#but NOT because of how it's going to be undoubtedly used to generate Man Pain in the future for Az

[terrence-silver]

Terrys fav sex position? 😁

---

― One just gets the impression that right from the get-go, Terry Silver might be into anything that is super complicated, requires an exemplary (and near sadistic) amount of physical flexibility, athleticism, strength and stamina, being genuinely difficult to preform for anyone that isn't, you know, Terry himself, giving himself an almost hilariously unfair advantage and by extension, having the upper hand during any intimate encounter, which is exactly and precisely his goal anyway. Being large and in charge. He enjoys stuff straight out of the Kama Sutra's most complex positions or whatever obscure, exotic tantric sex almanac he might hold coveted. To put it bluntly, his leanings towards martial artistry, Karate, Tang Soo Do, The Way of the Fist and combat as a whole are undoubtedly very much bleeding into his sex life to where rigorous training, warm up and exercise are all reflected in how he fucks. Which means you might end up a tangled mess of limbs in a stress position, panting, in a chokehold, exhausted, beaten, taunted and sprawled out on your back fairly quickly, with every bone in your body in pain and it is only just foreplay. The main course hasn't even arrived yet, making sex with Terry Silver an occasionally daunting prospect for the uninitiated because it requires actual preparation, like running a marathon. It is hard to tell if this is sex or a sparring session. Both? Is there a difference even? Generally speaking, man likes to watch you struggle.

― Man also likes being in control. No, in fact, he loves it! It is crucial to Terry. Whether he's on top, if he's fucking you from behind, if you've his cock in your mouth, if he's holding you down and eating you out, sucking you off, pleasuring you, punishing you, edging you, having you tied up or not, if he's a power bottom coordinating you and directing you as you ride him, if this is plain, old missionary where his eyes are piercing into your soul as he doesn't blink, regardless, positions don't matter as much so long as he's lording over the authority scale. If he's the one directing things. Being master and teacher. Positions are semantics, because he's for sure tried them all a hundred times over and he is firm on trying them all over with you. Possibly invented a couple of positions yet unheard of, for all we know, much like he has a penchant for inventing fighting styles and naming them. Who is to say he doesn't do the same for poses? But, if something is thrillingly debauched, rare, interesting, unusual, slightly bizarre and maybe just as daunting, borderline taboo and downright depraved, Terry is certain to get a kick out of it and deem it his new favorite thing...for now, until he gets you two to try the next new favorite depraved thing, boiling you slowly, accustoming you to the heat of his sexual preferences and perversities like a frog being cooked in a slow burning kettle. Not before long, you'll be convinced hardcore sadomasochism is pretty standard. Your body will crave it because he'll get you used to it. Hooked on it as your new normal.

― Having you grind on his face is also pretty standard. How about him grinding on your face, practically suffocating you with his sheer size and weight compared to your own? How about desperately try to get yourself off by rubbing yourself on the sharp tip of his polished leather shoes for some extra humiliation? Fucking in shibari and suspension, with you on the receiving end, naturally, where to gets to broadcast his skill with the the ancient art of the rope? Getting bounced on his cock while you're tied up, unable to move or do anything but take it, gagged, facing his scrutinizing gaze? Worshiping his ass? Worshipping his toes? Maybe earning yourself a warning, disciplinary kick of varying strength if you don't do it right, followed by a teasing chortle? Edging and getting you off with the hilt of his sword, one of many from his coveted collection, pushed between your legs? Fucking you bent over the edge of his mansion's balcony, having you give your trust and agency over to him in the belief he's strong enough not to drop you and that it'll be exciting enough to where the danger that he technically could is a turn on. Acrobatic theatrics where he gets to show off by balancing both himself and you on only his arms. Maybe choosing to utilize his legs next when he decides to be more lenient. Go figure. Putting you in near impossible poses and training you how to preform them for his pleasure. It is equally delicious when you fail, and you'll fail many times, and it'll be a delight to watch.

― Ultimately, he has no concrete favorite pose, nor least favorite one, finding potential in all of them, because Terry's a bit of a chameleonic Jack of all Trades in general in every regard and an accomplished master of just as many. Because when he desires someone genuinely, he desires them in any capacity possible, and in every capacity possible to express his overwhelming, manic need and ownership of them to the point he might just run out of valid positions to do it in, needing to improvise, invent and design new ways to fuck in the hedonistic and somewhat perfectionistic pursuit of overcoming himself and the limits of the sexual imagination (always pushing himself one step further), refusing to be caged in by them, finally coming full circle and landing with simple, no nonsense fucking --- sensual and intense, maybe overly so --- without any shanenigans, rituals and additions; something that is perhaps the hardest to achieve and ease into for someone so hellbent on control of the mind, body and soul of everything and everyone around him and the psychological reason why Terry opted for such complicated and insane sexual acts of showmanship in the first place as a way to protect himself from the unpredictable during vulnerable moments of intimacy. If you're tied up with a million knots, unable to move unless he releases you, ass up in the air, you're fully subdued and as such, under his command and not a threat.

― So, to conclude, generally, if asked about his favorite pose directly, Terry might legitimately give a cockily, arrogantly baffling answer in the form of him enjoying the, oh, I don't even know, Triple Lotus Heaven's Gate sex position he observed in Korea once upon a time during his training there and that one needs to be a Yoga expert, put in months of preparation and open all their chakras to even consider preforming it correctly, for all we know, but I tend to see this as a deflection, deliberate gatekeeping, manipulation and a defense mechanism on his part. A mask. A skin over a skin. Him seldom giving correct or genuine information about himself, and when he does, it is always with an agenda, the agenda here being that he is safeguarding his sensibilities and pathological fear of letting his guard down and ending up somehow fucked over due to it by immediately coming up with a sex pose entirely fabricated a la the Quicksilver method and just as painful to achieve for someone who even dares trying. Truth is, one can conclude Terry Silver is actually stupendously lonely, love starved, touchstarved, starved for acknowledgment, intimacy, true human connections, praise, suppressed and repressed in any and every way, and when in love, he can at times be...unexpectedly conventional. Meaning that, who is to say that him just being inside of you in any capacity, in any position, isn't already bliss by sheer default?

[uchihashisui-kun]

“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” - Ao

"Oh please, don't be ridiculous," looking up from where he was laying on the ground, Shisui merely smirked. Never show the enemy any weakness, that was a lesson he had learned quickly when he had first started taking missions outside the village, "as if I'd ever be afraid of you."

Ao scoffed, one foot pressed hard on Shisui's stomach to keep him pinned in place, ice blue eye fixated on the Uchiha's face yet always avoiding his direct gaze, "you should be grateful that you're more useful to us alive rather than dead, Uchiha," because otherwise Ao would have already killed him, although Shisui didn't really look concerned by that possibility.

"How generous of you, I really wouldn't have known what to do if you had needed me dead!" Shisui's tone was sarcastic, arching one eyebrow in a way that made Ao want to punch his face. He didn't. Instead, he lifted his foot just enough to stomp back down on the Uchiha's stomach, smirking at the pained sound that left the boy's lips.

"You're injured and your chakra is dangerously low. I'd drop the sarcasm if I were you," despite the situation, Shisui started laughing at Ao's words, one hand coming up to grab the man's ankle, a mischievous twinkl in his pitch black eyes.

"Do you really think you're the one in control here, Ao-san?" Shisui asked, with a tone that almost made Ao shiver. In fear or something else, he wasn't sure. "If you do, let me tell you," like a shadow, a second Shisui draped himself against Ao's back, lips gently pressed against his ear in a whispered, "you aren't."

In an instant, Ao whipped around with a kunai in hand, but the strike hit empty air as the illusion dissolved itself in a murder of laughing crows. A moment passed, and the hidden Byakugan flared to life as he turned his gaze back to the Shisui on the ground, yet under his foot there was nothing more than a log.

Cursing under his breath, Ao looked around and up in the trees, but whenever he thought he had found Shisui his chakra moved, undoubtedly using what made him famous in the first place, the Shunshin.

Ao would have avoided direct confrontation in any other circumstances, but the mission was clear- capture Uchiha Shisui, who had been seen patrolling the Kiri border. He would be damned if he were to run away now with his tail between his legs.

In a flash Shisui appeared right in front of him, one hand grabbing Ao's shirt's collar without flinching when Ao's kunai pierced through his clothes and skin at shoulder height, blood seeping through the dark fabric in the blink of an eye.

Shisui's lips, still pulled up in a smirk, opened up in a smile that showed his teeth, making him look more crazy than amused. "You should be grateful that you're more useful to me alive rather than dead," he said, throwing back at Ao his own words as he pulled him closer with his hand, and from that distance it was impossible not to meet his eyes, alight and blazing red, the Sharingan spinning lazily.

Ao knew he was screwed.

"I'll let you go now," Shisui said, nuzzling his cheek against Ao's almost gently, "and you won't attack me, do you understand me?" Ao, silently, nodded. "Good." Taking a step back, Shisui's hand let go of Ao's shirt just as Ao yanked his kunai out of Shisui's shoulder.

Once again, Shisui didn't flinch.

"Until next time, Ao-san," with a grin and a wave, Shisui was gone. Where, Ao wasn't sure he wanted to know. Looking down at his hand, bloody kunai still in his grip, he wondered if the Uchiha had a couple of loose screws in that pretty head of his.

[ergomaria]

Miles To Go Before I Sleep - Ch. 13

The Sith Emperor has finally been banished, at least for now, leaving Vann with one final task to ensure the safety of the Republic that he fought so hard to protect. He must train a new generation of Force users and prepare them for the inevitable moment when the Emperor returns, something that might not happen for centuries. But he is not alone and the task ahead is far from impossible. For the first time in decades, the Revanchist's future is bright, something that's almost overwhelming as he struggles to finally make peace with his past.

"I… I think that I'm done running off to save the Republic for a while. Or I'm at least done saving it from the Emperor. He'll be back, I'm sure of it, but it won't be for a long, long time. Not in my lifetime, anyway. Which, I guess means that it's finally over. Kriff. It's over…" The stunning reality of admitting this out loud caused Vann's voice to catch in his throat and he gasped, his entire body going limp as a warm rush of relief swept through him. He tried to say something, to crack a joke or make a flippant comment, but the only thing that came out was a thin, strangled sob.

Wetness spilled from the former mercenary's eyes and he burrowed his head into his partner's shoulder partially to hide his tears, but mostly because he needed someone else to physically support him as he finally accepted that yes, this entire ordeal was finally over. Even without the Force Carth seemed to sense this and he tightened his hold on the other man, pressing feather-light kisses against his temple while rubbing circles into his back.

"Hey, it's alright. Let it out." At this point, the captain was the only thing keeping Vann on his feet. "It is over. You won against that son of a kath hound and saved the rest of us in the process. I honestly can't begin to imagine what you're feeling right now, but I'm hoping that you can finally find the peace that you deserve."

Already flushed and sniffly, Vann hiccuped, "Do I really deserve it? After everything I've done?"

"Yes, undoubtedly so." A brilliant cascade of reassurance flowed through the Force bond, glowing brighter as Bastila embraced her mentor while also providing another body to lean on. Resting her head against his shoulder, she murmured, "In fact, I dare say that you're allowed to be happy."

"If I'm supposed to be so happy then why can't I stop crying?!"

"Because you're relieved, overwhelmed, and probably still in some pain." Laughing gently, Carth cupped his partner's cheek as he gazed down with pure affection, "You've spent over a decade working to save the Republic from a threat that nobody else knew how to confront or even sense and, after all that time and sacrifice, you finally succeeded. The Republic is safe thanks to you. You're a hero three times over."

Resisting the urge to wipe his nose with the back of his hand, Vann muttered, "I don't feel like a hero."

Bastila remained close, the bond still shimmering with her unwavering support. "I think that's the best sign that you truly are one."

"And as a hero, you've earned a rest. I know that you made some type of promise to train your students to guard the Republic for generations to come but…" Carth's tone was pleading. "I'd really like to see you take a break."

"Besides, your goal of training others should be quite attainable considering that you have at least one student willing to help you achieve it." Smiling gently, the former Sentinel murmured, "You've imparted a great deal of knowledge on me over the years and it would be my pleasure to share it with others. What you've decided to do isn't a burden, it's a gift to the galaxy. There are many more Force users out there who will benefit from your guidance and the wisdom that comes from your breadth of experience."

"But for kriff sake, don't think that you have to wake up tomorrow and throw everything you have into teaching. You can do other things, too. Preferably things that don't involve running off and picking a fight with an immortal Sith, or searching for an ancient weapon left by a lost empire, or rediscovering a forgotten dark side academy…"

Hastily interrupting the pilot, Bastila clarified, "I think what Carth is trying to say is that, for perhaps the first time in your life, you can choose whatever comes next."

That concept was almost too enormous for Vann to consider, especially given how physically and emotionally exhausted he was. Throughout his existence, there had always been a larger mission for him to complete or some greater goal for him to achieve. The Jedi, the war, his mercenary work, the Star Forge, the Sith… his responsibilities had been endless. But now the only thing before him was a single, long-term plan that was easily attainable with just a little help from his many friends. It wouldn't consume all of his waking moments, nor did he want it to. He had plenty of time to do whatever he pleased, which was an idea so staggering that he couldn't think about it without the possibilities overwhelming him.

But the immediate future was easy to envision. Breathing through the last of his sobs, Vann grinned weakly at Carth. "Right now I just want a hot bath. And maybe a nap in our bed with you next to me."

The pilot nodded approvingly. "Both good choices."

A sly idea entered the former mercenary's mind. "After that, I want to finish repairing H-Kay. I know one of you did something with the control cluster that I need to get him working again. Don't deny it!"

The cold buzz of guilt breezing through the Force was all the proof that Vann needed, even before the bond slammed shut on Bastila's end. Staring accusingly as his Padawan cautiously backed away, he was about to demand exactly what she'd done with the missing part when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and carefully but purposefully pulled him away from Bastila. Despite the cracked ribs Carth had suffered during the crash, he was still more than capable of physically steering his partner through the hangar with surprisingly little effort.

Clearly determined to distract the other man, the captain cheerfully chirped, "So, how about that bath?"

Vann could easily escape the hold but the effort required was more energy than he felt like expending. So, he allowed himself to be half guided and half dragged towards the hangar exit all while continuing to glare at his apprentice over his shoulder. The effect was probably less ominous than he intended, though that didn't stop him from shouting, "I'm going to get my kriffing droid back. You both know that you can't stop me!"

Both Carth and Bastila sighed at this announcement, though they didn't deny its truth. By now even the Sith Emperor knew that there wasn't a sentient in the galaxy who could stop the Revanchist once he set his mind to something.

Read the whole chapter on AO3 or FF.net

[collymore]

Unerring proof that there are intelligent life forms across the Universe!

