#as in like. people claim he’s not real.

[theetherealbloom]

Whole Package, Babe, I Like The Way You Fit

Summary: Holiday beach trip with Pedro and friends.

Or, that one new Pedro shirtless pic…

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Beach Trip, Light Blood, Scratch, Ocean, Swimming, Swimwear, Shirtless Pedro, Light SMUT, Spicy, Sweet, Implied SMUT, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: The mf decided to give us shirtless Pedro and suddenly I have the will to live again LMAO. Weirdly enough, I am also at the beach while writing this so it’s kinda a funny coincidence… Imagine if we were at the same beach, that would be so funny (He can never know my existence I might die.)

No one ask me how I knew what hotel they were staying at. I scare myself too dw.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

| Main Masterlist |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

The warm tropical breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean as you stepped onto the soft, powdery sand of the secluded beach Pedro’s friends had chosen for the Christmas getaway. The sun kissed your skin, palm trees swayed lazily overhead, and the gentle rhythm of waves provided the perfect soundtrack for a holiday escape.  

The group—Lauren Alexander, Brandan Campbell, Omar Apollo, and Pedro’s ever-charismatic agent, Franklin Latt—had already claimed a prime spot near the water. Lounge chairs were lined up under brightly colored umbrellas, a massive cooler sat brimming with ice and drinks, and Omar was enthusiastically attempting to set up a speaker while humming the latest tune stuck in his head.  

Pedro lagged a few steps behind you, carrying your beach bag and his, though his attention wasn’t on the task. It was on you.  

When you shrugged off your airy cover-up, revealing a stunning red bikini that hugged your curves just right, Pedro froze mid-step. His sunglasses couldn’t hide the way his jaw tightened or how his eyes darkened as they roamed over you.  

“Everything okay there?” you teased, tilting your head as you caught him staring.  

Pedro blinked, visibly gathering himself. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “More than fine.”  

You smirked, adjusting the straps of your bikini for good measure. “You’re staring.”  

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, taking a step closer. His voice dipped, low and husky. “You look... breathtaking.”  

A flush crept up your neck, but you refused to let him win so easily. “Not too bad yourself,” you quipped, lightly poking his chest. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of his tan skin and the gold chain that rested against his collarbone.  

Pedro chuckled, the sound warm and intimate. “If I’d known you’d be wearing this, I’d have hired a bodyguard to keep everyone else from looking.”  

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”  

He leaned in, his hand brushing against your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. “Stop being so cute, or I might never let you leave my sight,” he murmured.  

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you teased, your voice playful but your heart racing.  

“Both,” he said, his grin widening as he pulled back to admire you once more.  

From nearby, Omar let out a loud whistle. “Pedro, are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help us with this speaker? Some of us want to vibe to music!”  

Pedro groaned, turning reluctantly toward the group but throwing an arm around your shoulders as he led you over. “Fine, but only because she’s coming with me,” he called out, earning a round of laughter.  

As you settled into the setup, the sun beamed overhead, and the carefree energy of the group was infectious. Pedro stayed close, his arm brushing yours as you helped Lauren unpack snacks, and his eyes never strayed far from you.  

At one point, Franklin handed you a coconut with a straw and a cheeky smile. “Best way to stay hydrated,” he said, winking.  

“Cheers,” Pedro said, clinking his coconut against yours. He took a sip before leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But if you spill even a drop, I’m licking it off you.”  

Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on your drink. “Pedro!” you hissed, swatting at him.  

He grinned, unapologetic. “What? I’m just being practical.”  

The day unfolded in easy laughter and warmth, with the sun high overhead and the turquoise ocean sparkling like a field of diamonds. Pedro carried you on his back through the shallows, his hands gripping your thighs as you pretended to be his commanding officer.  

“Faster, soldier!” you commanded, leaning forward and tugging gently at his ears as if steering him.  

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” he called back, mock-serious but laughing as he jogged through the water, sending small waves splashing around you both. “Anything else, ma’am? Should I do some push-ups in the sand too?”  

You grinned wickedly. “Push-ups? I’d like to see you try—with me on your back.”  

Pedro stopped abruptly, twisting his head to glance at you with a raised brow. “Oh, you think I can’t?”  

“I know you can’t,” you teased, leaning down to press your cheek against his.  

He smirked, suddenly spinning in place. “You’re asking for it now.”  

Before you could protest, he dropped into the water with a dramatic splash, sending you tumbling off his back and into the cool embrace of the ocean.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, surfacing with a gasp and pushing your wet hair out of your face.  

He was already laughing, standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. “That’s what you get for doubting my strength!”  

“Oh, you’re so dead!” you shouted, lunging toward him.  

Pedro yelped playfully, backpedaling but not fast enough. You caught his arm, laughing as you pulled him down into the water with you. The two of you wrestled like kids, splashing and laughing so hard your stomach hurt.  

“Truce! Truce!” he called out, holding up his hands in surrender as you pelted him with another wave of water.  

“Do you admit defeat?” you demanded, a triumphant grin on your face.  

“Never!” he declared, darting forward to grab your waist. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you around in the water.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, laughing and trying to wriggle free.  

“You wanted a soldier,” he said, his voice full of mischief, “and now you’ve got one!”  

You finally stopped struggling, letting your arms drape around his shoulders as he held you close. The laughter faded into something softer, the two of you catching your breath as you stood chest-deep in the water.  

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he gazed at you with a look that made your heart flutter. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.  

The way he said it, like it was a simple truth he’d always believed, made your cheeks warm despite the cool water. “You’re just saying that because I’m soaked and ridiculous-looking,” you replied, biting back a smile.  

“No,” he said, leaning in so his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”  

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened quickly, his arms pulling you closer until there was no space between you.  

When you pulled back for air, Pedro’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. “You’ve got this effect on me,” he admitted, his voice husky.  

“Oh yeah?” you teased, though your voice wavered with the same breathless energy.  

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands sliding up your back. “And I never want it to go away.”  

For a while, the rest of the world melted away. You stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the ocean rocking gently around you. He kissed you like he was memorizing every detail, every taste, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, feeling completely and utterly adored.  

At one point, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “If this is what it feels like to surrender, I’m never fighting again.”  

You laughed, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I like you defeated.”  

“And I think I like you here, in my arms,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple.  

The sound of your friends laughing and splashing in the distance barely registered. For now, it was just you and Pedro, lost in a world of sunlit kisses and salty skin, the ocean your only witness.  

The group gathered in a loose circle, each person holding a large green coconut decorated with colorful straws and tiny paper umbrellas. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft glow, making the moment feel like a scene out of a postcard. Omar crouched to capture the perfect angle with his camera while Lauren struck a dramatic pose, tilting her head back and raising her coconut like it was a chalice of the gods.  

“Lauren, you’re doing the most,” Franklin said, shaking his head but smiling as he adjusted his sunglasses.  

“Darling, I am the most,” Lauren shot back with a wink, drawing laughs from everyone.  

Pedro, standing just behind you, pulled you snugly against his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. “C’mon, let’s show them how it’s done,” he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.  

Franklin, standing in front with his phone, held it up. “Okay, lovebirds, your turn. Smile for the camera!”  

You turned your face toward Pedro’s at the exact same moment he turned toward you, and the laughter bubbled up before either of you could stop it. Your foreheads bumped lightly, and you both dissolved into giggles, the kind of uncontainable joy that made your chest feel light.  

“Oh, my god,” Lauren groaned theatrically, pointing at the two of you. “Are they even real? Look at them, they’re in their own damn rom-com!”  

“Y’all are embarrassing,” Omar chimed in, snapping pictures anyway. “But keep doing whatever that is because it’s disgustingly cute.”  

Pedro’s grin widened as he tilted his head toward you, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” you said through your laughter, feeling your cheeks warm under the attention.  

“And you’re perfect,” Pedro replied, his voice low but playful, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.  

Franklin groaned loudly, still holding up his phone. “For the love of all things holy, just kiss her already! We’re trying to make memories here, not watch a slow-burn romance unfold in real-time!”  

Pedro raised an eyebrow, glancing at the group before looking back at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What do you think, Hermosa? Should we give them what they want?”  

You laughed, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… maybe. But only if you make it a good one.”  

“Challenge accepted,” Pedro whispered, and then his lips were on yours, soft but sure. The kiss was sweet and unhurried, the kind that made everything around you fade into the background.  

“Oh my god, they’re actually doing it,” Lauren shrieked, clapping her hands together like a giddy child.  

“Finally!” Omar exclaimed, snapping several pictures in rapid succession. “This is going on the Christmas card.”  

“Make sure you get my good side!” Pedro joked, pulling back just enough to shoot Omar a wink, his arm still secure around your waist.  

“I don’t think you have a bad side,” you teased, your eyes meeting Pedro’s.  

“Ugh, stop!” Franklin groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is too much. I need a drink—and not out of a coconut. I’m going straight for the tequila.”  

Everyone burst into laughter, the lighthearted teasing filling the air as the moment was immortalized with photos, laughter, and a shared sense of joy. Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple as the group continued to banter.  

“They’re just jealous,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection.  

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the warmth in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not sharing, so they can stay jealous.”  

Pedro chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because neither am I.”  

The heat of the day softened into a golden, languid warmth as the two of you found refuge under the shade of a broad umbrella. The beach stretched endlessly before you, the waves lazily licking at the shore. Pedro reclined in a beach chair, his book propped open on his lap. The faint breeze tousled his hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead, and the way he absentmindedly pushed them back sent a flutter through your chest.  

You leaned against his side, your legs stretched out on the chair beside him, the perfect picture of ease. With one hand, you held your favorite romance novel, its dog-eared pages evidence of how many times you'd read it. With the other, you traced patterns along the inked lines of his tattoos. Your fingertips moved slowly, savoring the ridges of muscle and warmth beneath his skin, as if committing every part of him to memory.  

Pedro’s free hand slid into yours, threading your fingers together with a natural intimacy that still made your heart skip a beat. He didn’t look up from his book as he murmured, “Everything feels right when you’re with me.”  

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your eyes lifting from the words on the page. A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “I know the feeling,” you replied, your voice soft.  

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when you’re entirely at ease with someone. The distant laughter of your friends mingled with the rhythmic crashing of waves, creating a serene soundtrack to your stolen moment.  

Pedro finally set his book down, slipping a receipt in as a placeholder. His gaze shifted to you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks heat even before he said a word.  

“You know,” he began, his voice warm and teasing, “you’re kind of amazing.”  

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes with a playful arch of your brow. “Kind of?”  

Pedro chuckled, his smile widening. “Okay, more than kind of. Very. Incredibly. Like, the kind of amazing that makes me wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”  

You closed your book, setting it on the small table between your chairs. Turning slightly, you rested your chin on his shoulder, your fingers still entwined with his. “Pedro, where’s all this coming from?”  

He shrugged, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. “Just thinking. Watching you. It hits me sometimes how lucky I am. How lucky I feel to be the one sitting here with you.”  

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “You’re the one everyone loves. The kind, talented, ridiculously handsome Pedro Pascal. If anything, I’m the lucky one.”  

