#been meaning to write this one out hoo boy

[vigilantekisser]

Let It Be Done Unto Me

pairing: husband!matt murdock x f!reader (wc: 7.5k | ao3 mirror)

18+! cw: breeding kink (mentions of impregnation & pregnancy – both matt and reader want kids here), dom!matt, rough sex, oral!f receiving, doggy, mating press, light bondage, choking, biting, use of “good girl” “my wife” during sex, slight dacryphilia, possessive behavior, classic daredevil guilt, allusions to religious devotion, fluff

summary: some dreams have always felt beyond reach for matt, including having a family of his own. but post-party, three drinks in—turns out all he had to do was ask.

note: foggy and marci are married and have a kid here! also matt holds a baby in this one, so obv it’s totally self-indulgent : )

A/N: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to the dilfest lawyer on earth!!! i started this completely intending for it to be just filth but my nine year delusionship with this man means everything i write about him WILL grow feelings. also I’VE BEEN SO BUSY but i alw read everyone’s sweet messages in my inbox and thank you so much for them, i’ll get through everything eventually!! dex again next

The bustling warmth of Foggy’s apartment hits you the moment you step in the door. Every inch of the space is alive with the sound of chatting adults and shrieking children, not to mention the same incongruously happy verse of “We Did It!”—the Bluetooth speaker cutting out the Dora playlist over and over. Bright balloons cling to the backs of chairs, paper plates and half-eaten cupcakes cluttering every surface. To put it simply, it’s utter domestic chaos.

So obviously, it’s hard not to smile.

“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”

“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”

“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”

You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”

“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.” 

“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts. 

You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din. 

You turn. 

Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”

Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone. 

Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.

“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”

“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”

“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”

A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle. 

“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”

Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.

One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”

He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet. 

“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.��

Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.

The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.

“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.” 

“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”

Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.

Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.

“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”

Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”

He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”

“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”

“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”

You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.

Later, by the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.

He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in slow, endless waves.

It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.

“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”

Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.

“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”

The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”

“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.

You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Please.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”

“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”

“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”

You blink.

The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence.  “What?”

“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it. 

You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”

But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.

“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.

That smile. Christ.

“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”

His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.

“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”

Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.

His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”

His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.

“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.

Fuck, Matt, get it together.

Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.

“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him. 

And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.

“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”

You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.

“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”

That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.

It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–

His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.

“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.

But seemingly, he does.

He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?” 

“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.

“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do. 

You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.

“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”

For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.” 

Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.

“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription… So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”

An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.” 

He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.

But God knows it. And he knows it.

The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.

Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith— 

The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.

Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.

He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.

“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”

The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.

“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”

You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.

Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.

(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)

“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.

“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”

The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.

“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”

And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.

Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him. 

Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.

“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.

But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.

“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.

Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.

Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.

“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”

That earns a snap.

You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold. 

Oh. Fuck.

Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles. 

Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.

“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs. 

Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.

One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself. 

He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.

You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”

“I literally just fucking came!”

He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”

“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”

Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you one? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”

“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids do you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”

The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.

You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.

Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”

He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”

You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.

“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”

You manage a small shake of your head.

A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.

“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”

Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.

“Matt—please—”

“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”

This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely. 

“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”

The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—

You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.

Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.

“Matt— please, the neighbors—”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?” 

You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.

His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken. 

“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”

A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.

“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough. “I want to feel it in your throat.”

“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…

It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion. 

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”

His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock. 

“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”

You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.

Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills. 

“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.

“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”

“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”

“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”

He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”

You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star—he hums at each one.

Smiley face. That earns a chuckle. 

“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”

You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.

“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Have faith that it includes you.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.

“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”

He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.

“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”

The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.

“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”

tryna get a load from of this guy

[storywriter007]

hi hi hi!! i loved your preferences with the HoO boys! i was wondering if you could do another one, with literally any plot (ex- cuddling hcs, first kiss, or anything you feel like writing) with the same boys (+maybe nico if you write for him?) thank u!!

First Kiss - HoO Boys x Fem!Reader

author's note: hey i'm so glad you liked my work!! y'all have no idea how much it means to me omg :) i didn't include nico bc in the comments a valid point was brought up

warnings: kissing, cursing, whiskey is mentioned as a scent (tbh i've never smelled it, it's just vibes)

genre: fluff

word count: 3.2k (all bullet points)

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

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send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

percy jackson

you and him would've started off as best friends

and as both of you get older, you start liking each-other

percy would 100% be aware of his crush on you

he knows he has it, but he just avoids acting on it

he kinda just does his best to ignore his feelings

bc even though he's charismatic and charming

he's shy and anxious

he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable

and make you never want to talk to him again

he doesn't want to ruin everything you guys have and lose your trust in him

so he undoubtedly tries to pursue someone else

he'll talk about this other girl to you

not to make you jealous

but instead as a weak attempt to make himself feel like he doesn't like you

not a good idea

he makes you unintentionally jealous

you distance yourself from him bc you like him but can't stand hearing abt another girl all the time

but, you don't want to ruin things for him (bc you are convinced he is crazily crushing on her)

so you decide that you've just gotta let him go

percy wonders why his best friend is being so distant

you guys go weeks barely communicating

percy is still trying to convince himself he doesn't like you

but distance makes the heart grow fonder

he realizes and accepts the fact that he is madly in love w/ you (who wouldn't be?)

and that he can't stand this weird distance between you guys anymore

he decides he needs to talk to you

so one day you're just sitting on the deck by the lake with your feet in the water

you're just contemplating your love affair with him

and you see him coming your way

you're trying to avoid him so you get up and start to leave

he literally sprints to you and grabs your arm

you turn to look at him and he asks you why you've been avoiding him

you snatch your arm out of his grip and tell him it's nothing and that you're busy

he doesn't let you leave and keeps asking

so you slide a passive aggressive comment, something like "i bet your girlfriend's thinking about you"

and he realizes that you're jealous

and that he didn't convince himself that he liked this other girl

but he convinced you

he tells you everything

he tells you how much he likes you and that he never even liked this other girl

he was just trying to convince himself he did bc he didn't want to ruin things between the two of you

you confess to liking him too

both of you kind of laugh off your stupid choices

after you're done laughing, you kinda just look into each-other's eyes

both of you are leaning in

until you hear someone coming, and percy just grabs you and jumps underwater

and you guys have your first kiss underwater

your arms are around his neck and his are on your waist

you're like pressed up against one-another

the kiss is kinda steamy bc let's be honest: you've wanted to kiss each-other for five years

but it's a sweet kiss

percy smells like vanilla

you can hear the person saying "i swear they were here a minute ago" and then walking off

you both come up to the surface undeniably blushing/hot and laughing

jason grace

listen, i love jason

that man is STIFF

like you could literally leave him a note that says "i want to kiss you"

and he'd find you and go "that was a pretty good song you suggested. i like this one-direction band"

LMAO

ok but anyways, you guys are frenemies

you guys started off as rivals

you thought being the son of jupiter would make him arrogant

and you thought he was, but he was really just reserved and serious

he didn't know how to be anything different

he didn't like you because you argued with him about everything

you challenged him constantly

and you weren't as nice to him as you were everyone else

but

throughout the years, you get to know each-other better

but that doesn't mean you get along

you guys occasionally unite and get along (and typically when you do, it's the best hours of your life)

but otherwise, you two have it out for each other

constant disagreements and fights

you just loose all of your patience when it comes to each other

so you have a love-hate relationship with him

yeah you'd kill for him but you would never lend him an extra pen on tests

yeah he'd die for you but he would never let you look at his notes

you get along when you need to and this exact mentality is what lands both of you together, as praetors

but let's be real: there is so much unspoken tension between the two of you

like yeah you hate each other but you lowkey wanna make out

and you can't lie and say you didn't trust him or didn't like him

he'd proved you wrong on hundreds of occasions

he was capable, kind, caring, smart, loyal

and he couldn't lie and say he hated you either

you were fun, kind, ambitious, intelligent, and loyal too

over the years, both of you projected an "i hate you."

when in reality, you'd grown quite fond of one-another

you've shown your worst selves to each-other, you've lied for each-other, you've told secrets to each-other, and you've just been each-other's constant

y'both know you like each other: that's what makes the hate even stronger

like jason has other feelings for you but he doesn't know what to call them

attraction? a small crush? love? sexual tension? is it getting hot in here?

first kiss happens before you guys head into a huge battle

yes. the possibility of never seeing you again is what makes the man realize he's in love with you

like you guys are standing on a hill, watching the army of monsters slowly march towards camp jupiter

you guys turn to look at each other

you two are thinking the same thing: if i die, it's an honor to have served with you

"you ready?" you'd ask

"always." he'd say (typical roman)

you'd turn to look at him, but he's already looking at you

he grabs you by your arm and pulls you in for a kiss

it's a long kiss

it's passionate, and it's needy, but it's sweet at the same time

he basically lifts you off your feet and you're holding onto neck and his hair

you're pulling him closer into and he's holding you so tightly

you want to remember this

jason smells like fresh clean sheets mixed w/ whiskey

when you guys finally pull away bc you know you have to lead an army, you rest your foreheads against one-anothers

"good luck y/n"

"i'm gonna see you when this is over jason."

"i know you will."

one of the rare times you guys use first names

and yes, you do see each other again :)

leo valdez

you and leo happens when you first get to camp

and instantly his mind short-circuits and he's like DAM

he knows you're probs gonna reject him

but hey you miss 100% of the chances you don't take

so he starts off, as always, making some bold flirty comment

and to his surprise, you return the banter

he has to pause for a second

he stutters and thinks of a witty response

you laugh at how flustered he is

and that's the start of a beautiful friendship

from that day on, you two are partners in crime

your guys' days consist of: making stupid things, playing stupid pranks, sneaking out to get fast food, and making vlogs of all of the stupid things you do (on an old vhs recorder leo rigged)

you guys are a two in one; if you went somewhere, he did too

soon, your friendship evolves into things that aren't just fun hangouts

you often catch him under cabin 9 and talk to him

you guys open up to each other in his little workshop, a lot

he tells you things he's never told anyone and you do the same

what's different about your relationship w/ leo is that you don't make fun of him

you barely argue with him, you respect him, you don't call him scrawny, you don't point out his insecurities, and you never make a joke at his expense

this makes him feel a lot more comfortable around you

and he puts down whatever he's doing if you come to him in an emotionally distressful state

you guys listen to each other, cry in front of each other, and help each other feel better

leo becomes the only person in your life you can rely on

and you're the same for him

so his thoughts evolve from DAM to i think i'm in love with you

and everyday he's around you, he finds himself falling more and more in love with you

and every late night you're with him under cabin 9, you start to like him more too

he's nervous to confess to you bc he doesn't want you to not feel the same way and you end up pushing him away or something

but he can't ignore how deeply he feels for you

he can't stand it when other guys try to hit on you bc all that's going through his head is that's my girl

so after a lot of contemplating, he decides he needs to tell you how he feels

he invites you to his workshop at a really specific time (which is weird bc he just says come whenever)

but you go and this man has cleaned the place up and dimmed the lights

he has a robot that he programmed

it sees you and starts playing some really corny love song

and he confesses that he really really likes you and that it kills him seeing other guys trying to flirt with you

he says the sweetest things ever about why he likes you and he just sounds like a fangirl tbh

he starts rambling abt how much he likes and how it's totally okay if you don't feel the same way and that he doesn't want this to affect your friendship if you don't and etc

you just go up to him and kiss him

the robot starts cheering and saying "da lady loves leo!!!!" (he would totally program that change my mind)

he short circuits (like the day you met him)

but he kisses you back, hands around your waist as yours are around his neck

leo smells like burning firewood mixed with cinammon

it's a long and sweet kiss, but you guys have to pull away bc you're laughing too much

why? bc the robot won't stop cheering and saying "da lady loves leo!!!!" so he has to take a minute to make it play your favorite song