By Stanley Collymore   How many times is this pathetic story   going to be told when in fact it has   been going on both unceasingly   and absolutely increasingly for several   decades now? And, rather basically so   because these very dimwitted, British   pillocks are so self-evidently, literally   self-centred, rather simply nepotistic   and clearly intellectually challenged   idiots, unquestionably and basically   delusional, self-important, morons;   comprised primarily of vile trollops,   racist Karens of all ages, distinctly   and adequately, supplemented by   their simply, generally likeminded   customary piss-artistes Gammon   Queers living essentially the two   sets of them in their very deeply   embedded, naturally evilly state   of self-denial: one lot constantly   pretending to be typical women   while the other, quite laughably   so literally real men! So frankly   let's truly move on, and fittingly   expectantly hope that the likes   of obviously inept, tabloid rags   such as the Daily Mail sensibly   call it a day; since, realistically   there's distinctively nothing at   all really new, or effectively of   any interest whatsoever to be   seen in these cretins actions!   (C) Stanley V. Collymore   4 August 2023.  

Author's Remarks: Accidents are an inherent feature of life; and while it's possible to take apt measures to prevent foreseeable or likely ones there is evidently no real guaranteed process to either forestall or even avoid all accidents.

Laughably, significant numbers of you so up yourself with your fittingly egotistically styled self-importance and quite hard-core delusional notions of your biological racial superiority itself attendant with a staunch belief in your top class social significance or invariably both of these features, are in effect and quite substantially so, evidently  nothing of the kind; and quite clearly and most effectively are cast-iron examples of unequivocal accidents of birth, even if you don't want to accept that hurtful reality, or more likely than not are totally ignorant of that actuality.

A basic one night stand; where those two passing ships never ever, or did ever, really intend to meet up again. A true casual fuck where the unknown man who fathered you didn't like using condoms, as frankly it was distinctively like sucking a lollipop with the wrapper still on it; while having to ejaculate outside your biological mother's fanny was basically like having an urgent shit with his underpants still on. While on your mother's part, she didn't insist on that John using a condom because she liked feeling the real thing; and similarly, intentionally not being on contraceptives literally gave her a huge buzz and made sex much more enjoyable. Evoke any fond memories for you trollope mums out there?

Similarly involved were and still are those whoring, lascivious and adulterous wives and partners, queen, I dare say, of all that they quite earnestly surveyed and wished for. Wilfully gets pregnant by her married lover who either doesn't want to know, or it's actually consensually agreed between them that in such cases, if the woman is herself married or in a clearly meaningful relationship the cuckolded husband or her partner would unknowingly be classed as the baby's father. Significantly however in British monarchical, hereditary and aptly elite circles these cuckolded men actually  know the score; and evidently, appropriate financial payoffs to ameliorate the pain, lol, have them put a zipper on their lips and as well still be openly accepted in these most hallowed circles, do nicely, thank you!

However, for all of those obviously married whores; evidently very untrustworthy live in partners; and distinctly, clearly white racist Karen social climbers, who're undoubtedly, literally unquestionably, not that privileged or societally connected, kids conceived by such women usually go the dustbin or else left on some doorstep route, with the very fortunate few quite physically taken on by a married brother or sister of the evidently unwed mother; and subsequently, in every respect, distinctly brought up as their own child, without that said child ever knowing the true facts concerning either their birth or their real parentage. And a practice that was entrenched across Wales.

And both experience and detailed research have taught me that those who're the most castigatory and quite unwarrantedly so of others: the white racist Karens, their rather  likeminded Gammon equivalents; and also the plethora of sycophantic, odious British plebeian, monarchical serfs that obviously  readily fall into this same category of evilly, toxically verminous and quite malevolently egregious scum, are invariably without fail among the same breed of those who don't have the foggiest idea of who they literally are; and with hosts of them basically dying and never ever finding out they really were; who they quite arrogantly, concertedly and similarly, thoroughly, patently self-servingly made themselves out to be; but effectively and most significantly, truly honestly never essentially were, or really could have been! Such pathetic specimens of humanity, the lot of them! And that's putting it mildly!

As I've previously stated and once again most unequivocally reiterate here, I do emphatically and very convincingly believe that there's extraordinary intelligent life forms, call them beings if you care to, spread across the entirety of the universe of which Earth and our own galaxy, which Homo sapiens although themselves being relatively a very salient part of it, evidently all the same despite having been here for several millennia years, are unquestionably nevertheless still considerably ignorant of; and from this human perspective requisite not only to our own galaxy but likewise the broader universe, humans are undoubtedly and significantly of miniscule importance; the equivalent, in their particular case, of a solitary grain of sand, characteristically to be found on an ideally pristine and ideally tropical Barbadian beach.

Therefore, and crucially so, if any of these super extra-terrestrial beings either care to or have effectively, however temporarily or else perfunctorily, visited Earth in the past, premeditatedly so or purely accidentally as an English ship that literally got lost on the open Atlantic, eventually came across the most easterly of all the Caribbean islands Barbados, docked there - this was in 1625 - and so desperate to emulate the Spanish and Portuguese: the key European powers then with some very formative colonies of their own in South America, in climbing on that same colonial ladder, notwithstanding that Barbados: well populated, undeniably  well known to both these European Iberian powers for over 2 centuries, and who also regularly traded with it but never sought to colonize Barbados, then an integral part of the rather influential Arawak/Carib Empire that evidently stretched across the entirety of the Caribbean; these English sailors, as discernibly there wasn't any realistic entity then called Britain far less so any creation known now as the  United Kingdom so in essence they were English, simply during their respite and hospitality, clearly rather than being grateful their lives were saved thoroughly arrogantly, took to cutting into a neighbouring tree quite near where they actually came ashore in Barbados, these very letters and words:

"James K of E and of this island too." In essence, James King of England and of this island too. That tree with that quite clearly legible inscription on it remained permanently standing in its very original location and significantly also nationally protected until 1955 when it was clearly very obviously significantly damaged by Hurricane Janet and removed. Ironically,  Barbados doesn't lie at all, in the path of Caribbean hurricanes but quite rarely, as happened in 1955, has significantly been unfortunate to get the back end of some of them; and previous to the hurricane of 1955 it was 1898 one.  

Eventually on returning home to England these sailors reported what they found in Barbados; a most glowing report by them that really delighted the authorities within England; to the crucial extent that in 1627 England essentially, arbitrarily decided to colonize Barbados but self-evidently as a self-governing entity, creating the island's own parliament in 1639 that continuously  has been going unbroken ever since then and is the second oldest in the world after the House of Commons located in London England. The rest requisite to Barbados is not simply history, but quite fascinating to say the very least. Go check it out and see for yourselves how deeply and undeniably, considerably indebted most of England as well the entities Britain, and subsequently too the UK, as it became after its creation with Scotland, are to Barbados financially and in myriad other progressive respects!

Those stranded, very dozy English sailors whose lives were distinctively saved when given succour in Barbados in 1625 clearly did nevertheless make it back home thus giving rise ultimately to England becoming the colonial power and empire it ultimately did. Which prompts this question, if such a thing could essentially occur as the direct consequence of basically inept actions on the part of Earth men wasn't the proverbial sky the limit relative to far more advanced and infinitely superior, intelligent beings?

So sensibly, why then would such evidently crucially, distinctly mega-intelligent beings with the clearly, unquestionably enormous, technological skills, resolute determination and, additionally, the essential navigational knowledge and skilled expertise on how to reach Earth, having obviously arrived there only to encounter, either by observation or through physical contact a predominantly very backward species calling themselves Homo sapiens and who not once following their emergence, ever crucially ventured or actually possessed the technological skills that could enable them even temporarily to vacate their earthly home even out of very basic curiosity actually pertaining to what was basically going on around them inside their own galaxy.

Prompting me obviously to essentially ask another very pertinent question. Why then, in a patently absolutely given situation like this one would such very characteristically super, extra-terrestrial beings eventually in decidedly returning home make a point of studiously leaving behind all this valuable technology and doing so with people who significantly hadn't the foggiest idea of what it was, or essentially what to do with it. And if such technology was accidentally or enforcedly through a mishap, like an accident to one of these super beings space crafts, it still doesn't explain why with the technology to essentially get to Earth in the first place, a recovery space craft wasn't dispatched to physically retrieve this crucial technology and likewise the damaged space vehicle?

And why is this allegedly extra-terrestrial, super technology that's being found and also surreptitiously we're quite earnestly led to believe, generally not only located within the USA, but uniquely and literally very obviously exclusively hoarded there too? The USA is only 247 years old. Iran completely in contrast, is fundamentally one of the quite oldest nations basically situated on Earth, with this undoubtedly rather impressive, unbroken history that quite unquestionably clearly dates back tens of thousands of years. Essentially, crucially significantly important as well, China is similarly an ancient civilisation, however as in the case of Iran we never hear of the phenomenal findings, or the discovery of extra-terrestrial technology within these countries or any others for that matter! Just simply the USA.

The equivalent in Earth terms of obviously paying considerably far more attention to what a toddler actually tells you regarding an incident while blissfully either ignoring or actually fundamentally discarding what essentially, clearly seasoned, trustworthy adults basically divulge to you. Prompting another question. Why would undoubtedly significantly, thoroughly obviously, basically super intelligent extra-terrestrials purposely ignore Earth's actually ancient civilisations for all those several millennia of years just to incomprehensively deal with a 247 year old kid, the USA, quite newly on the block? But it's significantly what the West's most dominant power clearly and self-servingly wants the lot of you to obviously think and even believe; and so you idiotically as well as fawningly go along with it!

Which obviously brings me to my very last and significantly, distinctly crucial element in all of this literally contrived, intellectually challenged and pathetic baloney regarding aliens on Earth. However, prior to my quite sensibly and logically doing so let me also Express the very sane view that it wouldn't be in the least either uncommon or simply unnatural for essentially literally genuinely extra-terrestrial beings to in effect actually want to check out Earth residents if rather seriously they thought that in doing so was either crucial to their interests, or evidently significantly beneficial to them in doing so. No different basically, to you checking out new neighbours undoubtedly for your very own personal reasons. Nevertheless such a categorically distinctly, specifically initial association effectively only continues and undeniably essentially prospers if you and your neighbours discernibly basically have much in common actually with each other and do want that relationship to continue; otherwise you go your separate ways.

So what other than rabid arrogance on the part of today's narcissistic Homo sapiens  makes you think that because some of you can now shoot a few fireworks beyond the surface of the Earth, but still haven't as yet acquired the requisite capability to actually even temporarily leave the environment of our galaxy that Homo sapiens are actually of any interest: either real or imaginary, to specifically enlightened and, undoubtedly unquestionably too, really significantly far superior intelligently, aptly extra-terrestrial life forms!

But yes! There are aliens on Mother Earth, several millions of them to be precise that are liberally dotted across our planet. Very noticeably so in Australia, New Zealand, in South Africa, neighbouring Zimbabwe and other parts of Africa; basically throughout the entire region known as Latin America; equally too the Caribbean Islands, Canada and crucially, rather significantly the USA, where at the last official census count in 2020 there were in effect 231.9 million of them.  

These aliens actually well-known generally to the several other indigenous inhabitants of Earth and were themselves undoubtedly preceded there in multiple millennia terms, being in effect distinctly the last beings to arrive on Earth, have a tendency to always want to control everything; invariably quite  delusionally, usually regard themselves as vastly superior to every other living person or thing; actually have a marked penchant for genocide and malevolently odious acts of barbarism in complete conjunction with several other forms of evidently egregious behaviour; love nothing better than clearly, actually and tenaciously clinging on to the countries, lands, other properties and also the wealth, and natural resources of those people that they've brutally purloined them from; yet very conceitedly want that region of Earth where they regard as their own to be inviolate of people who obviously don't look like them! And who exactly are these Aliens? Distinctively white Caucasians!

[aluckiicoin]

Of course the general would prefer an open confrontation. He'd spare him the painful truth that he will and would have to deal with plots to assassinate or dethrone him eventually. Fascinating how that hadn't happened yet. Maybe no one wanted to be General instead. It did sound like a very stressful and demanding job. Aventurine didn't think that there were many people who could face Jing Yuan on the battlefield to begin with. The blonde pulls forth a sympathetic chuckle.

“Oh, I certainly cannot recommend it. Makes one age faster than intended.”, the stress, the lack of sleep, the ever increasing weight on one's shoulders.

More is never enough after all. Pleased about the consequences? What a joke, if they heard the truth they were more likely to scorn the IPC for their decisions. What he saw and read of the guild and Luofu?

They wouldn't like a punishment equalling working oneself to death. And they were right of course. He schools his expression into a sentimental smile

“I'm sure your people would've shown Skott more kindness.”, it was the truth. The IPC was unreasonably cruel as was their ideal of capitalism. He always thought it was a very distasteful joke they claimed loyalty to Qlipoth.

Lost in thought it took a while to refocus on the general in front of him. Oh, how kind. It would have been easy to drag him in front of a crowd and ridicule him for an easy out. Maybe the other was in for the long run – unsurprisingly given that the natives lived so much longer than anyone else. Yes, more security for the cargo was a given. And yes, the man's judgement on the situation was undoubtedly correct.

The merchant guild wouldn't trust people hired by the IPC. But they wouldn't trust people financed by them either.

And that was the important bit. The person in front of him was smart and cunning but clearly knew nothing of the abysses lurking in people. And his offer showed that clearly.

Reparations, was the honest name of what the man asked for. Ah, if he could he would just settle with that. Sadly, the general's plan had some serious flaws.

Yet he refused to call them out clearly. The man was smart, he'd figure it out regardless

“Putting any of your natives under the payroll or support of the IPC would surely lead to more rumours of bribes.” It would even give more options to do so. They were already on the IPCS payroll then, any higher payment would be swiped under the rug if it was a negligible sponsoring instead of an actual employment.

“Anything going wrong? It's us, it's us because of you – when it happens.”, he shrugged, a dismissive gesture followed. “Your people will expect things to go haywire any second.”, letting the IPC pay for the controls without any influence wasn't just a bad deal because they wouldn't get any coin out of it – it was also a genuinely bad idea.

“So – put it under all native control. But, if they fail to pay again, the next time I might be here might not be on friendly terms.”, and he wouldn't fail like Skott did. He already had a plan or two at the ready. “I'd prefer a solution that helps the both of us.”

[mochikeiji]

Strong Sorcerers

Request: "Halo! Are your event still opened? If it is, can i get prompt 8, 18, 27, angst for Gojo? Im in the mood for angst fic."