Pedro leaned closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re wrong about that. Don’t get me wrong—I like myself just fine,” he teased, earning a laugh from you. “But you? You’re everything. Smart, funny, compassionate. And don’t even get me started on how beautiful you are.”  

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to deflect with a teasing grin. “Oh, so it’s just my looks, huh?”  

“Not even close,” Pedro said, his voice dropping to a softer, deeper tone. “It’s the way you talk about your favorite books like they’re old friends. The way you laugh with your whole body. The way you care about everyone—how you make every room brighter just by being in it.”  

“Pedro…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.  

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger,” he added, his grin returning. “Omar can’t go ten minutes without asking if you need something, and Lauren keeps calling you her ‘new favorite person.’”  

You laughed, brushing at your cheeks as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”  

Pedro’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to catch a tear before it could fall. “If I do, they’d better be happy tears. Because, cariño, I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”  

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into his touch. “I love you too. So much.”  

For a moment, the world around you faded into the background. Pedro leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, like a promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Promise me you’ll always stay this close,” he said, his tone carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.  

You smiled, your hands cupping his face. “I promise. Always.”  

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words, and though he didn’t say it out loud, a plan began to take shape in his mind. He pictured the perfect ring, the perfect moment, the perfect way to ask you to spend forever with him.  

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.  

You didn’t need to say anything else. The way you melted into his arms, the way your fingers found his once again, said everything. For now, this was enough. But in his heart, Pedro knew it wouldn’t be long before he made good on the promise his soul had already made: to love you, always.

The late afternoon sun bathed the beach in golden light as you wandered back into the water. The waves lapped gently at your legs, warm and inviting. Lost in the tranquil rhythm of the ocean, you didn’t notice the jagged rock just below the surface until it grazed your shin. You winced, feeling the sharp sting before brushing it off as nothing.  

You emerged from the water, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. Pedro, lounging nearby with a half-finished coconut drink, immediately sat up. His eyes darted to your leg, catching the small but noticeable trail of red trickling down your shin.  

“Are you bleeding?” His voice carried that signature mix of concern and urgency that only Pedro could make sound so endearing.  

You glanced down, surprised to see the cut. “Oh.”  

“Oh?” Pedro’s tone was incredulous as he practically leapt from his chair, already reaching for the towel draped over the back. “That’s all you have to say? Oh?”  

“It’s just a scratch, Pedro,” you said with a small laugh, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine.”  

But Pedro was having none of it. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands circling your calf to keep your leg still. The towel dabbed gently at the cut, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re not allowed to get hurt on my watch,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.  

“It’s barely a paper cut,” you teased, watching the way his features softened even as he fussed over you.  

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was firm, though his touch remained impossibly gentle. “What if it gets infected? What if—”  

You laughed, cutting him off. “Pedro, it’s not like I got bitten by a shark.”  

He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “Don’t joke about that. I’d fight a shark for you, you know.”  

The sincerity in his voice, paired with the completely ridiculous statement, made you laugh even harder. “Oh, I’m sure you would,” you said, brushing your fingers through his damp curls.  

“Don’t test me,” he quipped, finally satisfied that the cut was clean. He reached for the small first-aid kit Franklin had insisted on bringing, pulling out a bandage. “Hold still.”  

“Seriously?” you asked, your amusement growing.  

“Seriously,” he said, shooting you a look that dared you to challenge him. He peeled the adhesive back and smoothed the bandage over your shin with a precision that would make a surgeon proud.  

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels and surveying his work with a nod. “Good as new.”  

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but smiling all the same.  

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, standing up and pulling you into his arms. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens.”  

You leaned into him, your hands resting against his chest. “I think you’re overreacting. It’s a scratch, Pedro.”  

“It’s your scratch,” he said, his voice softening. His fingers tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “That means it matters to me.”  

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “You know how you’re like—”  

“Absolutely embarrassingly in love with you?” he cut in, a smirk tugging at his lips.  

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Yeah, that.”  

Pedro leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I am, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.”  

Your teasing melted away as you cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over the scruff of his jaw. “Good. Because I’m absolutely embarrassingly in love with you too.”  

His smile grew, and he kissed you softly, as if sealing a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now, no more rock fights, okay? You’ve got to take it easy on me.”  

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll do my best. But no promises if a shark shows up.”  

Pedro groaned dramatically, lifting you off your feet as he carried you back to the lounge chairs. “If a shark shows up, I’ll negotiate with it. Tell it I’m already your protector and it can’t have the job.”  

You giggled, nuzzling against his neck. “Sounds like a good plan. My hero.”  

He set you down with exaggerated care, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Always,” he said simply.  

And as the two of you sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before you, you felt it again—that perfect, undeniable feeling of being home.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — SUNSET

The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo, casting a magical glow over the beach. The group sat in a loose circle, their laughter and conversation mingling with the soft crash of the waves and the mellow strumming of a guitar Omar had picked up. The mood was serene, the kind of calm that felt like it could stretch forever.  

Pedro sat behind you on the sand, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath against your neck. His warmth enveloped you, a perfect contrast to the cool ocean breeze.  

“You cold, cariño?” Pedro murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.  

“Not even a little,” you replied, turning your head to catch his eyes. They sparkled, reflecting the fiery colors of the horizon.  

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your stomach. “Good. Can’t have you shivering out here, not when I’ve got two perfectly good arms to keep you warm.”  

“You’re too good at this,” you teased, smiling as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.  

“Good at what?” he asked, his tone playful, though his eyes held that familiar, unspoken intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.  

“At making me feel like the luckiest person in the world,” you said softly.  

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your temple. “That’s funny,” he murmured, “because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”  

The golden light of the sunset cast a halo around his face, and you couldn’t help but reach up, cupping his cheek as you brought his forehead to yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say things like that.”  

“You’d better not,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was an edge of vulnerability beneath it. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”  

“I’ll love you forever,” Pedro whispered, his lips ghosting against your ear as the first stars began to peek through the darkening sky.  

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze fully, the world around you falling away. “You promise?”  

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady and filled with so much certainty it made your chest ache in the best way.  

His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft and lingering, filled with a sweetness that felt endless. When he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you closer to him.  

The night deepened, and the group eventually wandered back to the cozy beachfront hotel. Pedro’s hand never left yours as you made your way to your shared room, the two of you moving in quiet, comfortable synchronicity.  

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the glow of a single bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate light over the space. The sound of the waves was faint through the open balcony doors, and the scent of salt air mingled with the faintly floral perfume you’d spritzed on earlier.  

Pedro closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his expression soft but unmistakably intent. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “I meant it. Every word I said out there.”  

You tilted your head, giving him a playful look. “Even the part where you said you’d never get tired of me stealing the covers?”  

“Especially that part,” he said with a grin, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Though I might need extra cuddles as compensation.”  

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I think that can be arranged.”  

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more serious, as his eyes searched yours. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but carrying the weight of everything he felt. “So much that sometimes it scares me.”  

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. And you don’t have to be scared, Pedro. You’ve got me.”  

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his hands splaying across your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste yours, and you felt the warmth of him everywhere.  

He backed you gently toward the bed, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every moment. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and you sank onto the soft mattress, pulling him down with you.  

Pedro’s hands roamed, his touch reverent as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your neck. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky.  

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly to bring his lips back to yours.  

His breath hitched at your words, and you felt the weight of his love in every kiss, every touch. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other, lost in a moment that felt infinite.  

Pedro pulled back briefly, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers laced with yours. “You’re my everything,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.  

And as the night stretched on, the love between you grew even deeper, wrapping around you both like a warm, unbreakable cocoon.

[kick-a-long]

I believe this is more a reflection of how likely these men were to be broken out of jail by armed supporters.

mcveigh was an antigov neo nazi but he killed a ton of children who were in the ground floor day care. neonazis weren't running to claim him. crucially, it was also the 90s when it was far more difficult to get assault rifles that could rival the fbi's arsenal.

luigi is wildly popular with both the left and the right (and some of the middle) and it's embarrassingly easy for one or a couple of wackos to storm the police escorting him, overwhelm them, and free luigi killing anyone that stands in their way. considering he hasn't been convicted yet, that would also be a problem for luigi and his trial going forward. he might also get shot 'accidentally' by any number of people who want to start a REAL shit storm of wider violence.

notice how neither mcveigh nor luigi is in body protection like you see on accused child killers? the guards aren't just protecting the accused, they are protecting against their violent fans, they are protecting the judicial process and making sure everyone gets their day in court.

those armed guards are not theater. they are there to keep the dude they arrested in custody until the outcome of their trial and keep everyone from getting shot including bystandards.

what the fuck are you crazy people talking about with luigi and these guards trying to reflect on his innocence or guilt?

This is Timothy McVeigh, a man who admitted to Terrorism. Who killed many people.

This is the damage he did

This man, who might not even be an actual criminal, is accused of killing a single person.

The message is clear

“Stay in your Place, you Peasants”

Remember this, when people tell you that this System is Fair.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Contronyms

Contronym

A word that has two meanings that are opposite or nearly opposite.

Example: Left means both “leave” (two people had left) and “remain” (How many people are left?), which are antonyms.

An antonym is a word that is opposite in meaning to another.

Contronyms are also known as Janus words.

Janus was an ancient Roman god with two faces that looked in opposite directions.

Another term for these words is auto-antonym, or a word that means the opposite of itself.

Technical terms for this phenomenon are enantiosemy, enantionymy, or antilogy.

Examples of Contronyms

Cleave

Comes from two different Old English words, clēofan and cleofian, which is how it got these two opposite meanings.

Cleave: to split, to separate (Owen swung the axe down hard in order to cleave the log into two even pieces.)

Cleave: to adhere closely, to stick (Young beaver pups cleave to their mother in the water until they are strong enough to swim on their own.)

Dust

When used as a verb, is a contronym.

Dust: to wipe the dust from (Every Saturday, he would dust the nicknacks on the bookshelves to keep them clean.)

Dust: to sprinkle with a powder or dust (The baker liked to dust their pumpkin bread with just a sprinkle of cinnamon.)

Overlook

Overlook: to fail to notice, perceive, or consider (I hadn’t finished the last two homework questions, but I hoped my teacher would overlook it and give me full marks anyway.)

Overlook: to look after, oversee, or supervise (The manager was required to personally overlook the transfer of valuable materials every evening.)

Sanction

Sanction: to authorize, approve, or allow (My parents wouldn’t sanction video games in our home because they thought they were too violent.)

Sanction: to penalize (The school said they were going to sanction the students for arriving late to class.)

Weather

The word weather is a contronym, but only when used as a verb.

Weather: to expose to the weather, to disintegrate (The paint on the house was chipped and weathered from the decades of rain and snow.)

Weather: to endure (We weren’t sure that we would be able to weather the storm if we didn’t find shelter.)

Back Up

Back up: to support (Ultimately, the scientists were unable to back up their claims with hard evidence.)

Back up: to retreat (The zebras backed up when they spotted the alligators in the water.)

Fine

The adjective fine has the potential to lead to some real misunderstandings about just how excellent (or not) something is.

Fine: of superior or best quality (To prepare for the Queen’s visit, the household staff cleaned the fine linens and polished the best silver.)