"sorry." he'd chuckle. "where were we?"

and then you guys would kiss again

frank zhang

you and frank are best friends

you first met each other cleaning the weapons room

you were looking at archery equipment and you just kinda mindlessly said "i wish i knew how to use this"

and frank's ears shot up so fast

he offered to help you learn, and you guys came to a deal

you'd help him become a better swordsman and he would help you become a better archer

during your guys' training sessions, you'd talk a lot

frank finally felt like he had a real friend

you guys would share stories about your pasts and your interests

maybe a little bit of gossip too

frank was kinda surprised you hung out with him so much bc in his eyes, he was a loser

you reassured him that having different strengths didn't make him weak

you often traded shifts with other campers so you could spend more time with him

as time went on, frank became more confident in his ability as a swordsman

and you became more confident in your skills as an archer

so during the next war game

you two teamed up and actually led your group to victory

no one expected two kids from the fifth cohort to steal a victory like that but you guys did

you were diligent, effective, and cooperative

you guys were over the moon that night and frank thanked you for helping him become a better soldier

and you did the same

it was after that night you guys both realized you had a serious crush on one-another

after countless hours training, cleaning, and working

after having hundreds of deep conversations

after helping each-other reach their goals

you guys realize that you really liked one-another

so one day, some kid at camp makes fun of frank for being better at archery than sword fighting

he shakes it off now, ever since you told him the people who make fun of him probably miss the entire target during archery

but he got really pissed off when the kid said "i guess that's why you and y/n are friends. you exchange weaknesses"

it made him upset bc you aren't weak

you acknowledged you faltered in one spot and wanted to do better

that's brave, that's strong

so frank might've "accidentally" hit the kid with his arrow

it was nothing serious, but he was pinned up against the wall by an arrow

it was rlly funny

unfortunately, reyna didn't think so, and frank got sentenced with a bunch of chores

you didn't know this, so you switched your shift and visited him in the weapons room

you asked him what he'd done to miss all the camp activites

he wouldn't say at first, but then he'd admit he kinda shot an arrow and a kid ended up pinned against a wall

you'd ask why he did that bc you knew frank wasn't violent in the least

and it just comes out right there

he admits he went a little crazy bc he didn't like how this kid was talking about you

he talks about how incredible you are and it made him angry that some kid tried to minimize you to a weakness you were working on improving

"and i don't know, i guess i get heated when it comes to people i love" he'd say, before pausing and realizing what just came out of his mouth

obviously you're smiling bc you love him too

you tell him that you love him too, and that you didn't say anything bc you were scared of ruining your friendship

so yes, your first kiss is in the weapons room

you just kinda jump on him and kiss him

he bumps into the wall behind him and he wraps his arms around your mid-section

and yours are around his neck

it's a cute, sweet kiss

it lasts a few seconds more than it should

frank smells like sugar mixed with the irony-smell of the weaponry

but afterwards, you help frank with his chores so you guys can go train

[lvsrckk]

smells like you

pairings: jason grace x reader

summary: y/n accidentally takes home jason’s hoodie after a bonfire and now wears it pretty regularly. she debates giving it back to him before she receives an unexpected knock at her cabin late at night, and the culprit is none other than jason grace himself.

warnings: pretty cute, fem! reader, nothing crazy or out of the sorts, stalker-ish reader implied

A/N: my first fic on here! still testing the waters so i apologize if this is horrible lol! i love love love jason grace and unfortunately there is indefinitely not enough writing for him. i hope you enjoy and feel free to request more pjo/hoo/toa characters!

jason grace was undoubtedly the most perfect man you had ever laid your eyes upon.

i mean come on!

the son of zeus had every girl at camp fawning over him from the moment he first arrived at camp half blood.

so naturally of course you find yourself wound up in a sticky situation regarding stolen property of his (stolen by none other than yourself,) after a bonfire.

the scent of camp fire smoke and a gentle night breeze penetrated the air heavily. you and your fellow cabin mates, along with practically every other camper which currently resides at camp halfblood, were gathered around a bonfire sharing jokes, laughs, and songs together. it was a perfect night, the sky being clear and the breeze being warm. however your sights were currently set on the piercing blue eyes directly across from you.

jason grace.

he was laughing with his group of friends. you don’t know what could possibly be so funny that he was doubled over laughing, however you wished it was you envoking the sweet noise from him.

after a long hour and a half of staring hopelessly, with the fire being put out and your cabin mates scurrying off before curfew, everyone begins to disperse leaving you sitting on a log, freezing, and contemplating talking to the blond haired boy whom you had been staring at for the past two hours.

a chill runs down your spine as you stand up in search of something to quench the cold that is slowly overtaking you as the moon settles further into the deep night sky.

after aimlessly analyzing your surroundings, you come across a blue hoodie sprawled on the grass.

maybe you shouldn’t have practically stolen it, but i mean it was just sitting on the grass begging to be worn! and you were freezing!

this split second decision now leads to your current dilemma regarding who you had stolen it from.

after returning to your cabin in the hoodie, which was decidedly more comfortable than you had expected, you had begun to pretty regularly wear it as you slipped in and out of consciousness each night.

no one had even missed it.

or so you thought.

after a particularly challenging sparring session with one of your siblings, you come across none other than jason grace and percy jackson sparring themselves.

once you get the whole aimlessly staring out of your system, you overhear bits and pieces of their conversation.

his voice faded in and out but you had basically caught the gist of a missing hoodie of jason’s which had mysteriously dissappeared before he could retrieve it after the bonfire. the only thing he made out was a retreating figure with (y/h/c) hair he saw slip into your cabin.

cheeks flushed, your shirt suddenly felt unbearably tight as you tugged gently at the collar and stalked back to your cabin ever so embarassed that it had been his hoodie you had basically thieved.

you cursed the gods above. of course this would happen to you. there was the option of not telling him entirely, however it probably wouldn’t be hard for him to distinguish which of your cabin mates took it considering he had caught a glimpse of you walking away.

decidedly, it would spare you much less embarrassment if you simply returned it and came up with some half-assed excuse to save your behind from looking entirely like a stalker.

—

it was precisely 10pm. it was nearing curfew and you were the only one in your cabin as of now, trying to take advantage of the empty bathroom before your siblings came rolling in and consuming what little space it provided entirely.

you were brushing your hair in the mirror, plotting meticulously what excuse you would come up with tomorrow when you gave jason’s hoodie back when suddenly three knocks on your cabin’s door rang through to the bathroom.

surely it wasn’t one of your siblings. there would be no reason to knock when entering your own shared living space.

you made your way to the door, talking your time. still groggy and half asleep as you were getting ready for bed.

what stood outside the door when you gently opened it was definitely a wake up call.

none other than, you guessed it, jason. grace.

there he stood in all his glory, his messy blond hair, glasses, a t-shirt, presumably to sleep in along with casual sweatpants.

even in his leisure moments, he still resembled perfection.

his hand rested on the back of his neck and he flashed you a sheepish smile.

“i think you have something of mine?” he chucked lightly. you however, were frozen with panic.

there was no point in lying now, as his hoodie was very obviously neatly folded and resting on the chest in front of your bed, very obviously in his line of sight.

your plan now? profusely apologize!

“look, i’m really sorry. i promise i don’t normally steal! it was just really cold out, and i was shivering, and it was just sitting there-“

he cut you off with another laugh. there wasn’t any anger on his face and he honestly looked nearly as embarrassed as you.

“honestly, if it gives me an excuse to talk to you, feel free to steal another one.”

your lips parted in shock. you had never even seen him flash you a look before. let alone assume he had even given you a thought before.

you stammered before replying, “so, you’re not upset?”

“hmmm, no. i’m sure it looks better on you anyway.” he leaned against the door frame. his smile was quite literally dazzling. you felt as though you could barely move.

the familiar sound of footsteps approached from outside your cabin which was undoubtedly your siblings rolling in to go to bed.

“talk more tomorrow, yeah?” his voiced snapped you out of your daze.

you nodded your head lightly. “yeah.” finally returning his smiles with a grin of your own.

hopefully, this would be the start of a new beginning.

who knew stealing would get you a boyfriend?

[slamminslamminmcgill]

i’m so glad y’all like how i write dialogue for deadpool cause i got more thoughts abt him fingering you. he loves t-dick and transmasc pussy and i put that on GOD!!!

him shoving his hand down your pants and trying to figure out what’s going on. he cups your crotch over your underwear, his thumb flicking across your itty bitty t-cock. he somehow doesn’t suspect a thing. “jesus, mary, and fucking joseph, i know i called you a tiny-dick twerp in theory, but this is just upsetting in practice. feels like i’m laughing at the mean comments on instagram reels. y’know, the kind where those mommy influencers exploit their children for views and—OH!” he swipes down the seam of your cunt, and it all finally dawns on him. “well, well, WELL, aren’t you just full of surprises, pretty boy?! gimme about 15 minutes and you could be full of cum, too, if that’s what your heart desires. oh! also! what do you like to call it? pussy? kitty? cunt? front? hole? snatch? hoo-ha? baby cave? penis fly-trap?”

he finally rips your underwear off and gets to explore you, gloves on skin.

“aw, for fuck’s sake, honey, you’re soaking wet ALREADY? tell me i’m not your first. or maybe you’re just easily excited? that’s honestly such a blessing for my ego though. i’m very flattered. truly. could i really just… slip some in already?”

“ahh—ha, fuck! fuck!!!”

almost as loud as you, wade gasps at how wet and silky, lush and inviting your cunt feels. part of him REALLY wants to just cut to the chase and fuck you right now. but that’d be rude. it’s his first time. he’s just been invited in. he needs a tour of the house.

“UGH, c’mon, stop it, how are you THIS fucking wet in here? i always thought that T must turn your cunt into the goddamn mojave but YOU…” he GROWLS and hooks his fingers into you, so perfectly into you, it feels like he’s pierced into your spinal cord. like he’s just rolling your central nervous system between his digits, “YOU are something else, juicy-cuntoure.”

then the motherfucker starts twisting them. scissoring them inside you and stretching out your insides.