8. "Say something, please"

18. "I've lost so many before, I'm not about to lose you too"

27. "Hey, look at me. Keep your eyes open"

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x Reader

↠ Warning: angst, tw: blood, death, mentions of Gojo's arc

↬ Word Count: 2.1k

↠ a/n: i had to be sad and cry just to write this one. And the atmosphere was quiet which sets the mood so yeah, I'm still sobbing ;-;

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event

Above all he was. Who would've thought after the ruins of his high school year would turn him into someone who only acknowledges those who were up against his might. Where was the babbling idiot who'd always enter enter your room unannounced just to share even the stupidest topic or his sweets with you? Who was this man that stood in front of you, the harmless teasing spat venom towards your existence.

"Honestly, I thought you would've grown a bit of a pair, (y/n)."

You couldn't speak, not when he's always first to beat you to it. There was no telling apart whether he was scoffing out as a joke. Or he really thought that this was a waste of his time to improve his own skills.

"You're still as weak as before. That's ashamed."

Ever since Riko. Ever since Geto.

Gojo Satoru was no longer the man he was before. You've prayed he's grown into a fine teacher, a role model for the new generation. He was undoubtedly still hilarious, but what was it that made his perspective of you change so drastically over the years? Weren't you his favorite he said? The very day you two were sparing. He even acknowledged the little things you do. What was any difference when you still treated him with the same kindness and admiration as before? After all, He and Shoko were the only remains of your small family.

"Seriously, you need to keep your head up and be more wary of things. Do you want to die fast?" he said during your faceoff with a special graded curse. To your relief, Gojo had appeared just in time to clean up the mess. You weren't technically a bad sorcerer, heck Mei Mei wouldn't go a day of complimenting you whenever she meets up with you. If anything, your level was just beneath Geto's. Anyone would say it would be a waste of talent if you hadn't pursue it, but it wasn't that you wasted such precious gift.

It was because it meant causing your life.

A foreign technique that was not mastered for decades nor by any of the powerful clans. It was a double edged sword; your domain. No matter how gifted you were, there always came a dreadful price. Geto, Shoko and Gojo were the only people who knew of this. Even told you right from the bat to never use it just for the sake of defeating a curse. It was a selfish desire, but they'd rather deal with the mess than lose a precious friend.

That was before.

"Sometimes you really just have to go all out if you want to prove you're strong. Depending on me and other's is a hindrance, (Y/n). What if one of us died? You don't want that to pull you down for the rest of your life now, would you?"

"I wasn't depending on anyone! I did fine by myself, Satoru!" you argued once the last bit of curse was gone. The mission that the first years were assigned to was yet again another sabotage by the higher ups in other to annihilate the vessel. "I-I was doing fine! I swear!" you wailed after hearing him scoff. It was getting frustrating to see the man you used to love look at you with such unknown emotion never shown to anyone but you.

As if he despises you the most.

"You didn't do shit, (Y/n). Did you even feel yourself get tired? Have you even used maximum parts of your powers? You would've handled it if you finished it all from the first place!"

He misses the way your expression broke into the one thing he promised he'd never cause; Hurt. Pain written all over as your eyes started to get teary when he began walking away from the scene.

"What changed, Satoru? What did I ever do you to become such a fucking jackass all of a sudden?!" you needed to know. You were tired of being beaten and pierced by needles as if you were some rag doll by him. The one thing you wanted back was the old Satoru. Where he looked at you not only as his equal, but someone he cares about. The one you knew in love.

Without missing a heartbeat, no hesitation laced upon his words, he spoke,

"You're just not strong enough to look after yourself. It's honestly dragging every one down." and your heart broke into two as he resumes walking away, "It's time to grow up. We can't always stay forever where you think it's safe."

Those were the final moments you've had longer with Gojo. It would've been pleasant if you two went out like always. Maybe even eat out to that kikufuku shop in Sendai he promised before. He always did love sharing his meals, never fond of eating on his own. Maybe if you did grow a pair and ask him out, he wouldn't be such a jerk to you, right? Maybe then he would've been a little nicer as he usually was.

Maybe you wouldn't have to spend your last moments laying down on a bloodied, concrete floor alone.

So many maybe's you wished you could've done and known.

It was an unexpected turn of events sadly. You had thought you were facing only a 2nd grade curse, but it turned out to be a set up. Some random blue haired guy with stitches all over his body along with a smaller curse that possesses the ability of volcanic heat and destruction came after you. You wanted to make a run for it after analyzing the enemies techniques. It was far beyond your range to even exorcist them. You needed to report back, knowing this could be more than trouble.

"You're just not strong enough to look after yourself. It's honestly dragging every one down."

You think to yourself that he was right. The millions of voices at the back of your head screaming no on what you're about to attempt. From that moment you prayed once more, surprising both curses when they see the smile that held gratitude and tears streaming down, "Watch me, Gojo."

I can be strong.

On that designated area, strong sorcerers and veterans besides Gojo felt that massive wave being released. Enough to send him to overdrive because of the unusual sense of power released by you.

He didn't want to think of the worse case possible as he was now carrying your limping, shattered body in his arms.

"Hey, look at me. Keep your eyes open."

He couldn't teleport back. Your body was junked up badly, it would become more fatal if he teleported someone with him, to which he's never tried to avoid unnecessary circumstances. But he couldn't keep his breathing calm as he's doing his best to be quick and careful to being you back to Shoko's in time.

You noticed how his blindfold was off when he arrived. That may be the possible reason he's found you, he may have even scanned the area in search of the two curses who sadly escaped your domain, but indeed at death's door now because of the never foreseen power.

"G-gojo."

"Shut up and save your breath." his legs shakes a bit when he feels your finger trace below his chin. He was here again to pick you up as always. But this time, there were no mean remarks exchanged. "You're a fucking idiot. I told you to never use that!" his hold around you tightens when he sees the building Shoko was in.

"I w-wanted to be strong..for you." you kept your eyes locked to his face. The slightest bite on his lips meant he was in trouble. The wavering of his eyes meant that they were on the verge of crying. Your heart clenched at the thought of Gojo being hurt once again, he's been through so much.

"You are strong! I didn't mean you have to show me to that extent, stupid! You're never weak to begin with for fucks sake."

"But you said—"

"Fucking hell (Y/n) I only wanted you to be safe. I didn't want to lose you. No more.."

At Shoko's doorstep, she immediately let's him in. Even she couldn't contain her emotions when she saw your state. These injuries were fatal, she's couldn't.

"Shoko, do something please." he hugs your body closer, without a care of the blood smearing through his skin and clothes.

"Satoru, you know these aren't—"

"Please, just do what you can."

Gojo chokes a sob for when you visibly nuzzle yourself comfortably in his embrace, "I've lost so many before, I'm not about to lose you too" he cries, settling you down on the bed in preparations with Shoko beside you. You can no longer feel her hands worked their way through your limbs and torso as your senses had became numb. You can only look at them in through mixed tears and blood before mustering up last bits of your strength to wipe away Gojo's, "Did you know, I loved you, Satoru?"

He sniffles but nods. Shoko just chuckling bitterly at the fact you chose this timing to spill your feelings, "Of course I did. Every one did, you idiot." whilst holding your hand, "I really thought you hated me, y'know." smiling sadly to Shoko, she understood the downfall of your friendship with the guy, "I only wanted you to know I was strong..that I can be like you guys."

"I never hated you. God.." heaving out a sob, Gojo presses his the tip of his nose to yours, glossy lips close to your bloody one, "Please— just, (Y/n), you know I never meant every thing I said." time seemed to stopped the same second Shoko's hands disappeared from attending your body. No longer finding any hope of improvement as you start to breathe slowly.

"I didn't mean it. I promise. I'm sorry. Just please, don't leave me too." he should've turned back when he had the chance that very day. To wipe away the tears that streamed down on your face and tell you all the things he wishes you could've heard earlier. If he hadn't let his own self dwell on the strings of his past, he would've become the monster he was today, initiating a horrible attempt to push you away to safety, but only closer to death.

You weren't the one who was weak. It was him from the beginning.

"I love you, too. I have even before I knew you did too." he cups your cheeks before giving you a kiss on the lips. Your heart was relieved; he didn't hate you. You were strong in his eyes still. And he loved you.

Someone please, protect your friends. Keep Gojo in company, you thought. The kids to live longer and away from the curses and wickedness of people. You wish you could've known all of this to cherish the slightest bit if happiness that was now within your reach. How cruel faith has played with you, gifted one.

Thank you, Satoru.

"(Y/n)?"

Swollen eyes with fresh tears at its awakening, he gathers up the courage. Even though he can hear Shoko's sobs behind her hands, even when his six eyes no longer detect any source of light in you, he looks back to your lovely features. Thumb tugging the corner of your lips as if he was trying to bring back the smile he's ruined and shun away.

"Say something, please."

That very day was a huge loss for both remaining teammates. What could've been now, all turns into ashes. He couldn't let go of you still no matter who pried him off of you. At least for a moment, he wanted to hold you longer than he should've.

However, for someone, it was one step closer to their plan. Watching the two curses groan in pain, the wounds inflicted on them was going to take longer recovery than expected.

"It was good that Hanami was able to retrieve you both."

Light chuckling can be heard from the source watching the two males in distress.

"You were not wrong about that sorcerer. Such a shame another strong one had to bite the dust." Hanami speaks whilst leaning against the wall, half of his body cut off from when your domain was inflicted.

"I know, funny how the soul in this one seems to be quite angry of me." he points at the arm that was choking him by the neck, baffling Mahito before going back to soothe the excruciating pain.

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

"You're next, Gojo Satoru."

[cherrycheridarling]

"that was painfully sexist" | t.h.

marvel cast x actress!reader

warnings: sexism and swearing

summary: at a panel for the new avenger's film, the questions differ drastically between the female and male actors on stage.

wc: 1.4k

"Okay, a microphone is coming your way, sir."

"Hi! I'm Leonard with Pop Times Blog. My question is for Y/N." your eyes found the bearded man who stood amongst the crowd of reporters.

You nodded, signalling for him to continue, "Playing Silk or Cindy Moon must've came with a lot of challenges. One of them being the costume you are in for most of the film. Can you speak about that and how it fit?" he paused at your skeptical expression, "Like, we all know the suit is skin tight, so did you eat anything special or workout a lot and are you able to wear anything underneath it? Or do you wear a thong and no bra?"

You let out an unenthusiastic chuckle at his question. Beside you, you could hear your cast mates scoffing under their breath. It was common for the women of the MCU to get asked such questions and it saddened you that people normalized such a thing.

Leaning forward, you clasped your hands together and smiled before Robert reached behind Tom Holland and tapped your shoulder, "Would you like me to say something?"

You shook your head, but gave him a grateful grin before returning to the 'man' that asked you such a question, while maintaining eye contact you spoke, "Well, I think the most difficult part about wearing the Silk costume is taking it off after a long day because of how sweaty I get after shooting," you began to fan yourself dramatically, "It all just clings to my body like a second skin and since I am completely nude underneath, it just adds to the problem." sarcasm dripped from your lips as your cast mates snickered at your words.

You quietly laughed to yourself, "I'm only kidding. That question seemed like such a joke that I presumed you expected a joking answer." you cleared your throat, "In all seriousness, it's an honour wearing the suit and I did visit the gym and do some physical fitness regularly to prepare for the role, as did all my cast mates. As for what I wore underneath," you grinned cheekily, having too much fun messing with the reporter, "A Spider-Man onesie was my go-to."

The whole room let out laughs at your words as Tom grabbed your hand and gave you a small squeeze, feeling sorry that you had to answer such absurd questions.

"I hope everyone doesn't sexualize Cindy Moon. She's only a teenager in the film, so keep it in your pants people. That shit is illegal." Anthony pointed an accusing finger at the crowd.

"Thank you for your thoughtful question, Leonard!" Scarlett spoke up, "I hope you got the answer you were looking for."

"Okay, next person."

You sat back in your seat and fiddled with Tom's fingers as the questions were asked towards your cast mates.

"You handled that impressively well, love." Tom whispered in your ear.

You gave him a smile and a shrug before your name got called again, "My question is for Y/N and Tom Holland." a lady with curly blonde hair stood up, "Since Silk and Spider-Man's abilities are very similar, did you two bond over that during shooting or did it cause some rivalry between your characters due to the similarities?"

You felt a wave of relief at the question, thankful that it wasn't another sexist one. Tom looked at you before answering.

"Yeah, yeah. We bonded a lot over that fact and I don't think it caused any rivalry between us. I hope not." he chuckled before you leaned towards the mic.

"No, no. No rivalry. Just a lot of banter about whose character is stronger and who swings around better. It's a lot of fun having someone on set whose stunts are basically the same as yours. And Tom and I have both agreed that Silk is faster and better than Spider-Man." you said that last part quickly drawing laughs and a gasp from Tom.

He looked at you incredulously, "Not true! Spider-Man's suit is so much cooler than Silk's." he huffed like a child.

You smirked, "Who makes their webbing in a high school chemistry class and who has organic silk coming out of her fingertips that she also used to create her own suit?"

Your friends laughed at the banter beside you before Sebastian started to speak, "I have to agree with Y/N on this one. Silk also has that cool ass eidetic memory."

Chris Evans agreed, "And her Silk Sense is a thousand times stronger than Spider-Man's Spidey Sense."

"Isn't she able to know who an attacker is before she even sees them?" Hemsworth asked to which everyone nodded.

"Sorry, Spidey. Silk's just a top tier hero." Robert patted his shoulder as Tom sulked.

The questions began again as the laughter died down. You leaned over to Tom's ear, "Still love the actor who plays Spider-Man even if his character is inferior to mine." he shook his head with a smile at your words.

Questions ranged from the generic ones of the funniest moments on set to who's most likely to become a villain. Your nerves died down as no incompetent person asked another sexist question. Until one did.

"I have a question for Y/N." she was short with jet black hair, "Being around all these attractive men must be a challenge for you as a young female adult. It couldn't have been easy to control yourself around them. Have you had any sexual relationships with any of them or thought about engaging in any?"

Your jaw hung open at her words and before you could muster up a retort, Tom let his anger get the best of him. Was it his anger, his jealousy or his protectiveness? A mix of all three.

"That was painfully sexist." he spoke into the microphone. "I don't see how any of that is relevant to the film. Y/N is an outstanding actress and it's outrageous that you decide to focus on who she fucks rather than her talent."

"What in the actual fuck did she just ask?" Sebastian added, making you laugh.

Chris Evans spoke up next, "Indeed. I thought this was a promotion for the movie not a real life dating app."

Benedict chuckled, "I fail to see how Y/N's private life holds any relevancy to this panel or the film itself."

"It's twenty-nineteen, people! Leave your sexist ass shit at home!" Anthony exclaimed drawing claps from the cast.

Elizabeth shook her head, "I've had my fair share of inappropriate questions, but nothing as horrid as that."

"First y'all ask about her underwear, now you ask about her sex life? Jesus Christ." Scarlett pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Seriously, she's like a daughter to me. That was incredibly disrespectful." Robert added with a disappointed head shake.

