accident, you're still his support, his duo after all!

despite the... technical errors, the game ends in another victory and with you doing a victory dance again, now pinging him if he's staying idle until he joins you as well. his heart cannot take it. it's too much... and as if you are dead set on being the final blow, you send cute emotes, and whenever he sends one back, you reply with another, it goes and goes until the matches end.

a flood of message notification sounds brings him back to earth again.

>heeeey >r u gonna start the queue some time this year? >oh btw pick a color

puzzled at the last message, he says a color, not expecting much out of it. until he sees you have picked another skin with the chroma he said. candy and teeth- you are so adorable and charming, so bad for his poor health. waiting in your lane, you begin the dancing animation again and narumi grins at the screen, watching you dance.

oh no, this is bad. this is pathetic even for him now... he cannot be possibly finding some gamer maybe across the country, someone he never saw nor even heard the voice of charming...

maybe that annoying part time operations leader was right about his... pent up frustration... if he's this down for a game model supposedly representing a person, maybe you had a point when you implied he goes to seek some action and revive himself of whatever's been building up down there.

there is no way he can let anyone learn about this- worst of all, you. with your stoic face and condescending eyes, you'd never let him live that down.

Him! Narumi Gen! the first division captain and the strongest anti-kaiju combatant! he'd rather die than give you the satisfaction of knowing he's so desperate to get some sort of friction he's starting to mix an online person with the character they're playing.

aggressive pings snap him out of his running thoughts and he realizes he's a little behind game-play wise.

now, looking over at the match stats, it doesn't seem all to unsalvageable. he better get to it, there's a match to win and a lovely duo to impress.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Hiii

Can you do the bassists too (safe words)

Absolutely! Here are Jason and Cliff with using safe words, I was going to add Rob but I literally couldn't think of anything, nothing against him as a bassist or person in general I've just never been into him I guess so I apologise for that lol. Other than that I hope you enjoy who I did write for :3

If you'd like to see any other band/musicians you'd like to see with this prompt let me know and I might write for it :3

Link to part 1

Warnings: Smut, angst, use of a safe word, rough sex, car sex, high sex, mentions of weed, if you think you won't be comfortable reading that that's fine protect yourself before reading content, if there's something you think I missed please let me know :3

You came home after a long day at work, your body was sore and all you wanted to do was curl up on the couch with your boyfriend, Cliff.

As soon as you got through the front door you were hit with a very distinct smell. Having gone through this countless times before you made your way into the living room and found Cliff on the couch watching cartoons and giggling like a little kid. His eyes were red and he had a joint in his hand.

Cliff didn’t even seem to notice you had gotten home until you were standing directly in front of him. “Oh, hey.” He said, voice cheery as he smiled up at you. You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “You want to watch with me?” You didn’t want to watch with him when he was like this, not today, but you did want to just sit with him. You let out a heavy sigh and curled up next to him on the couch, trying to ignore the stench of weed.

As the cartoons progressed you relaxed a bit. You got used to the smell and were able to tune it out in a way. Cliff was shifting uncomfortably beside you and it was getting harder to ignore. “Is something wrong?” You asked, looking up at him. Cliff shook his head. You weren’t convinced so you kept an eye on him but continued watching the movie.

“Can I see your hand?” He asked, already reaching for your hand. You didn’t understand what he was planning but figured nothing was wrong with him just holding your hand, whether he was high or not he always enjoyed toying with your fingers. You turned your attention back to the movie, though watching a bit of what he was doing. Cliff took your hand, kissed your knuckles a few times before bringing your hand down to his crotch, palming himself through his jeans with your hand.

You pulled your hand away, even going as far as to scooch further down the couch. “What the hell, Cliff?”

Cliff just chuckled, giving a small shrug. “What? C’mon, been sitting here alone all day, ‘m bored.” He mumbled, reaching for your hand again. You sighed but let him continue. You unzipped his pants and tugged them down a bit along with his boxers, just enough to have his cock spring out. He was already fully hard, the tip was bright red and leaking so you started stroking him.

This was not how you wanted to spend your time at home, the situation as is was enough to make you cry. Your eyes were tearing up as you jerked him off but you managed to keep your emotions under control, thinking you could make him cum and he’d crash. This was not the case as his hand made its way to your head, tangling in your hair and trying to push your head down to meet his member. You stopped and got off the couch. “Cliff, I don’t want to do that.” You stated, your voice wavering.

“C’mon, ‘m almost done anyway.” He reached for you again but you pulled away. “C’mon, please?” He stood up, now towering over you as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing all over your face. His hand slid down your arm before reaching your own and brought it back to his dick.

“No, Cliff, stop! I-I don’t want to.” You protested, just barely holding back your tears. Cliff just kept going, your pleas just seemed to turn him on more and it didn’t take long before he came, white spurts getting all over your clothes and the floor.

“Hah, fuck, see? Wasn’t that-” He pulled away and finally saw your tear streaked cheeks. “What’s the matter?” He asked, bringing the hand that was just around his dick to your face. You took a step back and shook your head, wiping your tears.