“what’s your thing, the konami code?” he jokes, mapping it on your plush and squishy walls. “up up, down down, left right, left right, B A start? or are you more gta san andreas? R1, R2, X… no, wait, shit, what was it?” then he abandons the pattern, and just starts button mashing. he never abandons the bit though, he’ll just yap to himself even as you lose your fucking mind on his hand. “shit, c’mon, the rocket launcher, that’s an essential! i should have that one memorized! you NEED that to shoot at the police cars whenever they’re on screen! where was i? oh. yeah. knuckle deep in some little faggot. average weeknight for me. you wanna get nachos after this? maybe i could eat your ass in the bathroom at applebees?”

[pascalispretty]

I Call It Walking

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1817

Tags: pining, unrequited love, dark implications, stalking

Summary: It feels like fate that you find his letters. But sometimes, fate needs a little nudge.

A/N: Hoo boy, this one was a struggle, so please be gentle! Written for @jolapeno's Dear-Uary challenge, I'm sorry it's so late. Thank you to @misscharlielulu, @penvisions and @notjustjavierpena for looking this over for me 💙title from 'An Unhealthy Obsession' by the Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra. Inspired by that song and the 1993 movie 'The Crush' (ao3).

Dearest,

I have been thinking about you all day. This film shoot has been going on for so long, and I feel like I have hardly seen you. Still, you looked beautiful. You always do. It’s one of the many reasons why I sit here alone with my pen instead of telling you how I feel in person. One kind smile from you and I would hardly know what to say – the pen and paper are far less intimidating, and far more forgiving.

               Long shoots on location are more difficult than I anticipated, I suppose. It’s beautiful here – exactly what I imagined when I was writing the script – but I feel like I barely see you. It’s been hard, being stuck in my hotel room working on rewrites when I want to be out exploring the island with you.

Indeed, I should be working on the love scene right now, instead of writing about my own love life. My feelings for you give me so much to tap into; it will make it hard to watch when they get around to filming it. I’m not sure I will be able to watch Alicia telling Cary why they can never be together. It will remind me too much of reality.

I will take the coward’s way out, again. Nick tells me that I should just tell you myself, but I could never say any of this to you. I couldn’t bear no longer having you in my life. And so I will roll this paper up and throw it out to sea in a bottle, like all the others.

Mournfully,

J

You smooth the letter out again, the paper stiff and crinkled from where water had seeped into the bottle. The ink is still clear. His words are still clear. His handwriting is careful—neater than you expected, given the barely legible scrawl he leaves in the margins of the scripts.

He put time into this. Effort.

All for a letter he tossed into the sea, as if he never wanted anyone to read it.

But you had. Of all the people on the island, you had found it. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Fate was funny like that. Selective. Deliberate.

You trace the loop at the end of his J, your fingertip lingering there. It had been past midnight when you’d come home from the beach, and you don’t know how long you’ve sat here for, contemplating the letter in front of you. You should go to bed—makeup wants your ass in the chair by five-thirty sharp, and you have a long day of filming ahead.

Instead, you start from the beginning and read it again.

Dearest Javi,

I don’t quite know where to begin. God, I still remember the first day we met. You looked so handsome in your orange shirt, so happy to be on set. I was so intimidated to meet you before I saw you. I read the script and thought you must be some kind of half-mad genius, intimidating and exacting.

It was no wonder, really, not when the script came with annotations referencing films I’d never heard of from sixty years ago. It was worth the effort it took to track them down though; you have impeccable taste in film. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I wept like a child when Aunt Lucy came to the door at the end of Paddington 2.

And then I met you, and you were so kind and warm. You weren’t intimidating at all, though it was clear you were the genius I thought you were as soon as I read the first page of the script.

Even a letter you never intended to be read is like poetry.

I should apologise, I guess, for fishing the bottle out. I was in one of the hammocks, reading, when you came down to the beach. I wondered what on earth you were doing, wading into the water with your pants rolled up around your knees!

After you threw the bottle into the sea, I got curious. I know, I know, curiosity killed the cat. I swam in and got it – you really should have thrown it further if you didn’t want anyone to read it – and got your letter.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading – I never expected you to feel the same way about me as I do you. You’re brilliant, and I’m just some nobody they cast because Helena dropped out. But one of us has to make the first move, so – I really like you, Javi. I think you’re handsome and funny and the most talented writer in a generation.

I’ve written my number on the back. I really hope you’ll call.

All my love,

Your Alicia

You wait.

You wait and wait and wait. Every time your phone chirps, your pulse leaps – only to crash again. Spam call. Group chat. Pervy costar from your last TV show. Never him.

It’s only when the director snaps at you to turn the fucking thing off and leave it off set that you realise he might not call you.  

At first, you tell yourself that he’s busy. You’re busy too – there’s only a short time left before the cast and crew will be packing up to move to the other side of the island to carry on shooting, and he’s spending a lot of time working on rewrites of the final scene.

You don’t envy him that. From what you heard, the studio execs and the producers are arguing over the ending, crows picking over the bones of the script. The studio wants a happy ending, something sugary sweet for the audience to sigh dreamily over. You can’t imagine this movie having a happy ending, not when the way Javi wrote it is so perfect.

With everything that’s going on, you don’t get the chance to observe him closer, to see whether he got your letter and is simply ignoring you. You know that Javi wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t just ignore something so heartfelt without acknowledging it at all.

When you do see him, he’s usually got a notepad or laptop in hand. More often than not, he has Gabriella with him, hovering over him as he writes. You’re not entirely sure why Gabriella’s here, accompanying him like a second shadow to set and to dinners and to the beach.

With no sign that he’s received it by the time production has moved across the island and settled into the new digs, you resign yourself to it having gone missing. It could have gone astray in the post, or been lost in the move, or taken by someone else.

And so you find something else to send to him.  

Dear Javi,

You’ll have to forgive the postcard, it was all I could find on short notice. You haven’t been on set much, but I hope you’re okay. It’s been strange, moving to a new part of the island; half of my costumes seem to be missing in transit. It made me wonder if my letter had gotten lost in transit too?

Hoping to hear from you soon,

xxxx

Sweetheart,

Another location, another stunning beach I barely get to visit. It makes me miss all of our talks up by the cliffs. It was the best cure for writer’s block. I’ve started taking walks by the beach whenever I get an hour or two to myself, but it isn’t really the same. The rewrites are finished, at least. When you come back from settling affairs back home, we’ll have to celebrate.

I’m not sure I could have gotten them finished on time without your support. It was so good of you to answer my calls, even when it was the middle of the night for you back home. Remind you to give you a pay rise soon. It’s the least I can do, really.

Love, Javi

The second letter hits you like a truck. Your breath catches in your throat, and your fingers tremble where they grip the paper. It had clearly been intended for someone else, some other woman. It only takes you a few days of careful observation to realise it was likely meant for Gabriella.

It’s hard not to keep noticing her once you’ve started. She’s always clinging to Javi; laughing with him over lunch or leaning over him as he scribbles notes on the script. She’s a constant, looming presence.

She had also clearly stolen your letters.

It hurt when he’d never responded to the first, though you put that down to some postal mishap, the chaos of the entire crew moving to the new location. But when you get a chance to ask him if he’d gotten your postcard, he just looks at you blankly.

You make him smile easily enough after that little mishap, crack a joke about ‘You’ve Got Mail’ that makes him laugh and gets the two of you talking about 90s rom-coms until Gabriella, predictably, escorts him away. She looks him over with concern, as though you might have done something to him, as they walk away.

It stings. You can make him laugh so easily. You could be so good for him.

But Gabriella won’t let you. She clings to him like a second shadow, always there to stop anyone else getting too familiar with him. You don’t miss the looks of pity she shoots at you when you’re not looking, the condescension making your jaw clench.

The grand, tragic scene plays like a dream. You’re up on the cliffs, the waves crashing below you, the wind in your hair. By the time you’re done, you can hear crewmembers sniffling, see the makeup girl blink away a tear.

Most importantly of all, Javi is beaming at you from behind the monitor. You want to bask in the glow of his smiles like a cat curled up in a patch of sunlight. He starts to get up out of his chair, to come over to you.

But then Gabriella rests a hand on his shoulder, whispers something in his ear. And he turns away from you.

The island you’re filming on is quiet. Safe. The cast and crew all like going for wanders along the coast. It’s peaceful, walking along the pale golden sand and listening to the waves. The beach is hemmed in on one side by dense, green foliage, where exotic, colourful birds come to roost in the day.

Now, though, the only thing in the trees is you.

The trees rustle softly, shifting in the evening breeze. Somewhere behind you, a bird takes flight. But Gabriella doesn’t hear a thing.

She just keeps walking. Oblivious.

You curl your fingers around the branch in front of you, steadying yourself. The bark is rough beneath your palm.

You take a step forward. She still doesn’t hear you.

You take another.

[gouraminnow]

If it's okay can I request a yandere sir crocodile x single mother reader. I've been thinking about what would happen if the reader had a baby, like would they take the reader and leave the baby or take the reader and the baby. If they did take the baby what would happen, would they be mean to the baby, nice to the baby, or just distance. Would they become a platonic yandere. I'm so sorry if I already sent this in, I can't remember if I did or not.

Yeah I got the first one, but dw about it lol tumblr can get weird with asks anyway.

Rambling under the cut! Not sure if you meant literal baby, child is of ambiguous age but can talk.

Hoo boy you've handed me a rough one, huh? I don't think Croc is a kids guy. But I don't think he'd be outright horrible to a small, unthreatening child- if not because of standards, but because it just isn't worth his time or energy to direct actual hatred toward. Yes, he was willing to destroy a whole country and hundreds of lives which no doubt included children, but I think that degree of faceless separation is very different from looking at a kid directly and going "Yeah I'm gonna kill this. Personally. With my hands." Vivi was 16 and Luffy was 17 iirc but one is an important opposing political figure with crucial information on his misdeeds, and Luffy... is Luffy. Idk. What I'm saying is at the very least I don't see him being abusive or disposing of the child- he does like you, and that's a pretty surefire way to destroy you and any reason you have to cooperate.

It could be a "cooperate and your child remains happy/unharmed" situation but tbh I don't wanna write that. Child abuse is a topic I'm willing to touch on in specific circumstances, mostly backstory but I don't really want to write about canon characters doing it. So I simply won't lol. Reader inserts can be held against their will and mistreated but I don't want to involve a kid in that dynamic, so if I write something where the reader is caring for a kid (such as Galley on 4th) then the yandere in question does things through much softer more under-handed methods.

