#but it's a life i built. the idea of going through the helplessness of being a child again.... SHUDDERS.

[crimeronan]

the 38% of people saying they'd go back and redo their lives if they could are making me Desperately sad. cannot express enough how important it is to realize what opportunities you've missed out on n what things have disappointed you & then try to go for those opportunities in your adult life. make the choices that your future self will look back on fondly n gratefully.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Guard Dog

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the Washington Capitals game (Jan 2025), anger/conflict, derogatory commentary towards Reader

Summary: You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

Notes: I was ready to throw hands at Dubois for purposefully seeking out and trying to hurt Quinn so...

Apologies to Dubois but he's now my arch nemesis and if I was actually dating Quinn I know I'd hold a grudge, sorry, I'm sure you're a great guy but...not today. Reminder that I am writing a fictional version of these people and what I do write is not representative of them in real life. Don't sue me, Dubois, this is fictional you, not real you. 👀

Also I don't think Quinn is generally violent or aggressive but I do think that if he felt someone he loved was being treated in a way that was disrespectful/aggressive, that he wouldn't avoid conflict. Protective boy in my eyes.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You wanted to say that you were used to watching how violent hockey could get, especially when that violence was directed at Quinn, but that would be a lie.

Watching as Quinn was practically attacked by Dubois, watching him be targeted had you gasping and jumping to your feet in an instant. The way he knocked Quinn to the ground had your heart thudding in your chest and you'd gotten to your feet instinctively like you could physically go out and defend him, like you had any ability to do something when in reality you were completely helpless, stuck behind glass.

That intense feeling of protectiveness had only increased as Quinn was pulled from the scrum by Dubois again like he was being hunted down, targeted. It grew almost unbearable, a protectiveness mixed with anger, as you watched Quinn try to keep his distance, shoving away from Dubois even as he tried to hold him close, as Quinn tried to protect himself while avoiding roughing himself, only to receive a penalty anyway. That anger grew watching the way Quinn was stuck in the penalty box, the way he was desperate, standing, wanting to get out after his 2 minutes, only to be stuck because play was ongoing for another 3 minutes.

You had never hated a player before. Players had upset you in the past, annoyance at the way they'd dealt with something or how they'd behaved towards Quinn, but you'd never seen someone so determined to hurt your boyfriend. It was that sheer targeting, the way Dubois followed Quinn, gunned for him for no reason, especially given he was still sporting a hand injury, that had you hating him immediately. It had you itching to say something, do something for the entirety of the game. You could barely concentrate on the actual game, too amped.

You couldn't help the way your leg bounced angrily the entire game, the way you bit your lip, the way your mind ran through all the things you'd like to say to Dubois about his behaviour. That feeling didn't disappear as the game ended and you waited outside the locker room for Quinn, if anything it grew from how hard you tried to suppress it. You felt a little like a ticking time bomb.

That anger boiled over the moment you saw Dubois coming down the corridor towards you after the game. Dubois was freshly washed and changed, laughing with his teammate, Roy, like he hadn't been trying to hurt your boyfriend for half the game. You tried to keep your comments to yourself, but couldn't keep the angry glare, the deep scowl, from your features as you leant against the wall, arms crossed. You knew you were giving him the evils, that if looks could kill he'd have died five times over, but you couldn't force your face into neutrality, not when you felt that buzz of anger in your chest. It was dangerous for him to target Quinn like that, it was unfair, it made you wish you were 6ft 8 and built like a brick shit house so at least you could throw a punch in Quinn's honour. Instead you had been absolutely helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

You heard it muttered, whispered, an exchange of 'what's her problem?' and 'that's Hughes' girl...', that had you almost vibrating with anger. Dubois should have left you well enough alone, should have read the room and let you cool down. He shouldn't have assumed he could mess with you in that moment. But, since when have hockey players ever missed a chance to chirp?

You watch him stride up to you, a glint in his eyes that spelled trouble and only served to push more adrenaline through your body.

"You got a problem with me?"

"Walk away." Your voice is clipped, short, an attempt to maintain a sense of decorum, to control your anger because the last thing you want is to embarrass Quinn by getting into a fight with a rival hockey player on the same night his team lost a game. The last thing you want to do is make matters worse and in the words of Marie from Aristocats 'ladies don't start fights'.