“I said pumpkin, why didn’t you listen?” You asked through soft sobs. Cliff stood there dumbfounded, he hadn’t even registered you were speaking, let alone that you had said your safe word.

“I didn’t hear you.” He muttered, quickly trying to get himself situated so he could comfort you. You stormed off into the bedroom, locking the door behind you.

Cliff sighed and fell back onto the couch, falling asleep almost instantly.

A few hours later Cliff woke up again and noticed the bedroom door was still closed. He managed to sleep off his high and went over to check on you but the door was still locked, he tried knocking but there was no answer. He knew he messed up and wanted to do something to make you happy, so he got his keys and a jacket and went out to retrieve some of your favourite snacks.

Cliff returned with a bag of goodies and excitedly went to the bedroom and knocked. “Y/n? I, um, I got you some snacks.” He called through the door. When there was no response he knocked again. “Hello? Oh, are you sleeping? Fuck, sorry.” He backed away but quickly turned back. “You aren’t sleeping, you can’t be sleeping, I’m not sleeping with you.” He whispered to himself and knocked again. “Y/n, love, can you open up for me, please?” He huffed when there was yet again no reply. He just started knocking on the door, not aggressively just light tapping, enough to annoy the living shit out of you.

Cliff just kept on knocking and calling out your name, he didn’t notice you coming out of the bathroom and walking up behind him. “Y/n, please! I’m so sorry, please, just talk to me!” He called. You started digging through the bag he got for you which he finally noticed and glanced down and had to do a double take to make sure he was seeing things right. “Oh, y/n!”

“How long were you knocking?” You asked, pulling out your favourite drink from the bag.

“Doesn’t matter, I got you some snacks.” Cliff smiled as he held out the bag to you. “I wanted to apologise for today, I’m so sorry that I didn’t listen to you when you wanted to stop.” You nodded along and wrapped your arms around him, pushing your face into his chest.

“I just had a really bad day and wanted cuddles.” You mumbled, voice starting to shake again. Cliff wrapped his arms around you as well, kissing the top of your head.

“We can cuddle now if you want.” You looked up at him with a smile and nodded. The two of you got into bed, holding each other close as you snacked and talked about your days, mostly you venting to him about work. He was happy to listen and make your day just a little bit better.

Jason was never the possessive type. He had his moments, for sure, but he always trusted you and there was never a time where he ever told you not to hang out with certain people or something.

You went to visit him at the studio and decided to bring him and the other guys lunch. When you got there Jason was in the recording booth, getting his bass lines down. Of course, everyone was very happy to see you, or rather the food that came with you. Jason wanted to finish up his parts before coming out for lunch so you found a stool in the corner and sat down to wait for him.

While he was in there one of the tech guys came over to you and started talking to you. Nothing much, just a bit of small talk. You didn’t see anything wrong with it but when Jason got out of the booth he was pissed. He came right over to you and stood between you and the guy, not waiting a second before smashing his lips against your. “Didn’t know you were coming down here, doll.” He muttered against your lips.

“Yeah, well, I thought it would be nice to bring you and the guys food.” You said with a smile, you could tell something was wrong but you weren’t quite sure what it was. Jason nodded and pulled you into his arms, picking you up and carrying you out of the recording room. James and Lars protested, saying he wasn’t done. They stopped when Kirk reminded them that he had actually finished his parts.

“Jase, where are we going?” You asked, giggling at his behaviour.

“Home.” He replied bluntly. “Need to remind you who the fuck you belong to.” You couldn’t deny that you were a little interested to see this side of Jason. This new dominating, possessive angle of the man you love.

Jason got you in the passenger seat of his car before going over to the driver's side. He didn’t even make it out of the parking lot before he started pulling at your pants, tugging them down your thighs. “Jason, come on, just wait till we get home.” You were still smiling and your tone was still cheery while he started to play with you.

He slapped your thigh. “Shut up, you were horny enough to go after the fucking bellboy or whatever he was.” You looked at him with a hurt expression as he tugged on your panties so hard they broke.

“Jason! These were expensive.” You whined, he didn’t care and just slid a finger over your slick folds. He kept his eyes on the road, glaring at all the passing cars and buildings while sinking a finger in you.

It started out fine, you were enjoying this version of him and the way he was making you feel. “Fuck, Jason, feels so good.” You hummed and rolled your hips against his hand, looking for more of his touch. He pulled his finger out and slapped your thigh again, this time much harsher.

“Shut the fuck up, who said you could fucking talk?” You bit your lip, staring at him a little worried. He stuck two fingers back into you but didn’t wait for you to adjust before he started pumping them in and out of you. There was a small pain but you thought you could handle it. Then he stuck another in, again he didn’t wait.

You were getting closer to home but not nearly fast enough and Jason already had four fingers stretching you out in such a painful manner. You were whining and crying for him to let up, you knew if you absolutely needed to you could use your safe word but you didn’t want to. You had been enjoying where this was going and thought he would let up soon, as soon as you got home. He didn’t.