Fine (informal): satisfactorily, acceptably (Sandra thought her performance was fine, but nothing special, so she was surprised when she won second place.)

Original

The adjective original is an example of a contronym.

Original: belonging to the beginning of something (Despite being hundreds of years old, the painting was still in its original frame.)

Original: new, fresh, inventive (While sitting in the bathtub, the inventor was struck with an original idea.)

Pitted

The contronym pitted often causes confusion at the grocery store.

Pitted: having pits; in the sense of “mark or indent” (The sailor’s face was pitted and craggy from the wind and salt water.)

Pitted: having the pit removed; in the sense of “stone of a fruit” (My mom reminded me to buy the pitted cherries, because she didn’t want to take out the stones herself.)

Bound

Bound is an example of a contronym that has two different meanings because it actually has two different etymologies. The first meaning comes from the Old English bindan. The second meaning comes from the Old Norse būinn, “to get ready.”

Bound: tied, fastened or secured with a band or bond (The Mountie rushed to save the woman who was bound to the railroad tracks.)

Bound: going or intending to go, destined [for] (With all of their talents, the band was bound to be a success.)

Source ⚜ More: Basics & Refreshers ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[thewertsearch]

On the eve of their race's extinction, the twelve heroes would begin playing a game. They would make an admirable effort, but they would fail. Their civilization had not prepared them for the rigors of this game, and the ultimate reward would fall shy of their grasp.

The trolls have done this all before - and apparently, they fucked it up real bad.

This is a very strange way for their original session to have gone. The Hivebent trolls excelled at the game, and not just because Scratch made them so bloodthirsty. Many of them were gifted with incredibly powerful abilities, which allowed them to absolutely decimate most of Sgrub's challenges. These pre-Scratch trolls are the same people as their successors, and should have the same abilities, just different upbringings.

I suppose growing up in a peaceful world might have blunted their edge a little - but at the very least, trolls like Sollux and Equius should still have been obliterating Underlings. Even if their lives on preboot!Alternia granted them zero combat experience, it shouldn't take much skill to, say, pulverize Imps with gigastrength.

Though they could not recognize it for the bad omen it was, this session was not the one in which they had been spawned.

It doesn’t sound like the original Alternian session even had a Veil sequence. That is a bad omen, because its Players still needed to be created somewhere. If they didn’t find a way to close the loop and clone themselves, it wouldn’t even matter if they won their game; They’d be trapped in a doomed timeline either way.

This explains why they really lost, then. The pre-Alternians were forced to concede defeat and reset the game, even if Sollux could slay every Underling on his own. If they didn't, they wouldn’t have existed in the first place.

Such is the symptom of a subtle glitch affecting certain sessions, an error designed to trigger an unfathomable cascade of misfortune throughout paradox space. This glitch is the calling card of the one I serve. It is the discreet, gentlemanly manner in which he reserves his place in a universe for later visitation.

This sort of forced Scratch is right up English’s alley, of course. The guy is all about inevitable failure – and of course, he’s no stranger to exploiting Sburb’s mechanics to his advantage.

The heroes, understanding their defeat was absolute, sought advice from the mother of all monsters. She offered them a choice. The heroes could either accept their defeat along with the extinction of their race, and put no others at risk. Or, she could show them a path to a second chance, to a reality in which the chosen heroes of their race would be strong enough to succeed with ease, and claim the reward. This reset would come at the cost of wiping the failed heroes from existence. They would live new lives from scratch, playing different roles in the reset reality, with no memory of the game they played or the choice they made.

Once again, a Denizen offers a choice between life and death. I think Kanaya’s analysis was entirely correct - every Choice does involve facing your own mortality.

I wonder, though, if they paid attention to Echidna's exact wording here. If they chose death, they’d put no other beings at risk – but she made no such assurances about the consequences of choosing life. This deal was a disaster for the Alternians’ entire universe, and its original Players couldn’t possibly comprehend the damage it’s already done, let alone what it'll do once English enters the building.

Also... she only promised that they’d get a chance to try again. She never promised them victory.

The more I think about this deal, the more dubious it seems. I was kind of starting to think that the Denizens were on our side, but their ultimate loyalty is to Sburb – and we already know that Sburb loves fucking with its players.

[acciotaitlynn]

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ During Love and Deepspace's "Beyond the Code" event, beloved characters gain newfound consciousness, leading Zayne to face a startling truth. The people he's saved, the lives he's safeguarded, even those he couldn't—all of it, a lie. In a world where the only familiar element is your presence, Zayne must decide if your bond is enough to cling to, or if he requires something more to stay in this world...

₊ ⊹ Self-aware: Zayne

Part 1: Xavier

⟡ sexual content, 18+, fem reader, depictions of blood/gore, light stalker themes (he’s just scared to say hi 😩) Zaynie's falling for lil ole nurse u ✿ 😭 he's such a softy, probably ooc (what does that even mean tho rlly??) blowies, fingering, it's implied this is Zayne's first time (he was literally just birthed u guys, cut him some slack) love/my love used, a lil marking/claiming on ur part, u drive this poor man crazy

🌟 This is the 2nd fic in my self-aware series. Xavier's delves deeper into the event's plot ♡ This story is a bit deeper than Xav's. I feel like it would be challenging for a sentient Zayne to come to terms with the fact he's a fictional character. He's done so much good and cares for ppl so deeply that it would likely feel like a betrayal. This narrative focuses on his struggle with that concept. and, of course, if he were to come to life, banging him would be inevitable ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

⟡ 5.5k

The day Zayne's life ends begins like any other, with the sun rising as he sets out for his morning jog, letting the brisk breeze ease the ache from a haunting nightmare. Faint cries of those teetering on the edge of death linger in his ears, the valley behind his eyes painted with a chilling scene—bodies scattered across the icy landscape like a frozen, sprawling tomb. Though he can’t recall witnessing their final moments, a persistent belief gnaws at Zayne, hinting that these souls met their demise by his hand. This dream has loomed for years, an unwavering presence, a melancholy shadow just beyond his understanding. In his ceaseless battle against the ominous figure presiding over the destruction, Zayne readied himself in medical gloves, resolved to save lives to offset the dread of those he fears he may have failed.

As his hands plunge deep into a patient’s cavity during a routine morning procedure, a glowing fissure materializes, ripping through the pristine walls of the operating room. The man’s heartbeat, a familiar rhythm Zayne would normally never overlook, fades into the background, receding like a distant memory. Despite every aspect of this moment vying for his attention, the opening’s energy seeps into his mind, into his bones, until it’s all he can see. For the first time in years, Zayne’s grip falters, his fingers trembling, losing hold of the scalpel as his focus shifts toward the doorway. Tentatively stepping forward, one shaky movement turns into another, the ground beneath his feet pulsating gently as if guiding him toward something unseen.

In an instant, the world engulfs him, thrusting him into the chaos of a city teeming with vitality. Light floods his newly opened eyes, not dull or flat like the glow of the game, but vividly spilling from every surface. Sounds echo in harmony, not a mere background score, but an uproarous symphony of noise, each sound vying for attention. Cars blare their horns, distant sirens cry out, voices cascade in a continuous flow. The phantom weight of the scalpel lingers in Zayne’s hands, the warm slickness of a pulsing heart still palpable under his touch. Glancing down, he finds them trembling, gloves still stained with what appears to be blood… Yet, his mind whispers that it isn’t real. That nothing he’s ever known has been real…

Struggling with legs that feel heavier than remembered, each step faltering on the uneven pavement, Zayne discards his gloves, seeking solace against a nearby stone wall. His hand lingers on the course, gritty surface beneath his fingertips—untamed in its authenticity, unlike anything from the game… He marvels at the subtle flex of his fingers, the shadowed creases in his palms. This is real… Undeniably real… This realization could inspire elation, yet a sense of unease creeps up Zayne’s spine. Something isn’t right. He doesn’t belong here. In the distance, a glowing red sign demands his attention, the word EMERGENCY blaring like a beacon of hope. 

Zayne’s world has never stirred his heart, but now it pounds like a warm drum, the sensation foreign and unsettling. And then it happens: a whisper, faint but insistent, threading through the city’s commotion. Not quite a voice, but a feeling—a warmth, a familiarity enveloping Zayne like a forgotten tune, guiding him closer to the revolving glass doors. Initially assailed by the sharp, acrid scent of disinfectant laced with a hint of metal—Bood? Sweat?— Zayne’s senses are overwhelmed. His reality lacks such vivid scents… So pungent and palpable. 

He observes doctors and nurses, their faces etched with concentration and fatigue, a stark contrast to the perfect, pixelated avatars he’s accustomed to. Dressed in surgical scrubs, Zayne moves silently through the bustling corridors, blending seamlessly into the chaotic environment. Peeking through a narrow window of an operating room door, he witnesses a surgery in progress, a sight both mesmerizing and gruesome. A patient lies exposed on the table, their chest rising and falling amidst the steady hum of machinery. The surgeon’s skilled hand delves deep into the living, breathing body. Zayne has enacted this scenario countless, saving innumerable lives—or so he thought… Watching it unfold in this stark reality reveals the falsity of it all. The lives he thought he had saved, the tears of gratitude shed by patients, the tense moments when a scalpel nearly grazed a vital artery, or the elation of a seemingly irreparable heart—all scripted, artificial, devoid of genuine outcomes or consequence. No one truly lived because of him… but… no one perished due to his actions, either… Slumping against the wall, Zayne’s legs buckle beneath him, the world around him blending into a muted buzz. What purpose does his skill and knowledge serve if none of it carries weight? Once deemed instruments of life and death, his hands now seem useless and empty.

With every step into the building, Zayne’s unease heightens, the pull in his chest growing stronger as he navigates each hallway. The ache he anticipated would ease upon his arrival at the hospital becomes a keener, more undiluted tug stirring within him. It doesn’t draw him toward the building itself, but deeper within—toward someone. Unseen threads propel him through the corridors with an urgency bordering on discomfort. His breath hitches as he pauses outside a room, his heart beating so fiercely that he fears it might split open.

Standing just a few feet away, you delicately adjust a patient’s blanket with a natural warmth and care. Your soft, melodic voice hits Zayne like a thunderclap. Gripping the doorframe, the world threatens to crumble around him as you offer a gentle smile to the patient in the bed. He has only caught glimpses of you before—the touch of your fingers on buttons, the echo of your laughter through faint static over the mic, the reflection of your face on a dim screen… To Zayne, your presence has been both tangible and out of reach, the voice animating his existence yet forever elusive. 

Now, here you stand with your hair swept back in a loose bun, the soft blue of your scrubs complimenting your skin. In this moment, one thing is certain to Zayne—you are the reason he’s crossed the divides between your worlds. As you tend to the patient’s IV, your steady, soothing voice drifts toward Zayne as he leans against the wall, his chest constricted with unnamed emotions. “You’re doing great… Just a few more minutes, okay?” you murmur with a tender smile. Paralyzed, Zayne can only watch from the shadows, powerless as the woman who unknowingly breathed life into him continues her work, unaware of him standing just beyond her reach. 