Honestly? The best way I see this working out is Pre-Alabasta arc where Crocodile is still seen as a hero by the masses. There's a good chance that, at least initially, his affections start and end with you. Is irritated if he finds out about the kid after he's decided that he likes you. But you- you're a little slice of domesticity, you fit into his life rather nicely, he thinks. Plus you and the brat help round out his image as a wholesome do-gooder, don't you? A protector of the people, and a loving husband and father to boot. The... dark parts of his business all swept under the rug and kept away from you both, of course.

His dates with you are no doubt extravagant, but he prefers your kid not accompany the two of you on these. Probably prefers to shower them in expensive gifts, rather than spend much one-on-one time with them. I think he could get attached but he'd be in denial about it for a bit. He's able to rationalize the lack of time spent with them to you, specifically in public- he's a notable figure, is he not? While he's a Warlord and could no doubt protect the both of you(his pride will NOT have you believe otherwise), he just doesn't want the risk. You're an adult with full comprehension of the possibility of being targeted, so it's different. He is a good actor, though. While he doesn't spend as much time with the kid, he's good enough that they don't feel actively disliked. A bit... put out, maybe. It's possible your kid just... thinks he's really cool, despite it. Mysterious, close yet distant, someone who makes mom happy and is the reason they both have all this nice stuff, now. Which can be annoying, but stroking the ego doesn't hurt the kid's case. Liking the bananawanis would score them a couple points too...

-

"Do you think I could, um, meet them sometime? Y'know, if you aren't busy..." Crocodile raises a brow, taking in the brat sitting in a chaise lounge chair. They're leaning forward, looking hopeful- swinging their little legs in anticipation. They look comically small compared to the chair. He chuckles, takes a drag of his cigar- turning his head away from the child to exhale. "...I'm not sure if I can do that without consulting your mother first," he muses, watching the kid visibly deflate. Even if he knows the bananawanis will listen to him, that they would pose no threat if he did not wish them to do so- he preferred you to be happy. Introducing your small child to the large, imposing reptiles used as guard-dogs behind your back would be unwise. "So I'm afraid you'll only be looking from a distance or through glass, unless we can get her approval. We could always ask though, hmm?" The kid grins at him- and Sir Crocodile feels a disquieting lack of disdain.

[vaaaaaiolet]

um ok tldr i had a very strange long overdue crashout and am checking myself into the hiatus ward until further notice LMAO

so if that's all you're here for I LOVE YOU!! and goodbye <3

so for the rest of you nosy people (MY PEOPLE!!), here's your james charles apology video.

i don't like being negative on this blog. unfortunately a bunch of goals and commitments need my attention right now (have been for the last 5 months actually) and i'm diverting my energy to writing instead, except writing's not really making me happy either? i feel obligated to write (entirely my fault, literally no one is pushing me) and it makes me indifferent towards a hobby i really loved at one point. also it's been like. three years of writing for one character from one franchise if you count before i started posting. that's 52,460 words about ONE WHITE MAN!! i've tried dismissing and denying the feeling by pushing myself through wips but i'm straight up burnt out.

fanfic etiquette also sucks ass rn and while i've been lucky to be spared from the brunt of it, it's pretty discouraging to write for empty likes and no feedback. times change and people switch fandoms. right now i'm spending too much time daydreaming behind a screen, gambling on reader response, missing out on life experiences people my age are getting. i'm not happy with the way i've let fandom related worries seep into my real life. maybe i'm just shit at handling my priorities. i want to stop writing about the world and start living in it.

this really isn't that serious i'm just a dramatic bitch LMFAO there are lots of insanely brilliant, talented authors on here + ao3 waiting for you to read their work!! in the meantime, i can't wait to become a reader again. medicine is one of my biggest passions. i haven't been devoting time to it like i have my writing hobby and i'm feeling unfulfilled in that regard too.

thank you from the bottom of my heart to every single one of you i've met on here. i've only ever had the sweetest readers. i can't ever repay you for your kind words, but i hope you know each one made me scream and jump and happy cry. some of you have been here from the very start and i don't know what i did to make you stay, but it means the world to me. new faces and old timers alike, i love you.

and i wouldn't be who i am without my mutuals. you guys have broken my heart and stitched it up again with your prose, and i can't thank you enough for the hours of laughter we've had while separated by our screens. i look up to every one of you. more than the rush of writing, i'll miss this warm corner we made together on the internet most. let's get coffee if you're ever in town?

HOO BOY OKAY so that's everything that's been on my mind for the last few months. literally nobody cares and the world keeps spinning. i'll be logging out right after i post this otherwise i'd stay forever (and continue burning myself out to nobody's benefit). i still hope i cross paths with y'all again real soon :)

stay healthy, drink water, i love you <3

[joudama]

And that’s that for Veilguard. Got all the achievements and got the four main possible endings (didn’t bother with the bad ending where you do none of the side quests, everyone dies, and you end up trapped in the Fade forever with Solas).

My four Rooks:

Female Shadow Dragon elf mage - saved Minrathous - romanced Harding - punched Solas in the face

Female Antivan Crow human rogue - saved Treviso - romanced Lucanis - tricked Solas into using the fake dagger

Male Grey Warden dwarf warrior (this was originally going be a Qunari, but I couldn’t get over the yassified look of all the qunari I tried to make and I gave up) - saved Treviso - romanced Davrin (meant to romance Bellara and lol welp, that didn’t happen) - big softie who sent Solas into the Fade with the Inquisitor

Male Mourn Watch elf mage - saved Minrathous - romanced Emmrich (meant to romance Bellara or Neve and lol welp, that didn’t happen) - told the Inquisitor she could do better and made Solas go off into the Fade alone.

My Mourn Watch one is probably going to be my “canon” run, since I liked it the best (that’s not saying much) of my runs. I went with a life leeching run for him, including using the unique items that made health potions/companion heals not work, and beefed up leeching. Literally the only time I died was when my controller ran out of juice in the middle of a dragon fight. The Elgar’nan fight was over so fast I was like, “Wait, is that it?” It was like the curb stomp fight in Inquisition with Corypheus before they let you have enemies scale up with you.

And now for my thoughts. And oh boy, do I have a lot of them. Hoo.

I have…so many issues with this game. It is a very good…whatever the gaming equivalent of a popcorn flick is. It’s great if you go in with your brain turned off and enjoy all the shiny. But that’s not what I want in a Dragon Age game. I’ve been replaying DA2 - the game that DATV is basically trying to channel - while playing these, and the difference in writing quality and intricacy of plot and world building could not be more sharp. The first time I played DATV, I thought it was fine. Almost aggressively fine. I had fun with streaming the game and seeing where it went. I loved the reveals with the wolf statues. I had some major issues with the writing being as subtle as a brick to the face at times (more on my thoughts about the dialogue LATER, because oh boy), but it was serviceable. And I genuinely thought Veilguard had been robbed by not being nominated for Art Direction at the Game Awards, because say what you will, the areas are fucking gorgeous. But, even then, I was like, “Yeah, this would not have deserved a GOTY nomination had it gotten one,” and placed it at a 7 or 8 out of 10. A good enough, enjoyable game that ran well, but was not by any means GOTY material.

Then I made the mistake of playing it again, and the cracks began to show. By the time I hit the middle of Act 2 of my third run, I was just so done. I hated every time certain companions had anything to say at all. I hated that you couldn’t call people out for being a jerk but had to be the supportive nursery school teacher at all times to them. And for the first time playing any BioWare game at all, I found myself wishing I could either not recruit certain people or kick them out of camp. The cracks were beyond showing at that point, and I no longer thought the writing was even “serviceable.” Things that hadn’t seemed so bad on that first popcorn flick run suddenly became a problem - not being able to actually talk to your companions to get to know them went from “it feels more natural to have them saying this stuff while out in the field” to “what is even the point of going around the Lighthouse if all it gets me is a line spoken at me or overhearing bits of them having ACTUAL conversations?” It legitimately hurt replayability. I missed being able to actually talk to my companions, and I realized I cared more about Manfred and Assan than most of my companions because Manfred and Assan actually seemed to like interacting with me. I will take Manfred’s rock-paper-scissors game over a “hey Rook” and dead-eyed stare.

By the time I hit late act 2, I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could delete the damn game off my hard drive…only for the last achievement I had yet to get to NOT pop when I finished the game. I looked it up and discovered it wasn’t set by triggering a certain end state, but was tied to picking some flowers in Act 2, and wanted to cry. I don’t usually 100% games, especially if I feel like some of the achievements are bullshit I don’t want to do (‘sup, MELE needing you to do some Armax Arena Spectre-level fight - I would sooner chew off my own arm than do that, as anyone who watched me stream Veilguard would have guessed watching me kvetching the whole time I was doing that Hall of Valor shit), but that was just frustrating. I decided to try to get it on a fresh run as a Mourn Watcher, since I’d heard that was one of the surprisingly good faction backgrounds, and that was a good choice. Mourn Watch became my favorite faction, when it had been Shadow Dragons until then. It added so much to a lot more conversations than I would have thought, and made it so I actually enjoyed the sadly few times you get to actually have conversations instead of eavesdropping/being talked at. I’m glad I decided to slog through one more time for that achievement, because if I’d ended it on that third run, I know I would have never played it again. It turned back into a popcorn movie again, aided by me knowing when to put on a YouTube video and watch or scroll through Bluesky instead of listening to a certain character be the fucking worst. If I ever play again, it’ll be a Mourn Watcher (I already know the Veil Jumpers and Lords of Fortune are considered, shall we say, lackluster background factions.)

Which brings me to some of the big, fundamental problems this game had.

This is not a CRPG. It’s just not. It’s an action RPG now, with the focus on “action” not “RPG.” It’s part of the whole Mass Effect-ification of Dragon Age. And I say this as a huge Mass Effect fan:

Dragon Age should not be like Mass Effect. And vice versa.

When Andromeda came out, they decided to ditch the Paragon/Renegade system, and instead went for DAI-style emotion-based options. Which seems great! More speech choices to make a more nuanced Ryder instead of picking up or down! Great! Only no! A lot of people hated it because it didn’t feel like Mass Effect. They had taken away something that had seemed like a major part of how you roll played in the series, and replaced it something very different. It was the first time they took a mechanic from one game and ported it into another, and it didn’t really go over well with a lot of ME fans because it didn’t feel like a Mass Effect mechanic.

And now with Veilguard, they basically made a Mass Effect game with a Dragon Age skin on it. And it just doesn’t work.

Combat: They copied the combat wheel from Mass Effect, but did it kind of badly. I honestly hated it because I tried to play like I do in Mass Effect - pull it up, use it to look around and get a handle on my environment, then pick an enemy or a safe space to bolt to - and the camera snapping the enemies meant I couldn’t. It drove me crazy because it was like the Mass Effect wheel but fundamentally not, and the camera drove me mad because I’d pull it up trying to find where the nearest blight boil was, and it would snap on enemies instead of just letting me look. It’s like they wanted to get rid of every little bit of tactical game play and replace with smashy smashy bang bang instead. Don’t think, don’t plan, just attack…which fits in with the popcorn flick-ness of DATV. Don’t think, just do. Turn your brain off and look at the particle effects.

