#but I was thinking so much about what his origin would be

[fairsweetlonging]

i love writing about shen qingqiu flirting with people but not knowing he does it, and never realizing what effect it has on people or when they flirt back

for instance, he doesn't quite have a grasp on the usage of flowery, poetic speech yet, so he uses it in ways that are more suggestive than he means to. he compliments liu qingge's fighting style but the words he uses are "dancing like a snow lotus in the high mountain gales" and liu qingge turns so red shen qingqiu thinks he has a fever. he also said to wei qingwei that if only he was better a guqing player he would capture the sound of his laughter (wei qingwei has a boisterous laugh and this was meant to be teasing) and wei qingwei lay awake for three nights thinking about that.

he'd try to banter with yue qingyuan in the sort of taunting style of the original sqq, but in doing so accidentally strays into "shixiong should just bring his pillow and move in with how much he visits" "well if shidi insists" territory, and he doesn't realize it.

he pretends to be jealous when liu qingge goes on a mission with someone else, saying things like "shidi is having so much fun with [other peak lord], am i not enough? has my heart been traded for another?" with a fake pout that's supposed to be playful, but that inadvertently causes liu qingge to only accept missions with him or by himself, and of course shen qingqiu keeps digging this hole deeper by then acting flattered when liu qingge invites only him to the hunt.

he also definitely goes a little shakespearean sometimes to be dramatic, but people take that serious too. one time shang qinghua was too busy to read/write with him, so he complained to whoever listened, "the cruelty of his words have ripped my heart asunder, never again will i feel joy from what has now turned to sorrow", and two days later shang qinghua asks him what the hell he said to make half of the peak lords show up angry at his house like scorned lovers

in my mind he has also made a "chain me to the bed to have your way" kind of comment about his without a cure treatment, because mu qingfang added twenty new concoctions to the list that are yucky and shen yuan doesn't like yucky things, but even he was like "hm" about that and their next appointment was a little awkward.

[mythicalmaven]

(I used a screenshot of the original request in here, because I wans't able to reply to the original request anymore, whoops)

Here it finally is! Please let me know what you thought of it :) Requests are open btw! Feel free to request anything :) I'm considering to do kinktober as well this year, so leave your requests for that as well :)

Supposed To Be Mine - Charles Leclerc (ONESHOT)

Masterlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader ↳word count: 4.9K ↳warnings: friends to lovers, jealous!sex, jealousy, (minor) possessiveness, jealous Charles, smut, 18+(MDNI!), handjob (m!receiving), pinv ↳summary: In which Oscar wins the Azerbaijan GP & Charles gets jealous because their mutual friend decides to celebrate with Oscar& not him (or so he thinks). This results in pent up emotions, a heated argument & of course, jealous sex

It was Sunday, September 15th when you found yourself making your way through the paddock. The sun was shining bright and the atmosphere was making you feel ecstatic. You, a familiar face on the grid, had been here to support your friends. While you usually worked as a member of the F1 TV team during Grand Prix, this weekend you were off duty, free to fully enjoy the festivities of the Grand Prix.

Over the years, you'd built strong friendships with most of the grid, but there were three drivers you were particularly close to: Oscar, Charles, and Alex. Each friendship had grown naturally, but in distinct ways.

Alex was the one who felt like a brother from the start. You clicked immediately, sharing the same dry humor, hobbies, and an undeniable love for animals. He was always there for you—whether it was picking you up from the club after too many drinks or cheering you up when your heart got broken again. If there was one word to describe your bond, it was siblings.

Then there was Oscar, your roommate. He ticked all the boxes for the perfect best friend. Your friendship took time to blossom, but once it did, you both quickly realized how well you fit together, purely platonically. The thought of taking it further had never crossed your minds—it just wasn’t like that. After moving to Monaco, you’d struggled to find an apartment, so Oscar offered you a place to stay. A year later, you were still living together because, honestly, it was too much fun to stop.

Then last, but certainly not least, Charles. Your bond with him was something else entirely. The connection between you felt effortless, almost surreal. He was the friend you could call at any hour to talk about anything or nothing. You could spend hours in comfortable silence, never growing bored. But Charles was also the friend that you had secretly been in love with for years. You knew you shouldn't be, your friendship worth way too much to risk it for a stupid crush. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get over him. Every time you dated someone else, it always came back to Charles.

But even if you'd allow yourself to feel the way you did about him, you'd already given up the hope of him ever feeling the same despite your friends insisting otherwise, pointing out how he smiled brighter when he was around you or how his gaze lingered a little longer. You were unable to believe it, the scenario seeming to good to be true.

There were moments—fleeting, breathless moments—when you thought something was there. Moments where your faces hovered inches apart, breaths mingling, hearts pounding. But right before anything could happen, one of you would pull back, retreating before the tension broke, both of you pretending it had never happened.

Charles had been in love with you longer than he cared to admit. Everything about you captivated him—the way your laughter filled a room, the ease with which you could calm him when he was frustrated, the way you just got him without him needing to explain a thing. Around you, he felt at ease and yet so unbelievably nervous. His heart would race whenever you were near, his palms would get sweaty, and he could feel the tension in his chest and stomach. There were so many times he’d wanted to pull you close, to feel your body against his, but something always stopped him.

It was fear. Fear that you would notice how much he felt for you and that it would scare you off. The thought of you realizing the depth of his feelings terrified him, because losing you, even as just a friend, was unthinkable. He tried to keep a distance for that reason, but it was impossible. You had this way of driving him wild without even trying, leaving him helpless in the wake of his emotions.

He’d fantasized about you more often than he dared to admit—so many nights spent alone in his apartment, hand slipping beneath his waistband, your name falling from his lips in breathless whispers. But it wasn’t just the physical desire; it was how much he felt when he was around you. You made him feel alive in a way no one else could.

And then, there was Oscar. The way you two were so close, always together, always laughing, sent a pang of jealousy through him. You said there was nothing romantic between you, but sometimes, Charles couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you felt something for him. It ate at him, the idea of someone else having what he wanted so desperately. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold back.

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The roar of engines echoed across the pit lane as the top three finishers of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix parked their cars by their respective signs. Charles finished 2nd, which made you incredibly excited for him, but your excitement today reached an even higher level by the one who finished first. Oscar just won his second Grand Prix in F1 and you were feeling so incredibly proud.

You were standing at the front of the crowd, engulfing Oscar's mom in a crushing hug, sharing your mutual excitement. You looked up at Oscar climbing out of the car, bumping his fist in the air, cheering enthusiastically.

"God, look at him, finally a win he is allowing himself to enjoy!" you chimed to his mom.

You watched as Oscar ran straight into the arms of his engineers, their shared happiness palpable in the air. The joy between them was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile as you took in the scene.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Charles climbing out of his car in the background, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Post-race Charles always did things to you that you couldn't quite explain. You wanted to wave, but he seemed busy with his team, so you decided to congratulate him on his podium later.

Your attention shifted back to Oscar just as he approached his mum, pulling her into a warm embrace while carefully avoiding bumping her with his helmet.

"I'm so proud of you, darling!" she cooed, squeezing him a little tighter before they eventually pulled apart.

Oscar removed his helmet and reached up to pull off his balaclava, revealing a blissed-out expression. His smile was radiant, a mix of joy and relief, as if the weight of the race had melted away in that victorious moment.

He caught your eye, and his grin widened. "I did it! I actually did it!" he exclaimed, still sounding like he couldn’t quite believe it.

"You did! You really did!" you gushed, your smile matching his as you shared in his happiness.

Without warning, Oscar launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you over the fence you’d been leaning against. He hugged you tightly, spinning you around as both of you laughed, the sound of your shared joy echoing across the pit lane.

The cameras were all pointed in your direction, capturing the moment. To you and Oscar, it was nothing more than two best friends celebrating a hard-fought victory. But to the outside world, the scene looked far more intimate than it felt.

Charles stood at a distance, watching the moment unfold. His chest tightened as he took in the sight of you and Oscar together, laughter and smiles shared so easily between you. You’d told him there was nothing going on with Oscar, that the two of you were just best friends—but looking at you now, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

It hurt. It hurt to see you in Oscar’s arms, when he wished so desperately that it was him instead. He felt a wave of frustration, jealousy swirling inside him. Oscar was his friend, someone he genuinely liked, but seeing you together like that made it hard to think straight. The fear that Oscar might steal you away—his girl, even though you weren’t even his—gnawed at him.

“She said there was nothing between them,” he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself.

Pierre appeared beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think it’s not what it looks like, mate," he offered, sensing Charles’ mood.

Charles shook his head, frustration still bubbling beneath the surface. "That’s what they always say when they’re denying it," he replied, his voice low. "I know she’s single, and she can do whatever she wants with whoever she wants, but… it just hurts."

Pierre gave him a sympathetic look, but Charles couldn’t shake the feeling. He wanted to punch something, not because he hated Oscar—he liked Oscar—but because seeing you so close to him made him feel like he was losing you, even though you were never his to begin with.

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Later in the day, as the adrenaline from the race began to wear off, you found yourself searching for Charles. You had spent the afternoon immersed in the celebrations with Oscar and the McLaren team, reveling in their victory. Despite the fun, your thoughts kept drifting back to Charles.

Navigating through the bustling paddock, you scanned the area for any sign of him. You wanted to offer your congratulations and express how proud you were, but Charles seemed to have vanished.

When you stepped into the Ferrari motorhome, you were greeted by Carlos. The Spaniard offered you a small, knowing smile. "Hey," he said as he approached you.

"Hey, have you seen Charles?" you asked, absentmindedly twirling a stray strand of hair.

Carlos's smile turned apologetic. "He already left for the hotel. Said something about not feeling up to it today."

Your heart sank a bit. "Oh, I wanted to congratulate him earlier, but I got caught up with the celebrations."

A flicker of realization crossed Carlos's face. "Ah, that explains why he seemed so on edge when he came back here."

Confusion clouded your expression. "What do you mean?"

Carlos’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "I think Charles got a bit unsettled seeing you so close with Oscar instead of him."

You frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Why would he be annoyed? My best friend won the race. Of course I celebrated with him. It's not like I didn't want to celebrate with Charles, it's just that Oscar is my best friend. And he also deserves the attention when he achieves something amazing like this."

Carlos’s smirk widened slightly. "That’s exactly his problem."

You stood there, grappling with the situation, struggling to find the right words. Carlos seemed to sense your confusion and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Maybe you should talk to him. There might be more going on between you two than you realize."

His words hung in the air, adding a new layer to your thoughts as you considered the possibility of unspoken feelings and misunderstandings.

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"You seemed awfully intimate with Piastri this afternoon, anything unfolding there?" you heard Alex tease on through the phone.

He had called you had texted that you were on the way back to the hotel, something you often did to just gossip and rant about everything that went on.

You rolled your eyes, and huffed "Why does everybody keep saying that. Not even in my wildest dreams, ew" you whined "I know he's good looking, I'm not blind, but the idea of doing something with him revolts me just as much as it revolts him"

The chuckle that Alex let out was audible to you "Well, to be fair, it didn't look like nothing on camera" he started, another chuckle leaving his lips "Have you checked your social media lately? Apparently the camera's catched Charles' reaction to your little moment with Oscar. The video is going quite viral. He is shooting daggers at Oscar, man. The jealousy is literally burning in his eyes"

You sighed "Don't, Alex" you whispered "Don't give me hope"

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You arrived at Charles's hotel room with a mix of anxiety and frustration swirling inside you. His abrupt disappearance after the celebration, coupled with his avoidance of your calls, had left you feeling unsettled and concerned. Your knuckles rapped against the door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. When Charles finally opened it, his face was a mask of irritation, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, stepping past him before he could react.

Charles’s eyes were dark with frustration. “Nothing,” he snapped, but the rigidity in his stance and the clenched fists he tried to hide told a different story.

You let out a sigh, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I know you’re lying,” you insisted, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, trying to steady your breathing. “Please, just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What did I do?”

Charles stood with his back to you, his breathing shallow and uneven. “Why him?” he finally asked, his voice strained and raw.

Confusion creased your brow. “What are you talking about?”

Charles’s frustration finally erupted. “Why did you celebrate with Oscar and not with me? I finished second. I deserved some attention too.”

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm despite the rising tension. “Oscar’s my best friend too. This win was a big deal for him. I wanted to be there for him. I tried to find you, but you were already gone.”

Charles’s eyes flashed with hurt and jealousy, a dark storm clouding his gaze. “It feels like you care more about him than me. It fucking hurts to see you so close to him, probably even—”

His words struck a nerve, causing irritation to flare within you. “Oscar and I are just friends, Charles.” You stated, your anger bubbled over. “And so what if it was more? Why does it matter to you? I’m not your property. You dont get to decide who I spend time with. You’re my best friend, not my boyfriend.”

Charles’s face flushed with frustration, his voice rising with each word. “Merde, for fuck’s sake, I don’t want to be your best friend!”

His declaration stunned you, a mix of hurt and anger surging within you, causing tears to well up in your eyes. “Well, if you don’t want to be my best friend, I might as well go back to Oscar then. Since, according to you, that’s where I prefer to be. You apparently know me better than I do!”

Without waiting for a response, you turned to leave, but Charles’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a desperate grip. His eyes burned with an intense emotion, a mixture of longing and possessiveness that was almost palpable. Before you could react, he pulled you close, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was both fierce and consuming.

The kiss was rough, charged with pent-up emotions. Charles’s lips moved against yours with an urgent hunger, a reflection of the depth of his feelings. The heat of his body pressed against yours, every touch and caress infused with an intensity that left you breathless. His hands roamed over your curves, claiming you with each possessive stroke. You could feel the undeniable pressure of his arousal pressing against you, intensifying the moment.

He guided you gently back toward the bed, his touch both tender and commanding. Slowly, he lowered you down onto it, his hands caressing your sides with a reverence that spoke of his deep feelings for you. He leaned over you, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t want to be your best friend,” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

You were taken aback by his declaration, the words resonating deeply within you. Before you could respond, Charles’s lips were on yours again, kissing you with a fierce passion that left you breathless. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, as he explored your body with a mix of urgency and tenderness.

You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as his touch ignited a fire within you. Charles’s arousal was evident, his body pressing against yours in a way that heightened your senses. “Tell me you think about me at night and not him,” he demanded, his voice husky and filled with longing.

The world around you seemed to dissolve as Charles’s touch and kisses overwhelmed your senses. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, caressing, igniting every nerve with a mix of desperation and adoration. His touch was both possessive and tender, his kisses deep and demanding.

“Tell me,” he urged, his voice a low, heated whisper. “Tell me you scream my name when you come and not his.”

You met his intense gaze, your voice breathless and filled with yearning. “Only you, Charles. It has always been you.”

Charles’s eyes darkened with satisfaction, his expression softening slightly as he continued his intimate exploration. He guided your hands to his jeans, his breathing ragged with desire. “Have you ever thought about him like this?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Touched him like this?”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and affection. “It’s only you, Charles,” you replied, your voice sultry. “I never saw Oscar that way.”

Charles’s frustration and desire mingled as he felt your touch, his body tensing and his control slipping. He moaned softly, a deep, guttural sound that reflected his overwhelmed state. His hands gripped the edge of the bed for support as you palmed him through his jeans, your touch eliciting a series of desperate groans from him.

Unable to hold back any longer, you undid the button of his jeans and slid your hand inside, taking him in your grasp. Charles gasped, his breathing coming in short, erratic bursts. “F-Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice strained. “That feels so good.” His body tensed and trembled, overwhelmed by the sensation of your touch. “J-Just like that,” he gasped, his voice a desperate, needy growl. “Show me you’re mine. I want you to think about me every time you touch yourself. I hope that after tonight, you can never touch another man without thinking about me.”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with passion. “It’s already been like that for years,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Charles’s gaze softened for a moment, but his need took over. He flipped you back onto the bed with a sudden, urgent intensity. His movements were driven by a deep-seated desire, his lips finding yours again, kissing you with a feverish passion that made your heart race.

As he undressed you, his touch was both deliberate and passionate. He removed the last bits of his clothing with a mix of urgency and tenderness, his hands lingering on your skin, savoring the feel of you beneath him. He paused, looking into your eyes with a mixture of tenderness and desire. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, his voice a low, heated whisper. “Tell me, do you want this as much as I do?”

You nodded, your voice breathless with anticipation. “Yes, Charles. I want you. I want all of you.”

Charles’s eyes darkened with satisfaction as he positioned himself above you. His hands continued their intimate exploration, his kisses trailing down your neck and shoulders with a mix of urgency and tenderness. Each touch was a declaration of his intense feelings, a blend of passion and possession that left you craving more.

As the intensity of the moment built, Charles’s control wavered. He pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of need and desire. “Tell me you’re mine,” he urged, his voice a rough whisper. “I want to hear you say it, mon amour”

You looked at him, your body trembling with desire as he continued to touch and kiss

you. “I’m yours, Charles,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both need and certainty.

Charles’s expression softened into one of profound relief and adoration, but a trace of jealousy lingered in his eyes, his gaze never leaving yours. As he positioned himself between your legs, there was a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness in his touch. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice filled with deep emotion and a hint of a possessive edge.

With that, he entered you slowly, his movements tender yet unmistakably possessive. His thrusts were gentle and loving, but each one was infused with a sense of claiming, as though he was marking you as his own. His kisses were gentle but urgent, his lips traveling down your neck as he began to suck and nibble, leaving marks that would clearly show his affection and his possessiveness.

You gasped, feeling the intensity of his touch. “Charles, be careful. They will be visible,” you said, your voice a mixture of concern and pleasure.

Charles’s eyes darkened with a mix of satisfaction and jealousy. “That’s the point,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl filled with both desire and a possessive undertone. “I want him to see and know that you belong to me. I want him to see what he’s missing, that you’re mine and mine alone.”

His words stirred something deep within you, causing a moan to escape your lips that was loud and unrestrained, a testament to the intense pleasure you were experiencing. Your hand instinctively traveled up to his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled gently but firmly. The sensation of his hair being tugged caused him to shiver, and he let out a deep, guttural moan that reverberated against your skin.