He pulled the car into a parking lot and turned it off. “Get in the back.” He ordered and got out of the car. He stood there for a moment while you sat in the car, unsure of what to do. Jason came over to your side of the car and opened your door. “I told you to get in the back.” You started crawling between the seats to get to the back but he pulled you back. “Not that way you fucking child, c’mere.” He tugged on your arm to get you out of the car.

“What? No! I’m not going out with my fucking pants down, what if someone sees?” Your voice was a whisper as you expressed your concerns.

“There’s no one fucking here, come on.” He pulled you out of the car and got you into the backseat in a rather aggressive manner. Jason didn’t hesitate and put his fingers right back inside you. The stretch was unpleasant, the way his fingers moved didn’t feel half as good as they usually did. He took it a step further and got his whole fist in you, that’s when you had enough.

“Jason.” You squeaked. “Jason stop, it hurts.”

“Stop being a bitch and just take it, you were all over that bastard back at the studio, just wanna throw yourself at anyone, huh?” His tone and accusation along with the stretch was just all too much and tears started streaming down your cheeks as you cried.

“Please, Jason, I-I’m sorry! I didn’t-didn’t mean to I just-”

“Didn’t mean to? Fuck you mean you ‘didn’t mean to’? Didn’t mean to fuck other guys on your way over?” You shook your head, squirming underneath Jason.

“Please, Jason.” You whined.

“Please, what? Please let me fuck around? Please let me take whatever cock I want?”

“Pump-pumpkin, please, pumpkin!” You cried out. Jason stopped, pulling his hand out of you.

“Baby, what did you say?” His voice was the complete opposite as to what it just was, no longer harsh and accusatory but soft and sweet just as you were used to. “Did you say pumpkin?” He brought his hand up to your face, caressing your cheek lovingly.

“‘M sorry, I just-just couldn’t take it anymore.” You said through sobs. Jason shook his head and carefully pulled you into his lap. “No, no, don’t apologise, you didn’t do anything wrong, I’m so sorry I made you have to say that.” He held you close to his chest, kissing your forehead and cheeks. “I’m sorry I was so rough, you didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: The Prefect's Obsession.

Pairing: Yandere!Prefect/ Yuu and Reader/ Player (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Genre: Yandere

TW: Obsessive behaviour...? Let me know if anything else should be added ^^ (Reader and Yuu are two different individuals.)

AN: I initially had the prompt 'obsession', but reading @roseapov 's Player and Overseer thing gave me this idea; what if Yuu was more than just a puppet, and equally as obsessed with the player as the rest of the twst cast? I'm trying to explore how to write more unsettling kind of stuff, since I'm pretty good at writing regular ol' angst and fluff if I do say so myself ^^ somehow twst brings out this side of me lol. Anyways, as always, I hope you enjoy!

The Prefect was made aware of your presence in their life during the first ever battle they fought, against the blot monster in the Dwarves' Mines.

They remember the rush of energy that filled them, the authority with which they barked out orders for their friends to fight. The intensity of the battle had had little effect on them (even though a small part in the back of their brain said that they should have been freaking out) as they instructed their friends, while their own strings were pulled by another.

Till then, the Prefect had only felt someone's intent gaze, even when no one was there. At times a little rhythm would be thrumming under their skin, sometimes soft and slow, other times fast-paced and exhilarating. But the way you had possessed their body, taken over their actions to lead them and their friends to victory, was what astonished and scared them the most.

They hated it at first. After all, who would like to have no control over their actions in a life-or-death situation? But as time went by, and you led them to victory and safety so many more times, the Prefect grew fonder of you.

The many hours you spent, watching them repair Ramshackle or handle Grim and the rest of the first years endeared you to them. You were so patient, so kind-hearted to be helping this magicless human navigate the challenges of being transported to a magical world. Their desire to know you, to thank you grew day by day, minute by minute. After all, without your help they would not have gotten this far. Somewhere, the lines between genuine gratefulness and blinded devotion blurred, and the Prefect had no intention of redrawing those lines, ever again.

They could tell when you weren't with them. The lightness they felt when under your watchful (and loving, hopefully) eyes would go away sometimes, leaving them to mindlessly wander, waiting for you to come back. Of course, they wouldn't hold your occasional absences against you. They couldn't even bring themself to think something so blasphemous as to hold a grudge against you. But they also couldn't suppress the fear and anxiety that ate away at them each time you left, wondering whether you would come back, when you would come back, and how long you would stay with them the next time.

You, who they had never seen, had more of an impact and importance in their life than the boys of the seven dorms they had become fast friends with.

A conversation with Riddle after one of their lessons together revealed that the boys were also aware of a greater entity watching over them. They called you by a special name, one initially used by Idia and then adopted by everyone else.

Player.

Prefect tested the word, satisfied by the way it rolled off their tongue. Because they control us, just like a player would their game characters.

The Prefect became the subject of more attention fairly quickly after it became known that they were aware of the player and not just a oblivious puppet as Azul had theorized earlier. Considering that you used the Prefect exclusively to interact with everyone, the boys would try to spend as much time as they could in their presence, in hopes of feeling the your 'grace' and monopolizing it. It was just a feeling, one that they could all experience but none could explain. Your presence through the Prefect calmed them. Even when they thought themselves to be alright, the feeling of your presence would help soothe parts of themself they weren't aware needed soothing.