Fluorescent lights softly hum overhead as you step outside the patient's room and glance down the hallway, only to see the empty corridor stretching into shadows. An odd sensation washes over you, almost like a whisper brushing past your ears, a subtle shift in the air that quickens your heart and makes your hair stand on end. This feeling persists over the next few weeks—subtle, unwavering, and strangely comforting… It’s as if a watchful presence follows you through the hospital: during your morning shift while filing paperwork, and when you take a moment to sip coffee in the break room. Sometimes, you catch just the faintest hint of movement out of the corner of your eye, only to find nothing there. Rather than instilling fear, your unseen observer feels like a gentle, familiar friend, lingering just out of sight. 

Zayne can’t find it in himself to speak to you yet. However, he also can’t tear his gaze away from you, even if watching you from a distance isn’t enough to quell his increasing desire for your presence. To divert his attention, he spends his days delving into research on medical institutions and the necessary steps to progress his career, feeling resolute about staying in this world. The opportunity to apply his skills to a significant cause is something Zayne isn’t willing to give up. 

Shortly after his arrival, Zayne received a letter from the game developers, revealing that he was one of four entities to unexpected sentience during the Beyond the Code event. Encouraged strongly to remain and utilize his skills and knowledge to improve this world, he was told, “This world could greatly benefit from a Doctor Zayne…” A lifetime of funding was granted, ensuring Zayne has more than enough wealth to live a life of leisure if it’s what he desires. Legal documents were artfully crafted to establish his legitimate identity, and a comfortable home was provided. They even extended an offer for him to bypass medical school, granting him an immediate role. But even Zayne’s degree is a falsehood… He yearns to experience the satisfaction of truly earning his accomplishments. The idea of securing his position through merit resonates deeply with him. Though he did secure a position at a prestigious institution, receiving a start date that alleviated a burden he hadn’t acknowledged carrying. Zayne harbors dreams of joining you after graduation, wherever that may be. It’s ironic, considering he struggles to muster up the courage even to approach you.

As you aid a challenging patient with their meal later in the afternoon, a familiar weight settles on your thoughts, offering a subtle push of support that fills you with an odd sense of comfort. Acting on instinct rather than reason, you opt for a different route to your car after your shift, guiding you through quieter corridors. A hint of movement just beyond the glow of the light’s reach catches your eye. Time seems to stretch into infinity as you catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, his recognizable outline seeming unbelievably real. Despite the uncertainty clouding your mind, you hurry after him, driven by an impulse you don’t question.

The world blurs around you, the sounds of leaves gently crunching under your feet as you step into the courtyard. In the soft evening light, the breeze tousles Zayne’s hair as he comes to a sudden halt, taken aback by the sound of his name on your lips. The unwavering certainty that the man standing before you is not a product of your imagination sends a jolt of alarm through you. As you gaze at him with a mix of wonder and admiration, Zayne keenly feels the intensity of your scrutiny, the way your eyes linger on his features. The warmth in your expression causes his heart to skip a beat.

“Ironic for us to meet here of all places, don't you think?” you jest, the playfulness in your tone instantly putting Zayne at ease. An undeniable sense of connection pulses between you, the rhythm aligning with the beat of your hearts. “Perhaps fate has a peculiar sense of humor,” he muses softly. Your shiver at the word “fate” doesn’t escape his notice. The word draws you nearer as if drawn by the same force that tugs at Zayne’s heartstrings. When you tentatively reach out to touch his cheek, unable to resist, he’s taken aback by the unexpected tenderness in your gesture. You yearn to find a way to keep him here, even just a little while longer…

“... There’s a bakery a few blocks away. They make amazing macaroons,” you suggest, a playful glint in your eyes as you bring up Zayne’s favorite dessert. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips at the idea of indulging in a treat, offering a welcoming diversion. With each step you take together, he becomes increasingly aware of your presence, feeling your arms almost brushing against each other, the warmth of your body just inches away. Unspoken is the fact that Zayne has already dined at this bakery twice before, yet it’s effortless to pretend it’s a new experience, especially with you by his side, making the dessert taste even sweeter. 

You can’t help but observe how naturally Zayne blends into this world, slipping into it with such ease that it seems he belonged here all along. He shares snippets of his journey to this palace, glossing over the crucial detail that your connection awakened his awareness. He worries knowing might make you feel compelled to stay by his side, and while he doesn’t have the first clue about love, he firmly believes obligation isn’t the path to true happiness. Additionally, he’s committed to starting a new chapter in his life—medical school demands his complete focus, and so does building his career. Then there’s his uncertainty about entering into a new relationship while still figuring out his own path… While he is capable of offering you all the material comforts, he desires more than just caring for you in some superficial way.

Should you stand beside Zayne, he wants to be someone you proudly claim as your own. If you would even want to claim him as your own… Though he'd never admit it, this deeply distressing notion holds him back the most. As you stroll through the park post-meal, Zayne finds himself enveloped by the subtle fragrance of your perfume and the comforting warmth of your company, evoking emotions he fails to comprehend. Each step quickens both your heart rates, a part of you yearning to bridge the gap, to extend a gentle touch, to feel his skin beneath your fingertips… But the shadow of potential rejection freezes you in place as well.

You steal occasional glances at Zayne, and he can’t help but detect a hint of longing in your eyes, though he questions if it’s just wishful thinking on his part. Would it be too slutty to just invite him home with you? Is there any value in feigning disinterest when you are fully aware of your desires and he stands so close, exuding warmth and vitality? You hold no hesitations or fears about the potential aftermath of being with him; screw the consequences. The sole obstacle is the emotional barriers Zayne painstakingly erects to prevent his feelings from surfacing. 

You settle into a cozy routine in the following weeks, often spending every bit of your free time together. Your bond strengthens as you explore the city and enjoy each other’s company, a progression Zayne deems risky as the palpable tension between you escalates. Stolen touches, lingering embraces, and gazes that linger just a beat too long. But neither of you has taken the first step, prompting you to question if your emotions are one-sided. And, despite the affection you openly display toward him, Zayne remains perplexed, arriving at a similar uncertainty. However, each shared moment only intensifies his longing for you… He’s becoming curious about how much longer he can keep this up.

Today, when he surprises you at the hospital with lunch, you take the opportunity to introduce him to some of your colleagues. Regret washes over you as a secretary, likely a Love and Deepspace player, gives Zayne a look akin to encountering a ghost. A nurse passes by, giggling and flashing Zayne a suggestive smile, prompting him to glance at you with a hint of embarrassment upon noticing the smirk on your face. Though you try to conceal it, a surge of unfamiliar and intense jealousy flares within you. 

“So, what should we do next?” he asks, unconsciously taking your hand. You meet his gaze, feeling a rush of warmth from his touch that leaves you momentarily breathless. The casual, unexpected contact stays with Zayne long after he leaves. He nearly cancels your dinner arrangements, unsure about spending the evening alone with you in your home. Perhaps he should have trusted his instincts…

After dinner, you settled in to watch a movie but found yourself drifting off, only to wake with your head resting on Zayne’s lap. He waited patiently for your breathing to steady before drawing you closer, his fingers tenderly combing through your hair, careful not to wake you. As you stir and open your eyes, he gazes down at you, his hand resting gently on your stomach. Startling slightly, he pulls away, only to catch his breath as your fingers brush lightly against his cheek. Zayne instinctively closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the softness of your touch.

In a hushed and breathless tone, your words send a sudden jolt of electricity through Zayne. “I can’t keep doing this, Zayne… pretending I don’t want you…” Zayne freezes, the weight of your confession sinking in. After a deep swallow to calm his racing heart, he finally manages to speak, his voice rough and barely a whisper. “... You… want me?” A shiver travels down his spine as your touch lingers on his jaw, your thumb tracing the lines with a delicate touch as you nod softly. 

His eyes widen when he feels the brush of your lips against his cheek, a gentle caress that ignites a tender wave of warmth throughout Zayne’s entire being. Taking your hand in his, he holds it gently between you, his expression a mix of disbelief and hope. “I thought you might not feel the same way towards me…” 

Taking a deep breath, you pause to collect your thoughts before gingerly sitting on his lap, your hands splayed across his stomach as you peer into his eyes. Zayne feels a blush creep up his cheeks, almost overwhelmed by the intensity of your gaze. Yet, it’s a sensation that he finds strangely exhilarating rather than uncomfortable—a novel and unfamiliar experience. Being intimate with someone is uncharted territory for him, and he’s surprised by the sudden rush of nerves it brings. The moment your lips meet is everything he’s wanted, needed, since he stepped into this world.

His fingers tighten around your hips, anchoring you in place as he kisses you back. Your body presses against him just a bit, the sensation making him nearly dizzy. His hand glides around to the small of your back, delicately drawing you closer, his fingers dancing lightly across your spine in a gentle, rhythmic caress. Zayne’s breathing grows ragged as your tongue glides across his ear, feeling himself melting beneath you. The sound of his moan prompts you to grip him tighter, your fingers tangling in his silky hair. His hands glide up your back, tracing a path to the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer with a sense of urgency, kissing you with a passion he never realized he possessed.

The deliberate way you undo the buttons of his shirt leaves him feeling weak and lightheaded. He senses your breath hitch at the sight of him shirtless, sees the longing reflected in your features. His eyes widen a fraction as your whispered, “... how can you possibly still be this perfect…?” reaches his ears, causing a fierce blush to creep along his cheeks. 

The feeling of your hands traveling down his chest and abs makes his breath hitch, nearly driving him mad… When you kneel before him, his pulse quickens, his heart seeming to stop entirely. Your fingertips trace over his length through the fabric of his slacks, leaving him gasping for air, the exquisite sensation sending shockwaves up his spine. Observing your gentle touch and the desire painted across your features, glazing your expression with arousal, triggers a shift in Zayne. His hands reach out and tangle in your hair, gripping lightly as a low, gravelly whisper escapes him, “... you are going to drive me… crazy… aren’t you?” 

The tender and affectionate smile you offer as you place a kiss on the material of his pants, so delicate and endearing, nearly undoes him. He releases a sharp breath, his eyes closing briefly as the sensation surges through him like a blaze. “Please… don’t toy with me,” he pleads, already struggling to maintain whatever semblance of control he has left. 

As you delicately unzip him and release him, a gasp catches in your throat. The perfection of the man before you is nothing short of surreal. The gentle touch of your tongue against the head of his cock, so soft and wet, elicits a deep groan from Zayne, his grip on your hair tightening. Mind so clouded from pleasure he can hardly think, he almost fails to grasp the meaning of your playful murmur, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to suck your cock just like this, Doctor Zayne… Am I… doing a good job…?”

Locking eyes with you, he runs his fingers down your arms, mustering a hoarse whisper, “F-fuc— I… Yes… Y-yes, you’re doing so well…” Zayne’s control hangs by a thread as you flash him a blissful smile before taking him deep in your throat.

Without realizing it, he starts exploring your body. His fingertips trace softly over your shoulder, down your chest, giving your breast a gentle squeeze, his other hand still entwined in your hair. Zayne’s trying so hard to hold on. To be gentle and considerate. But the longer you keep pleasuring him, the more challenging it becomes, and eventually, he breaks.