"Or what? You going to cry cause I grabbed your little boyfriend?" His sneer reminds you of every bully you've ever known your entire life. Brutish, stupid, and with a deep desire for power and control, the sort of desire that causes them to be nasty, be mean, to try to hurt people because it shows that they can. It only makes it harder for you to control your feelings, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you clench your fists tight, like that will help keep you back.

"I'm telling you to walk away because I will not be responsible for what I say or do if you don't. Walk away." It was probably comical to him, the way you stepped forward and squared off with him, a man well over 6ft tall. You were relatively small in comparison. It didn't matter to you though, all that mattered was the fact he'd gunned for Quinn, for your lovely, kind boyfriend who avoided fights at all costs and tried to always be a reasonable, decent player. Your boyfriend who tried to play clean. Your boyfriend who was still injured. Your boyfriend who was under an insane amount of pressure right now. Your boyfriend who had only just come back off of rest for his injury.

"You've got some balls on you, lady, more than Hughes does at any rate."

You're certain your eye twitches, certain you're one bite away from causes your bottom lip to bleed. Certain that you've dug half moon circles into your palms. Certain that murder doesn't seem quite that bad of a crime right now and that you could survive prison.

"Walk. Away. Now."

"So you're the man in your relationship, huh? Is Hughes your pretty princess?" It's the hateful, misogynistic attempt to demean Quinn that causes you to snap. It's his refusal to just walk away, the goading, the pushing, the way he steps closer into your personal space, leers over you in an attempt to intimidate you with his size that finally does it. But, he doesn't seem to realise that you're too angry to be intimidated, you're not really thinking about yourself, about the situation, about the fact he's twice your size. So it doesn't matter that he could break you if he wanted to. It doesn't matter that he should be scary. He's not in that moment, because you're simply too angry, vibrating with rage.

"You're a vile, disgusting human being,y'know that? He's still injured, you fucking knew that and fucking went for him? What the fuck did he do to you? You trip him, you gun for him, you then try to pull him from the scrum?! What the fuck is wrong with you?" You could each infraction off on your fingers as you move into his space and push the two of you further into the centre of the corridor.

Maybe it's how loud you are or maybe it was just good timing, but Quinn and Boeser step out of the locker room just in time to see you yelling in Dubois' face, to see the grin on his lips like he's enjoying it. It's honest to god fear, mixed with a protectiveness that he always feels for you, that has Quinn practically sprinting the short distance to you.

He's pretty sure you don't realise you're shaking with anger or how close you've gotten to Dubois, practically nose to nose, leaning up while he leans down, until his arms are wrapping around you and pulling you back against his chest. Even in his arms you're shaking with adrenaline, eyes fixated on Dubois like a look is enough to put him in the ground.

Dubois' eyes shift to him, and Quinn can't help the set of his own features, the stern glare that he directs to the other man even as he's smirking back at him. If anything the way he seems to be enjoying this makes Quinn's expression sterner.

"Keep your little plaything on a fucking leash, Hughes." The grin Dubois sends his way is toothy, predatory, the sort of grin that tells Quinn he knows what he's saying and he knows what reaction it'll get. It doesn't stop Quinn's shoulders from tensing, it doesn't stop the tightness in his chest and it certainly doesn't make it easier for him to keep his usually cool head.

"What did you just say?" It's almost whispered, low, quiet, and it makes you stop shaking in Quinn's arms because there's something deadly about it, something that tells you not to push him right now even when you're not the one it's directed at. Something that makes you still in surprise.

"I said keep your little plaything on a fucking leash."

There's a prolonged pause, one in which Quinn looks back behind him, eyes finding Boeser, a silent sort of conversation happening between them, an agreement reached.

"Brock?"

"I got her." The blonde man steps forward as Quinn turns you in his arms and pushes you gently to Brock, Boeser pulling you into his own arms and away from the other two men.

"Quinn?" You're not sure what's happening other than the fact that the fear is starting to set in. All that anger, the adrenaline that had kept you so focused on Dubois, had started to fade. It left behind a shaky sort of anxiety, as reality hit you, that this was not just a simple argument anymore.

You gasp and move back into Boeser as you watch Quinn turn back to Dubois and just as suddenly grab him by the collar of his suit jacket, slamming him back against the wall. While Quinn is shorter, he's certainly not small or weak by any stretch of the imagination and Dubois doesn't expect it as he's shoved full body into the wall behind him, his feet struggling to keep up with the harsh movement backwards.