Charles’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He groaned softly, his breath coming in ragged bursts as the pull on his hair heightened his arousal. “Fuck...” he whispered, his voice trembling with both pleasure and disbelief. The feeling of your fingers in his hair only intensified his longing, making him feel as though he were losing control. “Merde… that feels so good,” he muttered, his tone rough and desperate. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

The way you tugged at his hair drove him to new heights of pleasure, his moans growing louder and more fervent as he lost himself in the sensations. Each pull sent a jolt of electricity through him, making his movements more urgent and fervent, as though he were trying to convey just how deeply your touch affected him.

As he continued, his thrusts maintained a balance of gentle passion and possessive claim, his hands gripping you with a mix of tenderness and assertion. The rhythm of his movements was both caring and commanding, a reflection of his deep, conflicted emotions. His kisses left a trail of marks, each one a silent declaration of his fierce, consuming love and possessiveness.

Charles’s eyes lock onto yours, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “I-I’m so close,” he gasps, his voice strained with the intensity of the moment. The desperate need in his eyes makes your heart race, his body pressing into yours with a fervor that only heightens your own arousal.

You can barely hold back your own pleasure, the sensations coursing through you almost overwhelming. “Me too” you moan, your voice trembling as you inch closer to the edge. “Come for me, Charles,” 

Your encouragement is the final push he needs, and his body reacts instantly. The combination of your words and the electric tension between you drives him over the edge. The urgency in Charles’s movements and the heat of his gaze as tumbles over the edge draws you to the peak of your ecstasy with him.

As the two of you reached the peak of your intimacy, Charles’s moans mingled with your own, creating a symphony of pleasure and connection that echoed through the room. The shared release was an explosion of ecstasy that left you both trembling and gasping, entwined in the aftermath of your union. 

When the world finally settled and the waves of pleasure began to recede, Charles held you close, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he whispered, “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been in love with you.”

You smiled through your own breathless satisfaction, responding softly, “I could say the same to you.”

Charles’s expression softened further as he kissed you tenderly, his hands caressing your skin with a gentleness that spoke of his deep affection. The moment was filled with a profound sense of connection and fulfillment, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of your bond.

masterlist

[salmalin]

My sincerest apologies and warmest welcome to my rant about FF7: Crisis Core. Or, as I like to call it,

Propaganda: The Video Game

I say this with the utmost affection. Crisis Core ranks really high up there in my favorite Final Fantasy 7 installments. I played it when it first came out, borrowing it from a friend to play on a borrowed PSP. And, the more I learn about the game and the more I replay it, the more everything lines up.

This game is not about Zack Fair.

This game is about how Capitalistic Propaganda can sink into every aspect of life to the point where it is entirely indistinguishable from reality. And it’s very overt about it. So…

Here we go.

My treatise on Propaganda’s starring role in Crisis Core.

Part One: The Timeline

Something that a lot of people gloss over due to decades of Child Heroes in media—Japanese Shonen and Shoujo series in particular—is how young these protagonists are. We’ll hand-wave a lot of stuff in non-live-action series with just a little bit of suspension of disbelief. And that’s honestly just accepted these days. But here’s the thing about those hand-waves.

Final Fantasy 7 doesn’t do that.

Now, FF7 hand-waves a lot of stuff. For example, how far you can travel in a day by foot, the distance a man weighing approximately 165lbs can jump after being genetically fused with what might as well be a cocaine demon (Jenova), and how much hairspray one can reasonably carry on a cross-country journey while on the run from the feds.

Age is not one of them.

Exhibit A: Yuffie Kisaragi.

Do I really need to say more? She acts her age. So does Zack. And Aerith, even. Most of the characters in the original lineup were over twenty for a good reason. We see several kids in the series, and they all act their age, too—both the OG and the remake. Age is not a thing that FF7 really grapples with. It’s something they take relatively seriously.

Now, to the point.

Zack is 16 when Crisis Core starts…

… and he was 13 when he ran away from home without his parents’ knowledge to join the military.

Which accepted him.

At 13.

Without a parental permission slip.

Think about that for a second.

… Or for the next several parts of this breakdown.

Part Two: The Main Character

As I mentioned in the introduction, Zack is not the main character of the events of Crisis Core. Instead, he is the focal point of the second person POV. This is not the first time Square has done this. It was done most notably with FF9, FF10, and FF12. (I’m not going to go on an Akira Kurosawa rant right now, but please check out his film “The Hidden Fortress”. FF12 and Star Wars episodes 4-6 borrow heavily from this film.) The purpose and position of this character is such that they might best witness the effects the other characters make on the world as their stories unfold, usually in the role of a love interest. For Akira Kurosawa, it may have been told this way because these people are most effected by the decisions being made.

“Well, then, Sal,” you may be asking, “who would you say is the main character? Would that be Aerith, since she’s the love interest, like in the other games?”

No, actually.

It’s the antagonist.

And by that, I mean Genesis.

Hear me out. I used to hate Genesis, for I was once young, full of judgement for flamboyancy (thanks, internalized homophobia), and was led by the narrative to believe he was mean to his friends. Then I met my Lovely beta who loved him, so I wrote a fic for her as a gift. So for that I kinda just… read stuff. Because that’s the thing about Propaganda—you gotta read stuff to navigate it. I read the in-game emails. I re-watched all the scenes I could get my hands on with him. I read his wiki and tried to track down more information about him. Then I watched the scenes in Japanese and gained a better understanding of not just Genesis, but Sephiroth’s character. And I realized that Genesis was put on this road from the start. In fact, a big part of the fact that he’s seen the way he is in Canon—only at his most hostile and lowest points—is because the story is told through Zack’s point of view.

So before we get into the breakdown, here’s the hard facts about Genesis.

1. He was a test tube baby who may or may not technically be Angeal’s fraternal twin brother, which we are not going to unpack right now.

2. He was adopted by a relatively rich family.

3. He was a child genius (which requires not only resources, but drive to achieve), and at a tender young age of like… ten or something? He decided to mess around and literally invented pasteurization. Which is incredible, and really speaks to his knowledge of the world and ability to grasp complex concepts even at a young age. But, again, this is not the time or place to unpack that.

4. He was best friends with Angeal, who might as well have been the sweetest, kindest boy to ever walk the Planet. (I’m biased. I love him.)

5. As a teenager, he became fixated on Sephiroth, who had gained national acclaim as a SOLDIER despite them being the same age. (Please see part 1 and think about that for a second.) He then goes to join SOLDIER and brings Angeal with him. And Angeal brings his step-father’s puritanical “hard work is honorable” mindset with him. (On that note, Angeal and his father’s arc really are a wonderfully scathing letter to companies that overwork their employees and how toxic/unhealthy that line of thinking is. But. Again. We are not unpacking that right now.)

6. At one point he became consumed with LOVELESS, a series of poems with heavy prose and symbolism thicker than syrup. It got to the point where he was so well known for it that there was an entire fanclub dedicated to both him and analyzing the text.

7. While he was in SOLDIER, he repeatedly had his achievements publicly accredited… to Sephiroth.

Over and over and over again.

Everyone did, really. They mention it in the beginning of the game. Sephiroth even got public credit for Zack’s raid on the castle when he wasn’t even there. How much of his legacy is real? How much of it is made up? How much of it was faked? We don’t know. No one knows. But he keeps getting credit, anyways. And when Genesis confronts him about it, Sephiroth doesn’t care. In the Japanese version of their fight scene, you could even say he indirectly implies that he wants Genesis to take his place as the “hero”. In the English, Sephiroth’s line is, “Come and try.” But in the Japanese the line is closer to, “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Which, depending on how you take his tone, can mean wildly different things—from mocking, to earnest, or even admiration—which is especially to tell because he might be annoyed with Genesis at the moment.

Fun Fact: In Ever Crisis, Sephiroth explicitly says they are making up his achievements in the press to target boys his age for recruitment. (Thus why they accepted Zack at age 13.)

My theory on this line is that he is being cynical; that Genesis doesn't understand just how harrowing and even humiliating his experience has been. This only enforces my theory that the "come and try" translation in the English not only does a disservice to a line as wonderfully heavy as, "Wouldn't that be nice?", but fundamentally misunderstands Sephiroth as a character.

8. Genesis then took the fight to Shin-Ra. Inspiring a good chunk of their staff to leave the company, he then staged multiple attacks on facilities, staff, and the main building—which also spilled out into the city of Midgar. He murdered his parents, buried them, killed everyone in town, and… Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. A lot of innocent people died simply because they were vaguely associated with Shin-Ra. These are the actions of a villain. What’s more, this is clearly a sign that he has been acclimatized to death and violence by Shin-Ra to the point where he doesn’t even consider taking hostages.

Except.

Except the entire town was a Shin-Ra town.

Banora, canonically, was a Shin-Ra built town, which means everyone there was basically an employee of the company. No one was safe. Everyone was a threat. And that…

That was how he was raised. And he finally knew the truth—that every moment of his life was touched, controlled by Shin-Ra, all the way down to his very conception. He has never known freedom. He has never known his own identity. And now that very cage was killing him, slowly and painfully, and turning him into something that couldn’t even be recognized as human. He was watching himself rot in the mirror, and it was all because of Shin-Ra’s greed. And as he searched for salvation, he sunk into LOVELESS as he always had, hinging his entire life on Minerva’s Gift because he knew he was dying and that was all he had.

9. And then he died…

10. … but then it turned out LOVELESS was actually kind of a blueprint, and he did meet the Goddess, and he did get reborn without his degradation so he was rewarded for his journey in the end.

So why wasn’t Genesis the main character of the game?

Simple.

His actions challenge the status quo without being about the status quo. It’s a story about revenge. It’s a story about retribution. It’s a story about answering mass violence with mass violence and ultimately being rewarded by it. And while, yes, the series is an action-based violence simulator, the violence in the original FF7 was a guided, tactical effort. (For all that the characters aren’t the brightest bulbs in the sun lamps.) But the biggest, most obvious shift in the narrative happened when they realized their role as terrorists—bringing mass violence to the company via bombing and open aggression—was just resulting in increasing levels of retaliation against uninvolved people. They might as well have been a child beating the ankles of a giant. The goals and themes of the game fundamentally change when they realize that answering mass-scale societal violence with mass-scale physical violence was not only unsustainable, but also wasn’t going to solve their problem.

FF7 is about change and learning when violence—and what kind of violence—is appropriate in the face of different threats.

Genesis’ arc undermines all of that, and making him the main character would contradict the very heart of the OG game.

So, instead, we are positioned as Zack, connected to him through a mutual friend. From there we see all the damage and horror this vengeance brings to those living under the status quo.

But also, that plotline’s a major downer in a lot of ways, so they needed to lighten things up a bit to keep audience involved. And that’s why Zack is, well…

Part Three: Zack is a Himbo

Please, for the love of all that is holy, keep in mind that everything I say here is with the utmost affection.

Zack is dumb as a rock.

He is a charismatic, enthusiastic sixteen year old jock who ran away from home at thirteen years old to join the military. Which, please know, why I say “military” I mean “private security guard force with a standard-issue Death Baton and a license to kill”. The first scene in the game is him being excited that he gets to murder a bunch of people in a simulation, which he is immediately scolded for by his mentor. He is a glorified, souped up private security guard who is canonically only in it for the glory at first. He wants to be a “hero”, but doesn’t seem to fundamentally know what that means. And, over the course of the story, the definition of that clearly changes for him.

Which tracks, because the story takes place over a period of time with high stress.

Occasionally I see people saying they wish that Zack had more complexity to him, and honestly? The game. Would be. SO. BAD.

Full Disclosure: I am not the biggest fan of Zack specifically because he lacks a lot of nuance. I wish he was a bit more complex, too. But I also know that would break the game. What’s worse, if he was still on Shin-Ra’s side because he understood Shin-Ra’s mission… Well… That would make him a villain, or a cog at best. That’s not main character material. It would make the ending more messed up, though.

Anywho, Zack was thirteen when he left home. He had no formal education. He didn’t tell anyone what he was doing. He even joined without a permission slip from his parents. This means that Shin-Ra was accepting thirteen, possibly fourteen year olds into the military. (Some people will say this tracks because you can get a job at fourteen in many parts of Japan. But, and this is important, you aren’t allowed to be a security guard until you’re quite a bit older, and you need a specific license for it, much like in the US.) Clearly they didn’t teach this boy critical thinking skills. Not because he’s a himbo, but because having their Super-Powered Private Security Force With A License To Kill think independently would explicitly go against their interests. (EX: Genesis.)

Shin-Ra needs SOLDIERs to follow orders or the company would no longer be able to function. Seconds and Thirds aren’t even allowed to reject missions. (One could argue that sending certain someone on back-to-back missions would be a good way for them to eliminate undesirables within the ranks by sending them to their deaths, which… would make an incredible fic idea, actually.) We already know that First, Second, and Third Class rank assignments do not actually reflect the power of the SOLDIER. This is canon. I would instead argue that those who make the rank of First Class aren’t necessarily the most powerful, but are instead the most visible in the media, thus the easiest to market, and/or the easiest to manipulate and control. (For a great example of this, see The Umbrella Academy.)

The point is, Zack may have been elevated to his position as a first specifically because he is malleable and single-minded. Even after all he saw with Genesis, he stuck by the company to the very end, with the exception of the time Sephiroth was literally guiding him to fail a mission. Zack allowed himself to take Shin-Ra’s side every time, taking down their enemies and following their orders, preserving his “honor as SOLDIER” as he had been taught. The only thing that made him stop…

… was literally getting put in a jar.

It was when he was no longer a SOLDIER.

Part Four: Honor

There is no such thing as SOLDIER Honor.

I repeat: There is no such thing as SOLDIER Honor.

It is a fictional thing that is borne of an ideology based around hard work. It only has power because it is believed in. It is an intangible social construct similar to the law, mathematical order of operations, and gender roles. So why are Angeal and Zack obsessed with it?

Pretty simple.

Angeal’s step-father followed it.

Now, we know three things about Angeal’s step-father.

1. He was chill with the fact that Gillian was already pregnant when they started dating.

2. He was a very good father.

3. He worked himself to death trying to pay off the sword he bought Angeal.

This, of course, says a lot about Angeal considering he rarely uses the sword. He essentially sees that sword as the symbol of his step-father’s life. Everything he uses it for, he sees as more important than his step-father’s life. That thing is usually Zack.

Zack, who is the child who joined the military based on stories of heroes.

Zack, who rises against Angeal in the name of his own step-father’s ideology and tries to talk him down, even at the very end. But Zack fails because he fundamentally doesn’t understand what’s going on, partially because “Soldier Honor” is just one more aspect of this narrative he was given. It is a narrative that Angeal has had to step away from, even though he doesn’t want to leave the memory of his step-father behind. He was a good man. He was a good, hardworking man.

And that is why he died.

Corporations will use you up until there is nothing left, then honor your memory/sacrifice. Shin-Ra was doing the exact same thing the company his step-father worked for did; using up SOLDIERs until they outlived their usefulness. And Angeal was horrified to realize that his “SOLDIER Honor” wasn’t honor at all.

It was willingly submitting to control.

But, unlike Angeal, over time, this meaning changed for Zack. Partially because he didn't understand it fully in the first place. It became about acting with integrity. It became about helping people. It became about not lying down and watching the abuse Shin-Ra handed out in exchange for literal money; for maintaining the status quo.

At the very end, Zack understood what it meant to be a hero.

Part Five: The Conclusion

To sum up, Zack believed in and idolized the propaganda spread by Shin-Ra at such a young age, and was so convinced by it, that he ran away from home at thirteen to join the military.

He was their target demographic, so they happily took him into their ranks. What’s more, people think this is normal enough that we see no one opposing this, because the only people who oppose Shin-Ra are “extremists” or “violent terrorists”.

Zack then became their loyal puppy, groomed to fill his role as super-powered attack dog to sick on anyone they deemed appropriate, and he filled the role. He believed he was doing good. He didn’t think they were invading another country, because that’s not what he was told.

He went after Genesis, because that’s what he was told, and he wouldn’t let Genesis’ actions shake his faith in the company.

Then he went after Angeal, hoping to get answers, only to become more confused. Angeal taught him about SOLDIER honor. He taught him about a higher calling. He was the one who made Zack truly loyal to the company. This challenged everything Zack knew.

He went with Sephiroth, planning a small rebellion of their own (a white lie on paperwork) to get answers, only to find things he wasn’t ready for and couldn’t fully understand.

Zack is shaken by each of these events. Horribly. At times, we even watch him grieve. But time and time again, he doesn’t leave the company. He sees the damage they do first hand, and he doesn’t leave the company. The company isn’t the problem, to him. He reads their emails, does their dirty work, and “maintains his SOLDIER honor”.

Zack swallows what they give him right up until what they give him is torture.

Zack swallows what they give him until he becomes their victim.

Every step of the way, Zack is fed a story of how the world is. He was raised on it. He lived it. He became part of it. He was paid peanuts to enforce the status quo Shin-Ra installed in the world by force, and he was proud of it because it was, to him, something to be proud of.

Zack believes the propaganda whole-sale, and we get to watch, from the point of view of an outsider, as it slowly destroys his life before killing him.

Propaganda has the power to make suffering normal. Propaganda has the power to make murder righteous. Propaganda has the power to take a thirteen year old boy out of his home so they can give him a sword, and when they point him in the direction of their enemies he charges of his own volition, because they made him believe in their cause. And he believes in their cause because he believes that it makes life better for everyone.

But that’s not what’s actually happening.

That’s just what he was told.

Crisis Core is about propaganda, and the depths to which it can affect our lives. It changes our belief systems. It changes our perceptions of reality. And when it’s torn down around our eyes, it can make us go insane. It can make us violent and unreasonable as we realize just how much violence is being forced upon us—violence other people just plain do not see. It's just a a piece of paper. It's just a law. It's just a job.

It's just a war.

Final Fantasy 7 was about Fascism.

Crisis Core is about the propaganda that built it. It is told from the point of view of a boy, then a man, steeped in it. He watches until the people suffering around him—Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal—are twisted into villains by the truths and lies around them. Genesis and Angeal are tortured by truths, Sephiroth is transformed by lies, and Zack is subsequently hunted down to conceal them.