Similar comments were added by the rest of the cast as you felt an overwhelming amount of love wash over you. You were so unimaginably grateful for the people next to you.

"You don't have to answer that." Paul Bettany reminded you.

You shook your head and cleared your throat, "Thank you, guys." you looked to your cast mates, "But I'll answer. No, I have not. This cast is my second family and I've grown greatly as a person with them. I'm immensely thankful for the opportunity to call them my friends. And I agree, these men sitting up here with me are undoubtedly attractive, but they are also a great pain in the ass at times," everyone laughed at your choice of words, "And have I thought about having sex with any of them? Nope. Just Scar, Zoe and Liz." you finished with a wink as the room clapped for you.

You couldn't help but to feel a slight bit of sympathy for the woman. Her question was, without a doubt, uncalled for and unbelievably sexist, but the comments from the cast must've made this her most embarassing moment.

"I'm sure you meant no harm with your question. But a little heads up for next time; most actors prefer to talk about their career and their films rather than who they are laying in bed with. But thank you for coming out. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day." you gave her a genuine smile as she cowered back into her seat.

Robert once again reached over and gave your shoulder a squeeze, proud of how you handled the situation.

Tom interlaced your fingers with his and rubbed small circles on your knuckles.

You really were at home with these people and you couldn't have asked for a better family.

[antidotefortheawkward-art]

I just got into the Lego Monkie Kid fandom recently, and I must ask. How do you feel about the Wukong/Macaque shipping? I've seen a lot of people say it's inappropriate because they're commonly interpreted as brothers. But others say it's okay cause it's not set in stone and lmk has changed some details on the original story, including Wukong & Mac's relationship.

I will be frank and say that Sun Wukong x Liu'er Mihou (Six-Eared Macaque) shipping grosses me the hell out, and it is one of the biggest reasons I'm hesitant in involving myself with the Lego Monkie Kid fandom, due to its domination of the fandom.

This will be a long post, so here's a bulleted TLDR:

I feel it is unfair to consider LMK independent from JTTW, given just how much LMK draws from JTTW.

I feel that the fandom's earnestness to detach LMK from JTTW does not consider how LMK is a Chinese piece of media and is thus insensitive of JTTW's place in Chinese culture.

JTTW functions as a Buddhist allegory. Within this, Six-Eared Macaque represents Sun Wukong's flaws and strife, and is literally created from him. Therefore sharing the same DNA while being two separate people, functionally siblings. Which is what has led Chinese popular culture to commonly interpret these two as such.

That being said, even if LMK makes them beyond a shadow of a doubt not siblings, I still think it's gross to ship people who were siblings in the source material. Shipping is not the only way to interact with media.

Why It's Important to Consider JTTW in Relation to LMK

While Lego Monkie Kid has changed details in the original story, I do not think it's fair to consider it as independent from Journey to the West. As a Chinese person, I feel the fandom's earnestness to separate JTTW from LMK is insensitive at best.

Journey to the West is one of the 四大名著 [Four Classical Novels of China]. Not only that, it is arguably the most accessible of the four, and as such, it occupies a very special place in Chinese culture. JTTW is a story everyone grows up with, whether it be the actual text, adaptations, or even just a bedtime story from a family member. Nearly everyone can name the main pilgrims, notable antagonists, chapter titles, and weapon names. The story is basically a backdrop to everyday life due to how much it's casually referenced, whether it be in pop culture or even food names. As such, much of the story is considered general knowledge. Changing details and rewriting parts of JTTW for an adaptation is expected because everyone's already so intimately familiar with the original story. It doesn't make an adaptation any less of an adaptation. With the case of LMK, I don't think you can reasonably consider it independent of JTTW. Not only are the majority of the cast lifted directly from JTTW, but Qi Xiaotian makes a point to directly quote chapter titles in the literal first and second episodes. If you want to call LMK anything, it's honestly a fan continuation.

Similar to how I've spoken on my discomfort regarding people using the Arthur Waley names for the pilgrims, I'm uncomfortable with people detaching LMK from JTTW because it feels like an avoidance of the original Chinese culture and context. LMK was originally produced with a Chinese audience in mind. As such, the target audience would have gone into LMK with the cultural context JTTW holds. Detaching JTTW is insensitive to the original intent of the producers, insensitive to the fact that LMK was produced for an audience that isn't just white westerners, and insensitive to JTTW. Therefore I think it is disrespectful to consider LMK without considering JTTW.

It will take time to understand Journey to the West, especially if you're not a fan who grew up with the story. However, I believe that if you're interacting with media from a culture not your own, you hold a responsibility to take measures in order to interact with said media and its culture respectfully. If creators are going to share an important part of their culture with you, then it is common decency and courtesy to interact responsibly. It's better to expend the effort to familiarize yourself with JTTW than to act insensitively, watering down its significance for the sake of digestibility.

Sun Wukong and Six-Eared Macaque within JTTW

Before going into my JTTW-grounded reasons for being uncomfortable with Sun Wukong x Six-Eared Macaque, I'd like to make a point in bringing up how JTTW is, at its core, a very Buddhist story and that you cannot, in good faith, separate the religious aspects from this story. JTTW is often read as a Buddhist allegory, and as with any allegory, thoughtful analysis and interpretation is a must.

(Chapter 58- Photos from my copy of 西游记 and screenshots from Vol. 3 of Anthony C. Yu's translation)

Please note the title of Chapter 58 uses the wording 二心 for "two minds" and that these are the same characters for 二心, the Buddhist concept of double-mindedness referenced in the screenshots below.

(Screenshots of Anthony C. Yu's JTTW footnotes regarding the Buddhist thought behind Six-Eared Macaque, provided by my friend @uwukong -who has xyr own post with further reading on interpretation of Six-Eared Macaque functionally being Sun Wukong's brother)

It is commonly accepted that Six-Eared Macaque was literally created from Sun Wukong and is a personification of his strife, his flaws, and the things generally holding him back from the true path to enlightenment. Some adaptations go as far as to depict Sun Wukong in genuine pain when killing Six-Eared Macaque since the act of killing Six-Eared is actually hurting a part of himself. While "sibling" may not be the completely technically correct term for their relationship, Six-Eared Macaque shares DNA with Sun Wukong, since he was created from Sun Wukong. However, as a separate person with identical genetics, Six-Eared Macaque is functionally his sibling. If you have to pull the "technically it's not incest" card, then I don't really think there's ground to stand on. The "grey area" this ship resides in is too thoroughly debunked by the text.

That being said, even if LMK decides to change Sun Wukong and Six-Eared Macaque to be explicitly, unequivocally, undoubtedly unrelated, I still find it really uncomfortable to ship characters who were brothers in the source material.

Please don't go through such lengths to ignore the original text and its significant Buddhist context just to justify a ship. There are other ways to interact with media other than shipping. I'm a gay Chinese man and I too want to see more gay rep in Chinese media, but let me tell you, the monkey brothers are not a healthy place to look for them.

[all-about-seggs]

Cream puff-

Levi, Zeke, Reiner and Jean x Chubby! Reader

┗Fandom- Attack on Titan

┗ Warnings- Headcanons, smut, creampie, mommy kink, cunnilingus, breeding kink, also don't ask me why I chose that title ಠ_ಠ

┗ Levi Ackerman

Look, he's already short

He has muscles but that doesn't change his stature all that much so you're most likely going to be bigger than him.

The size difference doesn't bother him, because if he's in a relationship with you then it's probably bc of your personality.

He feels at home when your wrap your plump arms around him, he may or may not reciprocate but he loves it.

Awkward at giving compliments, all Levi's gonna do is stare at you when he wants to tell you that you look good but not with the death stare he has most of the time.

It's subtle, the softness in his features and the glint in his eyes when he admires your chubby form quietly.

He's not ashamed when it comes to staring at you and he has an eye for catching all the details.

Since cleaning is his forte, the first thing he does when he takes your cloths off is lick your kitty clean with utmost professionalism.

Whenever he looks at your stomach fold when he lifts your knees flush to your chest, all bulging and soft, raging thoughts of breeding you like a cow flows in Levi's mind and he makes it a point to watch his cum drip out of your aching pussy everytime he fucks you raw.

He's humanity's Hottest strongest soldier if you even think for a second that he's not gonna be able to lift your 200 pound ass up in the bathroom wall to stuff you full of himself then he will undoubtedly demonstrate it for you.

TRY him.

Simps for your- Thighs

┗ Zeke Jaeger

He's a shameless one.

Expect a lot of dirty jokes whenever he's not at work (or maybe even there he doesn't really care when he wants to see you embarrassed).

Stuff like how you don't need a chair when you have his face or how he's gonna train his shoulders extra hard so that you can have better knee resters .Pls wack his cringey ass

Whether you're the busty kind or the one with the ass kinda chubby he'll spend hours fondling and / or squishing them casually.

The two of you could be doing laundry together and Zeke will just slip one hand under your shirt and give your boob/ ass a good squeeze and just laughs when you swat his hand away.

Face sitting is a big thing for him and some playful pinching which can get slightly painful but he loves it when you whine and cry out for him.

He's pretty tall and mascular so you don't have to worry about smothering him either, he'll take your weight with a string of praises.

His beard tickling your inner thighs and ass adds on to the pleasure his tongue provides and you have to stop and wonder how is he so good at it.

Will try to use you as a body pillow afterwards tho.

Simps for your- Ass

┗ Reiner Braun

He loves loves loves playing the manly man in both the bedroom and outside it.

Your body build doesn't change anything for him bc he'll treat you like a glass doll no matter what.

Reiner makes it his personal mission to always have you on his lap or on top of him in general since it gives him easy access to all your squishy folds.

Speaking of you being on top, he melts quite literally when you cockwarm him.

Just the thought of having your warm pussy envelope his cock gets him going, like you don't even have to move bc he'll do all the work.

Grabbing your plump tummy he thrusts his hips upwards as you straddle him makes his manliness go down the drain and he just moans out your name while cumming.

Spooning sex is also one of his favourite bc he gets to watch your fleshy body giggle with each of his thrusts. He's rough and fast and he lives for your cries of pleasure.

Simps for your - Tummy

┗ Jean Kirstein

He acts all cool and composed but the slightest bit of skin makes him go ballistic.

He loves it all, boobs, tummy, ASS he's in it for everything.

A day doesn't go by when he doesn't suck on your boobs. He's blushing and complaining but his little nibs and licks on your nipples are enough to show his compliance.

Mommy kink!!

Probably started out as a joke but the way he moans when you pet his head while giving him a handjob definitely gave his fetish away.

He's 6'3 with a dash of fragile masculinity so in the off chance that you're bigger than him, it's going to take A LOT of coaxing to get him to sit on your lap.

He might just settle for resting his head of your chest or letting you be the big spoon. Begrudgingly

Simps for your- Boobs

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.2

Part one

Summary: Too quickly does the Darkling find his rogue Sun Summoner, but his arrogance will cost him. 

Warnings: slight fluff, angst

==========================

Faith – Y/N’s floated away from her a very long time ago, like a leaf being pulled away on the tide, and into the sea to become lost and alone, likely drowned. But she had faith in Aleksander. She always trusted him, not doubting he’d protect her. That’s why this is much more painful than it had to be.

“Running doesn't matter, I'll hunt you down if I have to.” Kirigan spoke through gritted teeth, as if he knew she could hear him, feel the palpable anger and betrayal he struggled to contain.

And still she ran. She ran without looking back, cutting through the forest with her breath caught in her throat. She ran, flinching with branches leaving cuts across her face, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, he’d find her and if he found her, Y/N didn’t know if they’d both walk away unharmed.

Finding a cave, she ventured inside. She sat curled up against a wall, shivering in the darkness. She clutched the kefta she wore in Little palace, clinging to his already faded scent. Just hours ago, his arms were wrapped around her, his lips claimed hers. She was his, undoubtedly in love with the very man who turned out to be the enemy.

A sob escapes her, whimpering as her hand covers her mouth to assure her silence. Risking being found because she needs to cry is stupid. Aleksander would expect her to cry.

“Where have you been?” The Grisha asks, breathless as it seems.

His presence alone commands awe, respect and his charisma can make any human stop and forget what they’re doing so long as it pleases him. He is magnetic, electric, someone you can get lost in before knowing what’s happening.

“Answer me.” He insists, lower his head to her level. His eyes narrow at her quivering lips, just then realizing she’s shaking.

“Leave us!” He orders the Grisha who came running once the light reached them outside the tent.

He taps her shoulder, the air around them turning static with contact, “What is happening?” Her shaky voice sounds and his eyes soften.

“You truly don’t know?” Raising an eyebrow, the Grisha steadies Y/N before letting her go. “My name is general Kirigan and you”, he points at her, his forehead wrinkling momentarily, “are the Sun summoner.”

A breathless chuckle escapes her, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m a map-maker.”

“No”, Kirigan raises an eyebrow. He steps closer, his hands gripping her arms gently, “You are a Grisha.”

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flood with tears. One by one, they make tracks down her cheeks, stunning Kirigan.

“You need not worry”, wiping the tears off her left cheek with his thumb, Kirigan smiles softly, “I will protect you.”

Huffing, Y/N shakes her head. “I never should have trusted him.”

Suddenly, she felt her airways constrict. Gasping for air, she clutches her chest, unable to breathe or think clearly. Darkness etched into her vision, blurring it until there was nothing left. She felt her mind drift, the last she heard was a whisper she once adored.

“I’ll carry her back.” Aleksander states, his eyes never moving from her. He didn’t expect to find her, especially not as quickly as he did, but the ring she wore lead them straight to her location. Once again, she trusted the wrong person and once again, it brought them closer together.

Upon his return, he had laid her on his bed, hoping to speak to her somewhat peacefully this time around. If she could just feel the way his heart aches for her, maybe then she’d believe him he’d never do anything to bring her harm.

Groggy, Y/N groans. Her hand moves to her forehead, rubbing her temples.

“You’re safe”, Aleksander tells her, but the sound of his voice made her open her eyes wide, sitting up so quickly her vision blurred.

��St-stay away!” She pushed herself back, hitting the headboard.

“I won’t hurt you. I saved your life." Kirigan leans in, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"How? By taking my freedom, mind and identity?" She snaps at him, her nostrils flared with frustration and anger bubbling up to the surface.

"The chains are broken now.” Kirigan sighs, “You know the truth.” Wetting his lips, his eyebrows knit together, “Are you really free?"

Shaking her head, she narrows her eyes at him, "You are still my captive, no matter how beloved you once were."

Giggling, Y/N stumbles back and into the table. A few figurines fall to the ground, but it doesn’t seem to phase Aleksander who smirks as he rests his hands at each side of the table, essentially trapping her.

Raising an eyebrow, she looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Are you about to ravish me, oh sweet Darkling?”