Quinn is nose to nose with him, glaring up at him with a look you can only describe as murderous, "You ever talk about her like that again and I will break your fucking nose. You don't ever talk to her or about her like that. Do you hear me?" The interesting thing about it, is how Quinn doesn't have to yell. In fact, his voice low, but it's the edge to it, the way it feels sharp enough to cut that makes his feelings clear.

"Oh? Now you think you're a big man, what you gonna do with that hand of yours?" Dubois' eyes shift to the brace on Quinn's left hand, the one that you can see trembling under it's own grip. It upsets you, that he's hurting himself for you, that you started this, as much as part of you preens under his protection.

"My right hand is just fine, Dubois. Yours won't be if you don't back the fuck down." Maybe it's the way Quinn's eyes narrow. Maybe it's the way his teeth grind together. Maybe it's the way he shoves Dubois even harder into the wall or maybe it's something else entirely, but something seems to make Dubois realise that Quinn is serious. That Quinn has every intention of fighting for you if he has to, if the disrespect is not corrected, if Dubois doesn't back down.

Maybe Dubois simply doesn't care enough or maybe he's intimidated by Quinn because he mutters, "Whatever...", hands shoving Quinn's away from his collar, one last glare exchanged before he and Roy walk away, whispering the entire time.

You're practically shaking in Brock's arms, Brock who releases you gently once Dubois and Roy walk away, Brock who backs away to the locker room with one last look to Quinn, leaving the two of you by yourselves.

Quinn's shoulders drop, relax as he watches the two men turn the corner and disappear out of sight, before green eyes shift to you, features softening into something affectionate and gentle. A stark contrast with his expression mere moments before.

He's the one who reaches for you, stepping until he's in your personal space, hands resting on the sides of your face like he thinks you might physically be hurt.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, sweet, as his thumbs brush your cheeks, green eyes darting over your features, trying to assess how you are and if he needs to chase after Dubois and teach him a lesson or two.

Quinn will openly admit he's not a fighter nor does he want to be, but the strong surge of protectiveness in him overrides his usual aversion to violence. He'd fight anyone for you, if it meant you were respected, protected, safe. He doesn't care that Dubois gunned for him out on the ice, all he cares about is the way he got into your face out in the corridor.

"Am I okay? Are you okay? He almost took you out on the ice!" Even as you say it your voice is shaky. Quinn knows you better than he knows most people, he can hear that shake a mile off, knows that that shake is a sign you're not okay, that that shake usually comes before a break.

It's why he doesn't answer you, it's why he pulls you fully into his arms, wrapping them around you until you're chest to chest.

So he asks again, "Baby, are you okay?" Only to feel the way your body starts to shake aggressively in his arms, like your body has just caught up to the situation, like the adrenaline has fully left your system, leaving only the after effects.

His voice is soft as he mutters to you, "Oh, you really worked off instinct, huh? Just now realising you nearly fought a 6ft 2 hockey player for me?" Quinn's quick to pull you tighter against him, a full body crush, rocking you side to side as his cheek presses into your hair. His hands rub up and down your back, attempting to sooth you as the reality of it all fully kicks. As you realise how stupid it was of you to do that, how scary the situation actually was, how you should have just walked away.

"Fuck...did I just really do that?" Your voice is shaky, almost wet, like you might start crying.

"Uh huh...yeah, you did, baby." His voice is almost amused, sympathetic, now the worst of it is over Quinn can't help but find your actions endearing. The way that you, of all people, decided you'd go toe to toe with a massive hockey player on his behalf.

"Fuck." You press your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath as he rocks you from side to side. You don't regret it, not really. You'd defend Quinn to the death, you love him and that meant protecting him, just like he'd protect you. But, you have to admit, it wasn't perhaps your smartest idea or your finest moment.

"It was kind of hot, baby, but please don't do that again. I nearly had a heart attack seeing you nose to nose with him." Quinn's actually certain his heart stopped when he walked out of the locker room. You'd seemed so...fragile in comparison to Dubois and while he knew you, knew you weren't weak, it had scared him. The idea of you getting hurt was one of his nightmares, even more so you getting hurt because of him.

You pull back as far as he'll let you which really isn't very far, tilting your head back to look at him, "You nearly fought him for me..." your voice is almost disbelieving like you can't understand why he'd step in like that for you, his girlfriend.