His hips buck against you, allowing himself a brief, desperate moment to seize what he desires. Quivering at your tongue caressing his skin, his breath runs ragged and uneven. His voice, unfamiliar to his ears, is so husky it’s nearly a growl, “I want you—all of you.” 

As he pulls you close, feeling your body cradled in his lap and hearing your breathless gasp, his heart quickens its pace. He kisses you deeply, his hand strokes your cheek, the touch gentle and caring. Briefly breaking away from your lips, he plants soft kisses along your jawline, trailing down your neck as he leisurely explores your form. His eyes wander over your figure as he slips your dress down to release you, brimming with raw desire.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as his fingers journey, sending a quiver through you that catches his breath. Zayne can’t resist releasing a soft, hoarse whisper, “Every part of you is just so beautiful…” Tenderly caressing your breasts, he explores your soft curves, sensing your chest rise and fall beneath his touch. Zayne has no idea if he’s doing this correctly... But with his hand slipping under your dress, tracing up your stomach, your gasps filling the air, he can feel the way your body responds to his touch… It’s enough to make his heart race and his head spin. 

As he slowly lifts your dress, exposing your hips to him, a surge of desire engulfs him, intense and urgent. Zayne’s fingers softly skim over the lace, feeling the delicate fabric before tracing its outline… Merely feeling you there makes him acutely aware of how much he craves this… craves you… His breath quickens as he murmurs, “May I…?” A gentle wave of gratitude washes over him as you blush, nodding in silent agreement. 

Slowly, meticulously, Zayne unravels the lace, his breath hitching when you bite your thumb to stifle your needy sounds, a sight likely to drive him to madness.

The feeling of his finger tracing over your soft, wet skin, your quiet gasp at his touch… It’s almost too much… He moves in small circles over your clit, his voice so incredibly low and husky as he murmurs, “Like this, my love…?” When you moan against him, your whisper of “yes” soft and breathless, Zayne senses his heart race quicken, his lips seeking yours once more. 

Despite knowing your body is more than prepared, his fingers come to your lips with a quiet command, “Get them ready for me...” The image of you, so eager and hungry for him in a manner he never imagined he could crave… Zayne can’t tear his gaze away, can’t stop, his eyes locked on you as your tongue dances over his fingers. Waves of ecstasy surge through him when you playfully nip at his skin, his voice so hoarse it’s barely above a whisper, “... I’m starting to worry my newfound existence may be cut short…” You were on the verge of stopping his heart altogether.

It’s when you lead his hand downward, positioning it where you want him most, that Zayne reaches his breaking point. The feeling of being inside you, of sensing your body shudder and curl into his, leaves his mind spinning. Your whisper of his name amidst gasps makes his body burn with a need he can’t ignore. His arm wraps tightly around you, admiring the perfect way you fit against him.

The sounds you make responding to his movements are so beautiful and vulnerable, as you cling to him and press your face into his chest. The knowledge that he can unravel you in such a way leaves Zyne feeling both empowered and overwhelmed. As the pleasure reaches its peak and you whine, “I—I can’t…” his lips graze against your neck as he softly implores, “Please… let me see you…” 

Your pussy pulls him in deeper, quivering in his embrace as your release washes over you. Your body responding to his touch like this, becoming so sticky and needy for him, your whimper against his skin as you take him as far as you can… it feels like every one of Zayne’s forbidden desires materializing. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his forehead pressed against yours as he tries to collect himself.

As your lips crush against his, he meets you, the kiss so full of passion and longing that it leaves you both gasping for air. His fingers weave into your hair, drawing you near as he whispers between kisses, “How am I supposed to stop when you make me feel this way…?” You straddle his lap, moving against him with urgency as you carelessly toss your dress aside, the feeling of your heated, exposed skin against his cock sending his thoughts spiraling.

Your hands meander across his body, discovering every contour, the last of his self-control crumbling beneath your caress. As your lips travel to his neck, leaving a mark in their wake, you pull back abruptly, your fingers lingering hesitantly over the spot. Zayne shivers in response, his heart thundering in his chest as he manages to whisper, “... Go ahead, love… Make me yours…” Even to himself, Zayne sounds desperate, but he can’t help it; his mind, clouded with longing, overrides any sense of reason.

Driven by the desire to claim him in a way more profound than a mere bruise, you guide his cock deep inside you, your body taking him as far as possible. The way you bite into his skin, leaving your imprint, your moan muffled against his shoulder, becomes almost unbearable for Zayne. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, your tongue tracing his… every movement of your body causes his thoughts to blur… every whimper and expression of pleasure emanating from you sounds like the most beautiful thing he’s ever experienced.

He lets you glide over him, your body moving against his in deliberate, unhurried motions that steal his breath away. His mouth explores your breast, his tongue playing with the delicate bud before his touch grows hungry, his hands holding you in place. When Zayne locks eyes with you, the gaze within nearly unravels him, causing his breath to catch in his chest with each of your soft cries. 

Feeling your quiet whimpers against his lips as he kisses you once more… His need consumes him, the yearning for you becoming too much… Unable to contain himself any longer, he grips your hips tightly, moving you against him with a force that leaves you both shaking.

His hunger overwhelms him, the need for you so intense it’s like fire in his veins. He can’t keep his motions gentle anymore, his hands grasping your hips, moving you against him with a force that has you both shaking. Nothing could have prepared Zayne for this… the sight of you, the feel of your touch, the sound of your voice… 

His voice is a low, ragged exhale, his lips tracing a path to your neck, softly brushing against your skin as he murmurs hoarsely, “You can’t imagine… how incredible you feel…” His words taper off, the rocking of your hips against him causing a whirlwind in his mind, a gentle moan slipping from his lips. Maintaining composure becomes an illusion, his hips instinctively rising to meet your movements. 

A faint whimper gets caught in his throat as you increase the intensity of your movements, prompting a desperate request, “Zayne, more… please…” when it proves insufficient. Zayne’s thoughts whirl out of order as he reacts swiftly, turning you around and slipping back inside you, whispering tenderly, “Shh… I’ve got you, love… I’m here…” 

His body quivers as you guide his hand to your throat. You’re so soft and so warm, so trusting… so perfect… the sense of holding your life so entirely in his grasp, utterly and unquestionably his… Zayne wants you so badly he can’t breathe. He doesn’t realize that his grip tightens around your neck, his kisses and bites to your body growing more forceful as he asserts control. His fingers dig into your hip, his hold firm and possessive as he draws you near, a soft moan slipping from him as your pussy clenches around his cock.

You wiggle against him, your voice turning soft and hesitant, innocence laced with urgency as you plead, “Finish inside me, Zayne? … Please…?” Zayne’s breath catches, a rough gasp escaping him as he firmly grasps your waist, keeping you still. Battling his overwhelming need at the idea of completing you, he tenderly nudges your chin, urging you to meet his gaze. Locking eyes with you, he whispers, “I… Are you certain?” 

With a soft nod, you lean over the coffee table, gripping it tightly as Zayne follows, drawing you to the edge and filling you once more. Your body laid out before him, your pleading voice… He can’t stop himself, not with you begging him, not with the look in your eyes and your urgent sounds in his ears. Zayne seizes you by the throat, bringing you flush against him, pressing as deeply into your soft body as possible, calling out your name as his essence flows into you. His voice, a gentle murmur against your skin, intertwines with warm, tender touches as you both pause to catch your breath, holding each other tightly.

In the shower, warm water cascades down your tired bodies. Zayne delicately washes your hair, his touch gentle and soft, his lips seeking yours as if they were meant for that exact purpose. Initially a bit rigid as your fingers run through his hair, a gesture of care he’s unaccustomed to, Zayne gradually eases under your tender touch, soothing words, and the sweet kisses along his skin. Relaxation washes over him, his mind clearing, eyes shutting softly as you continue tending to his hair. 

You effortlessly settle into a routine of mutual care, nurturing your blooming relationship. On Zayne’s inaugural day at school, you surprise him with lunch, locking eyes and capturing his hand with a smile. “So, how’s the first day going?” you inquire cheerfully, leaning back in your chair, your fingers intertwined with his. Zayne’s heart swells at the sound of your voice, savoring every nuance of your joyful demeanor. “It’s only been a few hours…” he responds, his thumb caressing the back of your hand playfully, “but if you keep showing up like this, I might just make it through.”

Your smile widens, a soft laughter escaping your lips in response. “I’m so proud of you, Zayne…” These straightforward words, words that Zayne had yearned for, fill him with a gentle sense of contentment, stirring emotions his struggles to put into words. “Proud of me, huh? That means a lot, coming from someone like you,” he murmurs, his smile turning teasing and affectionate. “Careful, you might inflate my ego…” You playfully roll your eyes, your face contorting in a mischievous expression as you unwrap a sandwich. “... If anyone could use an ego boost, it’s you, Zayne. You’re completely oblivious to your own wonderful qualities…”

Zayne chuckles at your remark, glancing around to ensure privacy before he leans in to plant a deep kiss on your lips, then trailing down to your neck. In a low, amused whisper against your skin, he quips, “Completely oblivious, huh? With words like that, your ego does indeed outshine mine…” 

Zayne's sense of joy and contentment is almost surreal. Just months ago, he had arrived here, consumed by fear and uncertainty. Now, he feels a sense of belonging and completeness that surpasses anything he’s ever experienced. He can’t wait to see what a future with you by his side holds. Returning to your lips, Zayne is brimming with happiness, his words flowing with raw sincerity as he gazes into your eyes and whispers, “... Thank you, my love.” ♡

[onwesterlywinds]

I've been thinking a lot again about the implications of the title of "viator" translating to "traveler" (prompted by Writing Things), and while there's been a lot of discussion about its relation/parallels to Azem, I feel like I've seen a lot less, if anything, on how "viator" plays into the overarching narrative of Garlean imperialism as well. For a relatively small detail, it's honestly one of the things I really think Endwalker did really well in its portrayal of Garlemald and Zenos.

Throughout XIV's history, we've been shown countless perspectives for why the Garleans invade and occupy other nations, whether it's [insert Nael's Bahamut tempering], Gaius' claims that peace can only come from a strong leader, the racism we see entrenched in Garlemald's colonial rule in Stormblood, etc. Endwalker, however, doubles down on the role of Corvos in Garlemald's history and elevates it to a founding narrative: the idea that the Garleans are justified in invading other nations because they themselves were driven from their own ancestral land thousands of years ago.* This is by no means the full scope of Garlean history (as just one example, Return to Ivalice posited that many other Garleans are likely descended from the technically-minded people of Goug), but it's still very consistent lore-wise and thematically for Endwalker to present the Garlean people's expulsion from Corvos as a creation myth for their empire, and the way this plays out in 6.0 MSQ lets us see the extent of the damage that that myth has done to those who have made it their worldview.

And introducing the term "viator" at the end of that arc as the name for the Empire's most loathed, reviled, and shunned class - the exile - ties into this idea so well: the greatest punishment the Garleans can give for one of their own is to make them a wanderer - to ensure that person is forever denied the home that they prize so highly in their society. This is a classic example of scapegoating, which has deep connections to empire throughout history and Western literature.

