#but also i DO consider him as someone who betrayed her

[qiu-yan]

avoidance

if i had been in jiang cheng's position immediately after the fall of lotus pier, i probably would not have tried to strangle wei wuxian.

i don't like dealing with negative emotions, so instead i'd probably say some bullshit like "whaaat? no, it's not your fault and i don't blame you at all, so don't worry about it," and then just put all my energy towards trying to survive. except i would blame wei wuxian. i would very much blame him, from the depths of my soul. even if i tried my hardest to convince myself not to blame him, that i should not blame him, that i do not want to blame him - nonetheless, my subconscious would remain convinced that, were it not for him, my family and everyone i grew up with would still be alive.

and, because of that resentment, i would begin to pull away from him.

i would not save wei wuxian from that wen patrol. even if i did love that deeply, my resentment would still blunt my reaction time and i would not be able to act in time. for the sake of convenience, let's say that wen ning rescues wei wuxian from lotus pier anyways. wei wuxian lives. what happens then? on one hand, i still resent him for causing the deaths of all my family; on the other hand, though, now i also feel guilty for allowing him to be captured and tortured simply because i would not die in his place. how do i deal with these complicated emotions - these unsightly, ugly emotions? i don't. i bury them and pretend they don't exist, because running away from difficult feelings is how i've always lived my life - i run away from him, because whenever i see him, this twinned of resentment and guilt rear their ugly heads again.

thus, because of my emotional unavailability, the relationship tanks. maybe wei wuxian gets his core melted, somehow picks up demonic cultivation anyways, and is thus pulling away from me as well; maybe the avoidance comes from both ends. and if wei wuxian instead notices that something is wrong and starts pestering me about what's wrong - well, i have full faith in my ability to deflect. i am long-practiced in diverting the focus of a conversation specifically to imply that the other party's concern isn't welcome.

thus, by the time the sunshot campaign ends, our relationship would have severely deteriorated. and then, because of this, i would take wei wuxian leaving our sect to protect the wen remnants as the actual end of our bond. unlike jiang cheng, i would not even argue against wei wuxian's leaving, nor say things as sentimental as "if you insist on protecting them, then i cannot protect you" - instead, i'd simply write off our relationship as doomed and sever it peacefully.

after all, he owes me nothing. i am entitled to neither his labor nor his presence. if he wishes to leave, then he is free to go; if he wishes to no longer be family, the i will no longer think of him as so. in fact, the less familiarly i think of him, the better: it is at once much easier and much more comfortable for me to believe, in a post-hoc sense, that someone who has left me actually never wanted to be with me to begin with, and i therefore have not lost anything of value at all. and this loss would not hurt me as much as it hurt jiang cheng in canon. after all, i, unlike jiang cheng, am a veteran at avoiding all thought on topics that distress me; instead, i'd soon find something new and exciting with which to distract myself.

i would not visit wei wuxian in the burial mounds. if jiang yanli insisted on seeing him, perhaps i would accompany her there, but i would not make any conversation with him myself beyond what is absolutely necessary. i would consider the death of jin zixuan unforgivable. i would consider the death of jiang yanli unforgivable. but perhaps i would not feel as wretchedly betrayed as jiang cheng does in canon: after all, i in this scenario, unlike jiang cheng, have already given up on wei wuxian a long time ago.

i would probably lead the first siege of the burial mounds. i would not hold the same level of animosity against the wens as jiang cheng does in canon - in general, while i can hold onto subconscious resentment for a long time, actively clinging onto seething hatred for extended periods of time is difficult for me. perhaps i'd even speak up more for the wen remnants, out of purely some abstract moral concern for the wellbeing of POWs; however, i'd stand down the moment any of said speech put my own people in danger. perhaps i'd lead the first siege of the burial mounds because it is expected of me. or perhaps i'd genuinely want the man who hurt my sister to die.

either way, if i then encountered wei wuxian in the burial mounds battlefield, i would actually kill him. it would be easy for me to do so.

---

as you might have guessed, the "i" in this passage is not actually me (yanyan) from real life. if it were Me In Real Life in jiang cheng's position i would probably just die.

instead, the "i" in thjis passage is a different MDZS character. prize for you (bragging rights) if you can guess who it is!!!!!

[silviakundera]

Haha I also used the dickless bore. I thought that only the two main characters came back didn't know he did as well. I still don't buy him ever being into her but that's just me I do wonder if he's going to try and kill her again. I do think Li Rong is treating him too well for my liking she should at least treat hit similarly or worse than she treated ML I want to see wet paper towel non stop suffer.

on one hand, imo a SRQ who is heartless doesn't work for the story the writer is trying to share with us. On the other hand, it's totally ok to decide to be a full-time hater towards a minor character, just because it's fun. I support haters! 🎉 \o/ 🎉

One thing that I think is relevant when comparing LR's reactions: if PWX had killed her, the motive would have been as part of his mission to have his childhood love Qin Zhenzhen's son become the next emperor. (Remember, he came over to threaten her life over that right before she died and called his ex Zhenzhen lmao) THE AUDACITY. In contrast, LR is viewing her murder at SRQ's hands as part of the revenge plan for the Su family's execution.

Some passages of Li Rong's POV:

After a few moments, she whispered: “Where did the scent on you come from?”

“If I say it, you might be upset.” Pei Wenxuan’s eyes had a hint of gloating at others’ pain.

Li Rong thought for a while and frowned, “Su Rongqing?”

“Yes.”

...Li Rong said nothing. She blankly stared into the fire.

Pei Wenxuan turned the fish over and looked at her with a smile, seemingly quite happy. Li Rong found that he had a fearless, unabashed look of enjoying a good play and couldn’t help but be a little fazed.

She believed everything Pei Wenxuan said.

---

Su Rongqing was someone that she saved with her own hands.

That year, Prince Su rebelled, and Su Rongqing’s elder brother spoke up for Prince Su. Later on, he was falsely accused of colluding with Prince Su, implicating the Su clan with treason.

At that time, Li Chuan was so furious that he fainted. He put the entire Su clan in prison without going through the Joint Trial of Three Divisions first and put the men to death and the women into exile. She disagreed with this decision and rushed to beg Li Chuan before the Su clan received their sentence. After being subjected to ten planks, with Pei Wenxuan’s intervention, she was finally able to ask for amnesty for the Su clan.

Even if the death sentences can be forgone, it was impossible to escape punishment while still alive. Even though the men of the Su clan could live, they would be subjected to castration. The others couldn’t bear the humiliation, so they all committed suicide in prison. When she arrived, there was only one man “desperate for life and afraid of death” left among the men of the Su clan, Su Rongqing.

At that time, she had told Su Rongqing that she saved him without the intention of asking him to repay her. She could give him silver and a position, so that he could continue to live a good life in the future.

Back then, she didn’t have any special feelings towards Su Rongqing. It was just that he had saved her before, so after he took care of her, bit by bit, she felt grateful, and…vague sentiments towards him.

For the most part, she sought to save the Su clan for Li Chuan and her own conscience. The Su clan was a prominent, noble family. It was difficult for her to sit back and watch if they died in such an ambiguous manner.

At that time, Su Rongqing refused to go.

...It wasn’t that she had never thought that Su Rongqing would not take revenge on her. After all, it was Li Chuan who ordered all the men of the Su clan to be beheaded and exiled all the female family members. It was impossible for anyone to forget this blood feud, let alone the formerly first and most outstanding gongzi of that year?

For so many years, she had never dared to give him real authority, observing him and guarding against him while still trying to help him live a better life. She couldn’t actually kill him because of her own conscience, but she couldn’t actually trust him and give him power.

In the end, he still decided to act. He killed her first, then successfully took her authority in the name of eliminating Pei Wenxuan. If she guessed correctly, he would not leave with the advisors. Instead, he would borrow the excuse of taking revenge for her and enforcing the will of the people to join forces with the Empress, assist Li Xin in ascension, and fight to the death against the remnants of Pei Wenxuan’s faction.

...

She had anticipated this possibility from the moment she took Su Rongqing in, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit regretful when it actually happened.

[toestalucia]

“  i wanna get better.  ” @wayfaringastral

meme.

It's words they hadn't considered, lost in the never-ending spiral of situations out of their control, the pieces of words and actions remaining sprawled across the table. Rosetta and Io had said he acted strange in Agastia when they stayed behind to fight Fenrir, and it was in that same city he first denied their request. A moment like looking in a mirror, perhaps a bit distorted, but the expression he had been wearing had been uncomfortably close to their own. (Why wouldn't it? When their hearts had lost its meaning.)

And then a memory that wasn't theirs emerged, and any thoughts about his grief was shelved.

They aren't surprised. They should be. This wasn't the kind of conversation they had ever had (but neither was any other). How many times now had he helped them out? Whether intentionally or not (watching the Grandsleuth made them wonder about the path their father had travelled, she looked more happy in the sky than locked to some harbor). Getting better — from the grief? Or from the past. He should be better, they should be better, everything was alright now. The night sky was glimmering, stars from a distant place gently offering warmth across a backdrop that wasn't broken anymore. Should they aim for it next? The moon or the stars—whichever would make people laugh in disbelief.

"You should visit sometime", it flows naturally, as if they were talking about tea and not matters of the heart. Since everything was alright and returning to normal, the bond between them should also return to its uncertain, wavering form. Not a friend, but not quite a foe, a presence they weren't able to name.

If they hadn't put their existence in his hands.

If they weren't realizing that whenever someone left their sight the memories of that day crashed through their mind. Their heart uneasy even in the comfort of the Grandcypher, knowing that Io and Rosetta were making dinner with Lyria and Vyrn. And yet. And yet.

"I can't say everyone will be positive", Phoebe had been rather distraught upon sensing Astrals nearby, and as much as it pained them to see, they also knew she trusted them when they said Loki and Mikaboshi wouldn't do her any harm. "But they won't turn you away", for good and for worse, a group of people insistent on feeling the pain and joy of others, and Gran loved them so very dearly for it. A pause follows, hesitant on how to continue, on how to speak of matters such as this without the ever compassionate Lyria by their side.

"...If you hadn't helped us, then we'd still be...no, maybe I would have already..." the what-if's haunting their dreams following in a jumbled mess, trailing off while they take a moment to try again. "...Thank you. For helping us out again", this mask I wear can't be removed. Did that still ring true, when he spoke like this? "Lyria is better at this than I am, but...I think we've been through enough that we don't have to be on different sides anymore. We don't have to see eye-to-eye, and you don't have to tell me what's happening, but I don't want to be suspicious of you and your crew next time we meet. You gave me the chance to save the people I love. I want to trust you, Loki", for the first time they shift their gaze to look at him, as steadfast and determined as always, leaving someone behind had never been something they could do. "If there's anything I—we—can do for you, then we'll do it. That's why...if you want to talk about things, you know where to find us."

[sirgawainofgalifrey]

Not to knock on Wrightworth or other Phoenix ships but people like to make most of Phoenix's actions have a romantic undertone and really miss out on the fact that he'll just about die for anyone he considers a friend.

Like he took on a clearcut murder case with zero experience (what's a cross-examination lol) because he was friends with Larry in school.

He STRAIGHT UP ATE GLASS AND METAL for the girl he was dating and was willing to ignore that she'd murdered someone.

He changed his whole ass career to get in contact with Edgeworth again just to make sure he was okay emotionally (and for other reasons that people like to ignore just for making it all about Edgeworth), even though they literally were like in 4th grade together for like half a year.