Crisis Core is Propaganda: The Video Game.

[cy-lindric]

bonjour cy-lindric, j'ai une petite question. when I was a young person, I read The Three Musketeers and then eagerly started to read Twenty Years After and was so upset at what had happened to my beloved young heroes that I put the book down and never picked it up. what do you think, should I try again?

Bonjour !

After reading The Three Musketeers, I also wasn't sure I wanted to read Twenty Years After, and I took a break inbetween both to read something entirely different (The Locked Tomb, iirc). I think my reason for that was kind of the opposite of yours ; I enjoyed T3M a lot and loved the characters, flaws and all, but by the end they had somewhat crossed over the line into being Too Awful and the lack of retribution left me a bit frustrated. I didn't see it as a failing of the story - on the contrary, their strong character flaws and downfall in the conflict with Milady is one of the most emotionally intense and compelling parts imo - but I wasn't sure I felt like hanging out with these guys for a few hundred more pages at that point.

If your vision of the characters as a young reader was a very positive and perhaps idealized one, I can imagine why you might not have enjoyed entering into Twenty Years after. The illusion of glory has worn off ; the characters have separated, they live unremarkable lives, and their personalities have evolved drastically with the passing of time. It's almost a brutal return to reality.

For me though, it added layers of characterization to the point where now it's clear to me that this version of the Inseparables is by far the one I prefer.

I hope it's ok if I take the opportunity to talk at length about what I like about TYA below the cut. TL;DR : I love that Twenty Years After is a more realistic look at the big four's personalities and how they evolved while still keeping them thematically coherent, and that TYA makes them confront the reckless and cruel shit they did in their youth.

Spoilers ahead obviously.

We've often talked about how T3M is at its core a story about the end of knighthood. It's a tongue-in-cheek approach at chivalrous initiation, set at edge of the modern world, inbetween the time of ballads about knights in armor and that of adventures about journeying gunmen and soldiers. I think TYA embodies that particularly ; the story of people who have carried the last of these intense, dangerous chivalric ideals in their youths, and who have now grown into middle aged adults who need to find their place in the world.

For a good chunk of the book, the big four are separated into two teams ; that in of itself might discourage some, but imo it's genius. Instead of the natural two-by-pairings, Dumas goes for a d'Artagnan+ Porthos and Athos + Aramis split on opposite sides, which makes for good drama and develops lesser explored dynamics. D'Artagnan and Porthos form a scrappy team of opportunists with money on their minds, and Athos and Aramis a more idealistic duo fighting for a noble lost cause. I think it's a bold choice but also premium sequel writing.

I also love the way the young and wild characters we knew evolve into middle aged men ; at their core, they're still the same, but they've all changed and struggled against the sunset of the golden age in their own ways.

D'Artagnan, after knowing such adventures and subsequent rapid social ascension in his teenage years, has been met in his adult life with the harsh reality that he is, in fact, not a noble knight but a soldier on payroll. His modest origins give him little hope for any further career advancement, and he takes on a new mission in his early 40s for a man he has no devotion for and a cause he doesn't care about, simply because he is bored and broke. D'Artagnan still has his quick wits, his strategic talent, his fencing skills, but he has grown out of the excesses of pride of his teenage years. I loved meeting him again in TYA, and it made so much sense to me that his bouts of anger and aggressivity would be a youthful trait that he'd ended up taming. He also realizes now a lot of what seemed like funny adventures and necessary violence was actually kind of fucked up ; that was a shock to me, as their shenanigans are treated so lightly in T3M, and tbh it healed me a little. Grown up d'Artagnan is cunning, calculating, down to earth and realistic. My foxy little man. I love him.

Porthos, likewise, has been struck by the weight of reality. He has made the sensible choice and got married to the rich widow who sugar mommied him in the first book. Now she's passed, he is rich, but he still fails to earn the respect of the high society he evolves in because he's not high born enough. Like d'Artagnan, he's stagnating and bored and now that he goes back adventuring it has nothing to do with the queen or the kingdom or honour ; it's about getting his damn nobility title.

Athos, on the other hand, is the eternal knight : the only truly high born of the four, and still hopelessly holding on to a time gone by. It's no surprise imo that his storyline brings him into the english civil war, doomed to fail at saving a king who'll end up executed right in front of him. TYA acknowledges more clearly than ever that at 28 yo, Athos was a depressed alcoholic, and an embodiment of what an excess of aristocratic righteousness can do. In TYA, he is sober and moisturized and a DILF, and now he's running around frantically looking for absolution for his numerous crimes. It's delicious.

Aramis is maybe the hardest pill to swallow. TYA confirms the T3M hints that he isn't really the prim and proper romantic boy he acts like he is, and that he's possibly the most hypocritical and ruthless of the four. It might be a harsh one for Aramis fans who like him better as a cute bean, but I love the early onset of remorseless conniving bloodthirsty ambitious Aramis. Another harsh bit might be the evolution of Aramis and d'Artagnan not really liking each other ; they were always the least close combination, and imo it makes sense that their personalities would clash. I think it's clever and compelling conflict.

Now, obviously, if you've cared enough to read all this and if you know me a little, you know that a huge highlight of the book for me was its late-appearing antagonist, Mordaunt. Mordaunt is the son Milady had with her english husband. Because of the Musketeers' intervention, he's grown up in poverty and has been denied his father's inheritance. He's now a Roundhead working for Cromwell, and set on avenging his mother at all costs. Mordaunt, unlike his mother who was this beautiful and dangerous force of nature, is very uncool and pathetic. She was the primordial snake, he's the gutter rat. Obviously, I love that in and of itself, but it's also kind of striking image of the wretchedness of what they've done to her, a fucked up little goblin ghost come back to haunt them as they're trying to make their life worth living again. This time, their enemy is not a cunning political rival with a flamboyance of body and mind akin to their own ; it's a shitty little guy with bad skin who wants to kill the king and punish the murderers. Watch out babes, it's the modern world coming for you.

Of course, they're the Four Musketeers, and they did what they had to do, so they get together again and swear friendship and keep going their way. But they're also old guys with difficult personalities in a world that's never going to be the same. I think it's a cool book.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’m obsessed with Beetlejuice now, and the original film came out in ‘88, so that means Ford didn’t get to see it. So what if the reader, after he came back, asked him to the theaters to go see a rerun of it? And ofc he says yes, but it doesn’t click until a little bit later that he basically just agreed to go on a date with you

Halloween was a beloved holiday to the townsfolk of gravity falls, for you however your favourite part about this was that the local movie theatre would host reruns of beloved movies, but not more beloved to you then the movie Beetlejuice.

You’ve watched it countless times and countless times more when the theatre first started doing their re runs, so much so that every summerween and Halloween the employees had come to expect your arrival without fail. You were pretty certain you were single-handedly saving the theatre with your constant visits but you didn’t care, for as long as they kept the tradition of keeping Beetlejuice on their list of reruns, you would be there to throw your hard earned money at them.

So when you found out through Stanley that Ford hasn’t ever seen Beetlejuice due to…certain circumstances that he had just gotten out of, and finding it criminal before deciding to take matters into your own hands as you quickly ventured into Ford’s room; completely forgoing knocking as you found him sat on his bed reading a book…well was before you burst through his door, triggering him into reaching for his gun that he kept on the bedside table out of instinct.

‘Y/n you scared me my dear.’ Ford said in relief as he sets the gun back down on the bedside table.

‘Sorry Ford but I’ve got something really important to ask of you.’ You said as you rubbed the back of your head sheepishly.

Ford sets down his book to give you his full attention as his kind, wise eyes looked deep into your own. ‘Ask away my dear.’

‘So the theatre is playing some reruns of some movies for Halloween, and I was thinking if you’d like to come with me, tonight?’ You asked as you found yourself playing with the hem of your shirt out of nervousness, hoping that you weren’t bothering him by asking or preventing him from doing something important.

Ford on the other hand only smiled wider at your request, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling within his chest that he wouldn’t acknowledge until after your minor interaction. ‘I don’t see why not, I would love to join you tonight my dear.’ He agrees and your eyes brightened as you exited his room, poorly concealing your excitement, as he heard your celebratory yell of ‘yes!!’ from inside his room. He was happy that you were happy, however you wasn’t the only visitor Ford has that day as soon after, Stanley was stood at his doorway with a smug look.

‘Heard you agreed to go on a date with y/n tonight.’ Stan said, Ford furrowed his brows.

‘A date? When did I-oh’ then it hit him, when you asked him to accompany you to the theatre. He assumed that you meant as a family outing with the kids and Stan, only to remember that you didn’t mention the kids or Stan but only yourself and him. Poor Ford must’ve looked red as a tomato as he buried his head into his book, much to Stanley’s amusement as he cackled, holding his sides while his face became beat red.

‘Have fun on your date! Make sure you give me all the details when you get back lover boy!’ Stan cooed as he left his flustered brother, who was now ripping apart his wardrobe in hopes of finding something nice to wear for your date tonight. ‘Y/n is going to eat him alive.’ Stanley added as he high-fived Mabel on his way towards the living room, the two of them having succeeded in masterfully pulled off the greatest match making of their lives.

[pedroscurls]

secret crushes (pt. 2)

summary: you thought you would be leaving this trip with hugh, but the feelings he has for you is just too much that it scares him. so, you rely on ryan and blake, unsure of what to do next. pairing: ryan reynolds x fem!reader, blake lively x fem!reader, hugh jackman x fem!reader word count: 6.8k warnings: this is pure filth y'all, smut (f/f, m/f, fingering, oral sex - f receiving), bit of angst but i promise there's a happy ending, unconventional throuple, no use of y/n. a/n: shout out to this anon and @celestiamour / @celestiaras for this idea! i'm definitely out of my comfort zone with this, but i just love this dynamic so much. i hope i did this justice - they're just all good looking people and how can you not be attracted to all of them??? this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to blake lively, ryan reynolds, and hugh jackman. prev. part

“He actually left,” Ryan says, entering your hotel room to see you leaning against Blake in the middle of your bed. The entire week was spent with Hugh and you both barely left each other’s side, but it wasn’t until last night where he admitted that he was scared. The potential of the possibility of committing himself to you scared him. He had just gotten out of a marriage with someone who he thought he would be with until the end of his days and he had originally agreed to go to Hawaii to figure things out. To decide whether he was ready or not to be with you, but he hadn’t expected you to be here too. 

“I thought he was supposed to be a nice guy,” you whisper, hands wringing on your lap. “We had such an amazing week and… He just said he needed time to think, needed some space.” 

Blake’s rubbing your back, her cheek resting on the crown of your head. “He’s newly divorced, babe.” Blake says softly. “Give him time.”

You sigh and lie back on the bed with Blake whose arms wrap around you. She brushes your hair away from your face as you snuggle against her. She and Ryan had always brought you just as much comfort as Hugh did. 

“I can’t believe you guys thought it would work,” you mumble, feeling the bed dip as you look over at Ryan who sits at the foot of the bed. 

“Well,” he shrugs. “It did.” 

“For a week, Ryan.”

“I bet the sex was good though,” he grins. You narrow your eyes and grab a pillow to toss it in his direction, seeing it hit his face. Then, he tosses the pillow back in your direction as he lies on the other side of you. “He’ll come around, trust me.”

“I trusted you and came here,” you say, gently hitting his chest. “And now look what happened.”

“Yeah, you had the best sex of your life for an entire week. You are welcome.” 

Blake lets out a quiet laugh and stands up from the bed, hands on her hips as she looks down at you and Ryan. “Get up. We’re here for another week. Let’s make the most of it.”

Ryan nods, gently nudging you and pinching your side. 

“Ryan!” 

“Come on, baby. Whatever Blake says, goes,” he winks. 

“You’re both so lucky that I love you both,” you groan, sitting up as you stand from the bed. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about Blake and Ryan in a way other than friends. You had always been intrigued by Blake– her confidence was alluring, captivating, and her deep blue eyes always made you feel like you were the only one she saw. You wouldn’t tell Hugh or Ryan, but there was a brief moment where you and Blake shared a kiss on New Year’s Eve. 

And Ryan – well, you always imagined that the best way to shut him up was to just sit on his face. You were sure he’d devour you until you couldn’t handle it anymore and you wondered if he would talk during sex as much as he does now. 

Ryan comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tight against him as Blake leans against the wall, biting her lower lip as she watches the both of you. 

“Well, it’s a good thing we love you too.” He grins, kissing your cheek. “Can you imagine if we didn’t? My god, you wouldn’t even be here with us right now.” 

Ryan’s arms are so strong around you, but all you can focus on is the look on Blake’s face. She’s staring directly into your eyes and while you can feel Ryan’s length press against your backside, you can’t help but want to walk towards Blake. 

“Babe,” Blake calls out to Ryan. “Take the kids to the beach?” 

Ryan nods, brushing his lips against the side of your neck before he pulls away. “Yeah, baby. Take care of her.”

“Wait, wait,” you say, looking between Ryan and Blake. “Are you guys– Is this…” you bite your lower lip. “I don’t want to get in the middle of this and–”

“You won’t,” they both say simultaneously. 

“We both want this. Do you?” Ryan asks, looking over at Blake and then back at you. 

“I do, yeah,” you mumble, surprising yourself. “I just don’t want things to change between us.” 

“If anything, it’ll make us stronger.” Blake smiles reassuringly and then walks over to you, bringing her soft hands to your cheeks as she leans down to capture your lips. You melt into her, hands resting on her hips as you slowly move your lips with hers. 

Ryan can’t help the tightness in the middle of his pants, his manhood pressing against the fabric almost uncomfortably. He watches Blake’s hands move from your cheeks down your back, pulling you flush against her front. She darts out her tongue to flick against you, your lips parting for her.

“Okay, okay,” Ryan calls out, clapping his hands together as you and Blake pull away from each other. You don’t look at Ryan and neither does she, both of your eyes staring into each other’s. 

“I’ll be leaving now,” Ryan says. 

“Okay, bye, babe,” Blake says, twirling a strand of your hair between her fingers. “See you tonight.”

“Bye, Ryan.” You grin, glancing over at him as your eyes move from top to bottom, noticing how his hand moves the center of his pants to squeeze himself. He finally leaves your room and leaves you and Blake standing in front of each other. 

“You know, Ryan and Hugh do know about our kiss.” Blake smiles, breaking the silence. 

“They do?” you ask, biting your lower lip. 

“Oh yeah. The look on their faces,” she says, brushing her thumb across your lower lip. “Is this okay? Ryan and I don’t do this, but you– You’re really something.” 

“Well, I’m extremely attracted to you and to Ryan,” you admit. “And Hugh, obviously.”

“Hugh’s gonna come around,” she reassures you. “In the meantime, wanna have some fun?”

You grin, “you did say to have fun on this trip and be open. I just–” you say quietly. “I’ve never been with another woman before. It’s always been something I’ve been curious about, but–”

Blake kisses your lips, gently nipping at your lower lip. “Oh, I’ll be your first?”

“And probably my last,” you answer. 

“Good, I like that.” Blake grins. “But before anything can happen, how about we go and grab some drinks?”

“I can’t believe this trip,” you laugh, grabbing your bag off the counter and following Blake out of your hotel room.

—

A couple of hours later and you and Blake are facing each other at the counter of the hotel bar. You’re dressed in a pair of denim cut-off shorts and a white tank-top while Blake is wearing a spaghetti strapped, loose white summer dress. You’ve both had a shot of tequila and two drinks each and as the hours pass, you become increasingly more comfortable with her as you anticipate what will happen once you bring her back to your hotel room. 

“So, tell me,” she says, looking at you from the rim of her glass. “Hugh? Is he…”

“A very generous lover,” you tease, winking in her direction. “I’m still hoping that the space he needs will give him clarity and I’m hoping that he sees how good this can be.”

“He will,” Blake says matter-of-factly. “You don’t see the way he looks at you, but me and Ryan do. He’ll come around.”

“For right now, though,” you begin, biting the tip of your straw. “Do you wanna head back up?” 

Blake grins. “Yeah, that sounds like a great plan.”

Once you and Blake both pay for the drinks you’ve bought, you lead her away from the bar and back to your hotel room. You’re still very aware of her high profile status, so if anyone were to have captured any candid photographs of the both of you, it would certainly look like two really good friends enjoying a drink together. Besides, she is still married.

As you get closer to your hotel room and there are less and less people passing by, Blake’s arm snakes around your waist. You lean back against her as you swipe your key card to open the door to your hotel room. Once inside, Blake then leans down to press soft kisses along your neck, turning you around in her arms. You drop your bag on the floor and stare into her eyes, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. 

The gaze that she holds has you captivated. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest as your mind focuses solely on Blake. You’re nervous, but she provides a sense of calm and reassurance that you need. 

Then, you both slowly lean into each other, lips beginning to part as mere inches separate your mouths. You can feel Blake’s hot breath against yours, the smell of liquor mixes between you and you’re the first to lean in further, brushing your lips against hers. 

Blake moves her hands to your waist and brings you flush against her as she presses her lips firmly against your own. It intensifies within seconds, whimpers and moans bouncing off the walls, tongue grazing each other, teeth nipping and biting at lower lips. 

You walk backwards with Blake leading you until the back of your knees touch your bed. Slowly, you lie back down and bring Blake atop of you, your legs spreading apart for her to settle between them. Blake’s lips are so soft, so smooth as she moves her lips from your own to graze along your jawline. Her hands move to the button of your shorts, undoing it quickly as she begins to unzip. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of her teeth grazing your skin at your neck, brushing against one of your many hot spots. You feel the wetness begin to pool between your legs, staining your panties and you reach down to push your shorts off your legs. 

Blake has to pull away, leaning back on her knees as she grabs the ends of her dress to lift over her head. She’s kneeling in front of you in a pair of white lace panties and bra. You lick your lower lip, grabbing your own tank top to lift over your head as you toss it to the side. 