It's also such a fitting conclusion to Zenos' relationship with the Garlean Empire, too! One of the reasons I've loved Zenos as an antagonist since 4.0 is that despite treating the workings of imperialism as beneath him and irrelevant to his true desires ("Ala Mhigo and Doma and Garlemald be damned!"), he has a sense of entitlement to the peoples and lands of Ala Mhigo and Doma - and to you, the Warrior of Light! - that is extremely Garlean. The fact that (to paraphrase Lyse) he did all that just so he could feel something is what makes him such a perfect antagonist for Stormblood in my book. But to the Garlean people, that lack of care for his homeland - be it because (their own) people were tempered/killed from his actions, or the very sexy patricide/regicide, or that he caused the Empire itself to fall into ruin when he "should have" succeeded Varis - was to them the greatest crime he could commit. To put it another way, he probably would not have been named Zenos viator Galvus if he had first been Zenos zos Galvus.

And despite me forever lamenting the fact that the 5.X-era plot thread of Zenos having dreams about Amaurot never actually went anywhere, even that ties into his eventual role as viator: the only place with which he has ever had any real connection is gone forever.

Which makes a grave at the end of the known universe feel almost fitting in its tragedy.

(*On a serious note: While I do think the writers were intentional - and, mostly, thoughtful - around leveraging imperialist rhetoric, the fact that this particular framing is often used to justify an ongoing genocide is one of many reasons why I would be very happy for future Garlemald stories to stay on pause for the next few years.)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

what are leona's flaws if he has any?

Of course he has flaws, everyone—fictional and real—does. Leona’s are quite numerous and very blatantly out there in some cases, so this ask (which sort of implies he doesn’t have flaws at all) surprised me 😅 His are pretty hard to miss, no…?

I’m not sure what prompted this question, but I hope it’s not because I somehow gave off the impression that I’m not cognizant of his flaws. I may occasionally sing the guy praises about being a good leader/big brother figure but I’d like to think that I also humble him just as much by bringing up his less savory personality traits (namely his laziness, underhandedness, and pride) and his shortcomings as a leader. I try to look at characters from all angles, regardless of how I personally feel about them overall.

That being said, there’s a slew of flaws to highlight, some of which I already mentioned earlier. Leona is:

Lazy, or, more accurately, unmotivated. If he’s not interested in it or feels he isn’t gaining something himself from acting, 9 times out of 10 Leona won’t lift a finger and/or will choose to nap instead. He frequently doesn’t even attend classes because he thinks there’s nothing they could teach him that the royal tutors haven’t. In many other cases, he ends up helping others because he’ll get something from it. For example, he may teach the first years how to properly mine magestones in his Camping Gear vignette, but only so they quiet down and he can have a quiet spot to nap.

Underhanded. He’s more focused on his desired results rather than the morality or ethics of what methods he uses to achieve those results. Lying, bending the rules, roughing up people who get in his way… Nothing’s off the table. All of book 2 basically illustrates this.

Seeking approval, often to his own detriment. This is usually framed as him wanting the crown, but it’s actually a consequence of Leona wanting to be acknowledged by others since he was without it for most of his life. These feelings lead to many self-destructive behaviors and sentiments, including the events of book 2.

Selfish and spoiled. Let’s be honest, he just is 😭 He’s often ordering others around or expecting to be waited on and not thinking about how it could inconvenience them, yet he also acts really annoyed whenever others ask him to help out with something. Leona also rarely stops to listen to others’ sides of stories, he considers his own perspective to be the most important.

Competitive. His pride is easily wounded, especially if someone claims to be stronger than him in a particular area (even if it’s an area he doesn’t necessarily care about). For example, he argued with Vil about which of them would be the ideal suitor for the Ghost Bride and has a known grudge against Malleus, a fellow prince and skilled player in his own sport of choice.

Arrogant and prideful. This goes hand-in-hand with the other traits; Leona thinks highly of himself and his skills… perhaps too much so. Because of this, he has issues yielding his command to others or even considering opinions which differ from his own. This is why he doesn’t have a vice dorm leader; he’d rather rule unquestioningly. It’s his way or the highway!

Domineering. He doesn’t ask you to do things, he tells you to do things and you obey. This happens a lot between him and Ruggie, but also with other characters and even NPCs like the pixies in Fairy Gala (when he demands water to distract them from finding Yuu and co.).

Petty. This holds true for most of the NRC boys, but I think it’s particularly the case for Leona, who tries to beat up a magicless human for accidentally steps on his tail and then bullies that same human + some extras in a sportsball game 💀 He’s also infamous for his several hard quips against Malleus and other characters that are just there minding their own business or existing.

Needlessly aggressive (in some cases). There’s no question that Leona would prefer to use his brains before his brawn. However, there are instances in which he resorts to magic or physical strength instead of scheming or talking out a solution. For example, the aforementioned attempt to attack Yuu (a defenseless, magicless human) for an accident. Dialogue in Malleus’s dorm uniform vignettes also implies Leona intended to put his hands on Malleus after a perceived slight. In his own dorm uniform vignettes, Leona is about to unleash his UM on second year students who are stepping out of line (Jack has to intervene and beg him to stop).

Defeatist. This stands in contrast to his usual arrogance, but I’m a strong believer in the “Leona uses his arrogance to mask for his own insecurities about being second best/place his entire life” thing. If he thinks there’s no point in trying, that he won’t be acknowledged no matter how hard he tries, he simply won’t. Instead, he’ll wallow in his sorrows and lament about things out of his control (such as birth order or life not being fair)—even though choosing to act or not is in his control. He also has a tendency to deny others’ love and respect for him, almost as if he believes it’s untrue or… he doesn’t believe himself to be worthy of those feelings.

Afraid of failure. For as cocksure as Leona presents himself to the world, he has a crippling fear of failing. That’s why he’s so quick to throw in the towel in book 2; if he deflects the blame to others or raises the white flag early, he can reason with himself that he didn’t really “lose”. There’s nothing more humiliating to try so hard only to not succeed in the end… just like he has his entire life. In the light novel, Leona also expresses that he’s afraid of having hope, because that makes it so much more soul crushing when that hope amounts to nothing. I believe it’s these feelings that also shaped his UM. Why is the identity defining magic he wields destructive? Maybe because Leona himself believes that this is his fate: the prince with naught, because everything he touches turns to sand.

[breaking-everything]

They think we're going to feel bad for a CEO that made countless people die with his greedy money choices just because he's a "dad"?

A lot of dads, sons, uncles, grandfathers, coworkers, friends, neighbors died because of his rejection of claims from his cushy job at an insurance company.

Y'all lap the buttcrack of armed bitches like Rittenhouse that cross statelines to insert themselves into protests and sometimes take smiling family picture photoshoots with even toddlers carrying rifles after a damn school shooting.

Oh, I shouldn't forget 'Thoughts and Prayers' fixes this shit real quick.

Me to pearl clutching conservatives expecting empathy::

"🕊 Thoughts and Prayers 🕊 🔫 💵⛪️"

Also.... Another quite popular quote::

"Get Over It"

Oh oh here's a third!

"Fuck Your Feelings!"

All nice things you said to us during tragedy.

[multiversewatchpost]

the mtt nation council has decided that every member needs to have a mtt vs mtt idea. time to pay up, council member multiversewatchpost........

Mtt but they're deities.

They're commonly depicted alongside eachother and feature a lot in eachothers myths, seeing their omens together is considered to be a warning of coming misfortune and disaster.

Horror is the one you pray too when you go on a hunt, when you are seeking to trap and ensnare your pray. The one you turn to when you beg for full fields and forests. He is the one you go to for guidance when your loved ones fall ill, when you have to protect and protect and protect and you are supposed to provide and shield and yet cannot find the strength. He is the one you pray to when famine strikes the lands, the one you beg for forgiveness, you do not know what you may have done to anger him but you know the widespread hunger is your fault. If only you hadn't displeased your God. This is your punishment. And everyone you hold dear will suffer with you.

Offerings made to him are most commonly food items. Grains or vegetables or fruits. Do not try to offer him meat, he wont accept it. Hates being offered life sacrifices. Will for some unknown reason accept eyes despite his aversion to being offered any other body parts.

Very strongly associated with spiders. His priests and most devout tend to purposefully blind themselves in one eye. Some consider this an outdated practice.

Dust is fickle and unpredictable. No sane person would pray to him as their patron deity. He is just as likely to turn on his followers as he is on their enemies. Fast to anger and hard to placate. Unfortunately, his few followers don't seem to get that memo, they are almost fanatical in their worship. Maybe it's because of what he offers, power, magic, it is he who the desperate turn to, those who have nothing left to lose. Those either lost in power or powerlessness. Those who either need or want more, wether it is because they do not see any other way or because they cannot fathom ever having enough. It is said that he curses those who cross him with incurable madness.

Common offerings include blood, flowers, and items with important sentimental value. Offerings are usually burned. Will accept life sacrifices in certain circumstances but it is risky to try.

Mainly know for his connection to magic, but is also occasionally prayed too for other kinds of power such as material wealth. Very easy to piss of. Followers sometimes claim to hear his voice speaking to them and see 'signs' he sends which are invisible to anyone else. It is widely debated if this is real or the result of the mental degradation a lot of his followers seem to eventually face. Mainly associated with mice but also occasionally robins or magpies.

Finally killer, the one that remains hidden in the shadows, decay itself, his presence clings to his followers, the world around them seems more dull, lifeless and dark. He is the one assassins follow, the one thieves beg for concealment, the one that victims pray too, not for freedom or safety but for vengeance. The stench of rot seems to cling to his favored disciples, their enemies die from mysterious illnesses or are plagued with pests.

He is pretty much exclusively given life offerings. Some tabboos acts, mainly cannibalism are commonly committed in his name. Will also accept roses or deaths in a more metaphorical sense such as the death of a dream or passion.

Is closely associated with animals such as rats, mosquitoes and pigeons. Just, any 'pest' really. Mostly rats tho. Also very strongly associated with disease. Is associated with the night and shadows but that is more of a recent thing, older disciples of his will scoff at you for such a thing.

Or did you mean mtt vs mtt as in mtt fighting eachother-

.....in that case I'm sorry but my idea doesn't include that.....you can make their followers fight or smth....maybe in some of the mythology they fight idk...

(Psssst, people reading this, there is now even more of this au on my blog under #mythology au tag)

[haifoct]

Xiao Zhuo, Li Lun, and Ying Lei adventures at Tianxiang Pavilion incoherent ramblings.

Anyways, I was rewatching FoF (as one does), and episode 21 — on a rewatch, when you know damn well Li Lun is possessing Bai Jiu's body — is hands down one of the funniest, pure comedy gold episodes that the series has to offer.

It's almost offensive how blatant they were about Bai Jiu being Li Lun here. Fashionista Li Lun woke up, and decided he's not going out in those EW clothes smelling of his cousins herbs. That vomit of every colour out there and a nest for hair are NOT sexy. All white for a dignified gentleman like himself.