"Yeah, I did.." Quinn's smile is soft, loving, eyes crinkling at the corners as you practically gape at him.

"But you don't fight." You look so confused that it almost breaks his heart because who taught you that you were unworthy of protection, who taught you that the people who love you wouldn't step in when needed?

"I'd fight for you. Any day. Any week. Any time. I'll always fight for you, baby. You're my girl." He says it like it's just a fact of life. Like 2 +2 = 4 or that water is wet. He says it like it is the most natural thing to exist.

"But...you don't like to fight." He hates fighting, you know because whenever he gets in one on the ice or has to break one up, he complains when he gets home. You know because everything about Quinn is gentle and soft, always slow to anger and quick to find a diplomatic solution.

"Yeah, I know." Quinn smiles at you amused, "But I love you and if the choice is between protecting you or not fighting, I'm always going to pick you. That's what you do when you love someone. You'd protect me, right?"

"Of course." You don't even hesitate because it's like breathing, that instinct to look after him because you love him because he's your person.

"Then there's your answer, sweet girl" He watches the way you nod like it is starting click, like it makes sense. His hands brush cross your shoulders, tugging you into his side, twisting so his arm is slung over your shoulders. Your shaking has long since stopped and whatever anger both of you felt has since faded under the sweetness of realising you're both loved, both protected.

"You wanna go back to the hotel? Enough excitement for one night, huh?"

"Mmm, yeah...You're okay though, right? Your hand?" You shift under his arm, eyes looking to his left hand and the brace there, watch the way he flexes his fingers as if to remind himself he can.

"I'm okay, baby, especially knowing I have you to fight my battles for me." Quinn kisses the crown of your head, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he pulls you tighter to his side.

In that moment the hotel room sounds great, home would sound even better, but you think home might actually just be Quinn and wherever he is.

[til-all-are-loved]

{For Pleasure}

Cybertronian x Human-NSFW

Any Canon/Universe

Adult Content. 18+ only

So you’ve gotten a bot in your bed… or vis versa. What now? That depends.

Perhaps this was all your idea, a test of a bond with a Cybertronian. The ultimate consummation of love and trust. Why deny your natural right to want sex from the person you love most. While your partner has perhaps heard of sex, you will have to guide them regardless. Show them where it feels good. Tell them what you want.

To dominate your helpless body.

To accept and trust you as you are.

To make you come.

All the dressings of cloth you wear will be off by any means. Slowly and tenderly? With care and reverence? Or will you be stripped hungrily under piercing red (or blue) optics.

So many questions to answer.

There has never been an opportunity for a Cybertronian to know a human quite this closely before. You best believe that nothing will be left undiscovered tonight. No inch of your skin will go without being kissed. You will be licked and mouthed over mercilessly. You will be shown pleasures so far outside of the earthen idea of “normal” you will question the very memory of the experience.

But don’t forget this isn’t all about you. Intimacy is deeply meaningful for their kind. It’s been so long. Primus it’s been so long they could be this true with someone. It takes a single kind whisper for them to open their spark chamber. You’d bath in the literal afterglow of the light that animates them. Coming down from an explosive orgasm your endorphins flooding into a hot pumping bloodstream enhancing every sensation. You can FEEL their spark enveloping you with light.

And they can feel you. The threads of consciousnesses that bring you two to life wrapping and coiling around eachother for the most pleasurable experience of their lives.

After, you can almost recall the night through their optics. Imagery flashes through your mind. Imagery of their digits plunging into you, their dentae nibbling your ear, all while being cupped in their warm servos. The memory of the act through their perspective vanishes as soon as its remembered. An echo in your mind of what their spark felt.

—

Wow I have not written freaky stuff before I hope you guys think this is good.

I wrote this mainly because my headcanon is that Cybertronians don’t have genitalia built in. Spikes and Valves are more like fun modifications that a Cybertronian would elect to have only if they were already getting it on with humans for a long time. Don’t get me wrong I think it’s super hot especially for canon x canon fics. But I like the idea of them using their mouths mostly for giving pleasure. And that they would open their spark casings up to create a connection to the human soul…

[mudisgranapat]

Civilian!Reader X ToxicBF!Simon (Part 2)

Word Count: 2,9 K

Content: Toxic and manipulative behaviour, mention of blood, swearing.