Chuckling, he cranes his neck just enough for the tip of his nose to brush hers. Hearing her inhale sharply and hold her breath, Aleksander couldn’t help but peck her lips. It felt innocent enough, something that wouldn’t scare her but would satisfy his need to feel her closer to him.

“Don’t go looking for trouble, sunshine”, his lips twitch, amused how her hands have clutched his hips, pulling him closer to her.

“Maybe I like trouble”, she whispers, breathing heavily so much so he could count each and every breath passing the lips he wished her could kiss for an eternity, uninterrupted.

Biting her lower lip, her hand rests on his left cheek, caressing the scruffy beard with her thumb. “Come on, Darkling”, she teases, “What are you afraid of?”

“You”, he responds without a second thought. His response came so quickly, catching Y/N off guard. “I’m afraid of loving you”, he exhales through his nose, his clenching under the palm of her hand before he speaks again, “Afraid of losing you.”

“Please”, crosses his lips and Y/N’s heart skips a beat. Aleksander is a man of many virtues, but begging wasn’t one of them. He’s the man who demands and makes things happen. Such men don’t strike you as someone who plead often. And this was Aleksander pleading, asking her to do something irrational, to trust him, the only thing she couldn’t do.

“What could you possibly say to make this okay?” She swallows thickly, averting her gaze as if looking at him for too long could destroy her very essence.

"They called me the Darkling as an insult. You were the only one who used it as a term of endearment." Aleksander reaches for her hand, but she pulls away once again. “Let me put your mind at peace.”

Pressing her lips, she exhales through her nose, “You made me into a weapon. I'll never find peace.”

“I didn’t make you into anything”, he remarks, “You were born as my equal, to be my other half.”

Nodding to herself, she swipes her thumb under her left eye, “I sure feel like your equal now”, glancing at him she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her bottom lip, “You can still do the right thing. I believe there is a good person inside of you. The man I fell in love with must be somewhere underneath the darkness you're flaunting. Be him.”

His eyes narrow, clouded by his own sorrow, “It's too late to go back. You can't even look at me.” Standing, with his back turned on her, Aleksander allows tears to fill his eyes, “Do you even love me?”

“Of course I still love you, but trusting you is a different question.” With a heavy sigh parting her lips, she stands too. “You can’t force me to stay with you and expect unconditional love. That’s not how this works.”

Blinking fast, Aleksander refused to look at her. All she’d see is his weakness – his feelings for her have made him soft, too easily swayed by emotions and he mustn’t reveal it.

“You can’t catch sunshine, my dearest Darkling”, she wraps her arms around his waist. Resting her right cheek on his back, between his shoulder blades, she pulled him into her embrace, “You need to let me go and find my own way.”

“You’d be dead by nightfall.” He snaps, trying to push her off but she holds onto him even tighter, silently weeping.

How can she stay when every cell inside her body is screaming for her to leave? How can she leave when every single molecule she’s made up from is aching for just one more touch?

“If you love me, you’ll have to trust me”, her voice is shaky, unsteady as she feels. “Staying will make me resent you. I need some distance, time.”

“I can’t”, he shakes his head, wiping his tears away before she can see any.

“Then I need you to remember”, her hold on him lessens.

With a frown etched on his forehead, he turns to her with a lump at the back of his throat, “Remember what?” His words rip through her like glass shards do to skin, but he can barely tell if she’s shaking because he’s started to tremble himself.

A smile breaks on her lips, just as bright as the light she once emitted to contrast his. “Remember I love you.”

And once again, without a warning, Aleksander found himself on his knees.

He didn’t love her, he desired her most of all. He desired her gaze on him as desperately as the air he needs to breath. He desired her skin against his as the food he’d need to live. He desired her lips to speak his name in ecstasy more than the water as he thirsted for her light more than anything else in this world.

And in his desire for her he had lost himself entirely. He had lost his cold exterior, becoming putty in her hands. He had lost his ruthlessness he planned to aim her way, directing it to any and all who’d harm her. He had lost his resolve to stay away, so he’d give into her with all he is.

So with that desire and the loss of him, he hated her for all of it. He hated her with burning passion. He hated her so much it consumed him.

Or so he told himself so. For in the end, he did nothing to push her away.

He couldn’t.

Not now. Not ever.

Logic demanded him to stop her, but his entire logic went out the window the day he found her in his tent, stealing his grapes. He’s no longer a part of the living anymore either. She’s become his cornerstone and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, it didn’t change. It’s become factual.

He didn’t hate her, not even a little, not at all. Aleksander Morozova, Aleksander Kirigan, The Darkling, the unforgiving general, the Black Heretic, the Shadow King – all of him loved all of her, even as she had put a knife through his heart. The very heart that beat for her was now bleeding because of her. A betrayal, he realized, the very same as she had felt when she learned of his lies.

“We will see each other again”, she croaks, her tears crashing around him.

Gasping for air, he desperately fights the pain so he can keep his eyes open longer. This might not kill him, but it will slow him down. This time around, she’ll run and as she takes off the ring, he realizes it won’t be so easy to find her again.

She kisses his lips, so softly he’s unsure if it’s a well crafted dream.

“Moya lyubov'”, he manages to say as she stands and heads to the door. He can’t speak, but he’s screaming on the inside, hoping she’d look back at him. If she does, there was hope.

Reaching for the knob, Y/N sighs, glancing over her shoulder at her Darkling with unimaginable pain tearing her apart. But sometimes you have to break in order to create something more beautiful. She knew he’d hate her for it, but she walked out the door anyway.

PART 3

[dameronology]

never doubt me {cassian andor}

summary: after falling into the hands of the empire, a situation of life and death forces you and cassian to finally talk about your feelings {for @megmeg-chan and i am sO sorry it’s taken me so long to do this}

summary: language, mentions of injury, talks ab death/loss in a canon kinda way 

enjoy!! i haven’t written for cassian in so long and i forgot how much i loved him, so expect more of him in the future😌

- jazz

Cassian Andor was a filthy liar. 

No, deep breath. He wasn't that bad. 

The situation was just really fucking irritating and, in all likelihood, making your anger towards him a little more irrational. It wasn't really even his fault either. He'd told you incessantly that the mission was going to go well, and that you both going to be fine. Like, totally fiiiine, and that you would both get into the base without trouble and reunite in the middle, near the Imperial comms system. It was just that neither of you had planned for or expected stormtroopers to be present -- he'd gotten away in one piece, but you hadn't been so lucky. 

That brings us to now: a cell, with two stormtroopers parked outside and quite literally no sign of Cassian anywhere. You knew he'd be looking for you; in fact, you didn't doubt it once. There was a sort of unspoken pact between you that you would always rescue one another; always have each other's backs and never leave the other behind. It was born from the fact that friendships were hard to forge in your line of work, and what you and Cassian had was rare. Not even just in the Rebellion, but rather life in general. On the surface, you teased and ripped into one another to no end. The chemistry was almost suffocating for the people around you, because they could never get a word in edge ways. Then, if you dug a little deeper, there was something more. Something sweeter, something more supportive. You knew him better than he knew himself and in return, he could read you like his favourite novel (though, admittedly, it did sometimes feel like you were missing a few pages. Human complexity and all that).

‘Do you feel like speaking now?’ The modulated voice of one of the stormtroopers came from the other side of your cell door.

‘I’ll die before telling you jackshit.’ You muttered. Hopefully that was more of a statement and less of a prophecy.

The trooper snorted. ‘Okay, sweetheart-’

‘- call me that again and I will shove that blaster sideways up your ass.’ You spat.

‘The only thing you’re doing is rotting here.’ 

With that, he turned his back to you again. 

You slumped further down the wall, ignoring the feeling of the cold concrete etching through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was cold in here. Really, really fucking cold, and Cassian had said you wouldn’t need a jacket. Then again, he’d said a lot of things. And again, none of it was his fault, but you cursed yourself for so blindly listening to him. It was nice that you took everything the other said as gospel, even if it came back to bite you in the ass every so often. 

‘A word of advice-’

‘- I don’t want any advice.’ You turned away from the trooper, pulling you knees to your chest. 

‘The sooner you talk, the less painful it’ll be.’ He ignored your refusal. 

You didn’t need to ask what he meant by it. You’d been part of the Rebellion long enough to have heard stories -- stories of torture, stories of war and the the kind of horrors that people often took to the grave.  You had a fair few of your own, and so did Cassian. That was probably why he’d become so important to you. He was one of the only people in the galaxy who truly understood the downfalls of being a Rebel spy. Your cause was more important to you than anything (well, almost anything) and you wouldn’t have changed it for the world, but there were times like this where you wondered if it was all worth it. Would there ever come a day where the Empire truly fell, once and for all? And would you even be around to see it? Would Cassian? 

Speaking of the devil, where the fuck was he? He never usually took this long. A few hours at most, but you’d long surpassed that. You could only very barely see the sky through the tiny window, but the sky had faded from powder blue to a dark navy, signalling it had been well over half a day. That was bad for multiple reasons -- the first being that the longer you were here, the more likely Cassian was to assume the worst and stop searching. Secondly, and perhaps most hauntingly, was that each passing second brought you closer to the Imps dragging you out the cell and taking you for questioning. And questioning, in their books, didn’t involve much talking. Go figure.

The injuries you sustained in your capture were bad enough; a bust lip, bruised eye and twisted ankle never made for much comfort. Even less so when you couldn’t get medical attention. The fact you knew it would be the least of your problems in a few hours made it all that much worst. 

You’d never doubted Cassian Andor before. Not once. Couldn’t even fathom it, truth be told. He always came through for you; always saved your ass, whether it be from yourself or from Imps. He was your person. That’s the only way you could have put it.

But, above all, he was a human being. Not a super hero, or a miracle worker. He could only do so much and you knew he would. He would follow every lead and every clue to try and get to you, but that’s all he could do. If he couldn’t find you, that wasn’t him on him. You doubted that he would think the same, and when you heard the lock to your cell open, you could only hope and pray that he knew that. That you weren’t going to blame him for what was about to happen, or hold it against him. 

‘It’s time.’ The stormtrooper announced. ‘Hope you can handle a bit of pain.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I can handle anything.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ He guffawed. ‘Hands out.’

‘C’mon, man.’ You murmured. ‘My legs gone, my lips bust and my head feels someone’s dropped an iron anvil on it. You don’t need to cuff  - ouch!’

You let out a squeak as he grabbed your wrists, tugging them forward and shoving a pair of metal cuffs on them. Was this really it? The end? Was your name gonna be the next one on the list of people lost in the Rebellion? That was if anybody even noticed. 

Cassian would. Of course, Cassian would. It hurt your heart to think that you wouldn’t see him again, or get to say a proper goodbye. The last time you’d seen him, you’d been dragged away from him kicking and screaming. He’d been so close, and if he’d been just a little nearer when they’d got you, he might have been able to save you, to stop you from falling into the hands of the Empire. You always figured that if you were gonna die in the field, he’d be by your side. The dumbassery you so often found yourselves in usually happened together. 

The walls of the Imperial base were dark - as if you’d expected anything else. It was hardly like the place was going to look like a bright, airy Ikea showroom. The only light came from the thousands of tiny red and blue buttons flickering on the wall, illuminating the hallways in what would have been a pretty glow if the circumstances weren’t so fucking miserable. Talk about a high way to hell.

You took another left, the trooper’s grip on you tightening as you neared some double towards the end. Yep, here it was. This is where you met your maker.  And from what you’d heard, the six-foot-something guy in a black mask did not take prisoners. Not that he was the one you were thinking of. No, that was Cassian. Completely and entirely Cassian; just his face and his presence and his everything at the back of your mind, the last thing you could think of before you were about to die for your cause-

-you let out an oof! as the stormtrooper suddenly pulled you to the ground, practically using you as a human shield against the blaster fire and smoke grenade that had just come from behind you. You tried to use your elbows to push him off, but with the cuffs and your already existing injuries, he easily overpowered you. Also, you were too busy coughing from the smoke to even think about making a getaway.

Tumbling forward, you fell onto your hands and knees. The trooper’s gun clattered to the ground, and you used your good leg to kick it further out the way, eyes not moving from the cloud of smoke that come out of the grenade. The red and blue lights were beating down on it, casting a purple glow over the shadow of whoever had thrown it, acting as a guide as they finally emerged. With a blaster in one hand and the other curled into a fist, your best friend had never quite looked so handsome, especially under the violet illuminations.

‘Cassian!’ Despite everything, you couldn’t help but grin. 

‘Duck.’ He demanded. 

You did as he said, flopping back to the floor. Squeezing your eyes shut and covering your head, you stayed there for a moment. There was another blast, and then the trooper’s body fell beside yours with a dull thud! 

Then, in what must have been two of most contrasting feelings ever, a warm pair of hands found yours. Cassian’s, undoubtedly. You would have known them anywhere. He pulled you up from the cold ground, warm palms finding your face as they ghosted over your cheeks.

‘It’s okay.’ His voice was soft. ‘You can open your eyes.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I know. Thank you.’

‘How badly are you hurt?’ He asked. ‘Because we need to move fast.’

‘My foot’s pretty wrangled.’ You said. 

Without another word, Cassian threw an arm over your shoulders, tucking it under your arms to support you. 

‘Lean against me.’ He instructed. ‘The exit isn’t too far-’

‘- what about the other troopers?’ You asked.

‘I dealt with them on my way in.’

And dealt with them, he certainly had. The men were practically laying in unconscious piles (he only ever intended to maim, but never kill), working as some kind of fucked up map out of a twisted and horrible maze.  The pain in your leg only grew worst as you moved, your good leg beginning to ache from carrying all the weight. With all your attention focused ahead of you for potential enemies, you didn’t even notice how close you were to stumbling over -- not until you fell back onto the cold lino floors. 

‘Hey.’ Cassian dropped beside you. ‘Look at me, okay, just...look at me.’

You glanced up, tired eyes meeting his warm, brown ones. ‘It really hurts, Cass.’

‘We’re really close now.’ He said. ‘Two more minutes. Can you do that? For me?’

‘Yeah.’ You took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I can.’

(Because really, for him, you’d do anything.) 

Cassian helped you back up, pressing one of his blasters into your hand. His arm returned to hold you by the waist, gripping you a little tighter this time. Your leg was practically screaming in pain, a dull ache shooting from your ankle up to your knee. You had to remind yourself that in a few minutes, it would all be over - and not in the way you thought it was going to be over an hour ago. Over, as in this whole ordeal would simply be something to report back to your bosses at base, and not your final moments. The fact you ever let yourself accept that fate and think that Cassian wouldn’t come for you was something else entirely in itself. 

You almost cried with relief when you saw his battered old ship docked outside the base. You normally cried for other reasons when you saw it - usually ones to do with the rusty old engines and creaking sound it insisted on making whenever it flew - but right then, you had never been happier to see it. Even if the insides smelt weirdly of petrol and oil, and the seats in the cockpit were made of uncomfortable cracked leather, you practically threw yourself on board. 