Blake’s eyes darken with desire, realizing that you hadn’t worn a bra with your white tank top. Your chest is exposed for her and without hesitation, she leans down to pepper kisses along your chest, moving her lips closer to your peak. When her soft lips wrap around your nipple, you arch your back up into her, hand moving to rest on her shoulder. 

She then moves her focus onto your other breast as you reach up to undo her bra. You watch it fall from her frame and immediately, you gasp at the sight of her exposed front. Blake then begins to place light kisses up your chest until her lips hover above yours. Your chests press against one another and you feel Blake reach down to run her fingers across your throbbing heat, your panties completely soaked.

“I’m just as wet,” Blake whispers, pushing your panties to the side to run a finger across your folds. 

A shiver runs down your back as you part your legs even further for her, rolling your hips anxiously. Blake smiles to herself, her own heat throbbing in anticipation. From the moment Blake met you, she had always been so attracted to you. Your work ethic, your dedication, your kindness… She always felt drawn to you. 

You reach between your bodies and gently tug on her panties, feeling her wiggle them free from her legs as she hovers above you completely exposed. You slowly roll her onto her back, biting your lower lip at the sight of her. You pull your own panties off and then reach between her legs, slowly sliding a finger past her folds. 

It excites you, knowing that you’re making Blake feel this way. You watch as she rolls her eyes shut, biting her lower lip as a quiet whimper escapes her. You lean down, pressing soft kisses along her jawline as you begin to pump your finger in and out of her, slowly sliding in a second one. 

Before you can even continue and bring Blake closer to the edge, she pulls your hand away. She’s about to say something, but is ultimately left speechless when she sees you bring your fingers to your mouth and suck the remnants of her off. 

“Wow, you’re naughty,” she grins. Then, Blake pulls you down and gently moves you to rest on your abdomen. You’re about to turn over on your back, but she instead lies on her side next to you, reaching down to spread your legs. You rest your cheek against the mattress, lifting one leg up against the bed, opening yourself up for her. “I would have never guessed,” she says, moving one hand down to run along your back and down to your backside, giving it a tight squeeze. 

Blake then reaches between your legs and slides two fingers in without warning. You push back against her, a loud moan escaping your lips as she wastes no time in beginning to pump her fingers in and out of your depths. You’re so wet that the sounds of squelching echo off the walls. She rests her lips against the back of your shoulder, using her other hand to wrap around you and reach down to grasp your breast, massaging it into the pit of her palm.

She can feel you getting close. You’re squirming against her, trying to break free from the sensation because she knows that when you reach your high, you’re going to shake and tremble against her. So, Blake keeps a tight hold on you, gently biting down on the back of your shoulder as she pulls her fingers out of you and rolls you onto your back. Without waiting for you to catch your breath, she brings her hand back down and rubs your clit so fast that your hand shoots out to hold onto her wrist. 

“Oh, you’re almost there,” she grins. Your free hand grips the sheets of the mattress, knuckles turning white from the tight grip as your back begins to arch in the air, toes curling at the sensation.

“Blake,” you whimper. “Oh god, Blake!” As you begin to reach your high, Blake then thrusts two fingers back inside of you, pumping them in and out at a fast pace to allow you to ride out your orgasm. 

After a few seconds, Blake lies back down next to you and brings her fingers to her lips to suck off your release. She grins in your direction, seeing your chest heave up and down as you try to catch your breath. She then reaches for her phone and snaps a picture of the both of you. The photo isn’t revealing much– it’s just a photo of the both of you obviously lying down in bed, hair messy against the white sheets as you look completely fucked. You look so spent, so satisfied and your lower lip is caught between your teeth when she takes the picture. It’s very obvious that you two were having sex, completely naked, the frame stopping just a bit past each of your collarbones. 

You hear a quiet whoosh sound and look at her. “Did you just send that to–” Then, your phone vibrates and you reach for it on the nightstand. A few more vibrations come through and you hear her quietly whisper, shit. 

Furrowing a brow, you look down at your phone and widen your eyes. “You sent that to our group chat?! With Hugh?! Blake!” 

It’s a group chat with you, Blake, Ryan, and Hugh. Ryan loved the photograph and sent a snarky remark, but Hugh… All Hugh said was Damn. 

You toss your phone to the side and then climb on top of Blake, looking down at her. “I can’t believe you just did that.” 

“Hey,” she grins, hands resting on your hips. “As much as I enjoyed this – and we aren’t even yet done – Hugh’s the person for you… and he’s gonna certainly regret leaving you the way he did.”

You roll your eyes and lean down to peck her lips. “You’re insane,” you chuckle.

Blake shrugs, “Maybe, but you love me.”

“I do,” you chuckle, moving your lips to her jawline. “And I’m gonna show you just how much I do.” Then, you lower yourself even further until you're at eye level with her heat, leaning in instantly to lick a stripe across her folds. Oh, the night was only just beginning.

—

After a couple of days since sleeping with Blake, Ryan decides to take you out. You’re feeling a lot better since Hugh left and you had Blake and Ryan to thank. After that picture that Blake sent to the group chat, Hugh had only reached out to you once. He didn’t say much or didn’t give any indication that he had made up his mind of what he wanted, but it was enough for you. 

HUGH: I’ll see you when you get back to New York. 

One simple text unnerved you. You were excited, but nervous. Hopeful, but anxious. At least it gave you peace of mind that you would at least have a conversation with him. 

You only had a few more days left in Hawaii, so Ryan had something special planned. He didn’t say exactly what, but he did say to wear a bathing suit. So, you’re dressed in a yellow floral two-piece. Similarly to the same bikini that you wore when you saw Hugh for the first time since the trip, you tie the knots of your bottom, letting it rest on your hips as you tie your bikini top at the base of your neck and back. 

You slip on an oversized white t-shirt and grab your bag, stepping out of your hotel room to see Ryan at the end of the hall. He’s dressed in a white tank-top and light blue board shorts, paired with a baseball cap and his sunglasses hooked on his tank top. You approach him and smile, wrapping your arms around his large frame. 

“Hey, naughty girl,” he teases with a wink, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple. “I heard amazing things.”

You roll your eyes and gently slap his chest, feeling him reach for your hand to pull you against his side as he leads you back towards the elevators. “Not even a hi, good morning, how are you doing today? from you, huh?”

Ryan scoffs. “Not a chance.” He lets out a quiet laugh and then enters the elevator with you, pressing the button to the lobby as he looks at you. “But fine, hi, good morning. How are you doing today?”

You laugh with him and shake your head. “I’m okay. Hugh texted me last night.” 

Ryan’s arms cross over his chest and you notice the muscles at his arms. You bite your lower lip and then catch his gaze, a knowing smirk on his lips. “And what did our dear friend Hughie say?” 

“He said he’d see me when I get back to New York.”

“Ominous,” Ryan points out, leading you out of the elevators and towards the lobby where a car was waiting for the both of you. 

“You’re such a bad liar,” you repeat. “You already know he texted me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Ryan shrugs. “But maybe not.”

“You two are best friends. I’m sure you guys talk about everything.”

Ryan smirks. “Oh, we were definitely talking about that picture though.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you climb into the car with him. He tells the driver the beach that he was going to take you to and leans back in his seat, looking over at you. 

“Blake had nothing but great things to say,” he tells you. “Did you have fun? Did you like it?”

You arch a brow in his direction and nod. “I’d do it all over again.”

Ryan clears his throat, feeling his manhood stir awake as he thinks back to what Blake said about her time with you and the picture that she sent of you both in bed. He knew he liked you the minute he realized you could keep up with him. It’s also surprising at how good you can put him in his place. 

“Mm, I’d like to see that.” 

You bite your lower lip and then look up at him. “Maybe you can,” you wink teasingly. 

“No way,” he says quietly. “Really?”

A quiet silence engulfs the two of you as Ryan waits patiently for you to answer. Then, he sees you let out a quiet giggle as he reaches out to poke your side. 

“You little tease!” 

“What me and Blake do behind closed doors will only be for me and Blake’s eyes.” 

“Fine,” he says. “But at least I’ll get to have my own way with you,” Ryan whispers in your direction, seeing you lick your lower lip in anticipation.

“You’ll have to work for it,” you wink. 

“Did you give this much of a hard time for Hugh? Or is it just me?”

“Just you,” you grin. “But I do have something in mind.” 

Ryan sighs dramatically and leans against your side, looking up at you as he bats his eyelashes in your direction. “Care to share?”

“No, where’s the fun in that?” 

Ryan shakes his head and sits back up, arm draping around your shoulders. “Fine, fine. You’re worth the wait.”

Your cheeks heat up and you lean into him, shutting your eyes. You’re grateful for Blake and Ryan because they are taking your mind off Hugh and you aren’t sure where this will leave you, but you’re trying to just live in the moment. You know that you’ll be a bundle of nerves when you’re heading back to New York, anxious of the conversation that you and Hugh will have. 

“Ryan?” you ask, feeling his hand gently run along your arm. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you and Blake are okay with this?” 

Ryan hooks a finger under your chin to look up at him, his deep brown eyes staring into yours. “It’s more than okay,” he reassures you. “Even if it’s just a one time thing. We’re always gonna be here for you. No matter what.” 

You sigh contentedly and then lean back into his side. “What are we doing today?”

“Paddleboarding. Private beach. Just you and me.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna put me through a workout?” 

Ryan smirks. “Maybe afterwards.”

“If anyone’s gonna be put through a workout, Ryan, it’s gonna be you.” you wink, feeling the car stop. 

Ryan chuckles and undoes his seat belt. “Blake was right. You are naughty.” 

He climbs out of the car and walks around to your side, helping you out with a gentle hand. You climb out and stumble over your feet, falling into his chest as you look up at him, biting your lower lip as you bat your eyelashes up at him innocently. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look. We all know that you’re far from innocent,” Ryan points out, one hand resting on your waist. “Come on. Let’s at least do something that I planned.” 

You chuckle and then gently push him away, closing the car door behind you as you follow Ryan to the beach where two paddleboards are resting on the sand. The waves are calm, which should make it a bit easier. You pull off your oversized shirt and then begin reapplying sunscreen on your body, seeing Ryan’s eyes focused solely on you. He clears his throat and removes his shirt, dropping his eyes momentarily to the boards. 

“Ryan, can you get my back?” you ask, turning your back to him as you hold up your sunscreen and move your hair off to the side. 

Ryan steps up to you and takes the sunscreen, spraying it along your back as his large hands move to spread it around evenly. His front hovers dangerously close to your backside and it isn’t until you push back against him that he lets out a quiet groan. 

“We’re not gonna end up in the water if you keep doing that,” Ryan threatens playfully, moving his hands to your hips and gently giving them a squeeze. “We can always skip it and you know, move to something else.”

“Nope,” you smile, turning around to look up at him. “Let’s at least get wet.”

“You’re telling me you aren’t yet?” he winks. 

“Why don’t you check?”

Ryan bites his lower lip and reaches down between you, large hand moving into the bottom of your bikini as he drags the tip of his finger across your folders, eyes staring deeply into yours. 

“Oh,” he whispers. “Oh.” 

You lean up and run your fingertips across his chest, hands resting on his shoulders as your eyes flutter when he continues to run his finger across the length of your sex, feeling your wetness begin to pool between your legs. 

“Are you sure,” he says quietly. “You don’t want to just take this…”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt him, taking his wrist and gently pulling his hand away. You then lean up to wrap your mouth around his finger, swirling your tongue as you taste yourself. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Come on then or else I’m gonna take you on the sand.” 

“Wouldn’t be my first time on the beach,” you wink, taking your paddleboard and following him into the water.

Ryan knows that you and Hugh had sex on the beach last week. He didn’t have to even ask Hugh because his face said it all – and the marks you left along his body too. 

You and Ryan spend the next thirty minutes on the paddleboards and it calms you, even though Ryan wouldn’t stop making you laugh. It isn’t until you lose your balance that you fall into the water. When you come up and lean over your paddleboard, you see Ryan who is laughing hysterically at you. 

“Not funny!” you exclaim, moving back onto your paddleboard and lying on your back, chest heaving up and down as you shut your eyes. “I don’t have core strength like you.”

Ryan subconsciously flexes and lets his eyes rake over your frame, feeling the center of his board shorts tighten. “I mean, it was kind of funny.” 

He then jumps into the water, swimming over to you. He gently takes your paddleboard with you lying atop of it closer to him, moving one hand down your abdomen. 

“What?” you ask quietly, biting your lower lip as you look over at him. 

“Wanna head back?” Ryan asks, his voice deep and laced with desire and want. 

“Only if you say sorry,” you smirk.

“Fine,” he huffs. “I’m sorry, though, you look good all wet and–”

You then jump into the water with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs snake around his waist. His hands move to link at your lower back, forehead resting against yours. 

“You never shut up, do you?” you whisper, lips brushing against his. 

“Never,” Ryan grins. Then, he leans in to press his lips against yours. He wastes no time in gripping your backside roughly, forcing your hips to move and roll against his growing erection. You gasp against his lips, which Ryan then takes advantage by sliding his tongue past your lips. When he releases his hold on your backside, you continue to roll your hips, yearning for more friction as you feel your walls begin to throb anxiously. 

“How about I make you?” you finally say, pulling away from him. 

“And how’s that? You gonna sit on my face?” 

You bite your lower lip, looking into his eyes as the silence engulfs you. You notice his eyes begin to widen when he realizes just exactly what you had planned and without waiting for you to respond, he begins swimming back to shore with you trailing behind. Once the water reaches your shins, Ryan takes your hand and pulls you fully out of the water with him. 

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder. Ryan takes you to a shaded area covered by trees and then lies back on the sand, not bothered by the fact that your bodies were still completely wet from the ocean. He takes you down with him, motioning for you to hover over his lips. 

“Ryan, wait,” you whisper, hands moving down to rest on the sand above his head. “I was just– We’re at the beach.”

“Thought you already had sex on the beach,” Ryan says, gazing up at you. “And I thought you wanted to shut me up. This is the only way how.” 

Your eyes narrow and then kneel at either side of him, your core hovering inches above his lips. You then undo the knots at your bikini and take it off from your body, letting it rest on the side as you feel Ryan’s hot breath against your core. He reaches up to run his thumb across the length of your sex before resting on your clit, applying firm pressure as he slowly moves the pad of his thumb in circles. 

You bite your lower lip, letting out a quiet moan. He doesn’t waste any time before he moves his lips to your core, licking a stripe along the length of your sex. You tremble against him, hands curling into fists in the sand as you slowly roll your hips against his mouth, feeling his tongue where you need him the most. 

“Mmm, goddamn,” he mumbles against you, arms hooking underneath your legs as his hands move to rest on your hips. He holds you still against him as he begins sucking at your clit, darting his tongue out to flick against your bundle of nerves. He can feel you shake against him and Ryan holds you firmly against him. He knows you want to move away, knows that the sensations are becoming too much. He then moves his hand between your legs, sliding one finger past your folds as he slowly pumps it in and out of you, tongue moving in circles around your clit. 

“Oh god,” you moan aloud, head tilting back as you bring a hand up to his hair, gripping it in a tight hold. Sand gets into his hair, but you can’t help yourself. Ryan knew just exactly what he was doing, his tongue and finger moving in time with each other. 

Then, he slides in another finger, the sounds of your wetness and his lapping it up with his mouth sounds almost filthy, paired with the backdrop of the waves clashing with each other. Your body begins to quiver, knowing that you’re about to reach your high because your walls slowly begin to tighten. 

Ryan doesn’t let up. He only pulls away to catch his breath before his mouth is back on your core. Fingers move at a faster pace, tongue firmly pressed against your clit as he moves his head in circles. 

“Ry– Ryan!” you moan aloud, pressing firmly onto him as your walls clench around his fingers, wetness pooling between your legs and down his chest. 

Ryan laps at your juices like a starved man, licking you clean as he pulls his fingers out of you. He sits up and pulls you down onto his lap, watching as your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath. You look down at him, his chin glistening with your slickness and a smirk lining his lips. 

“You taste fucking good, you know that?” he grins, licking his lips as his manhood presses firmly against the fabric of his shorts. “But if I’m gonna fuck you, I want to do it on a bed.” 

That sends shivers down your back as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nodding in agreement. “Take me back to the hotel then, Ryan.”

“Only if you admit how good that was,” he smirks proudly.

“Oh, it was amazing,” you reply. “Not only because you shut up, but because you definitely know what you’re doing.”

“And we still have the rest of the night,” he winks. 

—

It’s the last day in Hawaii and you’re packed and ready to go. The rest of the trip was a dream. You were truly spent after an eventful two weeks. You don’t remember having so much sex before Hugh, before Blake, and before Ryan. You crave more of it though. Crave more of it with each of them individually. 

And even when you’re in the plan with Blake and Ryan, they don’t make things awkward. It’s like nothing has changed except for the lingering stares, the soft touches. Their kids are fast asleep and you’re sitting across from them, eyes darted out the window. 

It isn’t until Ryan speaks first that you turn your attention to them both.

“So,” he says, leaning forward. “Blake and I want to just tell you how amazing this trip has been. This last week, especially.”

Blake nods in agreement, flashing you a smile. “And we also want to tell you that we’re always going to be here,” she adds. “In whatever way you need or want.” 

“And it won’t mess with our friendship? Your marriage?” you ask hesitantly, biting your lower lip. 

Blake and Ryan shake their heads simultaneously. “If anything, I think it’ll just make us stronger,” Ryan points out.

Blake agrees. “You just bring something… Animalistic out of us.”

You smile shyly, biting your lower lip. “These last two weeks have been a dream,” you admit. “I don’t know how I’m going to go back to work and the real world after that.” 

“Well, our door is always open,” Ryan winks. 

“But I bet you’re ready to see Hugh,” Blake comments. 

“I’m nervous, but yeah. I’m ready to see him.” You reply, reaching out to rest your hands on each of theirs. Ryan and Blake had not only given you peace of mind, but memories that you would cherish forever. “I love you guys.” 

Ryan smiles and pecks your lips. Blake does the same, lingering as she pulls away. 

“We love you too.” 

—

Back in New York, you’re already deep in your work. It had been a full week since coming back from your trip and while you still regularly spoke with Blake and Ryan, even going so far as to spending the night with them, you still have yet to hear from Hugh. 