But the Prefect...They hated it.

The way they all milled around them, hungry for any indication of your presence, your validation. The way they stuck close to them, waiting to bask in the familiar warmth and calm that surrounded the Prefect when you visited them. To the Prefect, they were quickly turning from friends to insistent, irritating flies buzzing around.

Nobody deserved to be in your presence. Nobody but them. Because you chose the Prefect as your vessel, a blank slate for you to use to mercifully interfere in the lives of those who didn't deserve you.

The Prefect felt a sense of pride at the thought of being your puppet, at your mercy and for you to do what you wish with them. No greater honour could have been conferred to them and their existence than to create miracles in your name, under your guidance.

Of course, this... devotion meant that the Prefect often wondered about you. While you watched over them as they attended their lessons, the Prefect wondered if you liked to learn History; perhaps you were more into sports and fitness. Or perhaps alchemy was more your pace?

The Prefect also liked to imagine that their features somewhat mirrored yours. Perhaps your eyes were similar, or the curve of your nose, or perhaps your skin tone. After all, there must be something common between an entity and their vessel, to show that they are bound to each other, right?

As they looked down at your fallen form, however, they could not see any similarity. Not even a passing resemblance.

You were different, breathtakingly so.

Having spent the most amount of time in your presence, there was no way the Prefect could have made a mistake. The light sheen of grace that clung to your skin was enough of an indicator of your identity. The Prefect watched, mesmerized by your (e/c) eyes that held a mix of awe and curiosity, your apologies for bumping into them ignored in favour of staring at your face, searing each and every feature into their brain.

The Player.

The player was in Twisted Wonderland.

The player was in Twisted Wonderland?

But how?

Briefly, as Yuu extended a hand to help you up, they wondered if you had been unceremoniously dumped into this twisted world of magic and monsters, the same way they had. Their blood began boiling under their skin at the thought that some being (could this mean there were beings greater than you?) would treat you so carelessly, as if you did not hold power over some of the most important figures in Twisted Wonderland.

Prefect watched you stand with their help, a soft and grateful "Thank you," slipping through your lips and setting their every nerve on fire. The timbre of your voice, the slight awe in your words and the grateful light in your eyes as you looked at them, it was all so much. Too much, and yet still not nearly enough.

And then, a small voice spoke up from deep within them. 'The Player is here. And nobody knows.'

For if they had, if they had the slightest of an inkling that their beloved deity was amongst them, the housewardens would do their best to have you for themselves. Each dorm would declare an outright war on the others if it meant having you by their side.

But if you could be persuaded to join one before the others even found out...

They gave you a big smile, reverently noting the slight blush you sported. How cute. "No need to apologize. I wasn't looking where I was going either. But.. I haven't seen you around here before. I'm Yuu, what's your name?" They asked, hoping to not scare you off by seeming over eager.

"Ah, I'm (Name)," you answered, a bashful smile on your face. They cooed over your warm smile and sparkling eyes internally. So naive, so trusting; no wonder you cared about everyone, even those that had hurt your vessel, and by extension, you.

"I'm in the process of transferring from Aravae Arcane Academy," you continued, and their smile almost slipped from their face. You were in the process of transferring into Night Raven College? That too, from an obscure academy situated Sevens knows where? How long had it been since you had decided to grace Twisted Wonderland with your actual presence? How long had they been unaware of their beloved deity being so close? How long had they been unable to serve you as they should have?

The Prefect pushed the thoughts down, deep down, where it would never see the light of day ever again. You were here. Through some miracle, you were right in front of them, where they could touch you if you permitted (for they would never lay a hand on you without your permission).

And you would stay. The Prefect would go through it all again, fight the Great Seven even, if only to ensure that you would stay close to them. Where they could bask in your glory and serve you as they are meant to. A loyal follower devoting their heart, soul and mind to their beloved deity.

Your expression changed into one of slight embarassment and awkwardness, and that is when the Prefect realized they might have been just a little too intent with their staring. Nervously chuckling, they said, "Ah, okay. That explains it, I guess."

You chuckled as well, and the Prefect felt as though fate was smiling down upon them. This, this was their reward for going through all that they had. This was what they were meant for. "Yeah... I am kinda lost though. I was supposed to meet the Headmage, but..." You trailed off, and they nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, the grounds can be real hard to navigate. But don't worry! I'll help you get to the Headmage's office. He should be there, if he's not doing any surprise class supervisions today," they chirped.

"That would be nice. Oh, but, I don't want to trouble you. I mean, you must be busy..."

"It's no problem, really! I'm always happy to help!"

"Oh, well... If its not much trouble, please lead the way."

"Sure! Oh, by the way, do you have any dorm you'd like to be in? I know the Dark Mirror sorts students into dorms, but people do change their dorms sometimes if they want to..."