Part 1

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When Johnny invited you to the bar that day, you were reluctant to go. Even though you could use the night off, the mere thought of seeing him paralyzed you in fear. Two weeks ago, Simon came to your flat to keep you company. The two of you had ordered takeout and eaten it while you talked about your life. Simon was always so attentive, his eyes looking at you with pure worry and care, and it made your insides twist every time you felt yourself under his gaze. 

Your whole life you had wished, dreamed, ached for someone to look at you the way Simon did. But at the same time, it felt like a paradox. Simon saw you, but he didn’t see you. You knew he didn’t feel the same way about you because Simon Riley never needed anyone. Not only did the two of you have nothing in common in terms of lifestyle, you also had completely different expectations for a romantic life. 

You wanted someone to live a movie romance with, someone who would crave you just as much as you did them. A man who was rough around the edges but melted when it came to you, fighting off the whole world while holding you tight to his chest. And every time you looked at Simon, it was a sour reminder that you had all you ever wanted within arms reach, but were never able to grab it.

He was from a different world, where people were tough, solved problems with their fists, and faced their fears with all their might. Someone as strong as Simon would never go for someone as fragile as you. What could I ever give him? The question would pound in your head when you felt lonely, a reminder that you had nothing to offer but timid confessions and a feeble mind. But even knowing that, you still came back to him, because he was the silver lining on your cloudy days. 

So you tortured yourself, over and over again, spilling your guts out to him over tea, movies, and walks in the park, entertaining the idea that he needed those moments as much as you did, only to come back to the darkness of your flat and coldness of your bed. Alone.

You found yourself whining about your problems again, that fateful day, two weeks ago. It wasn’t uncommon for Simon to go to your house to comfort you, and instead of dismissing the pity party, you would bake the cake and provide the entertainment. Sometimes, Simon would get a phone call or a text, but he never stopped your rambling to pick it up, opting to quickly look at the name on the screen before putting his phone on silent.

Until that day. 

You had been talking about your coworker, who you were sure was stealing your pens, when he said “Hold on, I have to take this”. Amidst your shock and neglect, you managed to capture a name on the screen of his phone. Sarah. You could feel the knot forming on your throat, while simultaneously feeling like you were about to throw up all the food you had just eaten. Fucking Sarah? Who the fuck is she? A party wrecker, at least. Setting in flames the walls of the scenario you had built. This wasn’t a date, it was a favor a good soldier did for the helpless girl he met. You were hopelessly attached to him like a leech on a vein, feeding from another being’s nurture, just to be pulled without courtesy from your shelter and chucked to the side to rot under the scolding sun.  

The longer he spent on his phone, the more visible the tethers that united the two of you became, and with each laugh he let out, the weaker they became, falling on the floor like loose and meaningless strings. That day you realized you needed to stop this parasitic relationship before it got worse. The two of you were just friends after all, yet there you were, wanting to rip your hair out every time you heard the other woman’s voice coming through the speakers on his phone. 

Your luck hadn’t been good lately, in fact, it had become increasingly worse since you started ignoring Simon, two weeks ago. You couldn’t deny that talking to him was like having someone take all the weight off your shoulders, but it was time to be a big girl and move on. You needed to learn how to live without him and deal with your own problems, instead of dumping them on someone else. Besides, alcohol was always a good friend when times were bad, and you knew you could never say no to going out with Johnny, especially because he always paid for your drinks. 

So you put your best clothes on, styled your hair, and did your makeup. That way, even if you saw Simon, you wouldn’t look like a complete loser, even though you had been soaking alone in your own misery all this time. Your problems were piling up throughout the day, resting above your bed during the night and avalanching you in the morning, now that you didn’t have Simon to magically make them go away. So, if you were to start dealing with your problems by yourself, facing him should be on priority on that list. It took all your strength not to cower and go back under the comfort of your covers, but you put your high heels on and made your way to the bar.

You took a breath to calm yourself down before opening the doors of the bar, not giving yourself time to change your mind and… Oh, how you regretted your decision the moment you walked in and saw Simon sitting at the table, a glass of whisky on one hand and a woman’s waist on the other. But it was too late to turn around because a certain Scot had already seen you. 

“Aye, lass! Over here!” He said, bearing a smile so wide you could see all his teeth. “I told ya she would come.” He turns to Simon for the last sentence.