The first case he defended Maya was almost entirely because of Mia, because he didn't know Maya yet.

Literally EVERY CASE that he defends Maya in he's going above and beyond all reason and logic to prove that she's not guilty.

Him literally going against all reason and evidence and Edgeworth's own admission in the Edgeworth case to prove he's not guilty.

HIM LITERALLY ONLY TAKING ON THE SKYE CASE BECAUSE EMA AND LANA REMINDED HIM OF MAYA AND MIA.

Him literally in the Engarde case willing to compromise all his principles to get a murderer off the hook to save her (they give you the option of going with pleading that Engarde is innocent, even though it doesn't effect the outcome).

Him literally running across a burning bridge at night over a huge cliff to make sure she's alright.

All I'm saying is I think the writers more intended to characterize Phoenix as someone who is willing to do almost anything for people he cares about (even if he acts like a grumpy asshole most of the time), more than emphasizing any one romantic relationship.

(I also think that's why he took Edgeworth faking his death so hard, and was so pissed at him for it. Like he felt betrayed and helpless at Edgeworth commiting suicide, mad (at Edgeworth and himself) that Edgeworth thought he couldn't come to him for help, when he would do anything for him. And then he finds out he was deceived, and couldn't understand how anyone could do that to someone they care about, like it's not in his friendship vocabulary ((also the fact that Edgeworth had confided in Gumshoe and not him that he was still alive, meaning he trusts Gumshoe more than him as a friend.)) It all comes down to Phoenix being betrayed that he's not trusted and his devotion to his friends not returned.)

Anyway sorry this is so long I hope it makes sense.

(also I've only played the original trilogy)

[writers-potion]

Writing Female Fighters

The Heroine Must. Fight.

Today's female protagonists cannot sit on the side crying and breaking down or whimpering as the battle ensues.

Readers want to see autonomous female fighters who can at least defense themselves with courage and adequate skill.

Not all women are the same, but the heroine should get her butt moving.

Less Muscle, but More Flexibilty

The average woman is shorter than the average man, which makes it more difficult to wield a long sword or slam something down on the opponent's head.

A woman who works out can plausibly be stronger than a male couch potato, but if her male counterpart works out as much as her, the man is going to be much stronger.

On the other hand, the center of gravity in a woman's body is lower than a man's which makes it harder to knock her off her feet.

She is also more flexible, which gives her advantage in grappling fights, making use of complex landscapes, or deflecting blows.

A woman's small size can also be an advantage if her opponent has only ever trained with male opponents. His big hands might not get a good grip on her slender limbs.

In historical fiction, giving your heroine good muscule build can be tricky as exercise was generally considered harmful for women, with some exceptions for horseriding any maybe archery at best.

In such cases, make your heroine an accomplished dancer or an eager horsewoman, or the only girl whose father considered to be son replacement and thus, gave her a boy's education.

Women of lower classes who couldn't afford to be fashionably weak will be plausibly stronger, perhaps even more than an idle gentleman.

More Room for Negotiation, but Prolonged Ruthlessness

In the Suspense part of your fight scene, females are more likely to negotiate and talk more, strategically trying to descalate the situation rather than attacking on a momentary impulse.

Generally, women are less aggressive than men and remain level-headed longer than her male counterparts, opting for non-violent methods first before using force.

Exceptions apply if she is trying to protect her children (or someone who she cares for as a child). Mothers can be tigresses.

A female pre-fight conversation may be: "If you had not done so-and-so and betrayed me with so-and-so, we could have been good friends as I thought we would be." "What do you mean? It was in fact you who brought bad blood between us. I can still hear you laughing with so-and-so, taunting me, purposefully making me look bad -" "But that was so long ago! If you want me to say sorry about something so insignificant, you should have just said so: I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?" "Ha! I can't believe you say that so easily. You still don't get it, do you?" "Who's being petty and unreasonable now?"

A male pre-fight conversation will be shorter: "Who's the coward now?" "You're wrong." "Prove it." "Bastard."

Compared to men, it will take more time for a woman's fight hormones (adrenaline, neurotransmitters and such) to kick in.

She would be slower to engage initially, throwing reluctant punches and thinking, but she'll grow more and more violent and lose all rational thought and compassion, and once she's in full flow, may not stop even when her opponent begs for mercy.

When writing a male-female duo, you can show him going for the first blow while she observes and strategizes first. When he's past his peak and panting, she is flying about left and right. Later when the tension wears off and she becomes wobbly and teary, she can rely on him to have recovered faster and distract other teammates so that they won't see her cry.

Plausible Skills and Backstory

In many cultures and time periods, the general attitude of society towards girls is that they have no place in fist fights or martial arts, unlike how it is encouraged for boys of the same age. So if your heroine has physical prowess that surpasses typical 'fitness' or is hidden, build a backstory of how she's obtained it.

For modern heroines, it can be as simple as signing her up for martial arts classes or yearly membership at the local gym. For historical fiction or girls with strict 'feminine' upbringing, it can be trickier.

It can be related to profession: maybe she was an erotic wrestler, catfighter, or an assasin who thought killing was more honorable than prostitution. They may have dabbles with it for a short time and is now trying to hide their past from their respectable employer or fiance.

It can be family backstory: Perhaps her mother was an accomplished martial artist or she had to fend for younger siblings on the streets from an early age. Maybe she was the only girl in a family of many boys who refused to be the punching bag.

Inexperienced Female Fighters

A woman with no fighting experience or training is likely to resort to one of these on instinct:

Try to talk herself out of the situation, attempting to persuade or negotiate for her life.

Grab something to use as a weapon. This instinct seems to be stronger for women than it is in men.

Use her hands to try and break free, or kick (often wth little success)

Pull hair

Scratch.

In a serious fight, pulling hair and scratching won't be helpful, except when the police come to find her body, they would find the opponent's DNA under her fingernails.

Plausible Weapons and Clothing

All of the above applies to scenes where both parties have no weapons, or has the bare minimum (like one dagger each).

Weapons are equalizers, and if your heroine is pointing a gun at her opponent she will definitely NOT hesitate to be the one to shoot first.

When giving your female character a weapon, choose one she can plausibly use. It would take an unusually brawny woman to wield a great medieval longsword.

For historical fiction, give your heroine something she'll plausibly own. Swords and firearm were a no-go for women, but archery was borderline acceptable.

For clothing starters, you definitely CAN NOT dress her in a tight miniskirt and chainmail bra with long, flowy hair and multiple silver chockers. Unless she's trying to seduce her way into her opponent's bedroom, and he has a chainmail bra fetish.

A practical heroine will have her thighs covered, preferably with leather but at least with fabric, since a lot of blood flows through the thighs and a slash would be critical.

She'll keep her hair tied, tucked under a helmet, braided back, etc. so that it won't impede her vision.

She'll support her breasts with a strong sport bra. In a historical eprioid, she'll either tie her breasts tight with a fabric bandage or support them with some kind of leather corset.

Invent a female version of male fighter clothing of the time you are writing about if it doesn't exist.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[nereidprinc3ss]

mojave ghost

in which spencer reid spends the night with fem!reader—a total stranger—because she just feels so familiar. based on the song "my life in art" by Mojave 3.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: based on a song about a stripper who runs away from her abusive boyfriend. tws for mentions of physical abuse. r has bruises from pole dancing. a little ooc bc Spencer hooks up with someone he just met but that's the point and if u know him like I do u know its not completely impossible. mentions of typical cm violence/murder. one brief mention of spencer's addiction. spencer's childhood trauma and abandonment. it's kind of just a heavy one, lmk if i'm missing anything a/n: I doooo suggest you listen to the song first just to feel the vibe of the piece and also how it is literally about Spencer Reid. and also bc its gorjus. anyways its been a while and this is not my most standard content but pls lmk what u think and if u liked it <3

He shouldn’t have done it. 

But when he saw you, sitting in a metal folding chair next to some peeling veneered-desk, his breath caught. Something primal deep in his stomach tugged the way it does when he finds little external fragments of himself, calling out to him—usually nonhuman objects. He’s seen himself in books, still warm from the hands that held them but ultimately forgotten on a bench or in the airport, needles in alleys or in between tiles on his bathroom counter, in shards of glass, in a hundred open wounds and dead animals, abstractly gutted on the side of the street. 

When he does see himself in a person, it’s in alarming glimpses. The man in the sleeping bag on the corner who talks to people that aren’t there. The lost child crying on the subway platform, rooted to the spot and still gripping the straps of their little backpack with responsible fists. It’s never anything he wants to know about himself, but this identification, this taxonomy and recognition of sameness—it’s so strong it stops him in his tracks, every time. He never really relates to the people he’s supposed to. Not Hotch. Not Gideon. Not even Maeve, in the way he’d so naively hoped for. Three people, all incredibly intelligent, at times standoffish. Used to being on the outside. All still possessing things and redemptive qualities he doesn’t. And what Spencer has secretly believed about himself for what has recently become a very long time, is that he is defined by his lack. The shape of him is made of negative space. He feels like whatever is in your lungs when you’ve pushed all the air out. 

And then, you. 

Physically, you look nothing alike. And he stops and lurches and does a double take like he’s seen his doppelgänger or been startled by his own reflection in a passing window anyway. Maybe it’s the way you hold yourself—hunched, foot tapping, head hung but still scanning the room, ever vigilant as you pick at your nails. You want to be small. You want to fold in yourself so many times you become a black hole. Spencer knows this. 

Something calls out from deep inside him, from all around him, that is not quite in his voice, but feels like grasping and reaching. 

I know you, I know you. 

He doesn’t catch himself in time before he’s walking toward you like he’s been waiting for you. 

Of course your head snaps up at the same time as he stops, and your eyes are shiny but not teary—frozen over with a layer of thick, dark ice like you’d carried the cold inside with you. You look caught. He searches for some sort of recognition in your eyes, anything to betray the fact that you have met before, because he never forgets a face but he knows what familiarity feels like and he can’t remember meeting you. 

His throat forms around something but the wrong word comes out. Halting, like he’s trying to lasso it and pull it back in. 

“Hi.” 

You pull your scarf down—a deep Roman purple—to reveal a pretty mouth, lips chapped by the unforgiving freeze outside. 

“Hello,” you say, politely, considering his probably strange behavior. He gives you a proprietary scan. Utility coat over a thick grey sweater. Jeans, cuffed at the bottom but still nearly too long, probably belted, although he can’t tell from the posture and the sweater. Brown boots. Your bag is a frayed tapestry of neutrals and patches. Fingerless knit gloves. You’ve given yourself false density, let the clothes swallow you up. Shapeless. Nearly faceless, magnet eyes framed between the scarf and the hat. But you’ve got a name. Everyone has a name. There’s yet to be anything humanity has discovered and not bothered to name. 

He forgets to ask. You clear your throat. 

“Um, I spoke to someone on the phone—Aaron, I think? We’re supposed to talk.”

Spencer tries to pick his jaw up off the floor. 

“Yeah, um, I can—I’ll… go get him.”

He turns away and breathes for the first time since he saw you, but he feels you behind him. He’s aware of exactly where you are in relation to the back of his head, he can feel you, like a hot spot, all the way to Hotch’s door. He lets himself in, slipping between as small a gap as he can manage and shutting the door gently behind him. Hotch looks up, not noticeably displeased at having been interrupted in his endless paperwork. 