[thelonelyshore-if]

Question for you, my liege! Can you give us more insight on our distinctive magics? I know the names are kinda self-explanatory lol but I’m super curious about how they came to be in our MC and also whether or not they play a role with our stats (potential rework aside). Like, a high Weird would pair nicely with Fog control (feels more like Speak with Animals except with evil water vapor instead of talking animals) or high Tough would go well with becoming something monstrous (the idea of the MC turning into a monster is both wicked and terrifying. Oh oh oh and high Charisma being perfect for Necromancy, because it was really wholesome for that ghost to help us out! Anyway, keep up the great work!

Hey!! I love talking about the magic types and now that y'all have gotten a taste of how they work I'd love to go a tiny bit more in depth!! So those will be under the cut.

How the MC's magic came to be is, unfortunately, spoilers ;)

As for stat interactions, currently the only one planned is your Weird stat affecting how easy it is for the MC to control their magic/how naturally it comes to them. I'd love to do more in the future (your ideas are suuuper fun 👀), but I think I need to feel out the specifics when the time comes!!

Much to think about, haha.

Fog-Touched: the MC has a special connection to the fog. Consciously or unconsciously, they have embraced it, and it has claimed them in turn. These MCs will be able to channel the fog to influence the world around them, as well as be able to communicate with the fog (in a way)...but also will become steadily more vulnerable to the fog's manipulation.

Monstrous: the MC becomes something else, something more than human. Their senses and instincts sharpen, their body physically changes until they are a living weapon. They can protect themself and those they love with tooth and nail, but losing control is easy when you start peeling back the layers of your humanity.

Necromancy: the MC has a strange connection to the dead. They might someday be able to summon and communicate with ghosts, as well as raise the dead into some state of undeath--and control those raised souls. However, no living person is meant to be this connected to death, and some of the life might leech out of the MC in turn.

Precognition/Clairvoyance: the MC sees visions of possible futures--sometimes far in advance, sometimes only seconds in the future. They can use this information to act and to do their best to fix things before they break. The weight of what might be is a heavy one, though, and being able to see the future doesn't always mean you can change it.

Resistant: the MC refuses to be changed by this place, but there are forces stronger than any one person's will. Magic fills them, warps them...but they fight it at every turn. And because of this rejection, the magic bursts out of them. The most wild and ill-defined magic path, which presents differently depending on the situation. Possibly the most dangerous, too, since the MC has no means to control it.

[antianakin]

Also, I had another question for you, if you don’t mind giving your thoughts on it: I recently came across a post criticizing Obi-Wan and Yoda for not telling Luke that Anakin was ‘Darth Vader’: AKA: his father. And I think it’s been kind of established that they were going to tell Luke when they felt he was ready, but when things spiraled out of control at the beginning of ‘A New Hope’ that they thought it would just be too painful? And like… OBVIOUSLY they are not telling Luke he needs to kill Anakin to be cruel. They’re telling him Anakin WILL force Luke’s hand into having to defend himself because Anakin will try to slice Luke’s fucking head off. Lol.

But anyway, the reason this tumblr post I came across bothered me is because it was really vindictive and bitter in accusing Yoda… of wanting revenge. Like… saying THAT’S the reason Yoda tried to get Luke to kill Anakin. And not… idk… the fact the galaxy was on fire. 🤦‍♀️ Essentially, they admitted that what the Jedi went through was a genocide. But instead of showing SYMPATHY, they turned it around by saying that Yoda was CRUEL and demonizing him even if he DID want revenge… as a GENOCIDE victim. And it just felt… SO gross. 😭🤢 Because it was OBVIOUS what they cared about the most was Anakin’s pain in the suit and Luke’s conflict with killing Anakin. But Yoda being a GENOCIDE VICTIM meant nothing to them. And that isn’t even the REASON Yoda and Obi-Wan say Luke may have to kill Anakin! It’s because Anakin is dangerous and burning the galaxy down with Palpatine at that point in time. Essentially; they believe it’s for the greater good.

But what REALLY grinds my gears is how even if their theory about Yoda WAS true… they would demonize the GENOCIDE VICTIM over wanting justice/revenge over the actual guy who helped slaughter them. 🤦‍♀️🤢 It just… pissed me off SO much. Lol.

But anyway, you don’t have to give your thoughts if you don’t want to, but I always love hearing your take on backwards logic like this from radical Anakin/Anidala/anti Jedi fans (this was from a radical Anidala fan, which I guess makes sense now that I think about it why they didn’t care about the Jedi’s plight and just the Skywalker family’s pain).

Someone else sent me an ask about something very similar to this yesterday. My response is in the queue, so I don't want to completely overlap this. But whatever post generated these asks, I'm so glad I've curated my dash enough not to have to see it.

I think people seem to overestimate the amount of time Obi-Wan and Yoda have in which they could have told Luke about Vader.

Obi-Wan is a stranger to Luke for most of his life, something that generally gets explained away in other media as Owen not wanting Obi-Wan around, but it's not super clear in the films themselves why Obi-Wan has kept his distance for so long. But regardless, he has. And Obi-Wan DOES give Luke quite a lot of information that his aunt and uncle have been keeping from him in the immediate aftermath of them meeting in ANH. He tells him that his father was a Jedi who was "killed" by Darth Vader, and he tells him Darth Vader was his student and that Vader betrayed them all. The only thing missing is that these are the same people, but also this is their FIRST conversation about this and Obi-Wan is pretty clearly trying to gently bring Luke into this wider world he's never known and not just drop a bunch of massive bombshells on his shoulders. He's also trying to convince Luke to leave Tatooine with him, and it likely won't help to tell him that his father is a traitor who is currently still an incredible danger to him.