Simon takes a sip of his glass, hiding the small smile that escaped his lips, visible due to the small folds he had made on his mask in order to place it on top of his nose. But he knew you would come. He had dealt his cards carefully so that he could safely bet on your return to him. He wraps his arms tighter around the other woman’s waist as you approach their table. “This is Sarah”, he introduces her to you. “She’s a Sergeant.”

You want to barf at the sound of pride in his voice. It doesn’t help that the woman in front of you is gorgeous, exactly the type you knew Simon would go for. You can see her defined muscles under her shirt, and her impeccable posture. She has a tall pint of Guinness on the table in front of her, and a small scar on her left eyebrow that somehow makes her more attractive. The tone of her voice is confident as she introduces herself to you, making an effortless conversation the whole night. Not only that, but she makes Simon laugh. You feel yourself wanting to jump across the table and grab her by the neck, even though she would probably knock you out before you even made it to her side. 

Simon watches you with silent joy, noticing the venom that seeps from your mouth with every smile you make toward Sarah. He can sense the longing in your voice when you talk to him, desperate for his attention, and it’s like music to his ears hearing you after so long. He knew it would be a hard couple of days, or however long you could handle without talking to him before falling back into his arms. It was a risky game that he had played with excellence - leading you to believe you were in control of the situation, choosing to distance yourself from him. It was all calculated, letting you see Sarah’s name on his phone, telling Sarah you would be free to call at that time when he knew he would be with you. It had hurt him to see your suffering, but he needed you to walk away to realize how much you would miss him, and he could see that it had worked. Every crumb of attention he gave to you now was like watching a drug addict relapse into their first high.

The jealousy that seeped from your pores was the best part, he thought. It was a result of pure, unaltered desire, condensing into spikes on your skin that you mentally flicked into Sarah’s direction. Watching his innocent girl fight the urge inside her to go ballistic was a delight. Because you were his girl, even though you didn’t know it yet. He sat comfortably in his chair like he was in a movie theater, spectating from the front row all the conflicting emotions that you screened on your face. 

“I’m going out for a smoke.” He said after some time, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t have to look back to know you were following him, probably after delivering some bullshit excuse to the table. He welcomed the fresh air outside the bar and walked to a corner, your footsteps following behind him. He lit his first cigarette as you approached him. “Smoking now?” The humor is clear in his voice, but you don’t fall for it.

“Started last week. Not that you would know.” You say a blatant lie, holding out your open palm for him to give you a cigarette. 

“I don’t know what this fuss is all about.” His tone is dismissive, knowing where the conversation was heading so he acted like you were making a situation out of nothing. “You’re the one that started ignoring me for no reason.” He gives you a cigarette and you take it to your mouth, both of you fully aware you don’t smoke. But you’re not backing out of any challenges tonight, so when he lights it, you take a long drag of smoke, holding it in your lungs for a few seconds before letting it out. 

“How long have the two of you been dating?” He laughs at your question, shaking his head while he takes a drag of his cigarette. “How long?” You insist. 

“You really think that I would date her?”

“That’s exactly the type I think you would date.” 

“Really? How so?” He’s in front of you now, centering you between him and the wall. He smiles sarcastically while he turns to blow the smoke away from your face, acting like this is all some joke.

“Beautiful, strong, same job as you…” You trail off, fidgeting with the cigarette on the tip of your fingers. “The list goes on.”

“Does it? It seems like a pretty short list to me.” He shrugs, and you can’t help but notice how his muscles flex under his shirt. “How have you been?”

You scoff at the sudden change of topic. “Like you care, Simon.” Deciding you’re done with the conversation, you drop your barely smoked cigarette to the ground, using your foot to put it out, a motion you’ve watched Simon repeat a thousand times. Whenever he smoked, he always made sure you were okay with it first - and if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t be, as you loathed the smell of nicotine. But with him, it was different, everything was. You would watch as his arms flexed, the details of his tattoo poking out from his sleeve as he put the cigarette in his mouth. Hypnotized by his lips, you would try to be discreet, observing the smoke dissipate in the air when he exhaled, dreaming of what his mouth would taste like if you were to kiss him at that moment. 

Before you can leave, he puts his hand on the wall at the same height as your head, caging you with his body. You hold your breath, wide-eyed, looking up at him in surprise, as he disposes of the cigarette with his other hand.