What Spencer learns from his boss is this: you live in DC. You heard about a murder in Kansas—a girl, her hair still a fine, pale cornsilk. Barely not a child. You heard the details, and you called the cops, because you swear to god you know who did it, and they told you there was nothing they could do and gave you the number of someone who might be able to help, and so you followed a bureaucratic trail of phone numbers designed to discourage until you got to the BAU. Hotch says he’s going to interview you, but it’s probably nothing. 

“Actually, I’d like to do it if that’s okay.”

Hotch frowns deeper than usual.

“Why?”

Spencer swallows. Hesitates. 

“I finished my incident report early.”

Though he clearly has his reservations about Spencer’s sudden interest, Hotch is knee-deep in paperwork. So that’s how Spencer ends up in the round table room with you. 

You look too young, too raw to have been married, but you’re rubbing at your ring finger with the adjacent thumb like something is bothering you there. An absence that has become a presence. Negative space. You see things that aren’t there. Spencer knows that, too. Maybe you’re the kind of person who could look at him and see something.

That is his most intimate fantasy. He imagines it with you and feels the same kind of illicit shame and bloodied, starving hunger other people feel when they imagine sex or drugs or ravaging power; the way anyone imagines anything they want and can’t have.  

But he can’t put that kind of pressure on you. He can’t hold expectations like that. You’re a stranger. 

“Do you always do that?”

He points to your fiddling and gets that sour feeling in his throat he always does when he says something and wishes he hadn’t said it. That probably doesn’t show on his face. Most things don’t show on his face. Or maybe they do and nobody has bothered to tell him. 

You flex your pretty hand and then make a fist like you’ve been burned, probably to stop the compulsion. When you give a self-deprecating laugh, Spencer feels incredibly guilty for having pointed it out. But he doesn’t know how to talk to you. And at the same time, he almost expects it’ll be like talking to himself. Only nobody will give him odd looks. 

“Uh… old habit. I used to spin my wedding ring around when I was nervous.”

Used to. You’re especially too young to have been divorced. 

“You’re nervous?”

Your eyes flash as you look up to him. With what, he doesn’t know. Lightning, maybe. Electrical impulses that are a little less well insulated in you than in everyone else. 

But maybe he’s projecting. 

“Yeah. I feel crazy. But I was with a guy for a while who—and he was from Kansas—who would always, like, talk about… about hurting people. And I thought it was a joke at first, but… he laughed, at other people’s pain. He liked to hurt people. And animals. His dad had a farm, so I thought it was maybe he was just cavalier about life and death, but it was more than that. And he lived… he lived in that town. Where that girl died. He probably knew her. I… I probably knew her.”

Spencer’s heart sinks and he clears his throat like the force could bring it back up the right level again. 

You’re not his soulmate. You’re just paranoid. Looking for answers and resolution, like everybody else. 

The piece of himself he saw in you was just free radical damage. Instability. 

“Did he ever kill anyone before?”

“Wh—not that I know of. But I don’t really think he would’ve told me.”

But you would’ve known. You’re here because you’re lost. 

“Did he ever seriously injure anyone?”

You swallow and sit up a little straighter. Heat lightning in your eyes, again. It makes him feel something. He sits up too, despite your indignance, because it’s entrancing. 

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“He… he…” you melt as quickly as you inflated and go back to spinning a ring that’s not there. It’s like watching technicolor go to black and white. “He’d beat people up. He cut them with broken beer bottles and… yeah. A lot of other shit. He was just… he was crazy. He wasn’t… okay.”

The way your gaze flickers back and forth like you’re reading pages of a book or perhaps in REM as you recount in vague detail what your ex had done clues Spencer into the fact that you’re extremely traumatized. The way you make sure to emphasize that your clearly abusive ex wasn’t okay clues him into the fact that you care too much. That you’re too quick to excuse people’s bad behavior, or dismiss it, because you know how it feels to be dismissed entirely and you don’t want to make anyone else feel the way you’ve felt. 

Or maybe he’s still projecting. Maybe he’s idealized you in these few short minutes since you met and he’s too far gone. Maybe he should’ve let Hotch do this interview after all. In fact, he absolutely should’ve. 

But the worst thing by far he did was ask to walk you to your car after all was said and done. 

The interview went on for over two hours, and he’d learned things about you he suspects you’ve never told anyone before, and thus has learned about himself, and the building is mostly empty when you finally leave. The work day is over. So he selfishly asks you to wait while he gathers his things—buttons his coat, wraps his scarf, packs his bag—and then he soaks in the silence on the elevator because it’s that terrible, beautiful space between where you first cross the line and when you do something unforgivable. Asking to walk you to your car was crossing the line. 

Sleeping with you was unforgivable. 

And he didn’t care. Maybe he knew he was going to do this from the moment he saw you. Spencer never does this. The knowing that it was going to happen is quite a distinct flavor of intuitive knowledge and it was always on the back of his tongue. 

You’re silver and purple, a streak, a blur, you move too fast to keep up with and even when you’re perfectly still the atoms around you scramble like they’re jonesing. You inspire movement. You are movement. But he gets to see you slow, and despite having known you only a few hours, he knows this is nothing short of a natural phenomenon. A once in a lifetime sort of shooting star. That’s where the silver comes in. 

The purple, though—it’s in strange places. Around your upper arm. Between your thighs. On your knees and shins and hips. The first time he noticed it he couldn’t ignore it, but he couldn’t very well ask what’s hurting you while he was touching you in a way that was decidedly not painful, if he wanted to keep it that way. And he did. He wanted to keep you looking at him through half-lidded eyes like he was something to see. 

Still, he can’t notice it and then fuck you without saying something—or maybe he could, and you desperately want him to and you ask for it and maybe most people would, but he won’t—so he brings it up. 

“I lead a very active life,” is your whispered excuse, shaped by a smile that is something like mischievous. And then you’re kissing his flushed neck and making your descent and so he can’t ask very many questions. 

It’s only in the precarious after that he can fit his questions in, which is dumb and he knows that, because you’re a dizzying contradiction of cagey and flighty and really the slightest thing will send you running. It’s funny how he knows that after a few hours and sex. Sex can tell you so much about a person. Spencer has compiled all the data from his experiences and decided sex is radically more effective a profiling tool than interview. 

You’re on his pillow, lying on your stomach, and his hand is in your hair. Falling in love is quite a distinctive taste as well. Or at least, the recognition that if you spend enough time around a person you will, beyond a shadow of a doubt, fall in love with them. It is almost the same thing. It aches because it’s there and the proper thing to do is pretend it’s not. 

And his hand is in your hair. And your eyes are closed, and you look like you might fall asleep, and he should be beyond grateful for all of these things. He is. 

But that pesky desire to ameliorate, to improve and make better, and fix and heal, is too strong. Probably it’s the only way he thinks anyone will love him, is if he makes himself useful. That’s no revelation to him. The thought is not shocking whatsoever. It’s just true. 

So he asks again. You blink your eyes a quarter of the way open. 

“Hazard of the job.”

“What job?”

You make a noncommittal noise of reluctance—a discontented puppy’s whine, half-asleep. 

“I’m a circus freak.”

He laughs and remembers to keep scratching your scalp. The way you smile, eyes closed, is infectious. 

“Yeah? What’s your act?”

“Guess,” you challenge through the remnants of a smile, oozing satisfaction and glowing like a star. 

When he pauses to regard you, to seriously consider, studying the curve of your cheek and the color of your lips, you open your eyes again. 

“Tightrope walker,” he finally says, earnestly, so soft it could tear down the middle like gauze. 

Your answer is a smile into the dark. “How’d you know?”

The corner of his mouth vies higher. 

“I sensed a kindred spirit.”

Silence floods the room again, slowly, thickly, like molasses. It’s pleasant. You’re still here, in his bed, and he’s still measuring time with the pendulum of his hand in your hair. 

“What do you really do?” 

He expects you to be asleep. 

“Dancer.” Your lips hardly move as you say it, inflectionless, immediate. If his hand falters, it’s only momentarily. That explains the bruising, and so is a relief, as far as he’s concerned. But perhaps his silence is misconstrued. “Do you want me to go?”

It certainly doesn’t seem like you want to go. Your eyes aren’t even open. 

He keeps his voice low and gentle like maybe you really are asleep. 

“Why would I want you to go?”

“Don’t… do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you’re not judging me.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m from Vegas. Your job is not a novelty to me.”

This time when your eyes slide open, there is a new, curious light behind them. 

“Really?”

He nods, distracted by a freckle just beneath your eye. 

“When I was ten I ran into my bus driver wearing two quarters as a shirt. And we weren’t even on the strip. We were in a Texas Roadhouse parking lot.”

You snort with laughter and it’s melodic, like twinkling crystals, like running water. Even as you hide your face behind your hand, he’s transfixed. God, he’s never cared about being funny before. Now he wants to make you laugh over and over again. He wants to keep you softer than you’ve ever been. The laughter fades slowly and he grieves it—but your hand sliding away from your face like the sun coming up from behind a mountain eases the ache. 

You reach out as if in a trance and run your thumb gently beneath his eye. He holds his breath as you make contact, butterfly light. Nobody has ever touched him like this before. 

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmur. A thoughtless observation. A truth cast to the breeze. Knuckles carefully follow the dip of his cheekbone—a cartographer, learning her way by touch. Marking her territory. He’d let you do it. His eye stings, ready to spring forth a river just so you can have the pleasure of discovering it. “Breathe,” you laugh, softly, and he does. 

“Sorry.”

You don’t say a thing. You let your fingers trace borders into his skin and follow them with soft eyes and he wonders what he’s ever done to deserve this kind of magic. He wonders if he’ll ever feel as good as he does right now, when it’s all over. Nobody has ever paid this much attention to him—but you’re intent, focused, like he’s art. 

“Tell me about Vegas.”

It takes him a moment to reply. 

“Hm?”

He feels bewitched. Warm. Foggy. A thumb brushes over his lips, but it’s only a pass, thank god, because he can hardly stand how you’re touching him already, at the high point of his cheek, beneath his brow. Finally getting enough sometimes feels awfully close to too much. He’s already almost cried once. 

“I wanna hear about Vegas. I’ve always wanted to go. Is it hot?”

Spencer will say whatever you want him to say, but he has to focus a little—like he’s speaking through honey. 

“In the summer, during the day. In the winter at night it drops to below freezing.”

“Desert-y,” you hum.

“Very.”

“Tell me more.”

There’s a rousing hunger in your voice and it reminds Spencer to want you again. He finds your waist and tugs you closer. Who is he with you?

Is he better? 

“There are 175 casinos in the city, but only thirty on the strip. There are 15,000 miles of neon tubing on the strip alone. It’s the brightest place on earth. You can see it from space.”

“Not that.”

Petulant. He loves it. 

His lips find the softness of your shoulder. “Then what?”

The only clue that you can feel what he’s doing to you is the twitch of your fingers on his cheek. 

“Tell me something… tell me exactly how it feels to stand in the middle of the desert. With nobody else around. Tell me things and details I couldn’t know about unless I’ve been there.”

At the junction of your neck, he pauses. This beautiful girl, and her beautiful brain—you are so disarming. So perfect. 

You shiver into him as his fingers brush up the back of your neck, gently pushing away hair so he can learn you everywhere. So he can remember your landscape, just like he’s doing as he closes his eyes and falls into memory. 

A gas station, off the side of the road—seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Desert all around. His dad’s ’79 Ford Fiesta—the one he didn’t take with him when he left. The driver’s door is open. Spencer’s dad has been inside for minutes. Spencer is watching from the middle of the road, because he looked out from the backseat of the Fiesta, and saw that dark, unassuming spot, and thought—how would it feel to be the darkness? What would I see if I were nothing at all?