Neither you nor Cassian said anything for a while. His attention was completely on getting away from the base and avoiding TIE fighters - something he did without ever moving his hand from your thigh - and yours was on steadying your breathing and heartbeat. It had been a rough twelve hours to say the least. 

Once the ship had lurched into hyperspace, he turned in his chair to face you. He held your gaze for a moment, before opening his arms out and letting you flop from your own seat and into his chest. They tightly wrapped around you, one hand softly your head to his body and the other gently rubbing up and down your back. You had to squeeze your eyes shut to stop your tears from spilling. 

‘I’m sorry.’ He murmured.

‘For what?’ You peered up at him with a frown. 

‘Not finding you sooner.’ He replied. ‘Or for even letting you get caught in the first place-’

‘- Cassian, stop.’ You pulled back and tangled his hands in yours. ‘Once I get some bactaspray, I’ll be totally fine.’

‘But you almost weren’t.’ He shot back. ‘If I was just a few minutes later and you could have been a thousand times worst, or even...gone completely.’

‘That’s beside the point.’ You softly sighed. ‘It’s doesn’t matter would have beens or could have beens. I am here and I will be okay.’

‘You’re right.’ He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I just...I want to protect you, you know? And I failed.’

‘You don’t need to protect me, Cass.’ You shook your head with a soft smile. ‘Actually, no, today I did but you pulled through.’

‘I don’t need to, but I want to.’ Cassian murmured. 

He’d done a pretty good job at sitting on his feelings for the last few years. Pushed them down when he felt the urge to tell you, and ignored them entirely when they got really intense. But that had been when the threat of completely losing you was just that: a threat. A distant possibility, and one that you were both too busy living your lives to fully consider. Now, however, you’d come close. Too close. Cassian had come face-to-face with a reality where you were gone, and one where he’d never actually told you how he felt. 

‘You know I love you, right?’ He quietly said. 

‘Yeah, I know.’ You nodded. 

‘No, I mean I love you.’ 

You peered up at him, realising what he was getting at. You did know. In fact, it had very much been an unspoken thing between you for a very, very long time. It was really just a matter of saying it - but that was always the hardest part, right? 

‘I know.’ You repeated. ‘I love you too.’

‘You do?’

You softly laughed. ‘Of course I do.’ 

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and pulled you back against his chest, chin resting atop your ahead. ‘Good.’

You stayed like that for a few minutes; it was undoubtedly a deeper conversation you were going to have later on, but it felt good to have it out in the open. So good, in fact, that it momentarily made you forget the last day entirely. Instead of pondering on it, you let yourself get lost entirely in Cassian’s presence, and the feeling of his body against yours and and his arms holding you. If you could have it your way, you would have stayed like this forever. The rest of the galaxy could wait. 

‘I’m sorry if you thought I was going to make in time.’ He said quietly. 

‘I didn’t.’ Your voice was slightly muffled by his chest. ‘Not once.’

‘I love you.’ Cassian said it more firmly this time. It still completely felt weird to say, and even more so to see you smile and say it back.

‘I love you too.’

He dipped his head down, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. The feeling of your lips against his was familiar and foreign all at once; it was something he’d gone over in his head a thousand times, but it was nothing like either of you had imagined. It was better. Sweeter, in the kind of way that gave you butterflies in your tummy and made you feel giddy. It was worlds away from the usual dread and bloodshed that came with being in the Rebellion. 

But that was quintessentially Cassian. He was everything that the war wasn’t: sweet and constant and warm. Somebody as beautiful and as caring as him both did and didn’t belong in the Rebellion. Did, because he was a good man who wanted to fight for the right thing. Didn’t, because he constantly risked his life for the greater good and you couldn’t quite stomach that idea. 

‘I’ll always come back for you.’ He lightly brushed his hand against your cheek. ‘Never doubt me.’

‘I won’t.’ You promised. ‘Not ever.’ 

tags: @megmeg-chan @karasong @bb8sworld @marvelinsanity @poestardust @etherealsanakin @bo-kryze​ @punkbach​ @phoenixhalliwell​

[yandere-sins]

Hi! Would it be possible for you to do some general hcs (sfw/nsfw) about yandere! Gojo satoru (jujutsu kaisen)? You said in a precedent post there was a yandere potential in jjk characters so I'd like you to elaborate if it's not too much! Thank you so much 💜

Thank you for requesting! I don’t really like doing general headcanons since there are so many possibilities depending on situations, but I tried my best! Hope you enjoy ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

No Spice

♡ Satoru is quite the delusional and manipulative fellow who can cause a lot of confusion to his darling. One moment he’s joking around and conversing leisurely with them, the next, he pins them against the wall and asks who that person is exactly they just mentioned going on a date with. They can be certain that that person never shows up to the date, but Gojo is right there, waiting for them instead. He prefers isolating his darling somewhere and cornering them, bathing in all their attention - both good and bad - and acting childishly jealous when they prioritize anything over him. They can never be sure if he’s joking or being serious like so many other people fail to notice when it comes to Satoru. However, him appearing anywhere and everywhere doesn’t help them at all to gather their thoughts and understand what is going on

♡ On the surface, it looks like the two of them get along very well, even though what looks like a close relationship is more of a paranoid walk through the day for the darling. Gojo often comes to pick them up for a surprise adventure, and if he didn’t have his hand on their wrist pulling them along, they’d undoubtedly refuse his kind of ‘fun’ and be alone instead of tagging along on yet another weekend away from home. It might have been fun at first to hang out with him, but it very quickly becomes too hard to reject his invitations even if they feel completely drained after a long week. Gojo simply is too much to be around, even if it started innocently. But his adventures become more and more obscene or downright dangerous and way out of his darlings comfort zone, and every time they are out with another, he grows bolder and more demanding of them too. Their home life, hobbies, and acquaintances are pushed back so much that once they are alone for a change, they start wondering what he’s doing just to escape from the overwhelming possibilities they have

♡ It’s incredibly hard to read Satoru, especially without being able to make eye-contact most of the time. His lips curled into a smile don’t always mean he’s happy or benevolent, but how would they know when all he does is butter them up and sweet-talk? Surely they gave up on the belief that he’s just being a friend to them, but what are they supposed to do with this lovesick man monopolizing them wholly? If there’s something he deems more important than whatever his darling is up to, there’s no talking out of his demands, and occasionally, their wishes are ignored in favor of his. Gojo exploits every insecurity they have with sharp, targeted sentences to have them act how he wants them to, and he does it in a way no one can even be angry with him

♡ However, once he does break, his darling gets to experience first hand what it means to clash with his enormous ego. They must like him too, right? After all he did, everything he showed them, all the time they spent together - there’s no way the connection he felt to them is wrong. They can scream and cry, but they are not getting out of this now, not after making him fall for them with every smile and laugh that fell off their lips because he caused it. He’s been patient and sweet, but their complaints and rejection don’t sit right with him. Satoru doesn’t fear death, fights, and wounds, but he lost someone important to him before, and that’s a pain he will not experience again. As little as there is in the world, he will have his darling, safe and sound, and all to himself no matter what he has to do to achieve his goal

Spicy (Rated Lemon)

♡ Gojo truly doesn’t yield, especially not if he has a goal. It might very well be his pleasure, but he won’t shy away from forcing himself onto his darling if they test him with continuous denial. Leaving fluttering kisses all over their hands, which push him away, or sucking on their fingers, he often at least causes them to startle or retreat, giving him enough time to pin them down. He will use his Infinity if his darling is particularly strong and rowdy; after all, there’s no need for either of them to get hurt

♡ Nothing riles him up quite like kissing. He loves to crash his lips down on them, the two separating breathless and with strings of saliva hanging from their lips. Satoru makes it seem effortless to entangle their tongues and taste his darling thoroughly before giving them some relief in the form of air. There’s nothing he enjoys as much as getting to know their mouth better and have their irritated, yet sweet moans vibrate against his tongue, and Gojo isn’t too shy to let his lips wander, leaving marks and hickeys all over their skin, either

♡ However, that’s not the only thing his tongue is good at, and if they give him the sweetest of all sounds - his name deliciously moaned by them - then he won’t waste any time pleasing them with it. Satoru quickly learns about their sweet spots and how fast/slow they like their pleasure served from him. If his kisses didn’t cloud their mind, once he’s between their legs, they’ll wonder where to look even. Then again, nothing comes for free, and he’ll demand as much attention as he gave them, cutting them off from the pleasure just before they orgasm, so they huff and squirm from his denial. Gojo knows a very effective way to shut them up, though, his hand holding their head firmly in his grasp as he rubs his cock all over their face and telling them to be good or he won’t finish what he started any time soon

♡ Once their lips open up for him, he isn’t shy to shove himself into their mouth, leaving them to gurgle their responses to his questions about how good he tastes and if they are rubbing their legs together in anticipation or because they are choking on him. Perhaps it would be easier to accept their fate if he wasn’t so keen on - literally - shoving it down their throat and put salt into the wound with his words. But latest when he’s close to release all the built-up cum he saved for them is when his demeanor changes. Not like he’d release them, but at least he starts giving them the praise they deserve and cooing irrelevant but sweet things to them, letting them know how much he appreciates them

♡ All’s well that ends well, but before the main dish is served, Satoru won’t let anyone take it from him to smear his semen all over them, admiring the view by telling his darling how beautiful they look

[moiraineswife]

How did Az get fucked over with the Moriel thing?

-Because the relationship between them was twisted from ‘mutual interest with issues on both side and Az’s insecurity holding him back from pursuing a relationship with a woman who is ready to be with him but is holding herself back due to respecting him, his experiences and choices’ to ‘creepy, obsessive straight guy can’t take a hint and quietly pines after a queer woman for five hundred years making her actively uncomfortable with his attentions and being a contributing factor in her remaining closeted as well as sleeping with men she may or may not want to to maintain distance between them/. That’s....Fucked up on so many levels I can’t. (And this is not a condemnation of Az’s character - this is a condemnation of Maas’ writing because this should never have been done to him, it disgusts me) 

-Because Azriel was set-up to serve as a safe space for Mor in ACOMAF (he watches out for her, he supports her, he protects her, he is the one to go and talk to her and help calm her down when she’s upset and panicky. This is explicitly canon) and in ACOWAR she’s made to be afraid of him/ his outbursts. Cassian is forced between them as a buffer to make her feel safer/to relax afterwards. She sleeps with Helion/other men to remind Azriel she isn’t interested in him/to force distance between them. She is “petrified” of coming out to him. (This is a complaint beyond my Moriel shipping, obviously I shipped them romantically

-Because it’s implied that Eris knows about Mor’s sexuality and wouldn’t have touched her/forced her to be with him...But Azriel is set up as still loving her and lusting after her somehow completely oblivious to her sexuality/lack of interest in him. And I’m supposed to believe this...And be okay with it. That a man who abused her, who left her to die, who terrifies and traumatises her...Has more regard for her choices and feelings than Azriel, who was set up to love her unconditionally, to represent safety and security for her. Like. Sure.  

-Because I’m having a harder and harder time accepting the CoN fiasco as being in character for Az. It feels lazy to me. He’s a cookie-cutter copy of Rhys in that scene. I could POTENTIALLY have gone with Azriel not warning Mor about Eris the way Rhys did if it had been for her, if it had been to somehow protect her because she wasn’t supposed to be there/know until later (god fucking knows this thing is impossible to retcon) But I’m having a harder and harder time accepting him not telling her for the same reason as Rhys ‘I don’t trust you, you’re a silly, oversensitive child and I’m afraid you’re going to fuck this up for us’. Not Az, not with Mor, like, sorry. It feels like something to draw lines between them and force them apart/retcon/undo the Moriel set-up she did in ACOMAF to try and make the reveal better. 

-Because (this is my personal interpretation/opinion and not one I expect many people to share, and is something I’m having a lot of difficulty putting into words but...) A lot of the Cassian/Mor moments in ACOWAR felt like they should have been Mor/Azriel moments that were dramatically retconned/that Cassian was made far more physically affectionate and closer to Mor than initially appeared in ACOMAF to further force distance between moriel, give Mor some kind of support but strip away any potential Azriel/Mor scenes because of the “”””reveal”””” of her sexuality and Maas’ sudden desire to stop baiting the ship as much. (I loved the Cassian/Mor moments in ACOWAR, I’ve already said this but some of them felt...Like a lot more/altered from their relationship in ACOMAF which I felt demonstrated their unconditional love/support for one another while also maintaining aspects of friction and volatility that they do have. Like I said I’m struggling putting this into words but some parts felt like this was being shoved down my throat just a little too much. might just have been bad writing, might have been forcing Cass as the buffer and forcing Mor and Az further apart. I don’t know) 

-Because Moriel could have been a beautiful platonic relationship about the deep, undying unconditional love that these two people have for one another; for the lengths they will go to for one another and the things they would do and sacrifice to keep each other safe....Instead I’ve got a narrative involving a ‘petrified’ closeted queer woman and a man who can’t take a hint and obsessively won’t let her go/stop loving her despite what it does for her and like....I’m sorry but Azriel deserved so much fucking better than that. It’s disgusting. I feel vaguely ill writing all this out. 

I was happy with the Az content coming out of ACOWAR (and needing some kind of light in this black pit I probably got blinded by that to begin with) the flying lessons with Feyre were excellent, his moments during battle were beautiful, his rescue of Elain showed the compassion that he has in-line with Cassian. 

But I can’t ignore this seriously ugly undercurrent and how it transforms Azriel from a (legitimately) traumatised, insecure abuse victim lacking self worth and self esteem after the horrific abuse he endured as a child...And forces him into the narrative of the entitled straight man whose obsessive love makes a girl feel too afraid to say no to him and like...I’m sorry but in fucking up Moriel with this Dramatic Plot Twist Maas screwed over Mor’s character (infinitely more than Az’s, I’m not arguing that for a second) but it fucks Azriel’s up too. And not because ‘oh no he’s going to be so sad when she comes out to him the poor bat’ but because it turns him into an obsessive creep who, in some ways, is marked out as looking worse than her abuser. 

Bottom line is, what Maas did with the Moriel in ACOWAR fucks up Mor’s character, Azriel’s character, and the entire dynamic of the Inner Circle. I genuinely cannot believe how poorly this ‘twist’ was thought out. I feel gross now. I’m going to take a shower. 

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

How about B, I, L, U, V for our big boi Theo? :3c

Sure thing, bub!! Theo hcs coming right up! 💙💙💙💙

I really hope you like them!!!! :3c

Fluff ABCs Template here for requests

Body -- What is his favorite part of her body?

Do y’all have any idea how hard it is for me to answer this letter without making this horny hours.