And then Owen and Beru die and Luke is in mourning and Obi-Wan's primary focus is on getting to Alderaan and not throwing more pressure on Luke than he can handle in a situation where he's already going to feel under a lot of pressure. And then he dies. And while Obi-Wan is occasionally able to speak to Luke after he dies, it seems to be pretty sporadic at best and he can't stick around for very long until after Luke gets to Dagobah. So his ability to have a nice long conversation about Vader is incredibly minimal.

And finally there's Luke's time on Dagobah where he does seem to have more ready access to both Obi-Wan and Yoda, but Yoda is still seeing a LOT of reasons to keep this information from Luke. Luke struggles with believing in himself, he takes a weapon into the cave, he's reckless and impulsive, etc. And there's no telling just how long the two of them have together and it's more important to get Luke as trained as possible so that he stays alive (and also so that when it IS time for him to learn this information, he can HANDLE IT).

And that's it. There's always bigger priorities and good reason for both Yoda and Obi-Wan to believe that Luke isn't quite ready to learn this given how painful of a truth it would be. And you know what? When Luke IS given this information, he nearly gives up on everything as a reaction. He wasn't ready. Yoda and Obi-Wan were right.

The other ask I answered is more about Obi-Wan telling Luke he has to prepare himself for the super likely possibility that he'll have to kill his father, so I won't go into that much here. It's weird to put accusations on Yoda since, to my memory, Yoda and Luke never HAVE a conversation about Vader, let alone one where Yoda tells Luke to kill him. Is the argument supposed to be that Yoda kept the information from Luke so that Luke would always hate Anakin and therefore be more likely to kill him?

But. Yeah. The kinder, more objective answer to this is like you said, they're preparing him for the possibility that Anakin will try to kill HIM and so he might have to defend himself. They're preparing him for the possibility that Anakin CANNOT BE SAVED because he's shown exactly no inclination to stop murdering people for the last twenty some-odd years, even when faced with people he used to claim to love. Don't lose a thousand people just to save one. If Luke refuses to do what has to be done and dies as a result (or is turned into a Sith himself), the entire galaxy suffers. Leia MIGHT be able to pick up the torch after him (although she'd never have a living master to help her train), but it would probably take YEARS before she could manage to do what Luke could not.

The more bitter answer to this from someone who's not a fan of Anakin is that Anakin deserves it. Like you said, I'm more inclined to feel sympathy for the people who are genocide victims wanting justice or even vengeance for what was done to them than I am inclined to feel sympathy for the person who committed said genocide. It's why I feel a hell of a lot more sympathy for Reva than I ever have for Anakin (Reva also stops killing people WAY earlier than Anakin and shows more empathy towards people she's not personally related to than Anakin ever does). I'm over here HOPING that suit hurts him, I HOPE that he struggles to breathe every day, I hope his breath burns in his lungs every time air is pumped into him, I hope he feels that pain every moment of every day he has to stay alive. I could not give less of a shit about Anakin's pain. It's not even just the one genocide, either. Every single clone who dies after Order 66, their enslavement and loss of what little autonomy they had, can thank Anakin for what was done to them. And then he spends over TWENTY YEARS spreading pain and destruction and death across the galaxy. There are MILLIONS of lives gone exclusively because of Anakin. Anakin is DROWNING in the blood of the people he's killed. I hope it suffocates him. Even if Obi-Wan and Yoda DID want Luke to kill his father out of vengeance, I wouldn't blame them.

So yeah. Fuck Anakin. Who gives a shit if he's in pain. Luke is so lucky he didn't have to actually get to know his complete shit heel of a father and that his primary father figures ended up being Owen, Obi-Wan, and Yoda. Imagine how awful his life would've been if he'd actually had to live with Anakin as a father at any point. Luke dodged a bullet in so many ways.

This is why I don't engage with people like that anymore. There's so little point. I'm set in my ways and opinions now for the most part and they likely are, too. Arguing with them is just going to make everybody feel worse. I'd rather stay in my corner, even if I'm ranting in that corner.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Hi roman. I know this is very weird, but i've seen you give some life advice to other people, so i thought i could give it a try too. Don't answer if you don't want to. Anyway

Do you have any advice/tips for a 15 y/o who thinks they just have no control over their life? Like, my concentration is dog shit, i think my grades are slipping. My executive dysfunction so bad and i think i'm disappointing a lot of people. I have no idea how to handle anything in my life. I can't force myself to do the things i need to (not that that'd be any good, i'll immediately cry lol). I just, don't fucking know how i could make things better for myself. And i can't really talk to adults about it, they'll repeat the stuff i already know, and i am the worst person to put their feelings into words, so they'll prob never understand. Not in the edgy way.