When he gets there, and he stands on the sun bleached pavement, veined with spiderwebs of tar, and he sees this all from a distance—he realizes he feels exactly the same as he always does. So he pivots his head to the left. The road goes on until it disappears into the smudgy horizon. To the right, it does the same. The earth swells, far away, so many miles, so coal black, so impossible. Hardly even real. But there is something out there, he thinks. There is something, even if nobody else has ever been there, and I want to stand in the middle of it and I will learn how it feels to be nothing. I will not observe—I will become apart of the landscape, with the Joshua trees that have been there for a thousand years, and the rocks that haven’t moved in millennia. 

So he begins to walk. 

The rocks crunch under his feet, and that is the only noise. 

He walks for minutes. He walks until he knows the gas station will be small. He walks until he can feel the emptiness on the back of his neck, until it feels like an embrace. 

“It’s silent,” he hears himself say to you, in some other universe, decades in the future. “At night, it’s completely silent. You can hear yourself breathe. If you throw a pebble ten feet away, you’ll hear it hit the ground.”

Little Spencer takes a deep breath of inky air. 

“It smells like… geosmin.”

“What?”

Perfect. Your voice is perfect. 

“Dirt. But it’s not the same as dirt anywhere else. It’s… drier, like it’s smelled the same way for a really long time.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn. He’s doing a terrible job explaining.

But he feels your breath on his cheek—eager. Your hand at his shoulder as you lean closer, enraptured. Reverent, almost. 

“What else?”

What else?

Dry brush snags on the hem of the corduroys his mother had picked out for him. They’re a little too short. She’s going to try to take him shopping again tomorrow. It’ll work this time—they’ll get to the store. Mom’s just been having some trouble leaving the house lately. 

Rustling leaves skim the tips of his fingers as he reaches out for them, and keeps walking. When was the last time someone touched that shrub?

“There’s vegetation. Creosote, mostly, if you’re in the scrubland. Larrea tridentada. It’s dry—kind of twiggy, with green leaves and yellow flowers in the spring. The smell is bad, like asphalt, but you only notice if you get close.”

He hears his dad calling his name. It fades in and out. 

It’s dizzying, hearing his father’s voice. His father saying his name. 

It’s been a long time. 

“It’s so flat that things don’t echo. But because of the extreme variations in temperature the air pressure sometimes forces the sound waves to the ground and makes it impossible for them to propagate. They’re called the Santa Ana winds. Someone could be standing right next to you and if the wind blows at just the right angle, you won’t be able to hear them. But when it’s still, sound carries far.”

His father is angry. Or is he worried? 

Spencer can make out his dad, pacing frantically back and forth across the gas station pad, white button-up a glowing beacon even from this far away beneath the lone yellow street light. He looks so small. So very far away. Ant-like. 

Santa Ana comes slow—warmer than the night air around him, to ruffle his hair and rustle the dry leaves and blow soft clouds of fragrant sienna dirt around at his knees. It blows through him. For a moment, it wakes the desert up. 

Then it’s passed. It moves further down the desert and leaves Spencer behind. Things settle into silence again. He’s alone again. 

Spencer’s stomach flips as he realizes his father can’t see him this far away, this deep into the dark nothing. 

As he finally feels the enormity of the distance on all sides. 

Suddenly the void behind him is massive. Suddenly it is everything, and it is sucking him deeper. Nobody can see him. He could just disappear into 25,000 square miles of desert. He’s already, what—a thousand feet gone? More? The weight of all the infinite space behind him presses, and he thought it’d feel interesting but it feels like dying and there has never been so much regret or dread curdling in his stomach before. His face crumples, eyes stinging in the dry air, and he takes one step forward, and then another, and then he runs like he’s running for his life. But he doesn’t feel chased—no, that’s the worst part. He is running from an infinite, vacuous, nothing. Dad! He screams, but even this young he knows how sound waves work in the desert and he can tell his dad can’t hear him and he’s running and screaming until his lungs burn, and the scrub lashes at his ankles, and it has been the same for a thousand years and it will stay the same for a thousand more with or without him. Dad, I’m right here! He sobs, the words ripping up his throat with desperation as they go. 

Finally, finally, he’s heard, and he’s close enough to see his dad seeing him, he stops pacing and stares dumbfounded at the little boy appearing from the desert, sneakers slapping cracked asphalt. He gets closer and closer until he can see the lines on his father’s face and the color of his eyes and he sobs as he crashes into him. His dad’s hands are vice-tight around his arms, as Spencer cries and can’t breathe and thrashes like a fish out of water. 

What? Is all his father can manage, tight and baffled and afraid and the first word of a question he doesn’t even know how to ask. He says it again and again, like a skipping record; what—what? What?

On the drive home, Spencer sits in the backseat, a bottle of Bug Juice in his lap. His ankles sting, whipped and bloodied and punished for wearing too-short pants. 

The silence is cloistering and at the same time, completely par for the course. He does not expect his father to speak to him, but he sort of thinks maybe another father would. 

Outside, the black spine of distant mountains rolls on forever and stays impossibly far away. He peers out into the nothing, past what the moonlight can illuminate—and now, he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows how it feels. Imagines another little boy made of shadows, as far away from the road as he’d been, and feels sick from all that fruit juice. He won’t ask his dad to pull over—all he wants is to get rid of that feeling on the back of his neck, like he’s dissolving into space. Like he’s the only thing for miles and miles. 

But the problem is—the feeling doesn’t go away. 

Not in the driveway. Not in the bath. Not in bed, later that night. 

Spencer did a bad thing and he wishes he could go back to normal. He wishes he didn’t get that desert feeling when he was surrounded by other people. But it comes back, again and again. At school. When he tentatively asks for new pants and his mom throws a vase at the wall and then sobs on the floor for forty minutes. When a few weeks later, his dad leaves, and doesn’t take the Ford with him—so it sits under the carport, greets him on his way to school every morning, and over the course of years the windshield turns opaque with dust. 

He hasn’t stopped feeling that way since. 

“You okay?”

A long, soft breath draws him back into his body. Into his bed. 

Not creosote. Not geosmin. Not the Santa Ana winds, coming from the deepest parts of the desert and carrying their desolation to him. Shampoo. Warmth. A girl who smells sort of like him, now—a girl whose perfume is all over his neck and chest and pillow. 

You’re there. You, a stranger. You, a girl he’s going to fall in love with. You—the only person he ever brought into the desert with him. The only person who ever brought him back. 

Point Nemo is not in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Asphodel is not in the underworld. It’s a little less than half a mile out across from an old gas station on the I-15 in the middle of the Mojave desert. 

Spencer nods because he can’t bring himself to speak just yet. 

You smile and take the time to find his hand in the dark. 

“Felt like I was out there with you. Thanks.”

And he squeezes your hand—because for the first time, it feels like someone is going to come looking for him. 

lyrics from my life in art <3

[peace-hunter]

Question for baby prime Orion au: how do the rest of the gang take that Orion is the "lost" prime. Because here's the reaction I think they'll have:

D-16:oh primes my friend is a prime and I punch him in the face yesterday!?

Elita: oh primes, this trouble making bot is a prime!?

B-127: one of my new friends is a prime, this is awesome!!

"How well am I taking that one of my friends is actually a demi-god?" reactions from best to worst:

you're pretty much right with Bee. this has been the wildest day he's had since forever, he's very much just along for the ride and he's kinda just "this may as well happen :)"-ing through everything. he's also lowkey clinging to the one (1) good new he's gotten from this whole affair for dear life. like. he could freak out about the fact his entire life has been a lie and he's been working himself to death for a tyrant that's betrayed their entire race to their sworn enemies. or he could be happy his new best friend is extra cool now. so. y'know. glass half-full half-empty kinda deal.

Dee's reaction is,,,, complicated. obviously.

on one hand holy crap his friend is a prime that's the coolest fucking shit ever he's friends with someone directly related to megatronus prime-

on the other. this is just one more thing he's been wrong about for cycles. everything he thought was true is turning out to be a lie and even if this isn't a betrayal like sentinel's it's still something he has to accept is not what he thought it was. Orion, his best friend, the person he trusted the most, is not what he thought he was.

and even though Orion didn't know (which... is also a point of contention between them with Dee not being quite able to believe one could forget such a thing even as Orion swears over and over again he had no idea) there's still a divide between them that wasn't there before. now Orion is this almost mythological being directly created by their god for greater things while Dee is just... a miner.

now Orion is a Prime. and Dee has just found out what happens when you trust a so-called Prime.

and he also can't help but wonder, as he remembers all those times Orion ignored what he said and involved him in his crazy schemes with no regard for what he thought about it, if it's just in the nature of Primes to do as they wish without considering what it means for everyone else.

but the real victim here is elita who is experiencing a level of cringe that hasn't been seen in cybertron before nor will be seen again until maybe four million years and a war later during peace negotiations. pray for her.

baby prime orion au

[quarterlifekitty]

The Gaz secret baby post was sooo delicious. He totally would go "oh fuck yeah a baby it’s baby time". You've infected my brain with this trope and the doctors are saying it's incurable 🤒 I keep thinking of Nikolai in this trope!

He's not made his attraction to you any secret – you dismiss any reciprocated feelings because it's just not realistic with both of your jobs. The task force finishes a gruelling but successful op with him, and everybody decides to let loose for a night. After a few many rounds of drinks… you inevitably fall into his bed.

Cut to 5 weeks later, you're staring at a positive test and wondering how long you can keep this a secret. You resolve to never let Nik know he's the dad. Someone who loves his job, disappearing for months… you decide it's best for your child to have at least one present parent and maybe you're scared of the rejection.

I’m so ashamed I haven’t done this trope for Nikolai!!! I love the idea of you trying actively to hide it— it’s not just a one night stand thing, you really know each other and you’re still trying to get away with it.

At first, when he sees the baby— he just assumes it can’t be his, because you would’ve told him, wouldn’t you? Surely you wouldn’t think he didn’t want anything to do with a perfect, chubby baby made from both you and him. So when he’s questioning, it’s about the timelines. He knows there wasn’t anything labeled between you— it was one night, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but the beast inside him still bares its teeth at the idea that you fucked someone right after he fucked you.

Price, for all that Nik is his best mate, promised to be your confidant as your captain, and he wouldn’t betray that. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a messy bitch who will start making a whole load of implications. Some of them are pretty crude, too, because he’s trying to goad Nik into confronting you. Saying things like “You should dick ‘er down again soon, last time it settled her down like you wouldn’t believe.”

It makes Nik more and more sure that there wasn’t anyone else. You were never really the type. Which means the baby must be his, and for some reason, you don’t want him to know.

That makes his blood hot. The idea that you don’t want him to father his own baby. You’ve always been a bit bristly to him, and he’s never known exactly why— he was hoping to find out the morning after you fell into bed together, but you ran out first thing, and he was contracted in a job soon after.

So he hangs over you more than before, watching from a distance, the gears turning as he considers what the fuck to say to get you to fess up. He wants to hear you say it. He doesn’t want to just ask and have you confirm or deny.

It hurts that you don’t want to tell him. That you don’t feel it’s safe for him to know. That you’re trying to protect yourself and the cub from him knowing. And despite the support from your own squad— it can’t have been easy for you.

But he also doesn’t want to miss out on another second of fatherhood. There’s an impatient roiling in his gut about it. Seeing your fat little baby, his fat little baby, and not being able to wordlessly lift it from your arms and hold it close to his chest and kiss its head.