—

Hugh, Ryan, and Blake are walking, hearing the sounds of cameras going off as they pay no attention to the paparazzi. They’re making their way to your coffee shop, dressed so casually and completely different from what they had been wearing while in Hawaii. 

“Wait, wait, so you two–” Hugh says, looking down at Blake and then over at Ryan. 

Blake nods. “Ryan too.”

Hugh’s eyes widen, feeling jealousy settle in the pit of his stomach as he looks over at his best friend. “You and–”

“Don’t worry,” Ryan grins. “She’s only got eyes for you, which, by the way–” he says. “Dick move leaving her in Hawaii.”

“I needed time to think, mate.” Hugh says, shrugging a shoulder. “And you should have warned me that you had invited her.”

Blake gently nudges Hugh’s shoulder, arms crossed over his chest as they continue walk down the street. “By the way, was she naughty with you too?” Blake asks, biting her lower lip. “I mean, she’s just so innocent looking and then behind closed doors, it’s just the complete opposite.”

“Oh, I know!” Ryan chuckles. “I mean, she shut me up by riding my face–”

“Okay, okay,” Hugh says, shaking his head. “She does like to be dominant in bed,” he answers. “It’s quite hot, really.” Then, he points at Ryan and grins. “She rode my face too, but it’s not a competition, so…” 

Blake looks between the two and lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah, but I think I win. I’m not gonna tell you exactly what we did, but I will give you a number.”

“A number?” Hugh and Ryan ask, approaching your coffee shop.

Blake nods. “69.” Then, she steps inside and walks towards you, pulling you into a tight hug. Hugh and Ryan look at each other with wide eyes before they both step inside, watching as Blake’s hands run along your back and your face buried against the side of her neck.

“I just told the boys what we did,” Blake whispers, pulling away to look down at you. 

“Is that why they look like that?” you point out, looking over at Ryan and Hugh who both have slightly wide eyes and a shocked expression. 

Blake turns around and wraps an arm around your shoulders, leaning against your side as you both erupt into a fit of giggles. “Yeah,” she laughs. “That’s exactly why they look like that.” 

You shake your head with a smile and then look over at Hugh, eyes locking with his. You’re instantly aware of all the moments you shared in Hawaii, the deep conversations, the laughter, the sex… You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing and you have to let out a quiet laugh when you see Ryan gently nudge him forward. 

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Blake says, kissing your cheek. “If you need anything, babe, just let us know.” 

You nod and then walk towards Hugh, meeting him in the middle of your coffee shop. 

“Hi,” you say quietly. 

“Hey, baby.” Hugh responds. “Can we go talk?” 

You nod and lead him to your office in the back. His hand rests lightly on your lower back, following you to your office. When you step inside with him, he shuts the door and takes a seat, pulling you gently down next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

You don’t respond. You don’t even look at him because you know that if you do, you’re going to lose your resolve and give into him. 

“I just needed time to think and I couldn’t do that with you there,” Hugh admits. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want this,” he corrects himself.

“You left me in Hawaii,” you finally say. “After an amazing week with each other, you left. Don’t you think I had things to figure out too? That maybe I also needed time to think?” 

Hugh sighs. “It was selfish of me, and I’m sorry. I just got scared because I know what will happen if I give this my all. It’s just who I am. If you’re with me, I’m making you a priority.” he bites his lower lip, gently taking your hand in his. “If you’ll have me–”

“Of course I want you, Hugh,” you interrupt him. “I’ve wanted you for months now. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know that I want to give it a chance. I want to try.” 

Hugh breaks out into a small smile and then pulls you onto his lap, lips hovering against yours. “Me too, baby.” Then, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a different type of kiss than what you’re used to. It’s not filled with an urgency to rip each other’s clothes off. Instead, it’s slow and soft – like it’s the first time he’s kissing you, memorizing every inch of your lips. 

You have to pull away, remembering that you’re still on the job. You look deeply into his eyes and rest your forehead against his. There’s a comfortable silence that fills the room, just gazing into each other’s eyes as an unspoken excitement engulfs the both of you. 

“So, Blake and Ryan, huh?” he says, breaking the moment with a smirk.

You blush and nod slowly, pulling away to look at him. “They were there for me.”

“Good,” Hugh says. “That photograph of you and Blake though…” he growls lowly. “I think you’ll have to tell me one day all the things you both did that night.”

“I can give you a number,” you repeat teasingly. 

Hugh smirks, standing to place you on the edge of your desk. “Maybe you and me will have to give that a try,” he says, standing between your legs. “What do you say?”

“Oh, I’d say yes please.” 

Hugh grins and then presses his lips back against your own. You know that this this only the beginning of a beautiful relationship with him.

On the other side of the door, Blake and Ryan are eavesdropping, a grin lining their lips as they lean against one another. “We did it,” he whispers. 

“We did,” Blake smiles proudly.

[ibelievewhatyousaid]

The Sinner’s assigned Abnormalities in L. Corp are very intriguing to me, as not being a general “resonance,” that Limbus uses with its current day Ego. But! They were assigned that for a given reason, even if only on a meta level, so I’d like to put my two cents into it as I love the Lobcorp Abnos so much. These are simplified summaries of the Abnormalities and speculation on how they fit said Sinner.

Faust - Forsaken Murderer

I do not believe she has an Ego Gift adored to her except the one for this Abno, so we can focus in on this purely; all being of Forsaken Murderer. (On this note, although I am not talking about the realization Ruina Egos, Meursault has Ego for this Abno as well) Forsaken Murderer in his original logs was said to have been a murderer in federal prison to have been sentenced to death. Before that could take place, a bunch of researchers decided to experiment on him. They wanted to prove an innate “evil,” existed and on a further level, they wanted to “cure,” him, although unclear what it really was they wanted to cure. Their experiments twisted out all of his penitence for violence, turning him docile, until he came to this belief of ringing in his head, that his head itself had became metal, leading to self harm against himself. Eventually a fatal accident happens, the researchers jump the ship and decide to simply dissect his brain, until the end he muttered, “ends, begins, ends, begins, end.”

NOW, this is hard to shape into Faust’s story, given how little we know about her on a deeper level, but, I think there’s already (shallow-ish) connections we can make. Faust has a lot of implications of science experiment (Child in a Flask, Telepole) whether we take this ‘literally,’ it’s safe to say either way Faustcord keeps her on a tight leash as being an “experiment” of a Faust who is willing to take a gamble. A lot of Forsaken Murderer focuses on the fact he is chained and tied up but “free as any other man,” we could take this as Faust’s expectation of being a skilled scientist and genius who is bound by those around her, to fulfill that role, yet “free,” at the sake of being all knowing. Faust is “omnipresent,” yet she is just another in a chain of command. In TKT she mentions to Vergilius that both of them “know their place,” despite how great she is, how “free,” of knowing she is, she is just another chain, in both the City and Dante’s contract to the sinners. We can also go deeper with this concept of “inevitably,” of the city, given to her by a predestined plan of fates, in every mirror world, how it all will end has already been put into motion. To know of how tied you are to fate surely must be a token of freedom as well, can’t it? He also seems to have a bit of an ego, a Ruina line of his being, “Don’t look at me with those eyes. You’re the most pitiful one here.” Which, fits Faust’s need to be above others, such as “Faust is brilliant, smart, Yi Sang is a genius.” An implication that Yi Sang had a cap on how brilliant he can be, something he must’ve lucked into, Faust was born to be great. Even if she is regrettably pitiful in every other aspect. An inability to connect to others or form meaningful attachments, this especially rears its head in events were her intelligence creates gaps between her and others, all of MotWE or Dante’s brush off of her in Canto 6 when she cannot given them an answer, or, even earlier, Sinclair accusing Faust and Limbus using the Sinners as compasses to boughs. In all situations it leaves her isolated and awkward, unable to answer, creating a larger, pitiful wedge between her and others, despite how great she is. She is still a thing to be “studied,” whether from an actual scientist or to other versions of her, or those around her, she is a spectacle.

Outis - Der Freishütz / Bloodbath

The story of Der Freischütz in Lobcorp was of a marksman making a deal with the devil, the devil proposed that the gun could shoot anyone, on the last bullet it would pierce the person the marksman loved, in return, the devil would gain the marksman soul in hell. The marksman thus went through all his bullets, killing off all his loved ones. The marksman traveled, simply doing good and bad deeds in impulse, no sign of an actual moral code. Eventually, he realized that the devil had long since stopped following him. He realizes that the contract had long been fulfilled, since the very beginning of him giving up his loved ones, did he fall to hell. And so, now a devil as well, the marksman continued to shoot anyone he wanted, forever.

Again, another sinner we’re left out in the cold for. But, to tap into Outis’ source, The Odyssey, the story follows Odysseus’ desperation to finally reach home, to his family. As the stories play out the more Odysseus gives up his morals. To sacrificing his men to no mercy, a king who was once gentle and kind, gives up all people around him to succeed in arriving home. Of course, from the start, Odysseus had given up his family, a mother who died alone, a wife left waiting for over a decade, a son who had never known him. Odysseus also makes many deals with Gods around him, something he pays greatly later for. Of course, none of this is a one for one, but I think it is to mimic Odysseus, or here, Outis’ slower decent into someone who hurts those who she loves (or should’ve) by her cruelty, once Odysseus had set off to war was the moment he was bound to lose everything. Which, is very similar to how Der Freishütz is, he had lost his humanity the moment he made the deal.

Bloodbath is a Abno based overtly on Carmen, but, to ease it into a more general baseless story, the Abnormality represents: “the pain of all those who couldn’t take their sorrow in stride.” A huge focus on Bloodbath is the guilt of love, of unable to achieve success, using “scars” as marks of failure. The bath mocks the person peering in with hands reaching out desperately, as if begging to be saved, or joined, in this misery. It’s a sign of endless despair, unable to ever reach the climax of this, the only outcome is to accept this wave of despair and let yourself accept it.

So, arguably this fits Outis really well just on the bases of the line: “Many hands float in the bath. They are the hands of the people I once loved.” This once again, is more of a line of thinking born from her source, but a lot of Odysseus’ guilt is haunting to him, specifically that of Penelope, but overall, he gives up many men, including people very close to him, to never truly “succeed,” I feel like this one is easier to connect to, given what I said of the previous Abno to Outis, so.

Don Quixote - Meat Lantern / Void Dream / Fragment of the Universe

Meat Lantern is quite.. obtuse, in its logs, both in Lobcorp and LoR most is left obscure. Which is terribly fitting. Meat Lantern, by your guess, is obviously not a tiny little flower. The logs say that it is gigantic, underneath the entire facility, always waiting, it lures people in, in L. Corp’s lens, it lures in employees by being a lantern, something shiny, full of hope, they haven’t seen stuck underground for so long. Any nature, any lights, something that wasn’t horrific or artificial has long since been lost to everyone there. It’s easy to feel it calling to them, to reach out, to touch, but it’s all a ploy to devour and eat whoever trusts it.

So, Donqui’s Abnos are actually what made me originally want to write about them. I had written out my analysis of hers a few months before, but it was too hinged on my own reading of her that it felt easy to write off as me sounding insane. But! With the reveal of MotWE.. this seems, pretty obvious. (Glad to know I’m not too crazy) Don Quixote wears a mask, one of “hope” something born from really just being .. silly, of something rare in the City. Someone who genuinely believes in good? In hope? Here? As “Don Quixote” stands as an ideal, a concept, “too good to be true.” and beneath that is a “reality,” no one’s has “really ever seen.” (as the log says about the “real body” of Meat Lantern) and then “devours” people. Yeah. I bet.

Void Dream’s logs follow someone who has Void Dream eat all their nightmares, giving them the best dream they could have imagined, the person they love had returned, even working in such a horrible company that is L. Corp was good. Everything was so, so amazing, a perfect ideal world for the dreamer. When waking up, the person was crushed by reality, when forced to confront the truth they became despaired. They tried to find those dreams again, in an obsession, but, they never did come back. The employee comes to the realization that Void Dream’s deal was too good to be true, that from the start, the Abno had set them up. And they had lost, unable to enjoy either sides of reality or dreams, they find their way back to Void Dream and beg them to eat all their dreams. Stealing away all their dreams, nightmares, hopes and despairs, virtually leaving them empty. When Void Dream is accused of leading people on, it brushes off the person, insisting it just wishes the best for others. The line, “a demon must change its shape to deceive others.”

Originally, I had read this purely as Don Quixote being put into the victim’s prospective, someone who “wakes up” from a perfect dream to be crushed by reality. And, I don’t actually disagree, I think this still 100% fits. But I think her fitting “as” the Abnormality makes perfect sense, too. Obviously, the whole “deceiving others,” line fits. To change one’s shape, a “demon” a Bloodfiend, to deceive others into seeing it as innocent, pure, true to the ideals it preaches. But, and this is a bit speculation on what we know very little of, “Don Quixote,” was given, or is a dream herself that a Bloodfiend wishes to dream, that Bloodfiend must’ve spun this tale, this “perfect” dream is an “act of kindness,” despite not being kind at all. Despite giving out this dream, not only to herself, but to others around her, does it lead to destruction and a harsher fall to reality itself.

Fragment of the Universe.. actually isn’t an Abnormality. At least, not traditionally, if the logs are true. The log mentions how it let itself be caught and studied, and through studying they declared it “intelligent enough” to communicate via language, thus, it learned more and more of humans and humanity. It became endeared and loved people. It reflected what it saw, leading to it looking like a kid’s drawings of hearts. When asked why it had came to interact with humans, it said it wanted to spread messages. One being its song, a song of the universe that drove people crazy, but also let them “finally see the stars,” and also to inform everyone that “there are no coincidences in the universe.”

FotU is really intertwined to its love of humanity, even its design is rooted in this love for the species. Its aim to spread its song is to “relieve” people, as well, even if misguided or unable to be understood. I think Don Quixote, as a concept, is so terribly human. She’s overly emotional, she’s quick to action, strong morals, she’s clumsy and brave and fearful and determined. She is so very human that it backfires. Given Cassetti’s lines, “we are so, so hideous behind the mask.” and his dedication as well as other Bloodfiends to “run” from being monsters and Elena’s lines of her wondering if she was desperate enough to “chase after being an ordinary human again.” I think the Bloodfiend behind Don Quixote genuinely loves humans, and, most likely, wants to “be” one. And “reflects” what she sees, which is a habit Donqui has, mirroring Merusault in TKT, or wishing to “copy” other sinners from Outis’ wristwatch. Donqui also has a huge tie to stars, so, so many of her IDs have her mentioning them, not to mention her tagline. I think an Abno who knows far more than it lets on, powerful, letting itself into humanity, coming to love them, but never being one, is dreadfully fitting.

Yi Sang - Funeral of the Dead Butterflies

FotDB is an Abnormality born from the pain and suffering of.. Lobotomy Corporation, actually! It’s a mourner who is rumored to wandering the halls of the facility with a coffin for those who are bound to be lost, an early mourning for those who are destined to die, and an incomplete sorrow for those already gone, the coffin too small to fit them all, unable to fall asleep or escape. The ending of the log decides that there is no escape, these butterflies are damned to wait, because there “must be an end to every world.”

I think, just like with Gregor’s case, although the original Abnormality is directly tied to L. Corp, in a more general definition, it is about the pain and sorrow of those inevitable deaths born from things such as K corp, or the Smoke War. Cases of people’s lives being thrown away and devalued, not given proper burials, no home to escape to, a fate to dying here, leaving the mourning to the others in the same situation who simply “lucked out.” In Yi Sang’s case, an “ending for every world,” feels very deliberate to the “world,” in which he was locked up in a cage, passively awaiting the days for it to end, one way or another, only to realize he was able to walk out, that the door was never locked. Yi Sang’s grief and attachment to the League of Nine, the only person who seems to grieve over those loses, alone, carrying that pain wherever he goes. In that sense, “an ending to every world,” could also be turned into a guaranteed ending of things he loved as well. There is more to be said, but this one seems very obvious.

Ryōshū - Spider Bud / One sin and Hundreds of Good Deeds / Scorched Girl / Bloodbath / Big and Will be Bad Wolf

(Oh my God girl. Do you need that many???)

Spider Bud is an Abno that is deeply protective of her babies, quite literally her alternative name being “brood mother,” she reacts negatively and violent if an Agent hurts or steps on her children

Ryōshū has gotten this Abno thrice now. It’s gotta be important, and yeah, it is! This is born purely from her Source, but Yoshihide’s tragedy is losing his daughter, Spider Bud’s entire gimmick is being peaceful (as an Abno can be) unless someone hurts her children, she stalks and watches and exacts revenge against those people. I didn’t want to bring in Uptie stories, but Ryōshū’s uncharacteristic gentleness to the spiderlings who nip at her is really.. striking. Once again, this one feels kind of.. duh, so I won’t go much deeper into it.

One Sin is an Abnormality with the purpose of being confessed to, to relieve one of their sins, it’s tied to religion to Hell’s screen gimmick of.. Hell.. feels, yes, but I feel as though this is more general and disingenuous from One Sin’s connection to Christianity while Hell’s screen is about Buddhism’s hell. Instead this felt more interlined to Parallel Gebura. A lot of people have jumped on this for power scaling fun, but! I think it’s important to realize why Carmen would’ve said “At least similar in this regard,” my take is that a huge aspect of Gebura’s woes in Lobcorp was her unable to protect those she loved. Given Yoshihide’s tragedy here, unable to protect his daughter. I think that is the aim that makes the most sense right now with how very little we have about Ryōshū.

Scorched Girl is another Abnormality she’s already gotten, all in all, SG lives on a sense of angered revenge and self destruction. Her logs depict her to be torn in two from her desire of affection to one of wishing harm on others.

Her attempt at hurting others involves hurting herself, which lines up with Yoshihide’s ending, of his natural self destructiveness, how he makes his art and his death. Her rage also lines up with Ryōshū’s, a want to have back warmth, love she’s lost, but only able to be a match of destruction.