Another Mass Effect-ification with regards to combat is dropping from taking 3 companions to 2. Which you need to do to have that Mass Effect style combat wheel, and the Mass Effect 3/Andromeda style primer/detonation style interaction of companion powers. Detonations were very satisfying, but not very Dragon Age-y, and requires throwing out some of that DA lore to make it work, because now everyone uses magic-based abilities even if they aren’t mages. Assan attacks deal fire damage. You can spec a warrior who calls up a giant lightning hammer to twirl around, and…how? That’s not enchantment, that’s plain ol’ magic, and how?! Warriors didn’t deal magic-based attacks unless their weapons where enchanted before, but now, everyone is just tossing magic attacks at everything. That’s not how the world of Thedas has worked until now, but you can’t have those flashy explosions or particle effects otherwise, so shhh, turn off your brain and don’t think, shhh. Look at the screen light up and the pretty lights. It worked in Mass Effect because they had already set up tech and biotic attacks, but there’s no way to make hitting something hard with a sword cause it to blow up and damage all the other baddies around them, so now everyone has magic. OK.

As an aside, it was also a really bad idea of get rid of how aggro worked. Dragon Age had always worked by warriors drawing aggro because they had the heavier armor (or could use taunt on enemies targeting squishy mages or rogues). Rogues had lower aggro because they had lighter armor, and could sneak. Mages had even lower aggro because they had the lightest armor and were distance fighters. DATV threw that out the window, and Rook draws all aggro because they are the only ones with a health bar. Your squad is immortal in fights, which means there’s no reason for enemies to ever target them. Which means god help you early game when mages and rogues have no real skills yet. Enjoy dodging while your companions hit the enemies with what seems like attacks as powerful as spitballs. It also means that there are times what the game tells you and the fight you just did are completely at odds. Remember that fight with the Wrath of the Stone in Harding’s companion quest? That thing is on your ass the entire time, but then at the end of it, Rook says something along the lines of “It really hates Harding,” and…are you gaslighting me, game? That thing ignored Harding the whole damn time in favor of trying to stomp me like a cockroach. Harding did not exist to it during my fight. It had a hate boner for Rook and Rook alone, no matter what the game tried to insist on after.

Now, imagine how that would have felt if Harding actually could have been killed/knocked out during the fight, and it was only going after her? What if you couldn’t damage it if it took her down, so you had to make sure she stayed alive? Imagine how different that fight would have hit then? But no, that would mean the devs have to think about how to rez characters and how healing would work, and would mean players have to be tactical, and shh, no, no more of that, no thinking, just dodge and hit things and look at the particle effects. Shh. Have some more popcorn.

Story: DATV wants so badly to be ME2. It wants to recall the companion loyalty quests and the big suicide mission where you have to have everyone ready or you’ll all die. But you can’t copy what you did before and get the same flowers and results. You just can’t. You can try, and all you’ll get is diminishing returns. They tried to do the big cosmic horror of ME1, complete with a Virmire choice, then have the big final stakes of ME2, and no. You can’t follow a template and get the same greatness. That’s not how it works.

And speaking of following templates…

Romances: The romances in Veilguard are just dismal. And I think it’s because they decided to follow the Mass Effect pacing formula instead of the Dragon Age one.

Dragon Age: You start flirting in Act 1. You usually flirt with everyone because hey, why not? Some time in Act 2, things start getting serious, and you have to settle on who you want to go for. Things start to get serious, you get together, and then you get happy fun adult time with your new LI. You get the option to break it off or commit to them fully. By Act 3, you’re in a committed relationship. People comment about it. You can go to them and spend time with them - nothing major, maybe just a kiss. There might also be a special scene that’s just with them and unique to the romance. And by the end, after the lengthy amount of time that’s passed, you are Together.

Mass Effect: You start flirting in Act 1. You usually flirt with everyone because hey, why not? In Act 2, you keep on flirting with everyone. By the end, you might have to make a choice if you’re flirting too hard with everyone and the two LI options tell you to pick someone already, but you’re just picking who you’re interested in. Early in Act 3, there might be an almost kiss, but it’s mostly just the occasional anticipation of eventually boning and nothing really happens until right before the final big fight, when your LI shows up to your cabin for “oh shit, we might die in a few hours, so let’s go out with a high note” happy fun adult time. The only time you get that “committed relationship” vibes is in ME3 if you’re romanced the same character for at least one other game, and you choose to continue the relationship.

The Mass Effect pacing works in the Mass Effect trilogy because each game is only 20-40 hours long. Veilguard is a good 80 hours long. That means using that same amount of romance you use in ME is going to mean you’ve got too little butter to spread over too much bread. It’s why you have a good start for the romances in Act 1, then act 2 is a such a desert of nothing after you commit that I genuinely wondered if I’d hit the wrong option at said no at several points during the very long third act. There’s not just enough content for that long of an Act 2. Near the end everyone starts commenting on you being with them, but it’s not actually happening in the game. There’s no flirting, there are no extra scenes, and even the scene when you commit to them is based on a scene that happens with everyone, just with a romance option tacked on. The only person (of the ones I romanced, so I can’t speak to the others) who really get unique scenes was Emmerich. He actually takes you out on a unique date. It helped a lot to make Emmerich’s romance feel more fleshed out than the others. And Davrin had so many little jaunts out in the woods that those turned into romantic trips out, which added a lot to his. But Lucanis’ and Hardings? With both of them, like I said before, I genuinely wondered if I had accidentally opted out. Their romances most used the Mass Effect format, and it just doesn’t work for a game this long. BioWare knew that once, long ago, because Andromeda did not use the ME trilogy format for romances and was closer to one they used in DA. But DATV is trying to be ME2, so they used ME2’s very thin romances as a guide.

And we can all see how well that turned out.

The Executors: Fuck me, they feel like Cerberus reskinned, and I absolutely hated when Mass Effect shifted from sci-fi/Lovecraftian horror to space opera with Cerberus as the main bad guys you have to fight with the Reapers functionally falling to the background. The Executors are a secret, shadowy organization pulling strings from behind the scenes like the Shadow Broker codexes in ME2 retconned Cerberus into having been doing in ME. Ugh.

The Andromeda-ification of dialogue: Remember Peebee? Remember how she talked? Give her long hair and pointy ears, and she’s Bellara. Down even to the techno-babble. It’s like they’re trying to change magic to just “sufficiently advanced technology.” Everyone speaks in that modern, quippy style that was annoying in a game set hundreds of years in the future because it felt dated by the time the game came out (Ryder makes a Frozen joke, y’all). And it feels completely out of place in a game set in an early modern setting (I don’t think DA is medieval, honestly - it’s more a pre-industrialization/early scientific revoltution setting, so more 1500-1700s, and I’m gonna stop now). It was jarring. You can only let one quirky character break the rules about how people talk (Alistair in DAO, Varric in DA2, Cole in DAI) but when everyone does, it’s jarring. You can be anachronistic, but you have to know what you’re doing and how to do it when you do, and I’m sorry, but the current crop of BioWare writers don’t. They wrote the dialogue like it was a modern day YA novel, not a Dragon Age game. It would have been fine for a modern day urban fantasy game. It was not fine for a DA game set in the same time period as people using the four humours for “modern” medicine (remember the surgeon in DAI? Talked about the four humours? Yeah.)

OK, I did not intend to go on for this long, and I haven’t even gotten to what the game did to how religion is handled or the sociopolitical aspects of Thedas, and how they threw out so much that made Dragon Age unique in their urge to do a soft reboot, so I’m just going to end it here. I wanted to love this game, and I can only do that if I turn my brain off, and that’s not what Dragon Age should be.

[the-laughing-lunatic]

Scout x reader who's never been to a baseball game before (ROMANTIC)

(I was bored and wrote this, I actually have been to multiple baseball games before but my ass still doesn't know anything about it. Reader's gender neutral as always. Trying to get better at writing oneshots so have this ig :/ Word count: ~1400)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

It was strangely calm that day, it was one of the occasional days off that the mercs had. You sat on your bed, reading through some random magazine you’d picked up here or there when your boyfriend Scout barged in. “Hey doll!”

You continued flicking through the pages of the magazine, not flinching. You’d gotten used to this after a year of knowing him and two months of dating him. The door might as well not have existed at this point. “Yes?”

“Wanna go to the game today? With me?” he said, flashing you two tickets in his hand.

“What kinda game?” You looked up.

“Only the best game to be created,” he said with a smirk. “Baseball.”

You shrugged. “Sure, I don’t have anything else to do—” you barely got out before you were tackled with a hug by Scout, your magazine falling somewhere on the bed as you were wrapped up in his arms. “Jesus, you’re that excited, huh?”

He only chuckled and kissed your cheek. “Hell yeah I am! I get to have my two favorite things, baseball and you, dollface.” 

You roll your eyes and give him a kiss on the cheek back, relaxing into his arms for a moment as you soak up his warmth. “...wait, am I below baseball?”

“Uhh…”

ੈ♡˳

“Bye Engie! Thanks for the ride!” Scout yelled out as Engineer drove away in his pickup truck, leaving the two of you to the sea of people waiting to get in despite the insufferable heat. 

“Geez, are there normally this many people at these things?” you said as you held onto Scout’s hand to not lose him as you walked to the back of the line for the ticket booth.

“What, ya never been to a baseball game before?” he said with a laugh. It was a rhetorical question from his perspective, but not for you. 

“No.” Scout’s jaw dropped. 

“W- whaddya mean you’ve never been to a baseball game before, w- why? How?” In his mind, baseball was the most amazing game in the world, and it was simply a crime that the most amazing person in the world had never seen it.

You shrugged. “Just never did.” Scout was full of feelings about this. On one hand, you were his dollface and it hurt that you had been deprived of one of the greatest pleasures life could offer. On the other hand, he got to be the guy to introduce you to your first baseball game, which had the same significance as a first kiss. In his mind at least.

“D’ya at least know the game? Like, how it works?”

You thought for a moment before saying: “Um, you hit balls and run a lot?”

Hoo boy. Scout sighed. “I mean- you ain’t wrong but ya ain’t right. Listen doll, so there’s nine guys on each team, right? And one of the guys is the pitcher for the inning. The pitcher, he’s the fella who . . .”

ੈ♡˳

“. . . and then the outfielders, once you have those fellas you can get somethin’ called a line drive where it hits right to ‘em without touchin’ the ground–”  

It had twenty non-stop minutes of Scout explaining the entire concept of baseball to you, and if you heard another way a ball can be thrown you were gonna snap. You took his face in your hands and kissed him before another move could be explained. 

His ears flushed red and he froze for a moment after you pulled away. “Uh, what was that all about, doll?”

“I love you but if I hear another word about baseball I’m gonna lose it. Can I just watch the game with you and enjoy it that way?” you ask. 