So he’s conflicted, to say the least.

[prettiestgrlinthemorguexo]

Can I request an Lucifer Morningstar x fem reader??

This like came up in my mind recently and I’m going feral over it

So Reader is Adams third wife that he had begged again to god to make him another wife (this is way before the exterminators fight with the devils when reader was created) and with that god made reader to be his wife that is different from both lilith and Eve, when reader was visiting The garden of Eden, she met lucifer who was on his way to do a meeting with the angels about the populations or the updates(idk you can do something like that) and lucifer was strolling through Eden again like going through a flashback when it all happened until he met reader who was sitting down underneath that same tree where he met Eve

Lucifer found reader enchanting and alluring since she was more beautiful then his ex wife, and soon had an urge to seduce reader like he did to adams other ex wives as lucifer held an apple to reader to tempt her with free will, reader was hesitant and tempted but asked lucifer “what did you do to make adams ex wives to leave him for you?” (She wasn’t told how adams ex wives fucked lucifer but she does know about the free will but what happened to Eve since she knew about the whole story about lucifer and lilith) it made lucifer smirk and told reader “would you like to know?”

(I’m sorry but like I’ve been thinking so much about it🤭🤭🤭)

Third times a charm (Lucifer Morningstar x Adam’s wife! Reader)

Legit love this idea, this a smut for obvi reasons

At this point, Adam just needs to stop because no one wants him also this takes place like 2 year-ish after Lilith left Lucifer

This is not proofread!!!

Also I’m not christen so I don’t know everything about Christianity. So I’m going off of Hazbin hotel and how I interpret the things I do know from the Bible

Reader is female in this

Warnings: smut, P n V sex, oral sex (reader reserving), reader is a virgin (Adam doesn’t get pussy) , dom! Lucifer, outside/public sex, Y/N is suggested to have big thighs, Lucifer comforting reader, Mentions of blood

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

No ones POV

After Lilith and Eve both falling for Lucifer’s tricks, Adam begged for a new wife. God obliged gave them one more, he named her Y/N, they had H/C hair and the most beautiful E/C eyes. They were a few form of beauty never seem before, oftenly considered the ‘beautiful one’ of Adams wives by the head angels. You lived with Adam, but due to Adam off doing heavens know what, she spent most of her time in the place it all started…the garden of Eden.

Y/N was told about how Lucifer ‘bewitched’ Lilith and eve to betray God and Adam and the heavens itself, but was never really known why they did, why did they choose Lucifer? It was a question they asked herself quite often.

On one summers day while Adam was off doing what Y/N could only assume to be ‘work’, she was once again in the garden. Y/N couldn’t explain why they like the garden so much but they felt so drawn to it. On this day, Y/N wasn’t the only one in the garden. This was one of the days the Angels were meeting with the king of hell himself, Lucifer.

Lucifer had to attend another meeting due to the population still not going down as much as the Angels hoped. He truly didn’t want to attend such a meeting, but he had to. To avoid the meeting as long as possible he decided to take a walk in the a Garden of Eden, this garden help a special place in Lucifer’s mind, where he met he ex wife Lilith and where evil was created when Eve eating the fruit of wisdom.

Today he chose to visit that very tree, the large tree where everything happened. As the walked through the greenery he way the opening where the tree sat but there was something else, someone else. They’re laid a woman lying in the shade of under the large apple tree wearing a white angelic bread, her beautiful H/L H/C they laid against the bed of grass. Her facial features were gorgeous, things he’s never seen before. She had E/C eyes. Everything about her was enchanting, as he was admiring her the noticed something on her finger, a gold wedding band with a large “A” ingrained on it…she was Adam’s wife.

Lucifer was surprised by the knowledge, when had Adam gotten a new wife? God actually gave him another after what happened to the last two? Lucifer remembering the every tree she lied under. Lucifer idea came to his head, why not keep up the streak of stealing away Adams wife? Lucifer moved swiftly over to the tree taking one of the hanging apples before appearing infront of the woman.

Though Y/N eyes were closed enjoyed the sounds of the garden, they felt an unfamiliar presence around her. She shot her eyes E/C open to see a pale man with blonde hair, we wore a white suit with red detailing along with the snake along his hat,then they notice this hand, he was holding a apple.

Y/N nearly shot up from her previous position, she knew who this was…it was Lucifer. She’s hear stories of the fallen angel, but has never seen his face before but she knew it was him. “Hello my dear.” He said with a smile was he stepped closer to her. She didn’t looked scared more intrigued than anything, which he wasn’t expecting considering the stories told of him by the angels. “Did God not give you a voice dear?” He asked seeming more of a joke. “No,” she said to this, her eyes not leaving his face, “I have one..”

He leaned down get on one knee infront of her, “then why don’t you use it? You could be free…” his clawed hand that held the red apple extend to her, the red apple begging to be taken. She stared at the apple debating it for a moment before her eyes moved back to his, “I have a question for you..” she asked him, she seemed so unmoved by the chance at free will. It caught him a little off guard, “she is truly different..” the thought to himself. “Ask away Dove? What on your mind?” He ask the woman curious what question could be more important then free will.

“What did you do to make Adam’s first to wives to leave him for you?” She asked him, curious

Lucifer smug smile feel into a shocking look, did she not know about what happened? Is Heaven really hiding this from her? Then it hit Lucifer, what a better way to teach then show her. He let the apple drop to the ground as he crawled over to her, moving between her legs, he moves one of his under her chin tilting it to him.

“Would you like to know? I could show you..” he said to her in a low voice.

She looked at him a little shocked, what was this feeling? Y/N had never help this before, she felt hot. “Yes..” she said to him, he smile widen as he lead his face in more. “Are you sure..?” He asked again, in an almost teasing way. Y/N nodded their head, “I am…show me..” and with those words, Lucifer kissed them deep.

It caught Y/N off guard but quickly kissed back, wrapping their arms around this neck pulling him closer Lucifer was quick to move his free arm around your waist and pulled you in. Making her body press against his. The feeling her body pressed again his, Y/N couldn’t help but moan at this foreign feeling growing in her. Lucifer heard her moan, it was like a siren call to him. He took the hand that was on her cheek and moved it down under her dress, brushing his fingers over her clothed pussy.

The feeling of his actions made Y/N jump at the feeling, she’s never felt this, it sent an aching feeling into her cover, it felt as if her body was begging for more. Lucifer pulled away from the kiss, a smile string of saliva connecting them. Her face was flushed, a perfect shade of red. Lucifer pressed against her pussy again feeling a wet pool form, almost like on command she let out another moan, her nail’s scratching the nape of his neck.

Lucifer smiled at her reaction, before moving down. “Let me help you with this…” he said in a low voice full of lust, his voice alone enchanting her. Lucifer spread her legs wider and lifted her dress up, revealing her stomach and clothed pussy. Y/N gasp at the action, a little embarrassed and how relieved she is. Lucifer kissed her stomach as they removed their panties, revealing their soaking wet cunt. Y/N watched him as he kissed down her stomach before pulling away, his eyes moving up to look at hers before back to her pussy.

Lucifer moved her thighs onto his shoulder, knocking off his hat, allowing him full access into to her, before he could react to her lower body being lifted up, Lucifer licked her wet folds. Y/N gasp letting out a moan at the feeling of this long tongue lick her. Lucifer let out a groan, she was he best thing he’s ever tasted, he was quick to move in closer, his mouth pressed against her wet cunt, eating her out like it was his last meal. Y/N couldn’t help but become a moaning mess quickly, the feeling was so foreign but it was the best feeling she’d felt her whole life, she wanted, no, she needed more.

Her hand reaching down and tangled her finger in his blonde hair, pushing his head in. It caught him off guard but he loved seeing her so eager. Lucifer happily fulfilled her wish for move , he slipped his tongue in her as he continued to eat. Y/N felt a pit form inside her, she needed it to go away, he needed to make it go away. “Fuck..please!” Y/N moaned out louder. Lucifer could tell she was close by the feeling of her tightening around his long tongue, he groan at the feeling, feeling his pants tighten up. His groans send a vibration into her.

Y/N clinched her thighs around his head, moaning as the vibration. She felt like she was about to release something that she didn’t even know of. After a few more swift motions of Lucifer, Y/N felt the pit release, she let out a loud moan, she attempted to muffle it out by covering her mouth. Lucifer moaned and slurped up all her juices, it was the perfect taste.

Y/N felt like she was floating, this feeling was so knew but she never wanted it to stop. After he sucked her dry, Lucifer pulled away his chin glistening with her juices. When Lucifer go back onto his knees, he stayed between her now shaking legs, he looked at her flushed face, her eyes clouded with the new pleasure. To him she looked perfectly, he was quick to kiss her deep, yet every passionately. Y/N was quick to kiss back softly playing with his hair. While they kissed, Lucifer was quick to undo this belt. Before he could finish undoing his pants, he pulled away hovering over her.

“Are you ready..?” Lucifer asked softly. Y/N nodded their head eagerly, “Please…I need this..” she said through heavy breaths. Lucifer smiled as he undid his pants pulling them down. His cock springing to life. Y/N gasp softly, mesmerized. Lucifer moved in closer in, when he did Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt him pressing his tip against her entrance, she shivered at the feeling.

After a moment Lucifer slowly entered her stretching her out. She gasped loudly moaning, she felt the sting of him stretching her out. She felt tears peak the corners of her eyes. Noticing this Lucifer stayed still, moving his face down to place butterfly kisses on her face, moving his hand to her cheek holding her kissing away her tears. “It’s ok dove..” he whispered in her ear and he continued his assault of kisses. “Just tell me when to continue, ok..?” He said softly to her, she nodded her head and held him close as he continued to kiss her face, wishing sweet nothing in Y/N’s ear.

After a few minutes, she whispered to him “you can continue..” she said quietly. Lucifer nodded his head as he continued to push in, she whinned a little but it wasn’t as painful as before. Soon he was all the way in, all 8 inches. He was still for a moment looking into Y/N eyes, waiting for her permission to move, Y/N nodded. With the affirming nod of approval, Lucifer pulled nearly all the way our all the way out and slammed back in, making Y/N throw her head pack and moan loudly. It was a perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

Lucifer couldn’t help but moan himself, Y/N was so tight it was a knee feeling to him. He loved him. As he slowly continued his thrust, Y/N could held but moan into Lucifer’s neck. This feeling was new to Y/N and they didn’t want it to end. “Please!” Y/N moaned out to him between this thrust, “more please..” Lucifer smiled at his words as he sped up with his thrust. “Fuck..” Lucifer moaned out as he held her tight. There body’s pressed against each other, Y/N nails were dug into his back nearly tearing his suit jacket, Y/N could feel the pit reforming in her as a fast past, Lucifer could feel it too.

Lucifer could feel him release building up, and it was only getting closer as he felt her squeeze around him. He could only let out groans as he digs his nails through her dress, piecing her skin, drawing blood. Y/N’s head was thrown back they felt like they were about to release. “Please!!” Y/N’s nearly screamed out to him. Lucifer smiled obeying her orders, speeding up for her and his own release. Her blood began to slowly stain her white dress, after a few more thrust Y/N let out a moan as they came again, coating his cock with them. Her body was shaking as he continued to thrust. Feeling the tight wetness, he came into her, painting her wall white. After he was done he clasped onto her, both panting heavily.