ANYWAY losing my mind because my instinct was to respond with “her tears.” And then my brain was like. Minnie that’s not a part of the body…that’s not how any of this works…But let’s pretend for a moment like I am valid, shall we?

No cap, I die on this hill. And my answer comes in two parts. The first reason tears destroy him like nothing else is because of how much she feels for the van Gogh brothers tbh. I think Theodorus is very accustomed to their situation being seen through a lens of indifference, a kind of “oh well, what can be done ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” especially. While he may argue that he’s used to it, he’s full of shit. It hurts every time–even more so because people are being dismissive about the person he loves most in the world (other than her, of course.) He’ll be silent for the most part, usually pretty stoic if those things come up, but the way her eyes glisten with tears just undoes him. He feels stupid to be so affected, but it’s something else entirely when somebody actually gives a damn. Somehow it's harder to keep his composure under that gaze...

The second reason is more about teasing. He can’t resist getting a reaction out of her sometimes, or seeing her brought to frustrated tears. That lovely blush overtaking the tips of her ears and face, to say nothing if it happens during nsfw hours. They make her face shine, a visible manifestation of all the emotion he tries so hard to deny–to run from–that it just moves him like nothing else. Where he can't find words or proper expression, she always does. Leonardo said once that a single glance at that man and you can tell he’s in love with art. And he was right, save that that kind of passion can be found in him again in moments like this. Alone, driving her to madness and pleasure.

It’s the part of him that belongs to her, and her alone.

Injury -- How would he act if she got hurt?

Lmao call Vincent instead of Theo if you actually want anything productive to be done about it.

I’m KIDDING mostly but to be honest I think he has a hard time hiding his distress when MC is hurt. If it’s something small he’ll try to play it off as mild irritation, muttering about oblivious hondjes and how she needs to be more careful. If it’s something like a bruise or a bandaged cut–maybe she bumped into something–he’ll just clumsily try to pat the pain away. Don’t try to hide it from him either because he has eyes like a hawk and will expose you. He’ll be a dumdum but it’s really sweet because he’ll be so gentle over such a tiny wound (it always amuses Dazai so much) that all the men will have to kind of hold back laughter. They don’t mean to mock the guy but he takes it so seriously it’s a little bit funny. Vincent is so unironically proud of him for being sensitive though and it’s enough to make a girl cry TwT

If it’s a very serious injury I am sorry but you are getting nothing but probably a panic attack from him. He doesn’t really do well with even the slightest suggestion of losing a loved one, so if she breaks a bone or experiences excessive bleeding–whatever the risk may be to her life–he is fighting to stay in control of his body’s response. He’s trying so hard to be strong for her, but he can hardly breathe and his vision is a little fuzzy and did they say she would be unconscious for a few days? Needless to say he’s a bit of a mess. Ideally, Vincent would do his best to help the guy stabilize while he waits for things to improve, but it’s touch and go for a bit there.

When she wakes up, he needs as much gentleness as she does in many respects. The stress attacks and constant distress have just resulted in so much tension and exhaustion, he doesn’t even have the energy for any verbal swipes at anyone. (I was going to say “he’s just a big puppy” but the irony hit me so hard I literally couldn’t finish typing the sentence). He just really needs lots of kisses and hand holds and promises she isn’t going anywhere, completely unprompted. Not to be emo (WAKE ME UP) but he really needs to be brought back to life slowly, in a way. He’ll get better with some time and assurance that she’s going to make it, but oTL hondje please, he can only take so many heart attacks in one lifetime.

Love -- How does he show her he loves her?

He does not.

I’m KIDDING but I stand by the fact that he’s more of a show than tell type of guy. He has a really, really hard time verbalizing everything that he feels, so I think the person he loves would ideally have to keep that in mind. He’s lowkey but very classy, imo. Gets surprise flowers every once in a while, buys groceries after work all the time if she needs things at home, always reliable with taking care of their finances (and in general). I feel like the thing about Theodorus is that he’s the quiet romantic; he won’t smooth talk or endlessly go on about love, but when she needs him? He’s there. Come hell or high water. When things are hard, when things feel impossible, when life just feels like one slap in the face after another–he’s warm and there and steady, leading her by the hand.

He's very proactive about just about anything other than expressing his feelings directly, so write that down--

Upset --How does he act when she's upset?

LMFAO catch him crashing at Vincent’s place tonight, no thanks murderous hondje ain’t it for me, sorry sweaty.

All jokes aside, I think he’s the type of guy who just has no idea how to handle it. I mean she’s the one that’s usually pretty stable emotionally, so when she isn’t it tends to be a big deal–the cause of her foul mood has got to be sizable. While he may be stymied upfront, will most likely go after the root cause of her distress and kill it with a hammer when her back is turned. Nobody upsets his hondje (unless it’s him) and gets away with it. The man has two modes: kill and more kill, and so he uses the second one as necessary in these situations.

That being said, it doesn't mean he's completely bereft of sensitivity. If it's a more sorrowful kind of upset, he'll try to make time for a lot of cuddling and pampering. Get her things she likes to eat/drink, rub her back gently, put on a movie she likes (even if it's boring to him). He hopes that some care and a few little distractions will be enough to calm her soon. He loves his hondje best when she's smiling, after all ùwú

Vaunt -- What is he proud of? Does he like to show her off?

Oh my goddddddd. Bih. If this man suffers from a cardinal sin, it’s pride I swear. Even if he’s Mr. Bad Mood Stink Face he will literally never say a bad word about her. There are so many people convinced he’s deadass got some kind of disorder because he has scary face, but also looks so delighted at the same time it's terrifying. Gets all puffed up about what a hard worker she is, how talented, how he couldn’t have done any of this without her. Even when he’s roaring drunk, now he just rambles on and cries about how much he loves her and Vincent and it’s beyond hilarious. Would throw down for her, would die for her, would steal a clown’s balloon for her–you name it.

She can do absolutely no wrong, so write that down.

Has a love hate relationship with showing her off (in the more blatant way) though because. Homewrecking. Does she look lovely in that dress? Undoubtedly so. If he sees one more gross lustful/covetous gaze directed at her though, he’s just gonna leave with her in tow. (He would throw hands but she doesn't like that.) Y’all know the whole Lord of The Rings’ “My p r e c i o u s” thing? That’s his vibe LMFAO. Depending on his mood he will either be like "hell yeah that's my wife you jealous bih, I'm the luckiest guy ever ik now buzz off" or he will just get more and more lowkey steamed until they leave.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Nie Huaisang's reaction to the events in quiet room-verse

Chapter 3 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2)

-

Nie Huaisang’s day began, as always, with noise.

The Unclean Realm was like that – there wasn’t a single shichen of the day when there wasn’t at least some racket going on in the background, whether the sound of sabers whistling through the air and the grunting of men at the thrice-daily trainings on the fields, the din of hammering rising up from the forges alongside the smoke, the squeals and squawks of the various types of animals being harried to and fro, the shouting and haggling and people sounds that filled the bustling markets (both day and night) that had sprung up within the Unclean Realm’s fortress as a wartime tradition some generations back and which had never gone out of fashion.

Guests sometimes complained about it, saying that people walked through the halls at night (what did they think halls were for) or that there were too many birds outside (that didn’t sound like a problem) or the cats were yowling again (okay, the feral cat thing was a bit of a problem but at least they didn’t have a rat problem) or about all the loud noises of living people. Those who were born and raised there scarcely noticed it, and those that stayed acclimated eventually.

Those who really couldn’t handle it built themselves thicker walls.

Nie Huaisang was woken up that day with an especially loud bang that he suspected was something important tipping over somewhere, never a fortuitous start, but the day itself went pleasantly enough after that. He lazed around in the morning, snuck in a belated breakfast from an indulgent kitchen, begged out of saber training in the middle of the day with an excuse so transparent that Nie Zonghui looked like he was considering constructing a window with it, and finally settled quite happily on the balcony with a few of his favorite birds to paint.

It was not, strictly speaking, his balcony – it connected to the sect leader’s suite of rooms, not his own, and his brother used it fairly often when he was flying in and out of the Unclean Realm on business.

Nie Mingjue was currently away at the Cloud Recesses, not on business. Visiting his handsome lover again, and Nie Huaisang found it amusing all over again that his misanthrope of a brother, of all people, had somehow managed to snag the most eligible young master of their generation – that he had what everyone else wanted and couldn’t get.

His brother. Good for him!

Still, his brother being gone meant that the balcony was free, and it was one of Nie Huaisang’s favorite places to lurk: he had an excellent view of so many parts of the Unclean Realm, wonderful light, and no one would dare to intrude on his brother’s domain just to bother him.

It was a good day, bright and noisy in the best of ways, right up until it wasn’t.

Nie Huaisang felt more than saw Baxia approaching, the thrum of his own saber – casually propping up his easel – immediately recognizable, and he couldn’t help but smile in delight at the thought of seeing his brother even if it meant he was probably not getting out of saber practice today.

It was only odd, he thought, that the smear on the horizon that would be his brother approaching seemed larger than usual –

And then, all of a sudden, it was very much not a good day.

His brother was covered in blood, clearly his own, and his eyes were vacant and dull – shock, perhaps? – and he was leaning on Lan Wangji, who looked equally awful. There was fresh blood staining the back of his neck and creeping up his shoulders, ugly shadows on white robes, and his face was stricken, savaged by pain that was not merely external.

Nie Huaisang was frozen for a moment, watching them come, unable to believe it, and yet –

“Doctor!” he screamed, his voice dropping into a register he’d never used before, loud and bellowing and straight from the belly. A battlefield voice, like his brother’s, and he could see out of the corner of his eye all the disciples in the training field jumping, startled, as if they’d been shocked by lightning. “Someone get a doctor!”

The next bit was chaos, of course: the thunder of dozens of feet on stone, servants running to get anyone with medical skill, running to get water and bandages and acupuncture needles, anything that would help, and everyone talking all at the same time even as a dozen hands reached out to pluck the two tired cultivators down from the sky.

Not two, Nie Huaisang corrected himself as he took the small child out of his brother’s arms – said child was yawning and frowning, clearly displeased at being taken away from Nie Mingjue’s arms, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t blame him one bit; it was undoubtedly the best place in the world to be. There was another child in Lan Wangji’s trembling hands as well.

“Any more you’ve got hidden away?” he asked Lan Wangji, drawing him away from the disciples who had eyes only for their sect leader. “Under your clothing, maybe?”

Nie Huaisang would rather be there, with them, with his brother, but he’d studied medicine with about as much fervor as he’d studied any other serious subject – which was to say, none at all – and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help. For the first time he bitterly regretted his laziness.

Not even during the war had his brother ended up – like this.

“No,” Lan Wangji said. His voice was small and sad, and he was shaking. “Just…just them.”

“Good to know,” Nie Huaisang said. “How badly are you injured? You’re still standing, but I don’t like your color…”

“I want to report,” Lan Wangji said. His lips were pressed tightly together, and he was looking at something in the distance; it was as if he’d lost his soul.

“You’re hurt,” Nie Huaisang said patiently. “Is it anything that can’t wait…?”

“I want to report,” Lan Wangji said again, more insistently, and – well, he was Lan sect. They thrived on rules; it was their baseline, the foundation of their mental world, and whatever had happened to the two of them, Lan Wangji was clearly fragile right now.

“You can report to me,” Nie Huaisang said, a snap decision. “I’m the heir; in my brother’s absence, I have authority to take whatever actions are necessary once I understand the situation.”

And his brother was absent, or as good as: he’d collapsed the second they’d landed, eyes rolling up into his skull – he’d clearly been clinging to consciousness by the barest thread of willpower by the end of it.

“Before anything else, though, is there anything we need to know about my brother’s condition?” he asked. “Anything that will help, or hurt –”

Is it a qi deviation, he wanted to ask but didn’t, couldn’t. It couldn’t be that, it couldn’t, not his brother – not his father, not again –

(His brother’s fingers were bloody, nails broken, as if he’d been tearing at something with them, and Nie Huaisang didn’t like the way they matched up in size to some of the marks on his brother’s face.)

“He needs sound,” Lan Wangji said. “He can’t be left alone…he was in the jingshi.”

“The – wait, the quiet room?” Nie Huaisang gaped at Lan Wangji. “That horrible, awful pit of hell that you crazy people threw into your décor – that jingshi?”

He paused, grimaced. “Uh, no offense –”

“You’re right,” Lan Wangji said, and buried his face into his hands. “You’re right.”

Nie Huaisang did a quick calculation, handed the children off to some servants, and then dragged the other man out of the room and towards his brother’s study.

“Sit,” he commanded, and seated himself in the sect leader’s place unconsciously. “Don’t worry about quiet; after he showed up like that, there’s no way anyone will leave him alone – he’ll be begging for some peace soon enough. Now report.”

Lan Wangji straightened his back – with a wince, Nie Huaisang noted, and that meant whatever injury he had was on his back – and reported.

Nie Huaisang took notes at the beginning, but then stopped after he broke the brush between his fingers, something that had never happened to him before.

“Keep going,” he said when Lan Wangji paused. “Don’t stop.”

Lan Wangji continued his recitation, his voice dull and monotone, but the words…

“Thank you for telling me,” Nie Huaisang squeezed out, feeling strangely light-headed. He stood up and went to the door, catching the first servant he saw. “I want the defensive arrays closed to all visiting cultivators, and all visitor tokens revoked until I say otherwise – especially any from the Jin or Lan sects. Go tell whoever needs to be told to accomplish that.”

The servant stared at him. “Second Young Master –”

“That was not,” Nie Huaisang said, “a request.”

The servant saluted.

“You’re bleeding,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang turned his head and frowned at him. “I think you’ll find that you’re the one that’s bleeding.”

“No, you –” He touched his nose.

Nie Huaisang didn’t understand until he echoed the action on his own face and realized his nose was bleeding. A bit strange; he hadn’t suffered from nosebleeds since the time his father died.

He pressed a handkerchief to his face and went back to his brother’s desk. “All right,” he said. “That will get us a bit more time, I think, though they’ll probably waste forever going to get Zonghui’s sign-off on the orders –”

But no, he was wrong – wrong again – because he could see the distant shimmer that was the Unclean Realm’s shielding array flickering into existence in the distance, could hear the sound of drums alerting the common people that they should withdraw back to their homes to avoid the possibility of interfering with a battle.

Perhaps alone of the Great Sects, Qinghe still held regular drills on what to do in the event of an invasion, and even through the thick walls of the study he could hear the casual grumbles of all the people forced to cut their day short – not too much grumbling, of course, since they knew that the Nie sect would send money to each household to compensate them for their trouble as long as they cleared the way fast enough. Doing something like that meant that they would always move, and quickly, too; it was ridiculously expensive, of course, but it meant that the streets would be clear and that no spy or troublemaker would be able to make their way into the Unclean Realm by blending in with the crowd.

It meant that they would be able to see their enemies coming.