“Fine, fine—” he cuts himself off as the two of you are both hit with the realization. You said I love you. Shit, shit, shit shit shitshitshit!

Before you can stammer out a sorry or any other form of explanation, the woman in the ticket booth says “Next!” and you’re left to panic while Scout gives her the tickets.

We’ve only been dating for a few months, is that weird to say? It must be, he didn’t say it back. Maybe he didn’t hear me? No, he definitely heard me. Oh god, I fucked this up bad, fuck—

“Hey dollface, she said we can go in, c’mon,” he said with a smile, squeezing your hand and leading you into the stadium. You two found a spot in the bleachers, luckily under the shade of an awning. You nervously bounced your leg as you prepared for the game to begin.

He’s not treating me any differently, maybe he’s just gonna ignore that I said that. Please, god just ignore it. 

“Geez, real anxious to see the game, huh doll?” he said to you with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” Maybe this would all be okay, another normal date. Just ignore that gross feeling in your gut and it’ll be fine.

ੈ♡˳

It was not all fine. Everytime the word ‘love’ came out of Scout’s mouth you couldn’t help but feel a growing annoyance. And he said it a lot.

“Man, I love that guy!”

“ —fuckin’ love this hot dog—”

“Love the view, right doll?”

It’s like he was rubbing it in. The gross feeling, the loud noise and the tight packed crowd all teamed up to give you a headache. Great. You distracted yourself from the feeling by leaning into him and eating your popcorn, desperately trying to understand the game in front of you. Maybe you should have listened a little more to your boyfriend’s explanation. “You cold dollface?

“Nah, just tired and have a little headache, ‘m fine,” you said as you popped another piece of popcorn in your mouth.

He wrapped his arm around you so you could have more support. “We, uh, don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, y’know. It’s the bottom of the fifth if you wanna get out of here.”

“No, no, it‘s fine, gotta stay for my first baseball game. Besides, isn’t that rude to just leave?”

“Naw, it’s fine. ‘S pretty normal not to stay the whole nine innings for your first game. ‘Sides, I don’t want you to feel like shit. We could go to a game some other time, how’s that sound?”

You smiled softly. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good, now c’mon,” he said as he picked you up in his arms to carry you out of the stadium.

“Jeremy, my head is the thing that hurts, not my legs. I can still walk, you doofus,” you laughed. He kissed your forehead. 

“Whatever you say, sweetcake, but I’m still carryin’ ya.”

ੈ♡˳

It was dark out, and Jeremy had just finished calling Engineer on the pay phone while you sat on a nearby bench: Scout’s jacket draped over you. Only a few people milled about, leaving to their cars underneath the street lamps.

Jeremy sat down next to you, reaching to hold your hand. “Engie’s gonna be here in ‘bout ten minutes...you alright doll?”

You delicately took it. “I dunno…”

“Did anything happen?”

“I mean, kinda? It’s stupid though, dunno why I’m getting so focused on it.”

“Can you tell me?”

You took a deep breath and looked at the concrete. “Well, I don’t know if you actually heard me, but earlier I accidentally said that I love you. I- I mean, not accidentally, I do, but it just, y’know, slipped out.”

“I heard you doll,” Scout said, tilting your face up to look at him.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I get if you don’t love me yet, I’m not gonna blame you, but just say something.”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know if you were bein’ serious, doll,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Y’know, you’re amazing and sweet, and almost every time I’ve liked someone this fantastic they’re just with me for laughs.”

“Jeremy…we’ve been dating for two months, did you really think that I don’t care about you?”

“Well I mean, two months right. I kinda thought you would’ve already said ‘I love you’ by now, so just- I dunno. . . do you actually love me?”

“Of course I do, Jeremy, I just was nervous because I thought I said it too early,” you said, leaning closer to him, looking at how his face caught the light of the street lamp.

“I love you too,” Scout said with a dorky smile before pulling you close and kissing you. You probably would’ve kissed for much longer but the sound of a truck horn interrupted you. 

“Hey lovebirds, get in!” Engineer shouted from the truck.

Scout pulled away and blushed before getting in with you, holding your hand tight the whole time. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[nobodysavemysoulitsperfectlyfine]

Do you have an unpopular opinion (PJO) that you might be hated for?

I don't think I have many unpopular opinions, but I will say now that Jiper and Frazel (only when not done right) make me VERY uncomfortable to ship, and that's not even DARING to mention the horrors that is Caleo. Point being that Rick doesn't know how to write relationships, and the only ones that seem vaguely successful are because of the fans putting the pieces together, and because he so obviously based Percabeth off of himself and his wife. Pairing EVERY character off, declaring they're ace and automatically can't date, or just killing them all together honestly soured the experience a bit for me. I think so much more development would've been possible if so much of it wasn't dedicated to stupid ship that hardly anyone likes anyways.

For Jiper, the reasons are relatively obvious. If the two had more time to work things out after their initial breakup, I reluctantly guess it could be possible, but the point is that most of everything they had was based off lies and illusions of what they WOULD have wanted out of a whole sort of weird junk. Sometimes it even felt like Piper saw things in Jason that weren't really there (and the other way around too), meaning that so much of it was based off speculation and hopes for a comfort that it would've never lasted. I just can't get over that barrier when I see it. This isn't even mentioning Piper's journey with sexuality, which, her actively choosing to not have a label yet may have been one of the smartest (or just cowardly) things Rick has ever done. All in all, the possibilities are neat to think about, but no. 4/10

Frazel — only hate it when they're so SEVERELY mischaracterized or flanderized to a point. Lots you think the racism in Jiper fans is bad? Hoo boy. 9.5/10

Caleo — HATE. LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING ABOUT HATE. -100000/10 DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE

Percabeth — Relatively on thin ice. Heavy misunderstandings here too. I didn't always like reading about it for whatever reason. Objectively fine but.. I'm keeping my eye out. 7/10

[king-candybug-backup]

thinking about like. Candybugs relationship with Sourbill. Like. Thats the only real “friendly” relationship Candy seemed to have with anyone before? Or at least the only person he treated with any kind of decency it seems. Thinking about how KS Candy saw Sourbill delivering drinks in that one chapter and like. The kind of ACHE that would leave in Candys heart? Like the one person he probably viewed as a friend for all his years at the arcade, seemingly aftaid of you and your actions can really make someone question themself. And hoo boy is that mentality going to come full swing i think in upcoming chapters. if Candy and Sourbill had like. A private conversation together. I can imagine like. An argument going down. And like. Candy trying to apologize maybe in his own weird little way. /pos. idk. I think Sourbill and Candy have a silly little dynamic that is rarely explored. And the subtle little detail when KS Candy said “i never treated him badly” or something like. BROKE MY HEART. rhrhrh. i cant wait for more chapters. You write AMAZINGLY!!

YEAH, Sour Bill definitely seems like the only one who knew King Candy on even a slightly deeper level than any of the other characters, given how they're pretty much always together in the movie and he knew about some of the details regarding Candy's code-altering. (Granted, this could heavily have to do with the fact that Candy needed a second person to make sure he'd be safely tethered and could be pulled out of the code vault, plus that doesn't mean Sour Bill wasn't also victimized due to being manipulated and lied to, but I do think they also had at least a tiny bit of fondness for each other, even if it was in a weird or screwed-up way (More on King Candy's part)) I just think that the fact they've been basically attached at the hip for like 15 years straight is bound to form somewhat of a connection. I don't think that King Candy cared very deeply about Sour Bill, more saw him as something consistent, familiar, and reliable, but I do think it would still sting him a bit to see that pretty much his only close relationship got absolutely decimated like that, lmao (Especially since, from his perspective, he "didn't treat Sour Bill badly", and yeah, he thought what they had could've been considered friendship, so he's like "EXCUSE ME WTF" even though Sour Bill's totally justified in being rather freaked out by it all. 😂)

One little teaser I'll give you for chapter 17 is that King Candy and Sour Bill do have one very, very small interaction coming up in it, but just warning you, it's going to be a bit of a mess 😂

ALSO THANK YOOUUUU!!!!!!!!! 💖💖💖💖 I'M SO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS FIC AAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[puriteenism]

A Jason Grace Analysis 

While my Jason fics relies on mainly interpretation and headcanons, this one’s mostly going on the limited list of Jason’s life from the books. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO DISAGREE WITH ME,JUST DO IT RESPECTFULLY IN THE COMMENTS. be nice pls.

Spoiler alert 🚨 (for PJO, HOO and TOA)

Jason Grace is a character who was, in a way, screwed over by Rick during his writing of Heroes of Olympus and eiDzgventually Trials of Apollo. His story was very sad, but never explored to its fullest potential and in some cases didn’t make sense. He’s a character who is seen as ‘boring’ by the fandom, which , in a way, makes sense. Uncle Rick didn’t do him justice, so I’m here for a Jason Grace analysis.

Firstly, Jason’s incredibly depressing life. Because I do not know what vendetta that Rick had against my boy, but I would argue his story is the most tragic of everyone in the books. Yes. Even Nico. 

Jason’s mother was an unhinged alcoholic who was obsessed with fame. For the first 2 years of his life, he was basically looked after by his sister, who was also a young child. As hard as Thalia tried, she probably wasn’t the best caregiver on account of her age. His mother was unstable, which has got to leave some scars, even if you’re a young kid, because you still know what’s going on to some extent. And Jupiter seemed to leave the family to their own devices after a while, not even staying for a kid. So Jason has been basically abandoned, keep track of how often that happens. 

Then Jason was abandoned again, this time by his mother, left as a sacrifice for Hera. And he wasn’t sacrificed just anywhere, he was left at the Wolf House, where Lupa tested him to see if he was ‘pup or food’. So Jason, at two years old, was tested by a Wolf Goddess, a ruthless one at that, who threatened to kill him if he didn’t live up to expectations. Just a great environment for a toddler to live in. And while the time he spends in the Wolf House is unspecified, the general consensus is that it was for a year or two. This is more of a headcanon, but the implications of ‘pup or food’ could show that he stayed with her longer than the average Roman demigod. In SoN, it’s shown that most demigods do their Wolf House training for like, a week. And the training sounds harsh when Percy, age 16 does it. So imagine a 2 year old, going through that, constantly. Then he is off to New Rome. 

In HoO, it’s pointed out that Jason has 12 lines of his forearm for his years of service in New Rome. 12 lines representing 12 years of service.

Jason has been serving 12 years of military service since he was around 3. So that means that this literal infant is just… in the military. How does that work? Was baby Jason just running around in little armour? Was he doing the same drills as other kids when he was much, much younger? Also the fact that in Camp Jupiter, you train for 10 years, then go to live in New Rome. But Jason has been serving for longer than that, with 2 extra years. It seemed like he wasn’t going to retire anytime soon in the books, so that also adds some mystique to his character that was never explored.