Y/N was a shaking mess, Arms wrapped around him tight, almost as if she let go they’d both disappear. “Are you already little dove..?” He asked soft to her. His cock still buried inside her still. “I feel great..” she said softly, nuzzling into him. “Good..” he said quietly kissing her cheek, “now you know why Adams first two wives left him..” Y/N looked at him her E/C filled with wonder and questions. “What does that mean for me.” Lucifer let out a small laugh. “That means your mine now sweetheart..”

Tag list

@reverse-soe @kazurami14 @netheris @musicb33nsstuff @rainycloud858 @yaimlight @erissco @aarkhamkknight @pooplyface1423 @purplethree @dog55teeth

[magical-reid]

A New Hope

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Popular!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: After Stiles unexpectedly scores the game-winning goal in a crucial lacrosse match, his reputation at school shifts, and your friends start pushing you toward him as a potential date. What starts as a reluctant agreement leads to a surprisingly fun evening, where you discover Stiles' sweet, genuine side, and before you know it, you're seriously considering a second date with the awkward yet endearing boy.

The roar of the Beacon Hills High crowd was deafening, the stands alive with the kind of energy only a last-minute victory could bring. The lacrosse team had done the impossible—beating Devenford Prep in the final seconds. But the biggest shock of the night wasn’t the win.

It was who had secured it.

Stiles Stilinski.

The guy who spent more time warming the bench than actually playing had somehow been in the right place at the right time, scoring the game-winning goal. As the team hoisted him onto their shoulders and the crowd erupted in cheers, you stood on the sidelines with your friends, more baffled than anything else.

“Stiles Stilinski?” you muttered under your breath. “Seriously?”

But over the next few days, the school seemed to be collectively rewriting its perception of him. Suddenly, he wasn’t just the “weird” kid who couldn’t stop talking or tripping over his own feet. He was the underdog hero, the quirky player who’d saved the day.

That was how you found yourself sitting at your usual lunch table, staring blankly at Lydia Martin as she grinned at you like she’d just hatched a foolproof plan.

“Okay, hear me out,” Lydia began, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You and Stiles. It’s perfect.”

You blinked, fork hovering over your salad. “Come again?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Lydia said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You and Stiles. A date. Trust me—it’ll be fun.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “Lydia, he’s… not really my type.”

Lydia’s grin didn’t falter for a second. “You don’t have a type. And Stiles is sweet. Funny. Smart.”

“And kind of adorable,” Allison chimed in, smiling. “In that awkward-but-endearing way.”

“He’s also the weird kid who used to do that thing with the Jello during lunch,” you reminded them, raising an eyebrow.

Lydia waved a dismissive hand. “That was, like, freshman year. He’s changed. And honestly? You need someone who’ll actually treat you well. Stiles is exactly that kind of guy.”

“And if I say no?” you challenged, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Then I’ll remind you that I covered for you during that Chem lab incident,” Lydia said sweetly, her smile sharp. “Remember?”

You sighed. “Fine. One date. One.”

The day of the date came faster than you’d expected, and before you knew it, Stiles was pulling into your driveway in his blue Jeep. You hesitated before climbing in, giving yourself a mental pep talk. This was just a group hangout. You could survive one night.

“Uh, hi,” Stiles greeted when you got in, his nervous smile immediately betraying how much this meant to him. “You, uh… you look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you replied, startled by the sincerity in his tone.

The drive to the diner was mostly quiet, though Stiles kept stealing glances at you like he couldn’t believe you were there. When you arrived, the rest of the group was already waiting at a booth near the back.

“Hey, you two!” Lydia greeted cheerfully, sliding over to make room.

You took the seat next to her, and Stiles sat across from you, flanked by Scott and Jackson. It wasn’t long before the group began its obvious—and borderline embarrassing—campaign to talk Stiles up.

“He’s basically the reason we won the game,” Scott said casually, nudging Stiles with his elbow.

“Not to mention he’s got this, like, weird savant thing with math,” Allison added.

“And he’s surprisingly good at trivia,” Lydia said. “He’s the reason we didn’t lose that trivia night at Jungle.”

Stiles was practically squirming in his seat, his cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and embarrassment. You leaned back, taking it all in with a raised eyebrow. “You guys are really going all in on this, huh?”

Lydia grinned. “Just trying to make sure you know what a catch he is.”

For his part, Stiles seemed determined to live up to their praise. He opened every door for you, pulled out your chair before you could even reach for it, and insisted on paying for your milkshake—despite your protests.

“You really don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said firmly, holding his ground. “It’s… I don’t know. The right thing to do?”

His earnestness caught you off guard. Most guys you hung out with didn’t bother with stuff like this, let alone insist on it.

At some point during the night, Lydia grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the bathroom, Allison and another girl following close behind.

“So?” Lydia asked the moment the door shut. “What do you think?”

You crossed your arms, shrugging like it was no big deal. “What do I think about what?”

“About Stiles,” Allison clarified, leaning against the counter. “You’re, like, actually having fun, right?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie,” Lydia interrupted. “You were smiling when he told that ridiculous story about Scott falling off the roof. And you’ve been laughing at his jokes.”

“I smile all the time,” you argued weakly, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Not like this,” Lydia said knowingly. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I—” You hesitated, looking between the girls as they stared you down. “He’s… different. I didn’t expect this.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

You bit your lip, unable to answer.

Back at the table, Stiles was in the middle of an animated Star Wars discussion with Scott and Jackson.

“And, like, there’s no way anyone can say Greedo shot first. It’s just—”

“Actually,” you interrupted, your voice cutting through the chatter, “the debate exists because Lucas changed it in the Special Edition. In the original 1977 release, Han shot first. That’s why people were so mad.”

The table went silent.

Every head turned toward you, and Stiles stared at you like you’d just solved the world’s greatest mystery.

“You… know that?” he asked, his voice almost reverent.

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the attention. “What? Just because I don’t wear a Star Wars shirt doesn’t mean I don’t know stuff.”

Stiles blinked, then blurted out, “Marry me.”

The table erupted into laughter, but you couldn’t stop looking at him—or the way his face lit up when you smiled back.

“Maybe ask me on a second date first,” you teased.

The grin that spread across his face made it clear: he absolutely would.

Part 2

[vampire-wizard-solidarity]

a lot of people have already pointed out how totk has a lot of themes of imperialism and generally leans conservative ideologically, but what i think is interesting is how totk subtly redefines what a “researcher” is.

zelda wants to be a researcher in botw, and what this means in the context of botw is largely someone who works with sheikah technology. she wants to figure out ancient sheikah tech, she has an interest in botany and otherwise nature and biology (the whole silent princess and the frog thing), robbie and purah, the two characters who are the closest to us seeing what a researcher in the context of botw is are basically inventors. in totk, however, the main researchers who are presented to us are all historians.

this is an interesting pivot, because in botw zelda is not really interested in history. if anything, the one who’s deeply concerned with history is rhoam, wanting to preserve historical tradition and his uncritical reliance on said tradition and historical precedent is what leads them to their doom. in botw, zelda is narratively opposed to history, if anything, all the ancient tech backfires on them and traditions fail to awaken zelda’s power. zelda’s urge to be a researcher is in wanting to understand the world around her, not just blindly follow ancient plans but rather have agency within them.

totk, however, is obsessed with ancient plans. the only real moment where zelda gets to geek out in totk is her getting all giddy about finding out more about the divine origins of hyrule. all the researchers in the game are concerned with finding out more about the zonai. since all the mentions of ancient sheikah technology are scrubbed from the game purah and robbie read more as strange outliers, the sheikah slate is no longer, now it’s the purah pad, a product of purah rather than something larger. the whole game is literally about following an ancient plan, a plan most characters don’t fully understand as they sign up for it. totk’s main story is built on confusion, on the characters not knowing what’s fully going on but having faith in ancient sages telling them what to do. in botw, following ancient plans you don’t fully understand was the thing that doomed you. in totk, following ancient plans you don’t fully understand is the gimmick.

that juxtaposition between the two games has an ideological through line: botw posits that progress is necessary. mindlessly relying on tradition doesn’t work. prophecies are omens, not instructions. history must be learnt from, not repeated. the ancient sheikah aren’t a group to be emulated, but rather to be learnt from, considering their machinery backfired and the royal family betrayed them. totk, however, is obsessed with the mythical history of hyrule, a time where everything was idyllic until one bad man showed up, a time we must emulate in order to win. i already talked about how the past in totk is zelda’s life pre calamity but better here, but that also plays into the idolisation of that era and its royalty. in botw, even the myth of the first calamity preserves the fact that the yiga clan has origins in the royal’s family persecution of the sheikah, even the time when they successfully held back the calamity is tinged with mistakes that still affect the world ten thousand years later. in totk, ganondorf’s origins are nebulous. nobody provoked him, nobody did anything wrong, he’s just evil because he is.

a lot of right wing ideologies are hinged on preservation, but more than that: the belief in the nebulous mythical past in which everything was better. “make america great again”, the fascist’s idolisation of ancient rome which is represented largely inaccurately, look at any conservative rhetoric and you’ll see people complaining about how things nowadays are ruined or are being ruined, how in the past things were this way and they’re not anymore, which is bad. the belief in the fact that in some past period we were great and are not anymore, and the strive to emulate that past is a trait highly typical of right wing ideologies. and in totk the past as a great era is an idea presented completely uncritically, the narrative is entirely controlled by the game and doesn’t dwell on any of the inconsistencies in this idea.

now, obviously, not every story in which a great ancient era exists is fascist, right wing or conservative. but to me what’s interesting specifically in totk is this shift between the two games: botw is critical of the past. it’s critical of arrogantly repeating history, it’s critical of having blind faith in great relics of the past. totk isn’t. totk idolizes the past, totk tells legends and tells you to believe them without any doubts. botw believes researchers are those who seek to understand the world, innovate it and solve problems without relying on ancient ways. totk believes researchers are those who discover ancient instructions, ancient ways and relay them to great men in the present to be followed. the four mainline regional quests in botw are about discovering four ancient relics that are terrorising the land and fixing the mistakes of the past. the four mainline regional quests in totk are about discovering four ancient legends are true, and receiving instructions from an ancient sage on what to do.

totk is not simply neutral, it is ideologically conservative in stark contrast to botw, because of the things it chooses to leave uncriticised, notably the things botw was very poignant about examining critically. the way totk redefines what is a researcher is indicative of this, indicative of the way it chooses to idolize or present as an unexamined good that which was nuanced in botw. totk isn’t just conservative in the sense that it presents uncritically a “good king” and “evil conquerer”, it goes deeper, it’s notable because botw was starkly opposed to the thematic axioms totk presents.

i just think it’s very interesting that they made a sequel to botw, and completely redefined or otherwise ignored botw’s thematic core.

[pawsmos]

100th post special!!!

this is art for my “Prince and the Knight” AU ive been working on for some time now.. here’s a meal whace nation!!

lore under cut!

KEHRHHEEB J LOVE THEM SO MUCH DUDE

vvvv

(im not that good with writing nor am i well versed in medieval honorifics and terminology or anything like that so there may be anachronisms)

(this is a separate au from any other medieval aus!! I’ve seen those and love those though)

(the rest of the drdt cast also exists in this au too btw. im considering making charles a butler or a lord or something. none of the cast are the king or queen by the way! that’s aces parents / Eden’s parents. ace also still has all his siblings)

tw for mild homophobia

- Prince Ace, a soon-to-be king, is arranged to marry Princess Eden from a nearby kingdom.

- Both Ace and Eden are upset about the marriage, as Ace is gay (he’s subconsciously aware that he isn’t attracted to women) and Eden is lesbian.