“Was that necessary?” Lan Wangji asked. “They will not invade.”

“No?” Nie Huaisang said, and laughed. It hurt his throat. “You’re surer of that than I am. After all, you just told me that my er-ge and san-ge just conspired to murder my da-ge.”

Lan Wangji flinched. “I do not think it was…”

“It might not have been intentional on your brother’s part,” Nie Huaisang conceded. “Meng Yao, though? He was my brother’s deputy; there is no way he didn’t know what my brother thinks about that place. Piece of shit.”

They’d grown distant, Nie Huaisang remembered; his brother, who never abandoned anyone and guarded his people closer than gold, had turned his back on Meng Yao, and had needed to be coaxed back into accepting him. He’d assumed his brother was being petty over something or another, but that was petty of him, short-sighted, thinking only of himself and how much he’d missed his friend.

He resolved to find out exactly what had happened between them as soon as his brother was capable of telling him. He thought that it might be important.

“Your brother, though,” he added. “I always thought he was sincere towards my brother. That he really loved him.”

“He does. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, sincerity doesn’t mean shit,” Nie Huaisang said. “If he didn’t intend on murder, he did something that would have ended up that way. Even accidental killings call for justice, and this is – this isn’t okay, Lan-xiong.”

“I agree.” Lan Wangji closed his eyes. “I have asked Chifeng-zun for permission to stay.”

At first Nie Huaisang was confused – why would Lan Wangji need permission to hang out in the Unclean Realm? – and then he realized Lan Wangji meant for good.

The first thing he thought was oh, wow, that’s going to have some serious political implications and the next thing, somewhat more reasonably, was, I’m really angry about this and so is he.

“You are correct. Even if my brother’s feelings are sincere, it is no excuse,” Lan Wangji said. “In his desire to help your brother, in his refusal to listen to him and trust him, he nearly killed him. He is sect leader; no matter the reason, in the end, all things that happen within the Cloud Recesses are his decision.”

Just like what happend to me.

“We’ll deal with it,” Nie Huaisang promised. Even if his brother might be inclined to forgive after a while, overly generous as he always was with those he loved, he himself would not; Lan Wangji nodded, looking relieved. “Now can we please get you some medical assistance? Thirty-three hits with the discipline whip – I’d be dead. If I were you, I’d be dead. I can’t believe your brother agreed to it.”

Mine never would.

Nie Huaisang had never gotten along with Lan Wangji before, their personalities too distant, but their eyes met and there was a moment of perfect understanding.

He helped Lan Wangji up and let him lean on him as they went towards to the medical room.

When they were most of the way there, Lan Wangji spoke again. “Nie-gongzi…”

“Huaisang, please. Nie Huaisang if you must. If you’re going to be staying here, we can’t be formal with each other. Unclean Realm rule!”

“…Nie Huaisang.”

“Yes?”

“Your brother…”

Nie Huaisang stopped and looked at Lan Wangji, who was struggling for words more than he struggled to step forward. “What about him?”

“He was…once lovers with Lianfeng-zun?”

“What?” Nie Huaisang asked, surprised into a laugh. “No, of course not. He’d never betray er-ge like that; he’s been mad for him ever since they were children. Even if he was the sort of person who would do something like that, which he’s most assuredly not, he’s also not the sort of person who would ever enter into a relationship with a subordinate, and Meng Yao was his subordinate for most of the time they knew each other. They were friends at best.”

He paused, then, the laughter fading quickly. “Why do you ask?”

“Lianfeng-zun told my brother they were.” Lan Wangji was staring dully ahead again, and swallowed hard. “That they’d been lovers before.”

“And what, that their fight was some lover’s tiff?” Lan Wangji’s silence was eloquent. “That’s ridiculous. Why in the world would he concoct such an absurd and pointless lie, so easily disproven? What does it even get him?”

Lan Wangji averted his eyes.

A moment of thought later, and Nie Huaisang had his answer, his spine growing cold.

“Your brother wanted to have them both,” he said, and felt his nails drive into the center of his palms. “He wanted it so much that he didn’t bother questioning it when Meng Yao told him that he was also lovers with my brother, because if my brother was with him, then it wouldn’t be a betrayal for him to be with him, too. He thought…what? That they were some happy triad?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“My brother doesn’t know.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, but shook his head. “I do not think so.”

“Fuck.”

Nie Huaisang did not want to have to break his brother’s heart all over again.

“Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again. “Okay. Fine. This is – terrible, yes, absolutely but at least it tells us that whatever your brother’s motives, Meng Yao, at minimum, must be malicious.”

Lan Wangji frowned, then followed his thought and nodded. “He deliberately utilized a falsehood to convince my brother to enter into a relationship with him. He may have used others to convince him to trap your brother in the jingshi.”

“Assuming your brother isn’t in on the plan to kill da-ge, and I’m sorry, we really do have to keep that option open. Even Meng Yao…it’s a surprise, you know? He was my brother’s deputy, they got on really well – even though they had their differences, that big fight, it seemed like they were getting over it. They swore brotherhood, and you know how seriously my brother takes that sort of thing.”

Lan Wangji nodded again.

“Also, it’s just – mystifying,” Nie Huaisang continued, slipping easily into the tone of complaint as he shouldered Lan Wangji’s weight again and continued on their way to the doctors’ wing. “Meng Yao’s so smart! Even if he wanted to kill my brother to get your brother all to himself, which he very well might, he’s also been breaking his back to come here on a weekly basis to help my brother, playing him that Clarity song that your brother found –”

“I thought he had stopped that?”

“Well, yes, temporarily, but that’s just because da-ge was getting worried about how bad things were getting and wanted to get things in order…” Nie Huaisang came to a sudden halt once again. “Lan-xiong, I’ve been assuming – we’ve all been assuming – all the while that my brother’s deteriorating health is because of the war, and that the songs er-ge and san-ge were playing for him were helping slow it down. But what if…”

He didn’t want to say it.

“If there was one murder attempt, there may be another,” Lan Wangji said, his voice heavy. “Musical cultivation can harm as well as heal – it is possible.”

Nie Huaisang scrubbed his face with his sleeve. “But…doesn’t that mean your brother has to be part of it? He’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place.”

“He may have originated it, and Lianfeng-zun alterted it without his knowing. Your brother…might not have noticed such a substitution.”

“He’s very nearly tone-deaf,” Nie Huaisang agreed, not without fondness. “It’s amazing he understands human speech, really. It’s possible, I guess.”

“Brother’s involvement is…also possible,” Lan Wangji said, and closed his eyes. “I do not wish to believe it, but – if there truly have been two attempts, and he has not only failed to notice, but is in each one a key part…”

“We’ll work it out,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now come along. We need to get you back into something resembling mobility and health and fast.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, and Nie Huaisang knew why: do you need me better in order to fight against my brother?

“We have disciples for that,” he reminded him. “No, it’s just, you see, I’m terrible with children, and someone is going to need to chase after the two you brought with you – they’ll be laughing and screaming and crying and snotting all over the place before you know it, mark my words, and there goes any chance of getting a decent night’s sleep for the next few years. I’m telling you, Lan-xiong, you have no idea about how children are – they’re going to make so much noise!”

Lan Wangji smiled.

It was such an unusual sight that Nie Huaisang almost forgot to take his next step.

“Yes,” he said, and his words had the feeling of a vow. “They will.”

[softluci]

trendy [hcs]

someone (@yourlocalsinnamonroll​ hi again!) sent me a request a Long time ago asking me to do more gen z headcanons, and i have been working on this on and off for Months. this is something that i’ve had on my mind for a long time, and it most definitely can be associated with/attributed to gen z. 

this isn’t sfw so Minors DNI, but for a fleeting, wonderful period of time, there was a trend on tiktok that went, “buss it, buss it…” are you familiar? that should be enough of a summary, right?

anyway, once again, for my peace of mind, minors dni, and reader is g/n as usual, enjoy!

[a/n: so because this is so long, this part is going to be, like, the actual headcanons, and then the backstory i have for this will be right here]

lucifer

“intrigued,” would be the best word to describe how he was feeling. it didn’t cover the full spectrum of emotions that washed over him, but it was definitely a start. he started forming coherent thoughts after the fifth loop, but that's his business🤨

for one, he was upset. you mean to tell him that you could dance like this the entire time, and you—first of all, you never offered to do it for him, or on him, and you know his obsession for you would increase tenfold he has an appreciation for dancing of any and all kinds. you were depriving him, and for what reason, exactly? have you never been acquainted with shame before? 

second of all, not only were you keeping this crucial information from him, but you told everyone, at the same time. why can't he ever have anything for himself? he should relax— it's not too big of a deal, he's not too hurt because he'd have you to himself soon enough.

well, really, right now. he is suddenly in dire need of entertainment, you understand. he just called you to tell you to come to his room, and he would be a liar if he said he didn’t like how nervous you sounded. 

mammon

can everyone, like, get out of hell for a few minutes? he needs to be alone. the video is on its nth loop. he's laying face down on his bed, trying to recover from the siege you just put him under—how dare you?

you're supposed to be his—his cinnamon apple, his human, his everything—and you sent this to the group chat? is nothing sacred? is nothing in this world for him alone? what is wrong with you, genuinely? most importantly, why haven’t you ever even offered to dance with him? 

really, he's hurt. betrayal of this magnitude is bound to sting, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise. 

now, the pain of your treason aside, that was very easily the best thing he’s seen in a decade. before he collapsed face-first onto his bed, he was watching very intently, for at least two full minutes. he was actually so invested that questions didn’t form in his mind until, like, the tenth loop—but that was neither here nor there. now that he was recovering from the bomb you dropped, he had half a mind to go to your room and interrogate you among other things. 

unfortunately for you, he really only operates with half of his mind anyway, so he was already out the door. however, you have nothing to be afraid of. as we know, mammon is a man easily crumbled. all you have to do to disarm him is ask him if he liked it.

levi 

he knew. 

he didn’t know, like, exactly what was going to happen after he helped you trick out your d.d.d, but he knew it was gonna be fucking Something. 

he didn't even get through the video, actually—the beat dropped, so did you, and, suddenly,  his phone was across the room. his face was a deep crimson, and his thoughts were barely coherent, but he was already out of his bedroom.

simply put, he knew his brothers. he knew at least two of them would be on their way to you soon enough, but they wouldn't get there before him. he knew what he was going to do before his thoughts were fully formed. he'd get there, he'd bring you back to his room, he'd hide out with you in one of his cursed games—he would help you. if the two of you went slow enough playing it, everyone would have calmed down by the time you got back, right? right. 

was he being a bit dramatic? of course not! you would be safest with him, tucked away from his brothers until he was certain they wouldn't try anything. you know them, you know how they get, right? he'd never do anything like that unless you wanted him to. you are his best friend, and, really, he owes you this safety. this is at least twelve percent his fault. 

satan 

oh. oh, wow.

now, how many times did he watch that video? he doesn't know, he wasn't counting. he wouldn't tell you even if he was. he needs to maintain some kind of dignity here—not that there was anything undignified about being attracted to you, of course. it was just, well, you know—he was better than his brothers. 

in general, not when it came to you, but, even still. he's at a level of self control that they can't even conceive. now, have you been slowly, but surely, ebbing away at his centuries of hard work? yes. did this video put something of a dent in his poise? yes. 

but, in all honesty, it was fine. satan was smarter than all of his brothers, more patient—you know, better. he knew exactly how he would go about this. 

he wouldn't talk to you about this tonight, tomorrow, or the next day. he would play a waiting game, lure you into a false sense of security—and then, when you think you can trust him, when you think he's forgotten or just wants to show you mercy—then. he would come for you then. just wait for him.

asmo

miffed. he was miffed. like, arms crossed, tapping his foot on the floor, shaking his head—miffed.  once he was done staring at his screen for five minutes, he had about seven bones to pick with you. 

first of all, why didn't you come to him if you wanted to do your makeup and pick an outfit to film in? he's not saying you looked bad—believe him, he was staring for a reason—but you would've looked so much better if you let him style you. second of all, you had the absolute gall to make something like this and not invite him to join you? you're a villain. no, really—

but what really got him—what really drove him up a wall—was the fact that you never even hinted at the fact that you could dance like that. why did you keep such crucial information from him? he wasn’t even gonna think about the fact that you had yet to do it on him, it would be too much for him to process at once—your audacity would become palpable. he should really calm down, getting this upset is bad for his skin. 

now that he’s thinking about it, you were wearing a full face of makeup. it hasn’t been that long since you sent the video, you’re probably still wearing it, right? well, he wouldn’t be a good friend if he didn’t help you take it off! he knows he was a bit peeved a few minutes ago, but, well, that was a few minutes ago! now, as he reflected on his initial reaction to your video, he was in a forgiving mood. he was already on his way to your room to help you with undressing unwinding, and, admittedly, to tease you a little a lot—he thinks you’re cute when you’re flustered. 

beel 

he was more confused than anything, honestly. he wasn’t feeling jealous or betrayed like his brothers, nor was he feeling possessive at all. he was just confused, for a few reasons. 

first was the fact that everyone in the group chat was yelling at him. all he did was send an emoji of a fork and a knife, and everyone was on his ass all of a sudden, like he was the one who sent the video. he was the only person with their priorities straight, and there was lucifer, trying to scold him via text message, which only furthered his confusion. he was an adult, and he was fully allowed to have an appreciation for the finer things in life, up to and including your dancing skills. 

he was careful to relay his message in a private chat, not thinking too much of it. he would’ve given anything to see your reaction, but he wasn’t cruel enough to go to your room minutes after you sent it. he could easily do it tomorrow. 

this, of course, brings him to his second point of confusion. he really doesn’t get why you decided to do this on camera instead of on his face on top of him, but, like, to each their own. he’s content with the fact that he even got to see it, but he feels like he should still let you know the offer is there. 

belphie

first of all, you're already here, but for the sake of malice—go to hell. he was about to go to sleep, you absolute heathen. second of all, because he lost time he could've spent sleeping, you're going to have to take some responsibility and atone—immediately. he had a (correct) feeling that you wouldn’t be willing to come up to the attic, and he wasn’t willing to compensate for that by going to your room. 

this was, while a bit annoying, perfectly fine. it was late, it was a school night, you were undoubtedly going to sleep within the next hour or two. he would know once you did, such is the nature of the avatar of sloth, and then, he would pay you a visit while you were dreaming. nothing to be nervous about, don’t worry, he just had a few questions. 

the first question being, why, exactly, didn’t you just unsend the video when it was so clearly sent on accident? that’s not to say he didn’t enjoy watching it repeatedly, but he was quite curious. whatever—it’s not like everyone is going to know it was an accident, anyway, and he’s glad no one told you about that messaging feature. he uses it on lucifer all the time, but that is neither here nor there. 

the second question being, now, given that it is so clear that he is a bottom, why did you never—