Then we move into the other things at Camp Jupiter, which is that Jason was treated like a statue or a star, instead of a person. Hazel says that he is ‘more legend than boy’ which is so sad! This kid, this 15 year old is seen by those around him as a hero, a legend to look up to. Did Jason have any other friends? While Reyna seems to be close, Reyna had a crush on him, and while he didn’t know that, it must have made the friendship a bit… different. Jason isn’t specified to have any other friends in the books, probably because everyone was to in awe of his status as a Son of Jupiter. And while Jason may care about the rules, in Roman terms he was a very radical person. He was just trying to live a calm life, to not be known only as the Son of Jupiter. He joins the least respected cohort. He tries to take less important quests. But it doesn’t work, because he does get assigned big quests and while he is in the 5th cohort, people still treat him like a legendary hero instead of just a guy. And while the phrase ‘victim of nepotism’ is quite controversial, I think that Jason actually fits that bill.

Then we come to SoN. You know that tweet that’s like: hey we’re calling off the search party. we found a different guy out there we like more. That’s what Camp Jupiter did to Jason. Again, he was abandoned, this time by his own Camp. Like I know 8 months is a while, but oh my gosh, do we have to elect a new praetor? There’s also a contradiction. Percy is a Greek demigod, which isn’t a thing the Roman’s really like. Yet after a couple weeks at Camp, he’s already a PRAETOR? While Jason was put down for being ‘unrecognisable as a Roman’, they elected a very Greek person as a praetor? He was immediately accepted into the highest position of power? Also the fact that Jason wasn’t looked for. At all. While CHB was scrambling to find their boy (as they should), no one in CJ cared? Like, aren’t they the ones with the giant searching eagles? It seemed like everyone forgot about him, with him being missing not being a huge thing for most people (except Hazel and Reyna to my memory, fill me in if anyone else gave two frogs) and that’s gotta sting. The knowledge that your entire camp not only replaced you, but didn’t bother to look. 

Jason also had amnesia and never regained huge chunks of his memory. That must be horrible, to have parts of your life gone, to not remember much. While Percy got everything back, Jason got so much less!

Jason goes on the quest, then comes back. He goes to CHB, goes to school. He starts having a normal life. And he gets broken up with, making him genuinely sad. And while I know that Piper had no ill intentions whatsoever when she broke up with him, that also could count as an abandonment. Because they don’t really keep in touch in the book, they seem to go their separate ways. So kinda half of an abandonment, even though both parties weren’t in blame.

Finally we have his death. While Thalia got turned into a tree by Zeus, a slightly caring act for a god, Jason died. This could be because Jupiter is crueller than Zeus or it could be because of the cycle of patricide, with Jupiter killing his father, who did the same to his father. Maybe it’s because of his paranoia. Maybe it’s because Jason called Jupiter unwise, but it still counts as an abandonment. The god saved Thalia (she could be seen as non threatening, not a killer. Not someone who could carry on the tradition of son killing father) and abandoned Jason, left him to die the ‘heroes death’. 

Jason’s life has been one big struggle and rejection. 4.5 times, he was abandoned, left somewhere by someone. Left to die in the end. He was a child soldier, meaning that he was a kid that never got to be a kid, just a tool for the gods, for years and years. And he struggled with making friends, making new rules, trying to push the camp into the future. Seen as unroman, even Reyna says it. That’s an awful life, one that Rick Riordan never explored and one that’s contradicted at times.

Jason was a character that Rick dropped the ball on so hard.

Because, while his life is incredibly difficult, it has so much potential for storytelling, that Rick  dashes on the rocks, leaving the fandom with a character who people acknowledge as weak and boring.

So, in the fandom, Jason is regarded as having no personality, or being a knock off Percy. So, Jason not really having a huge personality, as a kid who trained as a soldier from a young age, makes sense. He was spending half his childhood trying to survive so trying to figure out what MBTI type he was may have fallen low on his list of priorities. Then he got amnesia, and sent on the Seven quest. So Jason not having time to develop a sense of personality makes sense, buts here’s the catch. It’s never explored. Rick never, ever explains why that might be happening, which could make for a compelling story arc. Rick never expands on the child soldier thing at all, which sucks because instead of Jason having an identity crisis about Greek and Roman camps, he could be really weird since he’s a child soldier. (I’m aware that they’re all child soldiers, but I refer to Jason as child soldier since he was just a baby when he started)

And the seeds were there. For example, the scene with Jason being wary about Nico and not wanting to rescue him, that could have been Jason being taught that practicality is key. That some people are expendable. He could have learnt that from the ARMY THAT HE GREW UP IN. That could have been a plot point, that Jason struggles with taking breaks or knowing that’s he’s appreciated, that his childhood was abusive and not normal, that life isn’t a constant battle for survival. That could have been his arc! All of the pieces were right there! Rick, dude, you’re a great author, but you fumbled so hard on this one!

And also the fact that… unpopular opinion time….

Jason wasn’t stronger than Percy, but he should have been.

Jason has been in the army since he was a toddler, and I know that Percy’s really powerful, but come on! Jason being this really nice, really powerful kid with super strong powers and no social skills could have slayed. Maybe this is the inner Jason stan in me, but I personally think that Jason should have been stronger than Percy, simply because it makes more sense. Jason has been training for ages and ages, he single handedly fought a Titan at younger than Percy (around 14 or 15) so it seemed like his powers were muted by Rick. This could probably be because the PJO fandom is like a toxic TikTok boy mom when it comes to Percy (I can be like this too), making him centre stage and getting annoyed when he isn’t. Percy is meant to be the strongest, which isn’t bad, in some situations it just doesn’t fit. Or maybe Percy’s just wildly OP.

This is not to say that in the book Jason was weak, but people treat him like that.

And Jason’s really sad life is never explored! He should have been struggling with 1500 mental illnesses at once because that constant abandonment? The stress of everyone’s expectations? Trying not to die at like 4? He’s neither the eldest nor a girl, but he’s got so much eldest daughter syndrome and is burnt out gifted kid syndrome personified. And it’s hardly touched on! 

There’s also the fact that’s a really small nitpick, but, the fact that Jason only has 1 single lip scar? That shows that Rick wasn’t paying attention to his own character. Jason trained with the Wolf Goddess then was in the army, he should be covered in them.

In conclusion, Jason’s very sad and tragic story was hardly utilised and the very interesting parts of his character were not used in a way they could be. But don’t worry Jason. While Rick Riordan may have flopped you, you are one of my favourite characters.

Peace ☮️

[quintessenceofdust88]

Little Blobs, ch. 4

Hi my loves! Ch. 4 of LB is up before 2024 is over for me, woo-hoo! (and for those of you who are already in 2025, here's the first update of the year hehe) This is a very Tommy-centric chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! On the positive side: Nonna Rosa is here! On the down side: so is Tommy's dad. You're in for a (angsty) treat! I wanna add a special shout-out to @peppermintquartz and @bidisasterevankinard who helped on the writing process and made the chapter (and the next one) a lot better bc of it! Thank you, my loves ♥♥

Ever since Tommy and Evan got back together, they’ve visited Tommy’s grandmother in his home town in Indiana about six times: for Christmas in 2024, when Buck met Nonna for the first time; a few random visits whenever Tommy could find the time, just because, well, Nonna isn’t getting any younger, he wants to check in on her as much as he can. And, of course, to deliver their wedding invitation, which Nonna promptly framed and added to her mantelpiece. In none of these visits, Tommy had been as excited to see her grandmother as he is now.

Tommy never thought he’d get to tell Nonna she’d be a great-grandmother, at least not from his part (his three cousins, as good Italian-blooded people, have about four kids each). He’s giddy with excitement, and the best part is that Evan’s as excited as him; his husband loves his Nonna and adopted her as his own grandmother from the moment they met. 

The cutest part, though, is how Evan has repeatedly been manifesting his excitement; he’s been hit with what Maddie has cheerfully informed them is called ‘pregnancy brain’, which means he’s prone to forgetting things and getting distracted (even more than usual). At the airport, Tommy had to keep a hold of his boarding pass, or else he’d have lost it, and he still asked Tommy where it was about four different times. When they landed in Indiana, he had to gently remind his husband that no, they couldn’t go straight to Nonna’s house, they had to get their luggage first (and then he had to remind Evan that his bag was, in fact, the green one that had passed by him four times already). And now, in the car, he’s asked Tommy three times if…

“Tommy! Did we bring the yarn and the box? It’s gonna ruin the whole thing we’ve planned for Nonna if we didn’t!” He says, and Tommy has to hold back his laughter, just nodding patiently.

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s in your handbag. Two rolls of yarn inside the box, yellow and green because we don’t know the gender of the babies yet and we don’t want to impose gender stereotypes anyway” Tommy recites dutifully, and Evan nods in relief. 

“I mean, gender stereotypes are so stupid anyway” Evan says, and lights up as he always does when he has a fun fact to share. “In fact, did you know that in the beginning of the 20th century, the colors were inverted? Blue was considered a soft color, for girls, and pink, which was considered stronger, was for boys. It was actually Sears who inverted it, and then all of the other stores just followed their lead”

“Really? I didn’t know that” Tommy says, even though Evan told him this exact same fact yesterday when they had this exact same discussion, but if he doesn’t remember, Tommy won’t be that guy. He knows how much Evan enjoys sharing the information he researches. “So no pink and blue yarn, it’s a deal. Are you ready, my love?” Tommy asks, placing a hand on Evan’s small bump. 

He’s thirteen weeks along, and the only reason it’s not showing too much right now is because he’s wearing a navy hoodie (Tommy’s, by the way, because ‘it just fits better and smells like you’) to protect himself from the cold November weather in Indiana. But he’s already put an order for new uniforms, and when he’s wearing T-shirts, their blobs are already showing. Tommy is ridiculously happy any time he sees it.