- They both feel resigned to their fate despite their discontent.

- While coping on the back balcony, Ace meets Sir Whit, the newly promoted head of the royal guard. (somehow. who knows how whit got promoted tbh)

- They talk, during which Whit makes joking advances towards Ace.

- Ace, though flustered by Whit’s passes, thinks about the consequences of both liking a man and betraying the kingdom.

(he doesn’t personally care about the latter but he does fear that his father would… idk execute him or something. he is also in denial.)

- Much to Ace’s dismay, they become close friends. However, Whit is aware of the upcoming marriage, so he tries to shut off his own feelings to save himself from feeling bad.

- A few months pass, in which Whit helps Ace overcome his own fears and come to terms with his feelings and sexuality. They start slow (like doing horseback riding together haha), but end up routinely sneaking out together.

- On one particular night, on the same balcony they met, just a day before the wedding, something happens. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Ace kisses Whit and REALLY likes it.

- He realizes that he wants this man. But, realizing that he might get caught, Ace runs away.

- Before the wedding, Ace and Eden finally meet. While preparing for the ceremony, they bond over their shared reluctance of their marriage.

- Eden confesses that she’s actually a lesbian, and there’s a lady back at her kingdom that she’s deeply in love with. (it’s arei LMFAO)

- Ace bluntly replies that he’s gay too.

- insert uhh lightbulb ding effect

- They conjure a plan to get married for convenience, and to appease their parents, but mostly so that they can pursue their own partners. They worry about the kiss though and the people who might be watching. Especially Whit and Arei.

- Skip to the wedding day, Whit suppresses his feelings (like usual) and claps while he watches someone he loves dearly get married off to another. Whit excuses himself from the wedding.

- For post-ceremonial reasons, Ace can’t apologize or even talk to Whit for another week.

i haven’t really thought about the rest but i assume that, once Ace is allowed to go out, he will be the one confessing his love to whit. whit gets “caught”, miscommunication,,,, idek they just… ARE IN LOVE. HAHA.. if you want to write any fics about this or make any art feel free! use the tag “#whace prince and knight au”

thank you!!

THANK YOU FOR READING MY CLICHE YAOI FANFIC ILY IF YOU GET THIS FAR.

THANK YOU FOR 75 FOLLOWERS TOO!!!!

id also like to say that i might start opening commissions because i need a form of making money. but umm i don’t know how to start a paypal or venmo or anything like that. LOL. digital gift cards could work i guess, uhhhh idk. dm me for info!

[4only1]

Hello, hi. I read your fantastic Gitae fic and was wondering if you could do one where him and reader are business partners and are like considered a deadly duo because they work so well together and because the basically have the same personality but reader is much more sane and mostly tries to keep Gitae's bloodshed clean and not too messy but she overworks herself and is constantly on alert and Giate want to assure that they can both trust each other but reader was betrayed alot because people considered her weak and useless. 💋 thank you for listening to my Ted talk lovieeee

What you know

Gitae Kim X Reader Word Count: 767 Masterlist

------------------------

When people heard the names (Y/N) (L/N) and Gitae Kim, they knew there would be trouble. Gitae, a man of strange habits and pure strength, the patricide. (Y/N), a genius who kept the whole drug cartel together, heck, kept Gitae together. Without you, he would be a dysfunctional wreck, not keeping his bloodsheding tendencies together.

You had been waiting in the car since Gitae went to deal with Kwak Jichang, the king- well, soon to be former king of Seoul. As you shuffle papers around in your hand, casually glancing at your phone every now and then, waves of exhaustion hit you. You both had arrived in Korea a few days ago, but when did you last sleep? Someone had to keep the drug cartel running at all hours, and while Gitae was meeting with James Lee and relaxing, it was up to you to do that work. Paperwork really wasn’t Gitae’s thing anyway. Numbers too.

As you kept fighting the feeling of sleep, the car door opened. Gitae entered the car soon after, talking on the phone, most likely to James Lee. Frustration bubbled within you as you noted Gitae's new addition to his look. He didn’t have that much blood on him when he left.

“Seriously”

Is all you manage to get out once Gitae hangs up the phone. Not only did he do the exact opposite of what he told you he was going to do, but he also came back soaked in blood. 

“I thought we talked about being less swing happy with the axe!”

“Not my fault. That Jichang guy was alright, but the police came so I had to deal with them.”

Gitae casually said, blowing out a puff of smoke with his sentence. You click your tongue at his response, before looking back at the papers. A yawn you tried so hard to keep back escapes your lips, drawing Gitae’s attention to you.

“And you have the nerve to scold me in that state. I thought we talked about you not overworking yourself.”

Gitae says, a bit mockingly, turning your own phrasing against you. You look at him, annoyance in your tired eyes. No matter how many times he told you to rest, you just couldn’t. You needed to prove your worth, no matter what personal cost came from it. You weren’t a fighter like Gitae, even the lower members of the gang have you beat in strength. You were the brains, you had to be, you couldn’t let simple exhaustion prevent you from doing the one thing that defined your worth. If things were running smoothly, you weren’t useless. 

You couldn't let a small mistake even become a thought. You feared that if something did happen, big or small, you would be cast aside, replaced with someone else. You couldn't let it happen, not again, you couldn't allow yourself to be thrown away again.

Lost in thought, you don't notice that Gitae has grabbed the papers until you feel them leaving your hand. You turn to him, ready to yell, when his gaze stops you. He didn't have a caring bone in his body, so why did he look at you with those soft eyes? Why did he make it so hard for you to not trust him. In all the time you've known him, he hasn't so much as yelled at you, just playful banter. Even that was enough to put you on edge. Why was he so kind to you but harsh to everybody else?

“Go to sleep.” Is all he says. 

“You can't be serious. I have to finish that work by tonight or-” He quickly cuts you off in a stern tone. But the gentleness is still there.

“Sleep. I refuse to spend another second being scolded by your sleep deprived ass. What's the saying, happy wife, happy life? You’re basically my wife with how you nag me all the time. I prefer if your grouchy ass was rested, so I don't have to deal with your complaints.”

Gitae calmly says before again reaching over and forcing you to lay down across the backseat, your head resting on his leg. You fought to keep your eyes open, but the comfort of Gitae's presence kept you relaxed. You wanted to argue back, but it didn't take long for sleep to consume you.

His large hand rested on the side of your head, stroking your hair. Cigarette smoke filled the air, but that didn't bother you much. You felt comfortable, safe, trusting. Maybe just this time, you can trust someone a little bit more.

------------------------

Always love writing a Gitae request. I need to see more of this man in the story please. Next request comes out next week, spoilers, it's another Shingen request (what do y'all see in that man?)

I didn't properly proof read this one so I hope it sounds fine.

[somewhereincairparavel]

Alright. I came across someone saying that Rick "put Jason in a pedestal" and "overhyped" him by emphasizing how good looking he is and that Jason shouldn't have been so attractive looking. (Tbf tho that person made it sound like they seemed more mad bc their least favourite character was considered good looking lol) but I'll yap about the significance here anyways. Beware of a very long yapping session below.

I do understand their frustration though, because jason getting told that he looks good all the time makes it seem very shallow and unfair to the others.

And let me tell you, Jason is SUPPOSED to be gorgeous looking in everyone's eyes. He is supposed to be conventionally handsome, Rick didn't intend for his looks to be "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder " or something like Percy's (like how Piper didn't find him as impressive) Percy's is supposed to be more authentic. Percy's character isnt centred in people idolizing him, everyone can acknowledge that he's handsome looking, but it isn't in a "perfect" type of way, he's a carefree spirit and that reflects on his looks. While Jason is hardwired as this ethereal looking hero in people's eyes that not even ONE can deny that he looks good, bc ppl in Rome had set him as the "standard". Jason said this before in the lost hero, that him being a son of Jupiter, makes him feel like the support he gets is only because his dad is a very regal and intimidating figure.

That's kind of the whole point, he's supposed to look like this perfect man who can do no wrong. His "Golden noble boy" arc is literally the whole concept of his character. Why else do you think rick wrote Aphrodite approving of Jason's looks saying that he needed no improvement (which she rarely does) ?

Because Jason is supposed to be put like a statue to admire and idolize, that's ALSO why rick made sure to add that Jason looks like a Roman sculpture, bc that's like a metaphor for his inner conflicts. The guy was put like an artifact for people to ogle at in camp Jupiter ever since he was a kid of 4. That's part of the tragedy.

Annabeth said it perfectly “Annabeth tried to hide it, but she still didn’t completely trust the guy. He acted too perfect - always following the rules, always doing the honorable thing. He even looked too perfect. In the back of her mind, she had a nagging thought. What if this is a trick and he betrayed us?” Mark of Athena, page 6.

His mother, whom he's supposed to look like, is also a literal world wide tv actress. So you can't expect anything less either.

Also, Jason is supposed to mirror Percy. And let's be real. Rick put Percy in a VERY high pedestal looks wise, aswell, Not just Jason. And that's okay.

Rick made Hazel mistake Percy for a literal god because he was just that good looking (tbf, in a way, when I was younger, I found this to be a little bit of an exaggeration, bro was covered in mud and seaweed and was compared to a god, it was rlly funny to a 10 year old me 😭 yeah but don't mind this though, this was just a younger me jealous that I couldn't be as pretty as Percy was in mud lol) If Percy can be "hyped" up so "unrealistically" in that particular situation then so can Jason. They are both literal half gods, so unrealistic praise is very normal) and rick also made sure to emphasize that almost all the teen characters had a crush on Percy. So apparently that isn't called putting a character in a pedestal but Jason's is? They are BOTH put in pedestals, because they're both heroes.

Jason and Percy are supposed to be equals, so both of them being in the top two when it comes to looks makes SENSE. Because people are supposed to argue about who is better looking, since they're written as foils.

You cannot expect rick to make Percy look like a god and Jason look like a rat 😭 then there's no point of having them as parallels if one has the upper hand in something. Rick did a good job by conveying that they are BOTH attractive, but in different ways. That's why the Percy/Jason looks debate always have mixed answers.

Jason getting complimented by Aphrodite, the GODDESS of beauty, for his looks and her saying that he didn't have anything to "fix" in his face BC it already looks gorgeous = Percy getting compared to a gorgeous Roman god by hazel. They are both equal comparisons in slightly different tones.

[fantasywater]

These are the reasons Stolas Horseman still gets dragged for his infidelity even though the circus was supposed to FIX THAT.

This is for Stolas's Western Entergy interpretation and for the fans who agree with it:

Stolas is an adulterer.

No one gets to change the definition of a word just because they don't like it being said about their favorite character.

He's a domestic abuse survivor and an adulterer. Both are true. 

The reason Stolas still gets criticism is because of the execution of how it was written and the Octavia factor.

We were introduced to Stolas and Stella's dynamic with her being pissed that her husband of at least seventeen years cheated on her.

That anger is empathy-inducing to a lot of people because being cheated on, or knowing someone who has, is a relatable experience. It also looks extra disgusting on the one who stepped out when a family is involved.

Even her throwing things at him could be excused because of the context in which it was happening.  

There's a reason why temporary insanity is welcome in legal circles because it gives leeway to the perpetrator in that it asks the question would they have done this awful thing if it wasn't for an extreme mental break forcing them to? 

Stolas's infidelity was that mental break.

Trying to kill him can also fall comfortably under temporary insanity. 

Plus having our protagonists kill innocents as a job also takes the bite out of it. 