Yeah so sorry for half venting into your ask box. Thank you in advance if you'll answer it, if it's too weird and you don't want to do that for whatever reason, that's ok. Peace and love <3

Dude, you’re unfortunately suffering from being 15. And possibly a learning disorder. Godspeed to you.

And I don’t say that to belittle your problems. In many ways as a teenager you don’t have control over a lot of things. You’re still under the control of your parents, you’re still learning how to deal with adult level emotions and ideas. A lot is expected of you and a lot of things are made to seem more important than they are. It’s hard to tell what’s actually important and what’s just adults blowing things out of proportion. It sucks and it’s frustrating!

If you can, you might want to talk to a counselor. If your parents or guardians are anti-counseling you might try to talk to someone at your school like a teacher or administrator or school nurse about the possibility of getting counseling without your parents knowing. Some schools have programs like that.

The adults closest to you might not understand but if you keep looking you’ll eventually find someone who remembers what it’s like to be in your shoes.

And I remember fully feeling like I’d never get control over anything. The end goal of life was graduation from high school and god only knows if I keep existing after that. But the thing is, you do! You keep existing and you figure a lot of stuff out. Wisdom does come with time, it turns out. And legally and practically you end up getting a lot more autonomy as time goes on.

And I know hearing things like this might not feel comforting. When you’re stuck, you’re stuck and no matter how much you logically know it’ll get better right now it sucks.

Just find ways to keep going. And try asking for help sometimes. If your family won’t listen, find someone who will. Take the time to write down your problems and how you feel if you can’t come up with explanations of what’s going on. Or find a friend to talk it out with so you can practice explaining yourself.

If there’s one thing I can promise you, when you’re a couple years into adulthood all of the problems from your teenage years start to feel small. At the time they were big and important though. And that’s what you’re going through right now. And a lot of adults forget about that. Hang in there, and when all of this is behind you, remember how hard it was and maybe someday you can help someone like you.

I’m sorry if all that wasn’t helpful. I don’t know too much about your individual situation. But ask for help when you can. Someone out there understands. You’ll find them.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Okay okay. I just had this beautiful mental image of competence kink Steve. And my brain produced two fairly different images: Steve sees Bucky do something incredible during a mission. Idk what. And *oh*, he pops a boner right there and then, as much as the cup of his suit allows anyway. He can barely wait to get off the quinjet post mission, much to the team's amusement, to blow Bucky and then fuck into next week because holy shit hot

Or, Steve having an unfairly wet dream about WS!Bucky in the leather and incredible skills with all the knife tricks and so on and feeling very guilty about that. Because getting the horny from something Bucky had no control over? Not cool, at least in his mind. Bucks somehow gets him to spill though, and then ties Steve up and uses his knife skills to get him out of his clothes very efficiently, leaving Steve there as a panting and moaning mess Uh yeah my brain melted a little

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Oh, fuck yeah, I love competency kink. We can certainly talk about that and soak in the brain melt together, lol

Besides, we all know that that fucker has one

gifs by @/linusbenjamin

and this moment haunts him 😏 because of it.

Plus, that single shield catch isn't even to mention the million other examples I could think of for Steve's fixation on the Winter Soldier. The ghost is strutting around in what's practically fetish gear, like, c'mon, give Steve some slack. It's leather and straps and shimmering metal and decisive, confident combat. Motherfucker.

I am SO fucking down to think about Steve watching Bucky execute some incredible feat on a mission and getting turned on because of it, and I will expand on that in a minute. But, also, the second option, too. YES. Steve wet dreaming about the Winter Soldier? God, it's more than just likely, that shit absolutely happened.

(I did write something about those wet dreams in this ask answer under "war paint")

(Also, you need to see this art, that is... yup. Knives and bondage and competency.)

Okay, competency on missions driving Steve insane...

(warning for canon typical violence!)

It happens like this: one instant Steve is solely focused on strangling the underling that's freshly come at him 'cause he's just trying to get through the masses of them before he can actually disarm this whole fucking shitty, dangerous situation alongwith it's leader, and the next instant Steve is totally, completely, and entirely distracted from getting an arm around this fuckers throat, squeezing off his air between his forearm and bicep. It could not be farther from his mind, really.

Rather than thinking about how he can best discard this underling and move on to the next--always plotting his following move, what punch should he throw, what kick, where's his shield, how should he throw his shield, who's around him, and are they his teammates or this month's big enemy--he's aching, not thinking, aching to drop to his knees. It is a visceral, very unchill reaction that Steve can't fucking control. There is no way on god's green earth.

The wanting to drop like a fly isn't because he's tired and ready to give in and surrender, nah, he could do this all day, it's because he's at fucking full mast in his uniform pants so suddenly that he needs a goddamn break from himself. His own hyperreactive body. It's dizzying, debilitating, how his blood rushes from circulating oxygen as fast as it can to his bulging, burning, working muscles to pooling heavy and hot in his cock.

All that hot, thick blood filling his dick out as he moves and twists, grappling with his fucking random ass bad guy, and threatening, incidentally, to rub himself salaciously against the hard pressure of his athletic cup.

His cup is cupping him.