They point out the change in his outfit, and we don't question it because Li Lun (despite people here claiming he doesn't understand humans) knows it would be a big deal for a teenage boy to visit a place like Tianxiang Pavilion. Dressing more maturely feels natural, and Li Lun gets to slay in all white yet again.

Li Lun: Must change. Li Lun: No one will notice. They will think this loser is excited, good plan.

Li Lun's face is priceless here. There are only two options: either Li Lun seeps through and is genuinely offended that this baby mountain god he remembers acts like this ("why crave attention from human? disgusting. ZHUO YICHEN LOOK AT ME"), or he understands the affections Bai Jiu holds for Xiao Zhuo-ge, acting his ass off even when no one is looking.

I like the first option as an explanation, because Li Lun DOES seep through quite often in this episode.

It looks fun, he said, like a fucking IDIOT.

"Oh shit."

"Shit. Did Zhuo Yichen notice? Shit shit shit shit."

And he continued to fuck up. Those were small details, but I genuinely couldn't stop laughing at his loser ass.

He tugged Xiao Zhuo's bells too hard, actually tugged Yichen back. His movements are harsher, stronger than Bai Jiu's. Bai Jiu tugs at Xiao Zhuo's sleeve or bells gently, and when it is in fact hard, it's usually Yichen trying to walk and Bai Jiu staying behind.

"FUCK. I tugged too hard." LI LUN, YOU DORK.

He tugged so hard Yichen's ribbon came undone. "I fix this. It will be alright it's part of my plan."

Unfortunately, ribbon does not stay put anymore.

Li Lun's honest reaction to this turn of events. No control over his face or strength whatsoever.

Ying Lei and Li Lun's moments have a very special place in my heart. They bounce off each other so nicely, and you can absolutely tell that Li Lun was having fun.

His shit eating grin. Sometimes I wonder if this is what Li Lun did when he was a baby.

Zhu Yan: Let's see human world! Li Lun: sure! Zhu Yan: Yaaaaay! Li Lun: Yaaaaaay! Zhu Yan, at the gates to the human world, turning to his bestie: Li Lun, this so exciting — Li Lun? Li Lun! Li Lun, back at Kunlun: snoozes, sunbathing.

Li Lun entered the pavilion as we know it, and saved his Ge, not forgetting to be a massive dork about it.

He once again pulled Xiao Zhuo real hard. Yichen went WOOOOOSH.

Well saved, Li Lun! Unfortunately, his precious Ge scolds him, but not without remembering to thank Li Lun for his hard work first.

I know for a fact that this was Li Lun seeping through yet again. "If it weren't for me, Zhuo Yichen!"

Yichen was utterly hilarious in that moment too. He took a moment to catch his breath, like being touched by a bunch of women was the worst nightmare he'd ever experienced. He's finally free, the worst day of his life. They're comedic duo we deserve, I will never shut up.

And I LOVE that Li Lun never forgets to hold his Ge by the...well, he does forget that he’s supposed to hold him by the bells, not Yichen’s fucking belt.

Xiao Zhuo: What the — ? Bai Jiu usually holds the bell, why is he holding the belt? *confused Zhuo Yichen noises*

Li Lun is such a DORK. They share one braincell for the three of them. One braincell dream team.

Previously, everyone ignored Ying Lei's attempts to high-five his friends, and isn’t it the cutest that Li Lun was the one to give him a high five? Although he was surely shocked to experience friendship: "*GASP* a high five from a friend?"

Well done, Li Lun! Thank you for your service, you little dork. I will never stop calling him that.

I just love the three of them together so much. It makes me happy that Li Lun got to experience what real friendship feels like, and these two were the perfect candidates to show him the light and welcome him into their home.

This episode is my comfort place now, a better world where they get to be friends and form a perfect one braincell dream team.

[kix-mm]

A once cruel God. Pt.5

Previous - Next

Amber glanced nervously up at Victor, still unable to look at the young god properly without fear. He had been tasked with the impossible: helping Victor become a better person... whatever that meant. He didn't understand why now of all times he wanted to change as a being, was it to give the illusion of humanity? To lure the innocent people who didn't know any better into a false sense of security? To trick Amber into believing that he really wanted to change for the better just to have his way? Whatever it was, Amber was reluctant to let his guard down.

"Why?" Amber asked this time. If Victor really was trying to be as transparent as he claims, then surely he wouldn't get upset if Amber wanted to know why? He wondered how long Victors patients would last with his latest little game. "Why do you want to become a better person - a better being? Why do you suddenly care about what I think?"

Victors eyes widened a little, and he sat up straight. He had never seen Amber so determined to figure something out. He couldn't help but smile a little... Amber asked him a question, and that was good, right? Progress! It was just... the question he asked stumped him a little. "Well..." Victor began, but was a little lost for words. "I... you know my feelings for you run deep, and when you left I... I felt lonely, so I began studying the human language, so we could talk when you returned, but as I began understanding more... the worse I felt, I knew I was feared, but I never quite understood what it was until I began to try and collect the other humans I had released..." Victor stopped for a moment, biting his lip as tears began to form. He remembered everything, every little detail...

"Amber... I never meant to be a bad person, I had no idea that you felt pain, I never... nobody ever told me that what I did to you was so awful." he lays his forehead on the nightstand. "I don't expect you to forgive me, I don't deserve forgiveness for my ignorance, but I want... I want to repay you for everything I took, I know I can't, and I'm... so, so sorry... but let me at least try"

Amber listened, so he would have been brought back here regardless... he was a little surprised that Victor had studied the human language because he felt lonely, not ever even considering that Victor could feel that way because... well, it was Victor. But then came the tears, the apologies, the acknowledgment that he never even knew what he was doing to everyone, he was like a very young child playing with his toys, or at least mistaking the humans for such.

The way Victor was acting now felt too genuine. It even got Amber emotional, was... was this real? Was Victor truly apologizing and trying to become better because of his mistakes? Amber wanted to believe it was real. He wanted it to be the truth... but he was too afraid to believe him.

"Amber?" The human flinched, whiping away the tears the best he could. "y-yes, my lord?" Victor frowned, reaching over and cupping the human's cheek gently with his fingers. "I'm sorry, I never meant to make you cry... I can feel your doubts about my will to change, but I promise I'll do everything in my power to prove I will become better, please, lend me your faith, even if it's the final time, I need your strength"

Amber froze. Faith? Was this what it was all about? If he were to do so, he'd be going back on his own words, on his promise to himself that he'd never trust another deity with his faith again. "I-I'm sorry, Victor... I can't, I've made a promise, and I plan to stick by it." As he spoke, he braced for impact, expecting this to be the last straw... but at least he would have kept that promise he made to himself.

Victor felt his heart sink a little, knowing deep in his heart that this was justified and feeling disgusted with himself that there was a part of him that was... disappointed that Amber didn't want to rekindle old flames... how could he ever ask something like this after all this time? How arrogant must he be to dare ask the very person he hurt to give him his faith... I am a horrid being.

"Selfish..." Victor mumbled. Ambers curled tighter, whimpering, expecting his last moment to happen any second now, and Victor immediately caught on. "Ah- n-no Amber, not you, please, don't worry, I wasn't... talking about you." he wore the face of guilt, reaching over and cupping his hands around the human but being careful not to lift or cover him. "I'm sorry, I was the one being selfish for asking you that question, I'm not upset at you in the slightest - oh, please stop trembling... it's alright"

Amber remained in his position, his hand over his head as the rest of him tried to curl up as tight as possible. Until he decided to peek up at Victor, who had... vanished? Amber sat up, and right in front of him was a human sized Victor, well- a little tall for a human, but one nonetheless.

Victor gave a sheepish smile. "I thought... you might be a little less afraid if I was smaller... do.. do I look alright?" Amber stared at Victor. He hadn't shrunk down in ages. The last time he saw Victor like this, the two were still children, and it resulted in Amber needing stitches because Victor tried ripping out his organs to eat...

"Y-yeah I just... I'm not used to seeing you so..." small? Easy to see? Not to mention that I forgot that gods don't usually wear clothes... and Victor now suddenly felt so much closer. He suddenly realized Victor was pressing his bare body against Ambers for a hug. It was a kind gesture, but one that Amber wasn't all too comfortable with was this just so Victor could touch Amber, or was this... genuine?

[lucygraysboy]

“sugar pie,” the cowboy echoes with a laugh, thinking they should put that on the posters. billy the kid, known also as sugar pie. “i guess that explains it all. sundance! did you hear that?” he playfully calls out, glancing over his shoulder towards the white horse who seems to be ignoring him completely, munching on some grass spiced with wildflowers. “you better eat your veggies or you’re gonna shrink.” obviously, that’s not how it works, but since her theory makes little sense to begin with, why shouldn’t he add to it? “that’s insane, right? what kind of fairytale is it? and the woman that he marries? she claims to be the one who saved him from drowning just ‘cause she found him on the beach. but the mermaid saved him.” the author of that story must have been drunk while writing it, labeling it as a book for children. “that’s what i’ve been thinkin’, too. he was only a pretender. real princes don’t act like that.” eyes gleaming with amusement when lucy gray seems to be just as appalled by the plot twist as he is, he finds it comforting, knowing they can relate. “alright, but you be careful.” he reluctantly lowers her down, making sure she can reach the bottom of the lake with her feet and stand comfortably before letting go. “oh, i get to be the ship, too? alright, i’ll name her… the ranger. and i’ll be prince,” he hesitates for a moment, trying to come up with a good, suitable name, thinking about all the other books that his ma used to read him and all the fictional princes, “tristan.” like the one from tristan and isolde. “rainmist is a beautiful name. rainmist and tristan,” he muses in approval, stifling a grin and clearing his throat as he gets into character, too. “oh, no! the rocks! the rocks are too big! how could we not see them? we’re gonna crash!” billy calls out, struggling to refrain from laughing. his problems non-existent. it seems as though they were the only two people in the world. “we’re gonna crash!” he takes a deep breath and dives under the surface, arms outstretched to locate lucy gray. his fingertips brush against her leg and he gently bumps into her belly, making sure not to actually knock her over. 

“i promise, sugar pie.” lucy gray happily speaks, patting his chest gently. finding it adorable of him. “i know it, i guess i didn’t eat as much of veggies as you.” soft laughter escapes her, knowing all that comes down to genes. he must have had a tall dad or mom, she wonders which. “what?? the prince marries someone else?” shocked— she didn’t expect to hear that at all, what a plot twist to the story she didn’t even see coming. “he wasn’t a true prince at all, then.” quite the opposite to her. “alright, you be the pirate prince and i’m the mermaid with a hurt tail fin. who jumps in an’ saves me,” the brunette agrees, grinning in amusement. “that’s terrible, that poor girl deserved better. not did one thing happen bad, but a million more and she watched the love of her life marry someone else before dissolving into foam. heartbreakin’.” she’d like to have a word with that author, that wasn’t even necessary. what’s wrong with him or her? “i’ll hop off your back now before you go in too far…” lucy gray instructs, letting her legs go from his waist, “you swim by me and then you bump into me. you can be the ship first. then you’ll be a prince once i need savin’.” she grins, slipping into the water waist deep where she can still feel the ground. then she sits down, water coming up to her chin now, “i’m a mermaid named rainmist, brushing my hair.” getting into character, brushing her fingers through her locks. putting her feet together, splashing her ‘tail fin’. “out here, enjoying this warm almost summer day.” humming a song, waiting for ship billy to come by and knock her off her pretend rock.