It also doesn't help that both Stolas and Stella's voice actors gave their own explanations that pretty much stated what I said above.

Even our first episode was about a cheated-on woman going to extremes, but she was shown in a sympathetic light despite it. 

Yet the very next episode shows the same issue, but because Stolas is a main character we are supposed to fall in line that the adulterer is whose side we should be on. 

Octavia having a mental breakdown(twice now) because of Stolas's infidelity is also not endearing him to the audience.

What he is doing to his child is the biggest reason why his remorseless, continuous, infidelity is not a take-back-my-power move.

The inciting incident for both Stella's recurrent violent anger and death "threats", as well as Octavia's mental breaks, is Stolas's cheating. Therefore what is happening to him now is a consequence of his own actions.

The writing in the problem. We were introduced to a wife and daughter showing anger in different ways because a spouse and father betrayed their family, and yet Viv still expects us to feel sympathetic to Stolas.

In reality, Stolas is the antagonist of Stella, Octavia, and Blitz.

That role was especially blatant in Loolooland.

As for Stella Viv tried to course correct by being heavy-handed in showing her as a cartoonish monster in The Circus. 

However, because of the initial execution of writing her as a scorned wife due to her remorseless, repeatedly cheating husband for a whole season, she has forever poisoned the well for Stolas and she has no one to blame for that but herself.

She is the one who wrote one of her supposedly sympathetic main characters doing Sexual Extortion(Blitz), Adultery(Stella), Mental Break/Child Neglect(Octavia), but then seems to have an issue when a nice chunk of the fandom still thinks only his victims deserve sympathy.

Nevertheless, since the Circus is in the canon now does Stolas owe Stella loyalty and remorse? No. 

However, Stolas is not just a husband. Octavia exists.

Therefore Octavia will always be the reason why his (continuous) infidelity was a selfish and vile act. 

That's also why what's going to happen to him in the leaks is on him.

His karma warranty is up.

The problem is that the karma Viv gives is an illusion because she still wants you to feel sorry for Stolas. That's why there's always a sturdy flavor of demonization in the narrative toward anyone he's harmed to facilitate that.

However, considering the nature of his crimes his comeuppance is deserved, but she still writes like it's not and expects the audience to fall in line.

She also did the same thing with Blitz's issues with him.

So it's a pattern, and it exists because a fujoshi is writing this story. 

It's a failure in the execution when the author's intent and the audience's takeaway is this broken.

[hannahhook7744]

Why Franklin and Maryann Portman are the Worst™ (Part 1)!;

I want to preface this by saying that I know that by no means Franklin and Maryann Portman are the actual worst parents in fiction or in this series even. 

Of course they aren't. 

But that doesn't mean that I can't still refer to them as the worst™ for them being shitty. Even if I do believe that on some leave that they do care about/love their son. 

I also wanna point out that it's been awhile since I read the books so I'm going off my memory and the wiki for this. So I may forget some context of why this or that happens, and if I do that, feel free to comment it down below respectfully. And if I forget something that you find shitty that they did, also feel free to reblog or comment it down below because I would love to talk about these characters and fandom more.

Am I saying that Abe Portman is 100% perfect and did nothing wrong whatsoever? No, that would go against how his character is betrayed in the books—as a flawed traumatized man who did his best to be there for his family and keep them and himself (as well as others) safe and went about some things the wrong way. 

 Now that that's out of the way…

According to the wiki:

“Jacob was born on Halloween, and up until he was eight years old was convinced by his parents that trick-or-treating candy was birthday presents (something apparently revealed in Hollow City).” 

These people are rich. 

R-I-C-H. 

Rich enough that Jacob’s dad can study birds and volunteer and write mine books that he never publishes without the worry of them not having anything to eat. 

R-I-C-H enough that Jacob comments that “I did love her, of course, but mostly because loving your mom is mandatory, not because she was someone I think I'd like very much if I met her walking down the street. Which she wouldn't be, anyway; walking is for poor people.” And rich enough that they gave their kid their four year old sundan so that they could get a brand new car. 

And for eight years, they had their son believing that candy was a birthday present. 

1. Now, look. I get it. Birthday shopping is hard, especially for a little itty bitty kid but not actually having the money to buy your only kid gifts and choosing not to because people are handing out candy on that day anyway? That's not a very nice thing to do for that long. 

They let him go through three years of school thinking that and we never learned how he found out that was a lie. That's not even including the fact that the rest of their extended family let this lie continue (assuming they knew). 

Can you imagine if Jacob found out because he mentioned this to his classmates or a teacher? Maybe a teacher or family member could salvage the situation but little kids can be brutal, especially towards other little kids who they think are wrong and considering we know that in that same year, Jacob was pants-ed causing him to stop believing anything Abe said…. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility tl believe that one of Jacob's classmates got in a fight with him over it and caused some kind of embarrassing, painful memory. 

Though I guess it's a good thing they didn't get Jacob birthday presents that early on considering my second point. 

2. The birthday scene. 

Look at his birthday scene. 

This scene? Shouldn't really exist. 

Not because I hate birthday scenes but because Jacob literally told his parents he didn't want a party which under normal circumstances is a reasonable ask within itself. But these? These aren't even normal circumstances. 

Jacob doesn't want a party because the one person he'd actually want there, in his own words, is his grandpa. His grandpa who died in his arms nine months before and who Jacob has been viciously mourning for said nine months. His grandpa whose death caused Jacob's ‘mental breakdown’. 

Whose house they had also cleaned out recently, doing shit all for the now sixteen year old’s mental health and grief. 

But what do his parents do? 

Throw him a surprise party.

A surprise party.

For their jumpy traumatized son who found his grandpa bleeding out in the dark after getting attacked by a monster (or ‘rabid dogs’) and who has been sleeping in the fucking laundry room. 

Why on earth would going against his wishes be good for him? He said he didn't want a party and under these circumstances, it's even more understandable. If you really want your son to socialize or to celebrate, then get him a cake or some food he likes and invite his friend over. Talk to him. 

Don't throw him a party he doesn't want and don't throw the kid who's been having non-stop nightmares about the monsters who killed his grandfather a fucking surprise party. 

To make matters, in this party:

One of his uncles he’s not close to tries to spring a summer trip to his house on him, listing shit that he likely knows Jacob doesn't like with no previous warning to the kid himself (his parents were just planning to ship him off, whether he wanted it or not). 

They're calling Jacob's apparent disorder ‘his thing’. 

And nobody is actually getting him anything he wants. Just shit they've been gifted and are trying to get rid of. 

Gifts like CD's of country Christmas music or subscriptions to Field and Stream (because his Uncle Les thinks he's outdoorsy, this one I can understand slightly since Jacob did want to be an adventurer but still). 

The only exceptions being:

 1. The key to the family four-year-old sedan, which Jacob is embarrassed to be receiving in front of Ricky (who Jacob hasn't talked to in a long while after a fight they had). 

And 

2. A camera Jacob had been wanting for ages (since last summer) from his parents….who likely only gifted it to him because of his dad's new book.

Which leads to his mom drunkeningly making front of her husband at her sixteen year old’s birthday party…. Real classy. 

Oh and 3. A book that belonged to Abe that Jacob's parental Aunt Susie snagged trom the house when they were cleaning it out. A book titled “The Selected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson”. 

She gave this to him, saying it was from Abe because he'd written Jacob's name in it. 

Thoughtful right? 

Well everyone else doesn't think so because they go quiet. Jacob's mom, Maryann even while drunk, tries to say it was thoughtful and that she didn't know Abe was a reader.

Meanwhile Jacob's dad, Franklin, is barely hiding how pissed he is. 

Like dude. 

Dude. 

Do you really hate your own dad so much that you don't want your grieving son to have even just a book of poems that the only member of the family who he was close to left for him? Are you still, even after that disastrous day where you cleaned out the fucking house with him there and fought with him, refusing to let him have any ties left?

To be fair, you can say that this is because of his own history with Abe and that it's because Jacob is in a worrying state. But that doesn't really hold up considering that they let Abe babysit Jacob often and fill his head up with stories they thought he embellished  due to his own trauma and because they thought that Jacob was well enough to handle trashing and donating all of his dead grandpa’s stuff. 

Sure, they don't take the book from him but the fact Franklin can't even hide how pissed he is is shitty. 

That's not even considering this little tidbit here:

“My mother leaned toward me and in a tense whisper asked if I needed a drink of water, which was mom-speak for keep it together, people are staring.”

….

Do I even need to say anything?

The fact that Jacob thinks this probably means that his parents—or even just Maryann—have said this to him before. Frequently so, even. To the point where he's trying to escape the room, feeling like he might cry, and instead of thinking that his parents (or anyone in this family) might be able to potentially comfort him in this hard moment, this is what he's thinking. 

It's infuriating.

But not as infuriating as my last point for now!

3. Franklin sent his then fifteen year old son to deal with what he thought was his dementia ridden, war world 2 veteran father having a PTSD attack/episode. 

Franklin gets called when he's volunteering at a bird rescue in what is either early afternoon or night by his worried fifteen year old said who tells him that Abe called him ‘flipping out’. 

He asks if he's taken his pills today and Jacob tells him Abe wouldn't tell him. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would go and help their poor ailing father who may be having an episode or PTSD attack about the war, what happened to his family. The monsters. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would send their son home out of danger and call up a friend or sibling or in-law to go deal with the situation. 

What does Franklin do?

He sends his fifteen year old, who is at his job, to go check on Abe. Who again, Franklin thinks is having an episode. 

Now, even if there was a chance that Abe would still recognize Jacob and wouldn't be a danger to him, who would risk sending their son to check on an ailing relative by himself when there's every chance that when Jacob gets there he'll be having flashbacks to the horrors he witnessed. I mean, it's understandable if you or another adult is there and need help calming the man for you to maybe have your teenage son there. Especially if he may be caring for him one day out of choice.

But sending your fifteen year old there by himself to handle the situation when he probably won't know what to do and when he probably hasn't seen one before?

And doing that when you know that your dad was in a war and still has a sea of weapons hidden away behind lock and key (a key which you have) because you can't be half assed to tell the shelter your volunteering at that there's a family emergency?

Franklin literally sent Jacob into a traumatizing situation that could turn dangerous (for Abe or Jacob, if Abe didn't recognize his grandson) under the assumption that all of his paranoid dad's weapons are stored away. 

And what did Abe die with in his hand?

A box cutter. 

Which just proves that Abe had things lying around that he could use as a weapon if needed. Things he could improvise with. 

Just think for a moment about what could have wrong if Abe wasn't actually in danger from a wight but something he was actually imagining—a memory from his past. Imagine what could have happened to Jacob if Abe had mistaken him for a burglar or a wight or what Franklin thought he was imagining.

Jacob can't fight. 

It's dark. 

Things could easily go wrong.

And what would happen if they did?

Jacob would be hurt and traumatized or dead and Abe would likely be in a horrible place if he wasn't, all because Franklin didn't care enough about his dad to go check on him himself. Hell you can he didn't even care about Jacob enough here, because he didn't care about what Jacob could possibly see if he sent him to deal with his grandfather.

Like, not only is he being incredibly shitty to his son but to his own ailing father who was at the very least convinced he was in danger and who was actually in danger (for all Franklin knew his dad could have actually heard someone breaking in but he didn't even take the time to think about it). 

That's all I have time to write for today but there's several other things that they do that are pretty crappy where their son is involved that I will happily discuss.

Hope this doesn't disappoint, @kallmeweirdhprroe .