Bloodbath, we already covered this in Outis’ section! I think Outis and Ryōshū naturally align similarly, (Hong Lu, Mr. “Horrific family” isn’t ever the one getting cold or aloof to mentions of family or parents or children, it’s only ever these two!) A guilt of unable to succeed despite how much you gave up and sacrificed, including others And to lose those you love, the hands in the water being everyone you’ve ever loved, by your own faults.

Finally, Big and Will be Bad Wolf! The Abnormality is about being set up from birth being one way. From the way society sees you, you will always be what they depict you as. The Abnormality doesn’t feel remorse over the violence it causes, because it was “inevitable” he’d turn out this way. Who is he to blame nature? Regardless of nurture.

This one is the most hard to really fit without going “well, just a hunch.” I think this could be in regards to Yoshihide’s further and further acts of violence and pain to others around him, but unable to feel that remorse (until it is too late) because he was born with this way. He was “born” an “artist.” Who is he to defy things sacrificed for art? He is unable to be anything but cruel and vindictive, and he doesn’t try to be.

Well, that’s everything I could remember off the top of my head! Apologies if it starts to get a little weaker by the end, I’ve been typing for hours. In general, there’s more I could say or conclude, but, because of how loose Abnos are in concept, as well as how most of these Sinners (everyone but Yi Sang…) haven’t had their cantos yet, it leaves a lot of assumptions built upon their sources and short behavior ticks we’ve seen them display. I won’t say these are confirmed or sure fire takes but more so a jumping off point in fathoming these choices.

[barrenclan]

Wait a minute...

More seriously though, the issues keep getting better and better and this has been one of my favorite ones to date; thank you Raz! It paid off as well on its own to get an explanation for one of the most heavily foreshadowed phenomena in the comic, but especially for me, reading as someone who thinks too much about how my dreams might reveal information that I'm not meant to know yet, canon Warriors StarClan ambiguity-style.

Love the expressions (and the cameos! I want to know how Dodol or a lookalike ended up in Barrenclan or if that's just his design being recycled) in this one as well. Double instances of Pinepaw smiling again is a treat, maybe signifying the beginning of the healing process for him. I'm happy Nightberry advises him that it's going to take time.

Seeing an older Pinepaw with green grass and a blue border in a shade that I'm pretty sure has never come up in the comic yet also gives me hope for the future, but who knows what it holds!

Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed the issue.

This universe's Dodol is separate from the original one, in a sort of AU. Although, out of all my cat characters, he's the only one for whom it's perfectly reasonable that he would just wander into a random Nebraskan Clan and sit himself down.

It was very nice and satisfying to bring some resolution to Nightberry and Pinepaw's fracturous relationship. They have much more in common than not.

[creatingblackcharacters]

on the topic of fandom racism.. wanted to ask an outside opinion on this.

so without much detail bc i don't wanna get this person harassed or something, i'm in a fandom where most of the characters are japanese and look pretty similar, so the diversity is Not Great. recently i saw an artist, who is white, draw a character with slightly darker skin than the rest of the cast as Black, where he was ambiguously brown before. my problem with this as an outsider is that i think that plays into a ton more stereotypes than if he was just tan or something. this character is regarded to be misogynistic, overly sexual, and especially to his #fffff white japanese (girl) friend.

i, as a white person, would like to approach this artist and ask if that's really the message they wanna send, but god forbid i do not want to sound like those people that believe in "black-washing" or just hate to see more diversity in an anime lineup. would it be white knighting to point this out, or approach that, hey, maybe your only person of color in this cast shouldn't be the one that acts Like That...

Hm. I see what you're saying. I'd suggest a few things, which is really my go-to for everyone white fighting fandom racism:

1) first, look out for the voices of Black fans in that space and see what they're saying. If they are perturbed by what they see, then I would amplify their voices and support them first. Let them know they're not crazy. They're the ones experiencing the harm, let their voices be the ones prioritized. If no one Black has said anything, that could be a sign that this entire fandom isn't safe for that kind of feedback (which... Often.)

2) look at that person's page to see how they treat this character. Do they actually offer them depth? Are they a fan? Have they shared anyone's good perspective of him? Do they actually care about him, and think his being Black serves a better narrative? Or is it really just this character is a douchebag and now he's "Black" because they wanted some diversity points without thinking about it. Hell, does the original media do right by this ambiguously brown character lol? Because that can often be the larger issue too.

3) does this person positively interact with Black people at all? Like people, opinions, topics, politics, anything at all? Or is this their Token Black Blorbo Barbie™? Because that's a red red flag lmao.

4) if you still feel strongly about it, send them a DM. I'd say make sure to be genuinely polite, not because you should be respected more because of it, but so that it's on record that you wanted to give them the space to amend ("Hello, I mean no harm, but I was worried that this may-") You're white too, so it'll be safer. DMs are really a kindness, a last chance for grace; sometimes people are just like "fuck it, that's a racist and imma treat them like it". And I don't begrudge them that, this shit is exhausting and enraging.

5) accept that you may very well approach with the best intentions, and this artist may very well act a complete asshole* about it. They may make excuses, the classic "I would never be racist", they may accuse you of all those things that you just said, try to cast you as the problem, and their friends may very well make you out to be the racist for pointing out the racism. Welcome to fighting antiblackness and racism in fandom 👍🏾 it's a minefield out here.

*keep in mind, even if they "respond sweetly", the whole "thanks 💕" schtick is still them being an asshole. Racism in sweet words is still racism.

6) if they do respond like an asshole, it is not a reflection of you, but of them. 👍🏾 They are now purposely choosing racism. Block them and move accordingly.

[serendipnpipity]

AUDIO WITH TRANSCRIPT

@dnpbeats Emma, I have so many thoughts right now and you're probably hearing a lotttt about this but I just want to put them here for you:

The “three unanswered DMs” thing is so interesting considering the *protective of PhilsLion* thing from Phil in the past, especially when he mentioned a) talking to Lion about the fake Lioness account and b) debunking the second Lion account. What made the first PhilsLion so special? Why would he be protective if he never heard from the original PhilsLion in the first place?

If Dan acctually was the account, “Shut up, they got a job” from Dan would be so funny bc yes, bub, PhilsLion did get a job. Frequently collaborating with fellow YouTuber and partner in crime Phi— *sirens blaring*

“Does that mean the lion is dead?” “No.” Idk. Idk, man, I know I’m reading too much into this, but the way Phil says it is so soft but firmly insistent that it takes me right back to point #1. PhilsLion is special in some way, so it would be unbearable to think that the lion is dead.

Dan moves on so fricking fast from this question. And he never outright says no. He also forgot he burnt pasta, so I don’t trust his faulty memory one bit.

OH BACK TO POINT THREE: "Does that mean the lion is dead?" set off alarm bells in my head but i could not pinpoint why, it's such a *can we move on from this please i do not want to talk about this* because boi was about to get caught out lyingggggggggg

[vigilskeep]

wait, Minerva "canonically" has a baby?? i want to know everything!! when how what - how does motherhood change her, pls elaborate, srry if you talked about this before, i just love them so much

she does!! i talk abt this less bc i think its self-indulgent jghsskks and that people are less interested in this, but it’s super fun to think about for me

the baby was a surprise, minerva was kind of being stupid about it lmao because she was being less careful than she might have been in the circle, especially because she’s a warden now so she’s less likely to get pregnant at all, without really thinking through what might happen. (i’m sure our local kinloch hold spirit healer companions both had their field days telling her off for this at some point.) but as soon as it does happen she wants the baby so badly. as a circle mage and then a warden she had never really seriously considered it a possibility for herself, but she loves children, and it’s been so long since she had a real family

it’s zevran’s and zevran is in antiva most of the time. i think she has a weird crisis about whether he’ll want anything to do with a baby, and she would despise for him to come back just out of obligation but also what if he doesn’t come back, and she ends up procrastinating telling him for, like, months. just a stupid amount of time. bc she was born to stress her man out and to give her wardens unnecessary grudges against him because they thought he had obviously chosen not to be here because obviously she would have told him. truly when will his suffering end. anyway he’s thrilled when somebody eventually does him the courtesy of letting him know

the baby’s a boy, she names him duncan, it sparks a whole other argument with alistair that we won’t get into here. he gets nicknamed junior a lot, partly bc he’s duncan jr, partly bc of the ongoing joke that he’s the resident Junior Warden. he was very much raised in warden blue since the cradle. because minerva is so busy and zevran is often away, he’s pretty much collectively raised in vigil’s keep by the awakening squad and whoever else gets added to that trusted inner circle. which works out bc wardens don’t often have kids of their own so they all just kind of... share this one lmao. (and possibly sometimes also oghren and felsi’s kid if they stick around?) it’s velanna who instigates this bc that’s what the dalish do and she’s also literally the only one here who knows what to do with a baby so thank the maker she’s here (minerva’s practised with kids but by nature they don’t have babies in the circle)

i’m so thrilled that spellblade is a crow-themed rogue-like mage subclass bc that’s exactly what i always pictured for duncan jr eventually. he’s a mage, his magic manifests very young, but minerva is very strict abt his studies and it has the unfortunate reverse effect of making getting his dad or nathaniel or sigrun to teach him combat much more fun. it works out really bc his magic having manifested is a tightly kept secret so it’s good for him not to have to rely on it

being a mother kind of changes/crystallises a lot of minerva’s priorities. it’s one thing to say, like, i would like to improve the situation for my fellow mages at some point, or, it sure would be nice to live past a warden’s usual limits. it’s another thing entirely to have a mage child and need to make a world that’s safe for him and live long enough to see it done. it ends up being a key issue of her conflict with the chantry between origins and inquisition because nobody’s quite certain what the rules are. obviously if she were still a circle mage any child of hers would be taken away. but she’s not a circle mage and arguably the chantry has no right to a child born outside of the circle, with no sign yet (as far as anyone outside vigil’s keep knows) of magic. (like i say it manifested younger than normal so this is believable even to those who think he will eventually show.) it definitely exacerbates tensions, shall we say, because obviously they can pry him out of her cold dead hands

he’s probably still only quite young in inquisition. six or seven? somewhere around there, i hate timelines. not sure where he is while minerva and her squad are on their quest, but given the very short list of people she trusts that much, i have to say that the most insane answer is likely: he’s in denerim as a temporary ward of the king. probably the first elven kid to be such

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

I love the way you write Logan, it's so comforting! Can't wait to see more of your work, it's lovely💗

Idk if this would be your thing so feel free to ignore obviously!

How do you think Logan's dynamic would be with a reader having intense intimacy issues, to the point where they struggle to even think about doing anything more than make out with him? I really haven't found any fic like that and I think that you would a concept like that more than justice

I do see him having some intimacy issues himself (traumatized wet cat💀)

this is so sweet, thank you so much! My brain immediately supplied a list of head canons, I hope that you enjoy <3

~ So I am thinking about Logan from the original trilogy for these in particular ~ He definitely has some intimacy issues, more so on the emotional intimacy side than physical intimacy ~That is, until he meets you. You're a professor at the school, and while he can tell you love the young mutants with a large part of your heart, you remain physically distant from them. When the Youngers ones reach for a hug, you meet them instead with a fist bump or a high five. Never cruel, but always setting your boundary. ~The first time you catch him noticing your habit, you expect him to roll his eyes, or hit you with a judgy side eye. Instead, he quirks his head and resumes what he had previously been doing. ~Eventually, the two of you start spending a lot more time together. He will nudge a cup of coffee your way, and ask after you when you have a headache. He never encroaches on your space, despite being quite touchy with the other faculty.

~You spend a week working up the courage to confront him about it, strategizing the best way to ask for the reassurance you want but have trouble asking for. You expect him to blow you off, but when you knock on his door, he ushers you inside and lets you choose where to sit in the room, choosing his seat to be close enough to show he is invested but far enough away for your comfort. It isn't even a conscious thought for him, it's natural. ~You fumble through your question, doing your best to explain your line of thinking, before eventually just spitting out "do you hate me?" ~He is so shocked that he doesn't know what to say for a few seconds, which only makes your anxiety feel worse. ~He takes a few seconds, collecting his thoughts, and then you can see the typical Logan smirk start sparkling in his eye again. "Sweetheart, it's a little hard to hate the person you're acting a fool over". Your eyes practically bug out of your skull, and he chuckles to himself. He is twitching in his seat, and you can tell he is trying his best to not gather you up in his arms. ~You extend a hand out to him, palm upturned. He takes it instantly. He raises your entwined hands halfway towards his mouth, before meeting your eyes and waiting for your reaction. ~You nod, holding your breath and he drops a kiss on the back of your hand, before adjusting so that he can kiss your palm as well. ~When he hears your heartbeat stutter, he is quick to hold your hand again, resting against his knee. He confirms that you feel the same way, insistent on getting verbal confirmation. Your face feels like it is on fire, but you reply in the affirmative. "We are going to take this as slow as you need. I... I care about you so much, and your comfort always comes before anything else." ~You feel a few tears well up, and he moves to wipe them away as they begin to fall. Again, he pauses before actually making contact with your face, waiting for your gentle nod. ~From that day on, you are even more attached at the hip than before. Logan loves knowing that you are with him for more than his body, and he is constantly making sure that you know how much he values you. ~Overall, I just imagine him being very sweet and understanding and taking it as slow as you need. He is protective of you when you meet new people, often coming in between you and others who are not as considerate as he thinks they should be. Definitely sends his protective instincts into a bit of an overdrive, but you also appreciate having the scary dog privilege when you are out in public as well. People are definitely giving you a wider berth than you are used to. You always feels safe and taken care of with him, which is exactly how he wants it to be

[megpricephotography]

Flynn's looking quite nice & shiny at the moment! For so long, brushing/combing Flynn was just unimaginable. According to his original owners, grooming was one of Flynn's earliest & worst triggers for aggression. By the time I took him on, Flynn had such severe behavioural issues & was fearful & defensive about so many different things, that I had to prioritise what we worked on, when. I knew coming at him with a brush would almost certain result in me receiving multiple bites... so, given Flynn's a smooth coated dog (albeit with a fairly dense undercoat), I decided that grooming would go somewhere near the end of the list!! Flynn didn't so much as sniff as brush for years & years. It wasn't ideal & felt guilty about it sometimes but life with Flynn has often involved making compromises & finding ways to keep him safe/healthy & comfortable, while minimising stress. Well... now, Flynn lets me comb his fur, with no fuss at all! We started off with Flynn nibbling on high value treats, while I lightly ran a comb over his back end 2-3 times a time, then we'd take a break.. then we'd do it again. It's taken a while to build up but I don't even have to use any treats while I'm grooming him anymore! I actually think Flynn sort of likes the sensation sometimes... but at the very least, he is clearly willing tolerate being combed calmly & without signs of stress. We've not got round to doing his chest/belly area but I can groom everywhere from behind his ears, to his tail! We're making up for lost years of him being groomed by combing him several times a week... sometimes daily (short sessions!). I cannot tell how happy it makes me seeing Flynn's shiny coat - a sign of how far he's come. It's taken most of his lifetime but I'm very proud of him!

[suckerforbassist]

Short drabble

Warnings: NSFW (minors DNI, 18+ only), pussy eating (Sort of), cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), swearing, pet names, not proof read

a/n: hello tumblr community! This is my first drabble and had been in my pc folder since 2021 :) originally, the character was a different person but due to my change of interest, I decided to choose logan as my main character haha.

Word count: 1.8k

“W-what are we doing here?” He dragged me back to his hotel room after the incident at the club.

The noise from the hallway of the hotel became inaudible as the door were shut by the Canadian man and oh shit-

I was left alone in this empty room with this maniac plus the surroundings of the room isn’t helping at all. We barely see each others face and the dim light shone through the curtain from the moon outside was the only source of light. His broad back faced the door, blocking the exit and his facial glinted due to the strangely gleamed by the moonlight. The pair of chocolate eyes bored into mine, not even glancing away from me. I looked away, knowing that he made me felt certain feeling towards him. Crossed my arms to show my confidence that he is not making me nervous even though my heart raced and butterflies fluttered in my belly. A pregnant of silence later, I heard he cleared his throat.

“We’re gonna have a conversation.”

I averted to him in confusion, “There’s nothing to talk about, Logan.”

“Yes there is, sweetheart! Whether you like it or not, you and I are gonna stuck in here- talk it out.”

He exclaimed, still staring into my face. I scoffed with the name he called me. I used to hate that name- but, when it came out from that lips, it just felt right. My eyes landed on his lips, I wondered how that pair of lips felt against mine. Would it felt soft as feather? What would it taste like? Hell, what was I thinking? We hated each other. Immediately, I asserted,

“Stop calling me that! I’m not letting out a single word. Starting from now.”

Logan sighed but he pursued anyway, “Why are you avoiding me?”

My eyes wandered everywhere except for his figure who was standing 4 feet away from me. Mouth was sealed not giving him the satisfaction. Made him frustrated but, it was replaced with a mysterious smirk.

“Fine, you wanna play like that, huh?” Pair of eyes staring into mine. “Then, let the lips do the work.”

“What-”

Swiftly, he took a couple strides towards me and I felt Logan’s right palm caressed softly my cheek as his other hand held onto my waist and pressed his lips against mine. Soft and delicate. So, my assumption about those lips was true. I was daze and my lips froze against his but quickly picked it up when I felt his lips pressed against me a bit harder but, still delicate. Our chests brushed against one another, I felt his heart beating rapidly and so was mine. Logan was about to pull away when I did not give him much response but, I instantly gripped lapel of his flannel shirt and pulled him for another kiss.

All I could remember was that kiss was hot and intense as we picked up the pace. My arms automatically wrapped around his neck as I felt Logan’s hand roamed my back and lower until he rested on my ass. Squeezed it, a squeal escape from my mouth and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into my wet cavern. Exploring every inch of my mouth. Left the tingling sensation all over my body and down to the core. His tongue was erratic, eager to taste every inch of my mouth.