[Read on AO3]

Tag list (lemme know if you want to be added or removed :) ) :

Tag list:

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul 

@asmugfirefighter

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld

@buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie

[bayetea]

your takes on stuff about pjo/hoo are so validating... it's so hard being a woman enjoyer in this fandom sometimes. i get that we love the main character of the first series but some people act like percy is a little baby who can do no wrong and anyone who breathes on him weirdly deserves the death penalty.

anyways i love what you do with hazel. hippocrene is so good, and i know you said you won't delve into the womens' povs, but i am ITCHING to see inside hazel's head especially after the last chapter!!! can't wait to see how that eventual conversation shakes out.

i just love hazel, and i wish more people actually LOVED her instead of passively liking her. so thank you for loving her as much as you do

yeah fandom has been intensely patriarchal for forever and it sucks to see, and it's very bad in the pjo fandom especially :/ we have so many great female characters but they don't actually seem to garner a ton of real interest, particularly outside of how they relate to male characters (I do place some blame for this on rick tho; pjo desperately needed to have more fleshed out dynamics between female characters and hoo was the best time to do it with its implementation of female perspectives, but rick just... didn't really do that. one can only blame rick so much tho because people latch onto underdeveloped male characters and m/m dynamics all the time). hazel in particular has (imo) the craziest and most fascinating backstory in the entire franchise and yet she seems to barely get acknowledged beyond her relation to nico? which is just crazy to me but yk. people like what they like and there's nothing to be done about that

as for percy specifically I mean, I love him forever (I think I'm clearly biased, he's a main character in like every fic I write lol) but I just feel so uninterested in the way that people often talk about him? like yeah he's a badass and yes he's super powerful and intimidating and attractive I guess but those are like the least interesting things about him (imo). I certainly don't care for the whole "this character can do no wrong/has never done anything wrong" attitude either because what's the point? why soften their edges? why are we infantilizing them? I swear people have this kneejerk reaction to dismiss any "poor" behaviors on percy's behalf as him being ooc (I see this talking point irt percy in hoo especially) and it's like... maybe you're right, or maybe percy just isn't a perfectly perfect nice boy 100% of the time? it's like people grasp that characters should be flawed but don't want to acknowledge those flaws when there's a chance that they might come off as unlikable. imo if you've read the entirety of pjo and weren't questioning/critical of some of percy's thoughts/actions/behaviors at least once then I don't think you were paying attention.... (or you just haven't read the books in a hot minute). he's also just not a perfectly written character regardless but that's a post for another day (that's not saying much tho, because no pjo character is "flawlessly" written)

one of the reasons why I've latched onto the percy/frank/hazel dynamic so much (beyond my deep love for all three of them individually) is because they're characters who really get to see percy at his weakest moments (outside of a romantic context, aka with annabeth who has certainly seen him at his lowest). I keep seeing people highlight how impressive he was to frank and hazel (which is completely true, I'm not saying that that's an incorrect take) but he also broke down in front of them multiple times because losing his memories really put him through the wringer. he was SO profoundly unhappy throughout son which is another reason why it's one of the better books in the franchise. even the shift from first person to third person offers something new to observe in the percy jackson character

anyways this was a long answer and wasn't all totally related to your ask lol, but it's nice to talk about these things with like-minded people! re: hazel in hippocrene, I'm having fun writing about frazel from frank's perspective especially as an opportunity to observe hazel - because he doesn't know what exactly goes on in her head either, and his attempts to understand her better (even after dating for so long) will be an important conflict in the story. hazel is such a mysterious girl imo, like there's just so much going on with her that I don't think she really understands herself either

[graysparrowao3]

Fic Writer Questions

Helloooo! <3 Sorry to not have been around lately, life has been a bit rough but we persevere! Fic writing has kept me going, so this felt apt. On that note, you are loved and valid whoever you are and whoever you love 💛

P.s. While I was responding to this I saw some hugs come in for the hugs tags and I genuinely got a little touched 🫂 Virtual hugs to you all Tumblr friends <3 Please do feel welcome to let me know if I missed any of your amazing creations.

Thank you for the tag in dear @effelants! Who is currently sharing the long-awaited Dragon Age Alistair/Warden fic Sanguine!

An open invitation to all the writers out there who are missing a tag, and also tags to pass along the game and share if you'd like! <3 @dustdeepsea @beesht @velocitross @lolliputian @dutifullylazybread @lostinforestbound @kimberbohwrites @forget-me-maybe @reverieblondie @rinwellisathing @crowwolf @falcatas @shewolfofvilnius @lemonsrosesandlavender @redroomroaving @vera-king-hrfl @lizziemajestic

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

34 works.

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

274,996 words.

3) What are your top five fics by kudos?

I think by and large this mostly reflects when the fics were posted.

What If Rolan Was a Companion - Rolan/gn!Tav multichapter.

The Night at Last Light Inn - Rolan/M!Tav one-shot.

A Perfectly Reasonable Exchange - Rolan/gn!Tav one-shot.

What If Aradin Pushed Zevlor Too Far - Aradin/Zevlor oneshot.

A One Night Stand at The Blushing Mermaid - Rugan/Aradin one-shot.

4) What fandoms do you write for?

Baldur's Gate 3, that's what got me started on writing fanfic and I'm still deep in that brainrot.

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, even if I can't get to it right away. How kind that someone spent their time to read something I wrote and share something about it with me, I mean, that's the dream right there. I want to be sure to share gratitude for it. Also, that social aspect has been so lovely in general, meeting readers, other writers and fandom friends, and I'm always stoked if I comment and the writer replies to me.

6) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hoo boy. The 10th installment of The Northern Bastards for sure, which was supposed to 100% be the end (and most of the ones before it lolol). At the time I really was committed to it, then things happened in the world and I needed to manifest a happy ending somehow someway. My eternal gratitude to everyone who saw/wanted more even before I was moved to continue writing it.

7) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oddly enough, I think it's going to be How to Keep a Man and Lose a Devil, which was suggested and named by @crowwolf! We're 2 chapters from the end, and it's turned the series in a legitimate romance with a happy ending. I'm currently editing out the angsty moments in the rest of the draft because it just started to get sweeter and sweeter and less and less angsty. What a transformation!

8) Do you get hate on fics?

Maybe some that was less-than-thoughtful and discouraging, but not hateful, no. If anything I did almost expect some when I started the NB series but everyone has been incredibly supportive and kind.

9) Do you write smut?

Well, I do now! I've shared before, but for my own psychological safety I was very cautious about that and hadn't written smut before, but it's been very liberatory in adding that to my writing and definitely improved my skill and depth overall. I tend not to write it in isolation (my smut-writing 'experiment' "oneshot" is now 133,365 words and counting, whoops!).

10) Do you write crossovers?

I haven't as yet, but I did have an idea I enjoyed about the Zhentarim crew from BG3 doing a charity episode of Great British Bake-Off which I think would be hilarious.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I think The Night at Last Light Inn with @bihanny's Tav, Nox, would count! That was very fun.

14) What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Huh. Well I'm not sure about all-time favourite. Much like 'fic', I didn't know what 'ship' was until someone told me it's what I was doing 😂 I suppose if I go through the games I like where there are choices, these are the couples that I always go for:

Mass Effect: Kaidan x M!Shep

Dragon Age Inquisition: Cullen x F!RogueLavellan

BG3: ...I don't know what happened. I appear to be smashing Rugan and Aradin together against all of our wills until it became a thing. I enjoy a lot of the NPC ships though, with other NPCs or OCs it's all good!

16) What are your writing strengths?

I think I've received good feedback on my characterizations, especially where it pertains to dialogue. I like to think I'm also fairly good with regards to writing and conveying emotions, personal conflict, and relationships, particularly so far with regards to angsty and emotional stuff.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

Well I had to relearn dialogue grammar, but now that's out of the way... I think sometimes I struggle with coming up with fun and interesting, exciting original things, which is probably why I like writing other people's OCs and fic/plot suggestions. It gives inspiration to go places I might not have come up with otherwise. For fic I also tend to fall back on familiar words/phrases/constructions, but I'm okay with that. It's all for fun.

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I haven't done. I don't have the fluency or knowledge to make it accurate and culturally respectful, but with research or lived experience it would be great to read cultures and languages diverse from mine.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

Baldur's Gate 3, baybeeee! Still here deep in the BG3 brainrot.

Technically my first work on AO3, and how I found the site, is actually a series of posts following the first 3 Dragon Age games, but it's not really fanfic per se.

20) Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

What If Rolan Was A Companion was my first fic, so it will always be a bit special, even though I didn't even know 'writing fic' was what I was doing at the time lolol. There's a lot I'd do differently in it if I were to write it now with the knowledge I have, but it was the start of something special that lead to a lot of things I never would have expected so its meaning extends beyond the writing itself.

[caelyne]

aether ridge

im gonna just write my thoughts on it. i find it amusing how much people despise this region, tho i can understand the reasons for that. AR and its multitude of subregions do make a large slice of the region list in the expansion. they're kinda samey, the level design is questionable at times, and its presence somewhat overbearing. we're back in the fucking building again babeeyyy!!!!!

i personally dont mind it that much tbh. a friend of mine put it quite succinctly in that its just an arcadey/generic rain world level. some definitely may see this as a negative, but i think they included aether ridge and it split up its massive layout to pad the expansion a bit? which doesnt sound great putting it like that, but knowing that there was some pressure to release the game before it was fully realized, i think it was a reasonable move to make. i also like that the dev team included modders on this project as well and i think its a nice gesture to the community.

i mostly want to point out something that i think ended up frustrating a lot of players though. lets look at this flowchart from the rw wiki..

so, we start our adventure into these supposed Imagined Worlds on the bottom left side. our starter regions can be either WSKB, WSKA, or WRFA, depending on where we found our third encounter with Spinning Top.

taking a closer look... we can see that all these paths lead to WARF, aka, The Fucking Building. If you're lucky, you CAN end up in WRRA from WSKB, which gives you a good opportunity to escape this starting area and into WTDB, which would contain your first echo. but given how many paths lead to AR, i think most players end up finding themselves here. and hoo boy

this is definitely a region. personally, i think its a very daaaaaunting region to have so early on. its huge, for one. the platforming is tricky at times, for two. and there are some reasonable criticisms about the level design. heres two right off the bat:

i do think there was some thought put into it by the devs in terms of warp placement, however. from each of your starting points, i do think the level tries to guide you down the mountain, toward one of your two escape routes to WTDA (which gives you a tasty Spinning Top encounter), or to WSKD (a brief respite from TFB). if you look at one of the maps online, you can kinda trace a Theoretically Reasonable path that leads to the south end. The problem is... is that rain world doesnt always work like that. people like to find rooms! and its also just so fucking big.

getting lost IS part of rain world, and i think that is all well and good. but its just curious to me that a Rare region like WVWA, which in my experience is a cute little walk in the park by comparison, has only two possible ways to enter it naturally.

i think aether ridge could've been a later game region tbh. i know that doesnt mean... much.. when you can randomly warp by the time you get enough ripple, but if you're encountering ST enough beforehand, its possible you'll have access to the ripple float ability, which i think a lot of players would greatly appreciate in this region.

similarly, i think WARD and WARG have similar issues, but maybe less so, given that they require a bit more work to get to? again, i think WARF couldve been placed a bit later i suppose.

to put it simply, i think aether ridge ends up being this massive, spongey wall for a lot of people given its size, complexity and the fact thats all the starting regions connect into it. but hey, it was also my experience that once i escaped, i very quickly started seeing a lot of progress.

now whats a rain world post without some ponderings into the Lore. i do think it was probably an intentional choice to organize and place the region warps as they did.

when you look at how WBLA and WARD both connect to each other, and ALSO both connect to WSSR.. i find that interesting. the easiest case to make about these intentional connections is how WRSA connects to both WAUA and WORA. we can also point to WARB and WARC, for that matter. it raises the question as to why are organized in this way.. and on that, i have no clue. i just think its Neat.