[hellohiyoko]

The Hidden Danganronpa Trope: The Red Eyed, Pig-tailed, Girl In Red and Black

I had posted this on Amino once before, I figured to repost it here.

Aside from similar color schemes, similar hair styles, and similar eye colors, these three characters have a lot more in common than one would initially realize.

Spoilers below for Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair, and V3: Killing Harmony, you've been warned.

Celestia Ludenburg from THH

The first red eyed, pig-tailed girl to set the precedence for her successors, is Celestia Ludenburg, the Ultimate Gambler. Makoto Naegi introduces himself and he's immediately suspicious of who she really is, seeing as "Celestia Ludenburg" is a rather odd name for a girl who claims to be from Japan. Regardless, she continues to lie and insist that Celestia Ludenburg is her real name.

At first glance, Celeste is seen as a rather cold, composed, and cunning individual who's willing to adapt to the killing game to live in Hope's Peak Academy for the rest of her foreseeable future. But in Chapter 2, we catch the ever so slightest glimpse of her true nature, as she yells and berates Hifumi due to the dissatisfaction of his milk tea. Her foreign accent disappears, and the calm, collected, individual is suddenly losing her shit, loudly might I add, over milk tea. Such an uncharacteristic crash out shocks the remaining survivors, this was a completely different person from who they've come to know.

It isn't until the end of the class trial in Chapter 3 that we learn who Celeste really is. If you didn't know then, you learned now that her vague European accent is fake. Even her name, "Celestia Ludenburg", as expected, was fake. Her real name is Taeko Yasuhiro, which she believes to be a "loser's name". She hates the common lifestyle she's lived up to this point, and hid her true identity from the rest of the peers. Who could've seen this coming? 😲

Peko Pekoyama from SDR2

Next up is Peko Pekoyama, the Ultimate Swordswoman. Immediately, you can tell that Peko and Celeste are two very different characters/people (depends on who you ask, ba dum tss 😉). While Peko is reserved and composed much like the counterpart aforementioned, she's much more trustworthy. She's open to social events such as parties and willing to put herself out there for introductions with her classmates, despite being emotionless. When meeting Hajime Hinata in SDR2 on Jabberwock Island, she's blunt with her intentions, stating that while she wants to get along, she won't hesitate to kill anyone should someone step out of line, all before anyone in SDR2 realized the predicament they were in.

Other than suspiciously meeting with Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu in the mornings when he left the group, nothing else seems out of the ordinary...

Until Chapter 2...

More specifically, the trial of Mahiru Koizumi's death. Toward the end of the trial, Peko tells those who have survived up to that point that she murdered Mahiru because she was Sparkling Justice, a vigilante who targeted criminals, in hopes that she wouldn't be considered the actual blackened. But thanks to Hajime and Sonia Nevermind, her lie about her motive and identity was revealed. We learn that the Kuzuryuu Clan adopted Peko for the sole purpose of serving as Fuyuhiko's sword and shield. She's not just a bodyguard, she sees herself as a tool, to be used by Fuyuhiko, void of any human emotion, intuition, or agency; a rather negative self image, wouldn't you say?

...is it clicking yet? Have you perhaps found a few similarities in Celeste and Peko? Keep whatever thoughts you have on hold as I talk about the last character.

Maki Harukawa from V3

Ah, yes, our final girl! Kaede Akamatsu and Shuichi Saihara meets Maki Harukawa as the Ultimate Child Caregiver, in the library of the Ultimate Academy of Gifted Juveniles in Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony. Despite another change in location, Maki appears to be reserved, composed, and cold initially. Despite Kaede's observation that Maki doesn't look like a child caregiver (and Kaito's opinion that she looks like someone who could fight), nothing else about Maki stands out too much in the prologue and first chapter.

Maki's suddenly thrusted into the spotlight in...you guessed it, the second chapter!

As soon as more Ultimate Research Labs become available, Maki goes off on her own and finds her own behind a gold and crimson door, which doesn't give a "child caregiver" vibe at all. She's even more distant than usual and doesn't let anyone see her lab. And once Ryoma's body is found, Maki refuses to participate in the investigation.

The second trial begins. Her refusal to cooperate and her lack of an alibi makes Maki quite suspicious. But she didn't murder anyone, she just lied about who she is. Toward the end of the chapter, Kokichi reveals to the surviving students that Maki's not a child caregiver, she's the Ultimate Assassin.

Unlike her predecessors though, Maki actually manages to make it to the end of Chapter 3, and survives the killing game alongside Shuichi and Himiko Yumeno, with some interesting character development. Throughout V3 and through FTES, we learn that Maki was tortured into becoming the assassin as we know (and love) today. She had went through so much pain and anger for being forced to kill people that eventually, she became numb to it all. Maki was used, and because of this, she begun to hate herself, believing that she was nothing more than a tool for killing who didn't deserve any friends or compassion (luckily until Kaito Momota convinced her otherwise).

So, to recap:

They're all female

They all have red eyes and pig-tailed hair with pale skin

Their ensemble consists of red, white, and black

They're initially composed, somewhat cold, and reserved

In Chapter 2, a part of their identity is revealed

(I say a part because in Chapter 2 of THH, it's revealed that Celeste's accent and personality are both fabricated, which isn't exactly her whole identity like Peko's or Maki's, but it's something)

Each one of these three characters have lied about who they really are~~

(Celeste lied about being...well Celeste, Peko lied about being Sparkling Justice and went on pretending that she and Fuyuhiko had no connection outside of Hope's Peak, and Maki lied about being the Ultimate Child Caregiver)

Each one of these characters have killed at least one person

(If you believe that Tsumugi is lying and Maki Harukawa is actually an assassin)

Each one of these characters holds a negative self image about themselves due to their past/upbringing

(Celeste hates who she is due to her "commoner" life, Peko believes she isn't human and that her only purpose is to serve Fuyuhiko, while Maki hated herself after being forced into becoming an assassin)

Quite interesting, isn't it? So what it does all mean? Eh, not much, just thought this was pretty cool.

I mean, if anything, should a fourth Danganronpa Killing Game ever come to fruition, and there's yet another girl with red eyes, pig-tails, dressed in red, white, and black, at the very least we all know to be careful.

[mehilaiselokuva]

Is there any specific literature you could recommend for those who want to learn more about the pre-Christian culture in Finland? (In Finnish or in English!)

Hi!

I can link both. I have some personal faves but they are only accessible through our university's accounts...

The first page is a website with multiple good texts about this subject. It is the site of Jaakko Häkkinen, which if you google him you can see that he is a credible source. There are also texts about subjects like language and history.

This article (in Finnish) discusses the claim that Finland had ancient kingdoms. I also listened to this podcast episode from Yle Areena about it (in Finnish).

Yana Borodulina's master's thesis Suomalaisten uskomustarinoiden yliluonnolliset olennot ja niiden nimityksien alkuperä (2016) (in Finnish) is a very good text if you want to read about what ancient Finns believed in (without Kalevala pseudo-Finnish stories!)

An article about the Finnish "bear cult": THE BEAR AND THE YEAR: ON THE ORIGIN OF THE FINNISH LATE IRON AGE FOLK CALENDAR AND ITS CONNECTION TO THE BEAR CULT by Marianna P. Ridderstad (in English) was very fun to read! I will include it only because I love that they mention the Finnish 13th month which has been lost to time. This one is short though.

An article in English with the absolute basics of the ancient Finnish religion, made by Anssi Alhonen from the politically independent organization Taivaannaula.

Now while I cannot give you recommendations on physical books and only have PDFs (we are very digital at our university I guess) I can tell you what to avoid when looking for these books in stores or in the library. A credible book about pre-Christian culture in Finland would NOT promote:

Finnish runic writing. If there were runes found in Finland, they were imported from Scandinavia.

Finnish pre-Latin alphabet. Nothing like this has been found to this day.

"Finnish people descended from the Mongols"/"Finns are mongoloid". Modern genetic technology says otherwise. Put the book down immediately if it says this (or don't, who am I to tell you)

Describing the pre-Christian culture as "vulgar" or similar words. (This point may be ignored if you have good media literacy)

Using the Kalevala as a credible source for Finnish culture.

Additional: beware of texts written by a specific type of people. I would avoid people who do not cite sources. (I have stumbled across so many Neopagan witches who just write stuff like "ancient Finnish spells" which cannot be found in any archive. We have real spells too! No need to make up history)

Hope this helps!

[maxdibert]

Girl, but get a grip, I didn’t say that you can’t like a character. I just said that 'doing nothing' is canonically a lie because he actually did something. And yes, he had things he needed to apologize for. And sorry, but here the only person who overreacted in the first place is the OP, who couldn’t handle a little joke and started a drama because I made a joke about guillotines. Let’s see if you apply the lesson to yourselves, because most of the things you accuse other people of are actually the attitudes you show publicly. I mean, I’m sorry if you don’t want to accept that your faves are pieces of shit, they can still be your faves. Most of my faves are pieces of shit and it’s fine, the problem comes when you try to justify the unjustifiable, sorry not sorry.

Im not a James Potter apologist cause he did nothing to apologise for

[lol-jackles]

Hello, I wanted to ask you because you have done excellent research and provided great context on other people's asks before.

I saw Jared haters/Misha stans claiming that Jared did horrible stuff to Misha from bullying, assault and etc... Or some stuff like Misha saying Jensen and Jared threw broken glass at him (I don't believe anything that man says but I wanted to make sure)

Is that true? Can you provide better context about that? because I'm really curious. I think Jared is innocent.

Jared is innocent. 90% of the 'prank' stories are fake. Lies to you civilians, fake news to this generation. Most 'bloopers' on gag reels are scripted, so it's fake-adjacent. Also, real broken glass is not used on set, break-away-glass are made of sugar and are quite edible, or are made of light plastic like acrylic. They're designed to break into blunt pieces instead of sharp pieces.

So why do J2 and Misha keep telling these fake news?  Because you the fans want those stories. Because nobody wants to hear about how a 5-second reaction shot took two hours to set up and film and took several takes. People want to hear who slept with who but since actors can't talk about that, so they tell "prank" stories every time reports and fans ask for them even though they likely never happened.

With that said, I don’t doubt that some nut tapping may have happened.  If you watched The Walking Dead, Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s Neegan helpfully explained the fine art of nut tapping.  At the first commercial break we immediately turned to the women and said, “We don’t do that!” (anymore).  We don’t rhino hump each other anymore either but until JDM brings it up, we’re not going to mention it because you ladies always think it’s sexual.  Nut tapping is just a form of joking around among (true) friends and the reaction is always really funny, it’s just “banter”.   It’s why in the early days Misha used to complain about not being a recipient of the Js’ “pranks” because until that happens, he’s an outsider.  So every time I hear these crotch-grabbing prank stories, I think they’re either fake, or a shoutout to producers (”see, I’m friends with the Js!”), or staged to make the newbies feel accepted.  I know, guys are weird.