I was not even aware that he bend his knees a bit lower and felt both of his hands caressed the back of my thighs. Gasp escaped from my lips as I was being lifted and forced my legs to wrap around his waist, making the hem of the dress lifted a bit. Setting me gently against the soft sheet of his hotel bed whilst his lips explored to my jaw, few pecks were given delicately and down to the crook my neck. A rattle breath left my lips as the plum pair of lips were pressed on the particular spot on my neck. His sucking, bite and lick made me swoon and unmindful, my eyes were shut closed due to the unforgettably pleasure. Hands were roaming the back of his neck and unruly curls. Fingers were tangled in between the curls.  

“Lo- please.”

Biting the bottom of my lips to contain the sound as he moved towards south to my clavicle, leaving wet kisses behind. His left hand was grazing teasingly at the side of my breast and then, rested on the hip while his right hand propped next to my head. Absentmindedly, I lifted my hips against his. A friction gained between our crouch and immediately I jolted towards the excitement. A few bold grunt were heard by the man above me as I continued to tease. A second later, he halted and I no longer felt his warmth. The hand on the side of my hip was no longer presence. When I opened my eyes, he knelt in front of me with the eyes filled with guilt and lust. Panting and redden cheeks, ran his eyes away from mine.

“Logan?” I sat up on the sheet with him still between my legs.

“This is wrong. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kiss you o-or force you-”

He was not the broody-jerk Logan at the moment, he was so much vulnerable and subtle Logan. The one that I grew accustom to these past few days. Without second thoughts, I knelt in front of him and palmed his stubbly cheeks.

“Hey, non of these are your fault. You didn’t force me to do this. I wanted it, Logan.” His orbs directly staring into mine, looking for sign of discomfort in mine.

“I want you.”

He croaked, “Are you sure?”

I leaned onto him and pressed my lips against his. At the moment, I don’t even care what’s going to happen between us tomorrow, tried my best to ignore all the wrong thoughts after we happened to sleep together. Shifted onto his lap with my thighs straddled him. He was a little hesitant and tried to assure with my decision. He broke the kiss and opened his mouth tried to say something but I beat to him.

“Lo, shut up and unzip me.”

He grunted while his hand wandered behind my back and skillfully, dragged the zip down. Instantly, I lifted from his lap and stood in front of the man. Sensually, my hands roamed the side of my body, purposely touch the tits without leaving my eyes from him. His eyed me lustfully while licking his lips. I reached both of my dress’s straps with thumbs and slowly dragged it down my shoulder. Soon, the satin fabric dropped and pooled around my feet. Leaving me in only strapless navy blue lace bra and panties. A groan left from his lips and a prominent bulge could be seen from his jeans.

“Twirl slowly for me, bub.” His husky voice made me shuddered and my tummy fluttered.

I complied to his order and as I was about to face him, I felt his warm hands on the side of my hips. Pulled me onto his laps, straddled his thighs. Without seconds thought, he pulled me into a desperate kiss and mumbled.

“You’re a goddess. So beautiful.”

His praise made me even wetter and a moan slipped from my throat.

“Tell me, what do you want?”

“I want you. All of you.”

Hastily, he flipped me and my back was against the soft mattress. I felt his lips everywhere and I kept whining as I felt his lips on the braline, one of his hands snaked behind and skillfully took off the strap. As the piece of flimsy fabric came off, Logan was stunned and his throat bobbed. His brown eyes scanned my chest delicately and then averted to my eyes asking permission to touch them but, I pouted.

“Why am I half naked and you’re not?” He chuckled and asked me if I wanted to undress him. Hell, yeah gladly.

When he stripped to only boxer, my hand sneakily went down to his crouch to touch the prominent bulge but, he was quicker. Grabbed, my wrist and brought it above my head. When I asked him why, he said he wanted to taste my skin first. I moaned and begged for him to touch me there.

“Patience, Princess. You’ll get what you want.”

With his a hand still locked both of my arms above my head, he began to explore my chest. Left a trail of wet kisses, licking and sucking the skin around the nipple. I huffed in frustration and tried to tug my hands from his grip. Logan let out a deep chuckled and continued sucking.

“Lo, please.” I whined. “Want you-” Gasped as I felt his tongue licked my left nipple, circled it and then playfully bit the nipple. Wrapped his lips around it and started to suck. Moaned at the sensation and it sent straight to my heat, damped my panties. He did the same to my right nipple, took his time whilst I was squirming mess underneath him.

Logan finally stopped and sat up straight while letting my hands free, stared at his masterpiece that he just created. His mouth was agape, cheeks were flustered and his eyes were blown in lust. At the same time, that pair of eyes were filled with adoration and I dared to say was love. But I can’t, falling in love with him was a huge mistake.

All of my doubts disappear as I felt his fingers trailed my inner thigh delicately, his other hand rested on my hip. Pleasure sent all over my body as his forefinger and middle pressed at the front of my panties, rubbed the wetness up and down. I moaned and fists the pillow underneath my head. Logan mumbled ‘beautiful’ but I was too busy to acknowledge his vocabulary.

“So wet for me, baby.” He leaned between my crouch and continued pressing and circling my covered bundle of nerves with his thumb. I felt a couple of pecks on the hem of my panties and suddenly the pressure on my clit’s gone. I sighed in frustration and sensed Logan was smirking.

“I swear Logan, your balls gonna be blue if you don’t hurry up.”

He chuckled, “No need to be mad, bub. I was just taking my time.”

Both his fingers curled at the hem of my panties but halted as his gentle yet lustful eyes met mine, asking for permission. I lifted my hips as allowing him to take off the flimsy piece. A groan escaped from the bassist lips.

“Fuck baby, all this for me?” He was inches away from my dripping cunt and sniffed, “Smell so amazing, I bet you taste wonderful, sweetheart.”

The way he talked made my face heated in embarrassment and hid my face in my palms. He tutted and removed my hands, placed them both on the duvet. Knowing those hands will gripped the duvet tightly or flying around his hair or back.

“Wanna see you.” He winked, “Just scratch me or anything, alright? I don’t mind.” He dived into my cunt like a starved man.

Gasped as he licked clean-

[solreino]

Swan Song

Chapter 1: Taking Flight

Summary: In preparation for your debut as Odette in Swan Lake, you encounter a few bumps in the road. Little do you know this is just the start.

Pairings: TF 141 x Reader

Word Count: 5.1K

Warnings: Eating Disorders, Toxic Beauty Standards, Creepy/Unwanted Behaviour, Period-Typical Attitudes (1910's), Innacurate Translations.

A/N: I'm not well informed about ballet, I have never danced it before, so I apologize for any inaccuracy regarding terminology. Also, the story is set mainly in Russia, so the reader is presumed to be of Russian origin.

MASTERLIST Next➔

[November 11th 1911, The Bolshoi Ballet Academy, Russia]

"1 and 2 and 3 and 4!”

Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as Mr. Lenkov begins to play Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a: I. Scene "Swan Theme" for what feels like the sixth time this hour. His nimble fingers dance across the ivory keys once again as the composition presumes its macabre melody.  

To say the last few weeks have been stressful would be a dire understatement. Since taking up the role of Odette in Autumn, you’ve yet to recall the last time you’d had the pleasure of succumbing to the sanctity of slumber, nor rest altogether for that matter. From dawn to dusk, you’ve found the studio becoming a second home to you; like an ever-so gracious host with a tendency for passive-aggressive hospitality, who coaxes you from the front door in promise of warm tea and a place to rest your head, insisting you stay "just one more hour". You know better, well at least you think you do, because beyond the studio door you know there’ll be no rest awaiting you, only relentless recital. Still, you don’t look back as you accept its welcoming embrace. Because- 

Anything but perfection would not suffice. You see, back-breaking discipline; impeccable precision; artistic competence; meticulous dedication, it’s nothing new to ballet and in turn, it’s nothing new to you, either. To be a ballerina means to surrender yourself to the artistry, and let your body become its mindless muse.

The Ballet industry is an anomaly compared to other artistic sectors. Unlike others, it subverges from the ideals of ‘beauty in the eye of the beholder’. Conformity is key. There are strict standards to be met and an unquestionable quota to be completed. Anything but, will not do. It disregards the need to sugarcoat its shallow requirements; skinnier, sharper, prettier, thinner; if it fulfills the requirements, it will suffice. 

Image is everything. It’s a shallow, superficial sentiment that directors set upon budding ballerinas like hounds to hares. From day one, they plant it into the impressionable minds of aspiring dancers. Uncontrollably, self-doubt sprouts like a stubborn weed. Each off-hand comment or direct dig, whether it be about a girl’s weight of en pointe form, encourages the festering parasite to root itself deeper into her mind. Then she grows older - it’s too late - and the parasitic thought has poisoned her once innocent outlook on life and has rotted it right to its roots. For the rest of her tragic life, the girl will only know the number on the scales, the image in the mirror, and the misery in her mind. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. You’ve seen it happen to you, because-  

Ballet has ensnared you - mind, body, and soul. Over the years, you’ve felt its callous claws dig deeper and deeper into your flesh, leaving scars so severe - both physically and mentally - sometimes the pretty pink ribbons you adorn your feet with prove futile in the bid to cover them. Prodding and poking and probing; fingers jabbing mercilessly into your sides, accompanying a doubly ruthless "you'll need to lose this extra weight if you want a spot on my stage". For a sport so vain, you ought to think it would go easy on its victims. A session of self-reflection proves otherwise.

You learn to bear and grin through it all. You don’t have much of a choice anyways. After all, many before you have suffered the same, and those who come after you will too. Because after many years of being a ballerina-

You learn to see beauty in the pain. 

The blood you bleed makes the red roses you receive at curtain call worthwhile; the sadistically sweat-inducing masterclasses make the shining smiles and standing ovations from awestruck audiences worthwhile; the tears make the champagne chutes you get to drink at the expense of your company worthwhile. You chase these highs like you do with stardom.  

All you've ever dreamed of since a little girl was to be a ballerina. Perhaps, it was the beautiful dresses a child of your class could only dream of back then, or how pretty the woman on the front page of your father’s newspaper looked posing on the tip of her toes. You don’t know for certain what exactly it was that enthralled you with it all. Sometimes, you wish you had never boarded that train to Moscow, never bothered with all that came with being a ballerina. It’s a selfish and self-deprecating thought, for you know if you were to stay on that homestead, there was an imminent chance you would have succumbed to the troubles of poverty you had faced back home. Admittedly, there are times you miss your life before coming to the city. None can be done about that, however.

Now, you have to push your body to its limits and beyond. Daily, you trespass boundaries you had once believed your body did not possess the ability to, reciting the same sequences endlessly, over and over again, until you physically can’t pursue your practice further that day. Even then, you find yourself persevering through the pain and fatigue; limbs heavy like lead; a mind strong like steel. If you knew your efforts were futile in the bid to rid yourself of any flaws in your dance, you would be wrong because-    

Ultimately, you knew no matter how much effort you exerted, the Dance Principal; Ballet Mistress; the reputable Madame Orlova would not miss a single thing.

For decades, word has circled Moscow of the cold-hearted, quick-witted, sharp-tongued old woman who ran the prestigious academy with an iron fist. It was just your luck that she had taken you under her wing as one of her pupils. You dare say she had taken a liking to you, though, she did have a tough way of showing her fondness onto others. 

Never a day was there without some sort of mistake to be mended by her recognition. At times you think God had cursed her to be forever unfulfilled in her outlook of life. The others in the Troupe seem to think so too. 

You dread to think of how much Mr Lenkov’s fingers must be hurting from playing the same melody over and over again for this past hour. It wouldn’t surprise you if the composition begins to haunt your dreams like a creaky, broken music box. You’ve never had the pleasure of owning one, though you had seen one in the window of a repair shop one time and-

And, as the Ballet Mistress shouts at Mr Lenkov to cease his playing, you know she has once more found a flaw in your dancing. 

The symphony stops abruptly with a garble of incoherent notes before it can reach its crescendo. Inwardly, you sigh. 

"No, no, no!" She scolds.

Her boney fingers rub feverishly against her temple in frustration. Rising slowly from her chair before you, her walking cane thumps anticipating against the studio’s oakwood floor as she ambles towards you. Wrinkled eyes bore into you; you struggle to withstand the urge not to writhe under the intensity of her stare.

"Your arms,” She begins slowly, her gaze raking over you in scrutiny, “They are stiff.” 

“From the shoulder to the fingertips,” She gestures with her hand down the length of your arm as she speaks. “It must flow, like the wing of a swan.”

She uses the moment of silence as you take on the command to survey your form, prodding and poking your stance to adjust it to her liking. 

“Do not forget this.” She finishes. 

"Yes, Madame Orlova," You nod in acknowledgment, wincing slightly each time her finger jabs into your shoulder blades and readjust your position to better suit her expectations. 

She huffs a breath in what you can only presume is somewhat satisfaction, signaling for Mr Lenovo to resume playing.

“Again!”

The song resumes its somber sound, and you take heed to the Ballet Mistress’ words. Flowing from your shoulder blades to your fingertips, you encapture the essence of the White Swan; melancholy in her mourning of a lover whose heart he had promised to another. She is vulnerable in her virtue, and she shows that in her final flight. Odette longs for the skies, for an escape from the betrayal of who she had held dear, but her wings fail her. In desperation, she flexes and flaps her wings, but alas, she cannot take flight. And so-

You spiral in a presession of slow spins, arms portraying the anguished attempt the Swan Queen takes to take flight for the final time before decelerating into a despairing descent as Odette. The tune tumbles to its end from beneath Mr. Lenkov’s fingers as you complete your practiced plummet to the studio floor, encasing your body with your arms the wings of the white swan, as the grief-stricken creature takes its final breath. 

You raise your head to look at Madame Orlova.

And, for the first time in your decade-long enrollment at the Bolshoi Ballet School, you think you see the infamously stone-faced stone-hearted ballet mistress smile. 

It's a cold evening in Moscow tonight. The winter winds thrash ferociously at the loose and unraveling threads of your scarf. Whilst it does little to protect you from the frigid frost lingering in the air, you wear it anyways as any warmth you can garner to combat the icy environment is, in your eyes, worthwhile.

Snowflakes dust your hair with specks of glistening white, gathering upon the crown of your head where you have neglected to put on a hat. They tickle your nose and gently brush against your rosy cheeks as you tilt your head back. Your face turned towards the sky; watching as the snow twirls and tumbles from the clouds above, gradually blanketing the ground ahead in a pristine carpet of soft white. It crunches as you walk towards the theatre, leaving footsteps on the once-untouched landscape. You take extra caution not to slip on any hidden ice - an injury is the last thing you needed on a day as imperative as this. 

Somewhere in the far distance, the Kremlin bells ring. 

Thirteen mighty chimes thunder throughout the city. You feel the ground rumble in response beneath your feet - a reminder to hurry.

Rushing up the snowy steps of the Bolshoi Ballet Theatre, you quickly let yourself inside in an attempt to escape the chilling temperatures of the Moscovian evening - and to avoid running behind schedule. 

The warm air inside greets you welcomingly. You eagerly pull off your gloves in its presence to soak up the heat it has to offer. Slowly, you begin to regain feeling into your fingers. Sighing a relieved breath, you make your way backstage as the marble floor of the foyer echoes noisily beneath your shoes.

There, you receive a not-so-calm yet begrudgingly familiar greeting. 

Pre-performance is usually like this; congested backstage corridors; a cacophony of frantic demands and directions; boxes of overflowing props and costumes rushed up and down the hall; the deafening pounding of ballerinas breaking in their pointe shoes;  dim lighting making it near impossible to navigate. However today, with your debut as the company’s newly appointed principal dancer just hours away, it feels even more nerve-wrackingly overwhelming. 

You brace yourself as you get swept away in the havoc of opening night, tangled in the rambunctious crowd as it traverses through the labyrinth of backstage passageways.

Despite the absurd amount of people crammed in corridors unable to withstand even a fraction of their current capacity, you miraculously manage to maneuver your way to the dressing room; elbow-to-rib style, ducking under boxes and weaving past those racing in the opposite direction. 

Relief hits you as you swing open the dressing room door, closing it quickly behind you as your eyes blink rapidly to adjust to the bright lighting inside. The much more quieter, yet seemingly livelier chatter of friendly conversation and girlish giggles encompasses you as you move further into the dressing room. You shrug off your coat, laying it to rest on the coathanger and take your seat in front of your dresser.

Tranquility seeps into your bones as you slouch against the chair’s backrest momentarily, soaking up the opportunity of rest no matter how short-lived the moment may be. Mentally, you take the moment to prepare yourself for the evening, and all the chaos and calamity it is sure to bring. 

Sighing, you straighten yourself up in your seat, glancing at your reflection in the mirror as you do so. 

"I didn't know you had a secret admirer.” 

You don’t turn around as the voice chimes up from behind you. You of all people know better than to entertain her playful antics. 

The voice reveals itself from its lurking in the background, resting her chin just above your collarbone and draping her arms over your shoulder. 

Your eyes meet hers in the reflection. She grins back at you.

“Valeria.” You sigh, patting the hand resting around your shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Valeria, crowned tonight’s Black Swan, is one of the company’s longer-serving principal dancers and has self-appointed herself as your tutor and friend as of late. Graciously, she has taken you under her wing these past couple of months as you have gradually adjusted to your newly bestowed title, joining her amongst the Bolshoi’s most prestigious ranks. 

“You too,” She smirks, a little too suspiciously for your liking, pecking your cheek in greeting before returning to her seat at her vanity next to you. “You too.”

You begin to rummage through your stage makeup, tilting the mirror toward you so you can better see, before laying out your needed products on the desk space. You pay no mind to her mischievous staring as you do so. But, as you have learned over your time acquainted with Valeria, nothing can deter her from getting what she wants. And right now, that is to find out who this supposed ‘secret admirer’ is.

"So tell us then," She drawls teasingly, "Who's the lucky boy?"

The edge of your desk presses uncomfortably into your side as you turn to give her your attention. For the time being, anyways. You yourself are somewhat curious as to what she is talking about. But the sooner you can resolve this suppositious accusation, the sooner you can resume to the real issue at hand - getting ready for Swan Lake. 

Confusion stirs at her question, and you tilt your head to the side, urging her to explain further.

A ribbon-wrapped gift box is pushed toward you. You watch on, confused. 