He's big, he can't not. He's got no fucking room. It's... yeah, it's, just--

Jesus Christ.

Steve's aching to drop to his knees and more. It doesn't stop at getting to his knees. One moment and he has the worst kind of desperate craving crashing through him, leaving him hankering for the sensation of firm, muscular legs squeezing around his throat, the pressure tight on both sides, making him feel like his head might explode as he gasps for air or he might pass out without any air or he might cum from pure fucking lust at how hot it is or all of the above all at once.

All at once.

It is an onslaught of arousal. Just. His appetency is un-fucking-checked for the tingling, sharp burn of fingers raking through his hair and pulling hard until he feels it in his scalp and skittering down his back, richly feeding the fire at the base of his spine. He needs to feel body heat suffocatingly around his neck and shoved up against him from behind. Heat painted like thick, sticky tar up the nape of his neck to the crown of his head.

And all that weakening fucking hunger is inspired by one instant. A single flash that he catches, lightning-fast, out of the corner of his eye.

Dark leather molded to fit a shapely body perfectly, sinfully, waves of hair flowing like water, and the distinct glint of silver metal caught in the sun, flashy and, just, sexy.

Bucky.

Bucky, who's barely just been able to be comfortable in combat again after deprogramming but is ever-skilled. Honed. Deadly and gorgeous as a honey trap.

Bucky, who has spent more hours in the gym training with Natasha than anyone else combined--something about mutual trauma and understanding and trust.

Bucky in elegant, lethal motion, wrapping himself like a lithe snake around his own steroid-fit underling, his burly thighs squeezed around the baddies thick, muscular throat, his veins bulging in strain, balanced perfectly on his broad shoulders, and keeping the power in his own mismatched hands. The palm of his hands, like it's easy.

Bucky is fucking winning, it's plain to see. No sweat.

Bucky has shocked this baddie by mounting him, throwing his weight around with ease in a way that shouldn't be possible for a man his size. Better, Bucky has thrown him even further off, fisting a hand into his hair cruelly, pulling so hard that his choices are to let his hair be ripped out and deal with the gritting pain or follow the hold and put himself in worse danger, prolonging the time before the pain. The unnamed baddie follows, of course. Anyone would follow someone as intoxicating and beautiful as Bucky. But he's then pinned there, throat fully exposed. Perilous. The most animal form of submission, this time forced and humiliated by defeat.

Bucky is the dominant fighter.

He is in control.

And he is making it known with what would be sickening glee if Steve was anyone but himself--if Steve wasn't so fucking aroused by watching Bucky wield himself as a weapon of his own choosing, taking control, and reveling in doing good.

God.

With his thighs around his neck, Bucky deftly plucks a long, sharp knife from its holster strapped onto his mouth-watering thigh and twists and twirls it around his fingers before holding it against the underling's throat. The threat is crystal clear and needs no further explanation: move and its lights out for you.

So, the underling folding to his mercy, Bucky slowly, slowly contorts his body, displaying his oh-so flexible spine and positioning his mouth right above his ear. Steve watches him whisper into his ear--his pink lips curling over the hushed syllables in the heat of chaotic, loud battle--and shivers.

Goosebumps come to attention all across Steve's body.

Shit.

He's unreal.

He's so gorgeous and so good and so charming.

At whatever he tells him, the baddie nods stiffly, all the color drained from his face, and Bucky retracts his knife unhurriedly, perfectly moving according to his own schedule, and confidently sheathes the blade it once more. Then, neatly, he unclenches his thighs from around his throat and slithers off his shoulders. It's almost a dance--totally smooth, well-rehearsed choreography.

He defies gravity.

As soon as Bucky is far enough from him, peeled away, the underling scurries off like a frightened rat, stumbling as he sprints off. Bucky watches him go with an unhinged, almost-pitying smile, an expression just for himself, as if to say, that's right, you better run. Tell the others, too. You fuck with me and it's over. Don't bother coming back.

Steve whimpers.

Realistically, it--Bucky devastatingly executing one of Black Widow's signature flipping, twisting moves as if it's his own and something developed specifically for him, an over 200 lbs man of pure muscle and metal--all happens in the span of seconds. Or, maybe it happens faster. It may not even be a single second. But for Steve, it plays in slow motion; it lasts ages in his mind.

Still, really, just it's one instant, and then his brain chemistry has been fully altered. Immediately. His wires have been crossed over and shorted out. Sparks fly. And his reboot back to being a functioning fucking human comes in the form of a punch to the face.

Fuck.

Steve groans through the pain of a fist colliding with his face, wincing, and opening and shutting his jaw to have it crack back into place. He's gonna fucking feel that later. But, for now, he has to ignore the heavy, aching throb of his cock, the pain in his jaw, and get back to fighting.

Later, he tells himself.

Later, that'll be his treat for getting through this shit day. He can kneel and beg, forgetting himself as a drooling, heaving, out-of-breath, hot faced mess at Bucky's feet, fumbling over words as he incomprehensibly pleads to have his shapely thighs wrapped tight around his head, his neck, his waist even, anything. Just hold him there until he fucking dies a happy death between those legs.

Heaven.