Valeria’s legs swing idly back and fro as she gazes at you expectantly. The corners of her lips tug further into a grin at the silence that ensues and at the completely dumbfounded expression on your face. When you give her no answer, her Cheshire-cat-like grin falters. 

The girls around you giggle, peering over from their makeup stations to indulge in the drama unfolding. Valeria shoots them a look from over your shoulder, one you cannot decipher, but it quietens them down. 

“For me?” you ask doubtfully, slightly stumbling over your words as you take the generous gift into your hands. “Oh Valeria, you shouldn’t have-”

“Not from me.” She huffs.

“I don’t understand,” you mumble, eyes scanning over the gift as you look for a label, a note, a letter, anything that may reveal the gifter’s identity. “Who could this be from?”

She shrugs indifferently, turning to focus on her reflection in the mirror, transfixed on getting the edges of her lipstick just right. 

“The girls who were here before me said it came delivered to the dressing rooms earlier this hour-” She smiles at her appearance, appreciating her flawless makeup in the mirror. Placing the lipstick tube down with a quiet thump, she turns to focus her attention on you once more. 

She pokes a finger at you in playful accusation. “-Asking for you specifically!” 

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders, unable to give her the answer she craves, for what reason, is beyond you.  

She eyes you incredulously, before returning her attention to her mirror seemingly unable to neglect her reflection for just a moment longer.

“Well,” She gestures toward the ribbon-wrapped gift with her free hand, playing an unbothered facade. You know full well she is practically itching to uncover this mystery. “Are you going to open it?”

Your eyes dart between her and the suspicious box, almost expecting this to be some sort of ruse, perhaps she had given you a jack-in-the-box and was waiting for you to get the fright of your life; her idea of fun.

Hesitantly, you begin the unravel the sheer ribbon keeping the box from opening. The fabric rubs soothingly against your fingertips, a luxury fabric you have not had the experience of touching before. It was clear that whoever had purchased this was of a wealthy background.  Perhaps, you think, you could make this into a bow to wear. 

You don’t know what you were expecting when you lifted its lid, but you definitely were not expecting a pair of .

“Aye chingao!” Valeria startles as she leans over your shoulder to get a better look.

Nestled between a blanket of draped deluxe fabric, a pearlescent pink, almost winter-white, pair of the most exquisitely crafted pointe shoes lie. You fail to restrain the exasperated sigh of awe at the sight, carefully grazing your fingertips over its silky satin finish as if the slightest touch could possibly damage them. You can confidently say, they are the most beautiful gift you have ever had the pleasure of receiving. 

“No secret admirer,” she says.” Valeria quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's probably just costuming.” You dismiss her far-fetched conspiracies, though, you find it hard to draw your eyes away from the pair of shoes, and the fact that this had definitely not come from the costume department. So who had sent you these?

"Ha, as if Mr. Baryshev would ever allow the budget given to costuming to be used for anything but lining his own pockets!” She laughs bitterly. 

“I’ve been-” Valeria exhales out a frustrated breath, “-trabajando como un burro to afford the means to get wear this!” She growls, her hands gesturing to the coal-coloured feathered fabric of her intricate bodice and tutu. 

You open your mouth to give her your consolation before a knock comes to the door. You, Valeria, and the rest of the room quieten into hushed murmuring - just for a moment. Then-

“On in 30, Ladies!” A gruff voice hollers from the other side of the door.

The room erupts into chaos.

A tsunami of frantic ballerinas surge forward towards the row of dressers, crashing against each other like the tides of a raging sea you had heard many-medal adorning men recount about in tales of some distant land. The only redeeming thing about conducting post-performance business is the stories and tales you overhear; the rest, you are not so keen on.

You take the distraction in stride, shoving the pair of shoes more like semi-worn in pointe hand-me-downs from costuming somewhere under your vanity, and replacing them with your newly acquired gift.

“You’re going to wear them?!” Valeria hisses incredulously. 

You glance at her sideways, smirking back at the priceless expression of amused disbelief on her face.

“Well, they’re shoes, aren’t they?” You jest, grinning at her mischievously. “It would be a shame not to.”

She shakes her head in mock-dissappointment, haphazardously stuffing her stage makeup in its designated drawer before firmly slamming it shut. 

“I fear my mischief is rubbing off on you too much.” She mumbles as she looks up at you, feigning a tone of dismay, only to be betrayed by the growing smirk on her face. 

“Well,” She smoothes her hands over her slicked-back bun of cropped raven hair, "I'll see you out there." 

You give her your goodbyes as she pats you on the shoulder, rising from her chair and making her way toward the dressing room’s door. 

“Don’t let the Director find out,” Valeria whisper-shouts from over her shoulder. “You know what he’s like.”

She ushers the remaining lingering corps-de-ballet girls out of the changing rooms, winking at you as she closes the door gently behind her. 

You listen as the chatter slowly retreats from beneath the doorframe, Valeria’s distinct, accented laughter mingled with that of fast-paced Russian retreating down the echoey corridor ‘till you could hear it no more. A serene silence hugs the now-semi abandoned dressing room; those, including you, who aren’t to appear until later acts remain, a more pacific atmosphere stirs, with subdued gossiping, softer laughter, and a more slowing-encroaching sense of time.

You slump in your chair. 

You have a long evening ahead of you.

The rear of house is relatively quieter now.

You can no longer hear the lively chatter associated with the pre-performance buzz, only the occasional hushed conversation resurfacing through the suffocating silence as people pass by. Walking backstage is always an awkward feat, your pointe shoes make an unpleasantly loud noise against the cold concrete floor with each precarious step you take. 

You had felt bad for having to break them in; they were an extraordinaryly well-crafted pair of pointé shoes, they fit perfectly too, and you were certain the price tag was even more extravagant. You still hadn’t resolved the identity of the mystery gifter, but you’d make sure to thank them profusely for their kindness. For now, however, you have a debut to make. 

Your feet thump rapidly as you semi-rush toward the entrance to the left wing. The further you near, the more people it seems are gathered in anticipation for their appearances onstage. The conversation is greater here than that of in the deeper bowels of the theatre where the dressing room had been. Mingling herds of ballerinas and dancers lean idle against the walls, stretching in preparation for their scenes, and chatting amongst themselves, but done so in more gentle, lower tones so as not to alert the audience of their presence a mere wall away. 

They regard you with reassuring smiles and words of good luck as you briskly waddle by; you reciprocate them with a short-but-sweet smile. 

The music grows in amplitude as you enter the left wing officially; the once gentle thrumming is replaced with an all-encompassing eruption of expertly strung-together instruments. The welcoming embrace of the song is quickly diminished though, much to your dismay because-

The rafters here have always given you the creeps. With no help from Valeria either, who  divulges in gossip of the ‘ballerina’ who had been ‘crushed to death’ by a poorly-secured light fixture on the theatre’s proscenium arch each time she catches you gazing nervously upwards at the looming space. You know it’s mainly just the technicians who lurk up in the rafters, commandeering light cues and stage transformation sequences as the ballet progresses. 

‘You have nothing to fear’, you admonish yourself. 

Still, that doesn’t stop the hair on the back of your neck from standing up as you approach the left stage-side.

Your presence goes unnoticed for not even a second. 

Someone speaks your name in a hushed whisper.

You peer over your shoulder at the source of the sound; the silhouette of a stout-statured man emerges from the left-wing doorway. He seizes you suddenly by the shoulders before you even have time to recognise the overly-touchy-friendly Mr. Ustrashkin.

You stagger at the sudden force with which he embraces you, regaining your balance with an awkward squeak. It is only then do you see the disconcerted look that his face has taken on.

“Mr Ustrashkin?” You begin hesitantly. “Is something the matter?”

“Walk with me, dear.” He requests, but he has already pulled you into motion with the firm grip of his hand on your shoulder.

The two of you trail off to the side to make way for the group of pas de corps, and for the privacy of what you can only assume to be bad news. The ballerinas smile respectfully at you, lowering their heads slightly as they account for your company before skittering off, their ghostly white tutus fluttering by behind them like swirling snowflakes. 

When the last of the dancers had passed by, Mr. Ustrashkin speaks again. You take the small queue of silence to compose yourself exteriorly for what is to come. 

“Something..." He stalls, theatrically contemplating the correct word to use before resuming. "...unexpected came up within these previous hours. A true shame it is, but Fyodor, your dance partner, has sustained an ankle injury. As you can understand, he will be out of commission for the foreseeable future, and unfortunately is unable to perform with you tonight." 

Your heart sinks. It collapses from your chest cavity like a marionette doll on snapped strings; as its puppet master surveilled with cruel glee from above. You wonder what you had done to anger God, for him to administer such a thing onto you. On today of all days too. 

“Oh, um, I-” You stumble over your words in a tangled array of shock, panic, disbelief and uncertainty.  

“None of that now, little swan.” Mr. Ustrashkin tuts, almost as one would scold a misbehaving child. 

You recoil at the unwanted nickname, but are too overcome with internal panic at the newly arisen situation to pay it much mind. Saying anything anyways will get you in trouble, and you have climbed too far into the good graces of the executives of the company to fall out of favour for something so insignificant. 

You struggle to maintain your composure, hanging on the thread of internal and external unbridled alarm. You bite the inside of your cheek to withhold any curses from escaping your mouth.

‘On all days this could have possibly happened on.’ You mumble to yourself mentally. 

“So, if Fyodor isn’t dancing tonight..” Your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, eyes trailing from Mr. Ustrashkin and the conversation at hand to the semi-concealed view of the stage. “Who is dancing Prince Siegfried onstage as we speak?”

Swan Lake has been going for around an hour by now, but with your appearance not until the second act, you needn’t be in as much of a rush as those in the first. You had spent that time responsibly; the majority of which was in the dressing room ensuring the costuming was to standard and ogling over the anonymous gift. Much to your displeasure, that also meant you didn’t have the pleasure of seeing everyone off at curtain opening, and you hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of this ‘Mactavish’ Mr Ustrashkin had been singing his praises about to you. 

"Do not fret that pretty little head," The plump man quips. Mr. Ustrashkin pats your back, presumably in an act of reassurance, but the force which he uses almost sends you stumbling forward. "His understudy, Mactavish, has taken up his role."

“Mactavish?” Your head tilts to the side as the syllables of the foreign-sounding name roll off your tongue with a questioning implication. 

“Oh yes!” He startles with a cheery smile. “A wonderful dancer through and through. We scouted his talent in London and had him transferred from The Royal Ballet to dance for us instead.” He rambles on in recollection. “Though the two of you aren’t properly acquainted yet, I’m sure he’ll be substantial as a dance partner in Fyodor’s absence.”

All you can do is nod your head absentmindedly, hoping to be relieved of his unwanted presence. And, like all men are, his attention is quickly drawn to another. 

A loud laugh barks out from across in the right wing. 

“Valeria!” The now-agitated man growls lowly, his teeth grinding together as he storms toward her as quickly as his little legs can carry him. 

‘So that’s where she went,’ you think, half-bemused, half-concerned. You also thank her in your head for unknowingly getting you out of a conversation you no longer had any interest in being involved in.

Rolling your shoulders to relieve some tension that had been building up, your eyes search diligently for someplace to stretch before your presence on stage is needed. Finding one, you make sure to apply an ample amount of rosin to the bottom of your shoes before skittering your way over. 

The minutes pass by neither quickly nor slowly, more like a muddled mixture of the two. Your body moves without control, years and years of dedicated practice leading up to this much anticipated moment allowing your body to memorize the moves. Your thoughts, however, are the fore-focus of your attention. They rumble through your mind like a blinding blizzard, burying any logical thought with a suffocating, unmoveable barrier of bleak snow and amounting stage fright. 

The Pit Orchestra unleashes Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act 1: No. 9, Finale Andante’s crescendo upon the awestricken audience as such Zeus would do to the land below Mount. Olympus with his thunderbolts. If you dare a glance, you may manage to see Mr. Lenkov strumming his harp melodically, or his musical protégé he can’t help himself but boast about day in-day out. 

The floor beneath your feet vibrates as the composition reverberates deafeningly throughout the auditorium; you would struggle to believe the crystal chandelier that looms overhead is not swinging violently nor the champagne glasses the aristocrats’ cradle has not shattered at the absurd volume. Though, it could just be the nervous shaking of your legs.

You catch fleeting visions of the dancers on stage; their shadows flickering in and out of view like the dimming flame of candlelight. Your thoughts are once again drawn back to Fyodor’s supposed understudy. Not once had you had a recital with him, and so you could only hope he was adequately practiced for his role. 

The melody of Act 1’s final act concludes with the triumphant trill of the violin ensemble. The audience erupts into an oscillating ovation; cheering, clapping, whistling; at a volume so loud it could rival its predecessor. Your doubts about Mactavish’s adequacy are quickly disproven. 

It only brings a sliver of comfort, however. 

You linger in the shadows for a moment, trembling fingers brushing hesitantly against the fabric before you. Then, cautiously, you peer out from behind the safety of the illustrious velvet curtains. Your jittery hands fiddle with their golden tassels as you gaze at the exceedingly large audience. The auditorium of the theatre had never been so full.

You try not to let the sheer amount of people overwhelm you; a thousand thousand faces staring stagebound.

You fail.

And as the announcer commences the beginning of tonight's performance, you also fail to notice the man watching you from across the other side of the stage.

 “Bolshoi Ballet proudly presents Swan Lake!”

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

ok, so I think this is the first time I've posted a question as such and it's not just a comment but I'll try to be brief. I have to say that I loved the scenario in which they go to the world of Reader, it's very good and honestly I laughed a lot, but now changing the subject, considering that this is a ShadowPeach x reader universe, before the monkeys became warlords and met Reader, who was the one who became yandere first, Wukong or Macaque, because it would be interesting to have a little background on that. Another question is, if Reader can use her magic through artifacts, and suppose they change with her emotions, what if when she discovers that they are actually Wukong and Macaque, her desperation drags her to another world by accident (Perhaps as a method of survival for the adrenaline of the moment) and take him to another world with another Wukong, perhaps the canonical world of LMK, perhaps that of Black Myth Wukong, perhaps that of Monkey King Reborn, and Reader meets another version of Wukong or Macaque and genuinely becomes friends/falls in love with them and they are not Yandere, how do you think things would happen when the monkeys (inevitably) envelop Reader?

Anyway thats all i Have for Now, your ideas really change The chemistry un my brain, Hope you have a nice day

For Reader's ability. That is a really cool idea! A pure survival instinct truly. Now I don't think that she'll be meeting any other Wukong or Macaque in this au. (Maybe if I make another au and a crossover? But not in my main Cursed Warlords AU)

My reasoning is quite simple. Too much drama, okay thats kinda hypocritical I guess since there's probably gonna be quite a bit of drama.

Anyways, the pure survival instinct to get her out of the situation is really cool. In my mind, her dimensional travel ability stems from more of a teleportation type.

Because of this, I believe she would either teleport back to her own dimension or she might just teleport far away from them. Even if far away happens to be on Flower Fruit Mountain while they are away. Maybe haven't decided yet.

Anyways love that idea. Will probably use it at some point for the Reader (gonna make it happen at the worst possible moment too, probably. Hehe~)

>>><<<

Spoilers for unwritten Arc below. I will be writing the actual scenes for this later but since I don't have the time write at this moment a few short points from it will suffice.

Read at your own spoiler risk. This is basically an outline for the Arc. Which is the reason I took so long with this ask, Sorry about that, @bluewillbon! Loved writing this though ❤️

Ding... Ding... Ding...

Shadowpeach Arc Unlocked!!

Hehe~ I have a few ideas for this.

Surprisingly, I actually have Macaque go yandere for his husband before Wukong did.

Wukong is pretty oblivious to romantic emotions originally. He just knows he wants something so he takes it.

Basically a short Summery would be Macaque comes to Floqer Fruit Mountain as a traveler and meets Sun Wukong. The two fight each other because Macaque is an 'intruder'.

However, Wukong isn't going all out at, nor is Macaque. Wukong finds that he likes this new monkey demon, and eventually offers him a place in his troop.

Macaque decides to agree, at first to find out more about this other monkey. He doesn't know how he feels at first and is debating what exactly he wants to do.

As they get to know each other and begin to fall in love, but only Macaque seems to realize. Wukong is as dense as a rock (pun intended)

Macaque is already close with Wukong as his right hand man, he doesn't share his feelings. He can be rather shy at times, and believes that he'll have to fight Wukong to the death or unconsciousness like all of his other suitors.

But even though he believes that Wukong won't accept him, he won't let anyone else have him. If he can't have him, no one can. Will he harm his love? No, he'll just kill anyone who shows romantic interest in him.

Of course, he won't tell him, and the person will simply go missing without another word. Macaque is a great actor and no one will suspect him for a while... until...

Everything comes to a head when someone decides to challenge Wukong to a courting dual in public. Obviously, Wukong would have beaten her easily however Macaque who had finally decided to offer his love and picked out the courting gifts and had everything ready, would not have it.

Not only did he have everything ready, but the girl decided to challenge Wukong when Macaque had planned to. So~ yeah, the girl died... at Macaque's hands.

That is how the two got together, by Macaque slaying one of Wukong's suitors (he had quite a few before he became a warlord) and bending the knee to ask for his hand.

It is only then that Wukong actually thinks of his feelings for Macaque as love. Admitting it to himself as Macaque bends on his knee and promises to stay by his side for eternity.

At first Wukong is furious, his right hand doesn't think he can fight for himself- oh. Oh that's why he did it. This Boi was a blushing mess, because it's at this point that his own feelings hit him in the gut (or rather the point where he actually recognizes his own feelings.)

They soon become completely inseparable, more so than they already have been.

So even though Macaque is the first to go yandere, Wukong is NOT far behind him. Of course, there are some stupid enough to try and woo Macaque as well, only to be slain by Wukong's staff.

The suitors only diminish as Wukong and Macaque become Warlords. It becomes widely known who they are and who they are with. Even if some (very few) are stupid enough to try to get between them, they are quickly ended.

No one will come between them, and neither of them are interested in polygamy... at least not until... you.