“Of course I care.” Simon loved catching you by surprise, relishing the look in your eyes as you waited for his next move, completely frozen. He adored how you surrendered all control to him without ever noticing it, inert until his gestures gave you permission to move. It was almost like a dance, as you helplessly waited for him to guide you into the next step.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand, taking time to observe each feature as he let his hand follow down your face, finally landing on your lips. Resting his hand on your chin, he runs his thumb over your soft lips. He wondered what your lips would taste like if he were to kiss you at this moment. 

He could see the rapid movement of your chest, your sweet heart thumping under your ribcage. You dry-swallowed as you tried to calm down your breathing, fear mixing with lust in your veins as you came to the realization of how much power Simon had over you, not just physically, but emotionally. You knew then that there was nothing you wouldn’t do for another chance to have him touching you like this again, so delicately, so intimately. You couldn’t care less if he were to kill you right now, it would have been worth it just for having him look at you like you were the only woman in the world. 

“Stop lying to me, Simon.” He hadn’t even kissed you, yet you knew no other man would ever make you feel that way. You wanted to hate him for leading you on, for listening to you like no one else ever had, knowing it didn’t mean the same to him. But you couldn’t, because this one-sided relationship had been all you had thought about since the two of you had met. 

“Lying? Love, why would I ever want to lie to you? Do my actions not speak louder than my words?” He asks with fake innocence, knowing well enough that you didn’t know about his actions. A good girl like you could never imagine all the things he had done, all the work he did in the shadows, covered in blood and gunpowder so you could sleep safely at night. So he could come back to you with peace of mind, knowing he got his hands dirty so you wouldn’t have to. 

“I can’t do this.” You’re talking to yourself at this point, confessions slipping from your lips in the heat of the moment. “I kept lying to myself thinking that I would be okay with you being with another girl, but I can’t Simon. I can’t handle the thought of sharing you with someone else.”

“You are so oblivious.” He says, taking a step forward and closing the distance between you. His hand moves from your chin to the nape of your neck, intertwining his finger with your hair and softly pulling it, securing you in a firm grasp. “You really think it’s been the Universe solving your problems all this time, huh?” He chuckles, clicking his tongue. His other hand moves down to your waist, grabbing it with a firm grip as he presses you against the wall. “Let me give you a hint. The Universe didn’t beat your bloody ex-boyfriend into a pulp.”

If your eyes could have physically widened more, they would have. Your mind is brought back to the day Simon showed up at your flat at 5 am, his fists bloody and covered in bruises. He had told you it was from a bar fight and you believed him. You had taken him to the kitchen, where he sat on the isle while you positioned yourself between his knees, wet cloth in hand. You took care of his bruises and washed the blood off his hand, not realizing until now it was your ex-boyfriend’s blood. You fell asleep on the couch with Simon afterwards, while you ran your hands through his hair and told yourself that whoever he had hurt must have deserved it. When you woke up to your friend calling you to deliver the news that your ex was in the hospital, beaten beyond recognition, Simon shushed you and convinced you to go back to sleep in his arms. 

It made sense now, why sometimes the coffee shop would charge cheaper for your order because of the “skull guy”, but with the owner’s thick accent, you didn’t think much of it, assuming it was a foreign word for “deal” or “promotion”, sipping your coffee mindlessly as you left the shop. 

Not even when your boss made the sign of the cross and muttered “ghost” every time he crossed your path did you ever realize it had been Simon pulling the strings all along.

When you think back to every problem you had told him about, only to wake up to it magically solved, you finally notice that Simon had been looking out for you all this time, not ever worrying about getting credit for his deeds or the consequences they could ever cause him. 

“How could I not care about you, princess? I would kill for you. All you have to do is ask”. 

[jd07201990]

The next time you’re at a Grecian Resort, enjoying the food, the pool, and the breeze from the ocean, be sure not to insult a God, hiding in plain sight as a gym Trainer; Unless you want to be, “Blessed” with Herculean strength, and everything the movie didn’t mention comes with that! I wasn’t an athlete at all. This was supposed to be a vacation before college, where I was majoring in Physics. Then, one afternoon while I was passing by the Resort’s gym, I saw a hoard of sweating, grunting behemoths, lifting, running, and posing, while a beast of a man with Silver-Blonde hair and a thick beard, pushed them hard. I snorted, remembering the meatheads at school who’d gotten free-ride scholarships for sports, while I’d worked hard to keep my GPA flawless. The man locked eyes with me, glared, and suddenly I found myself walking toward him, my feet doing the work as I struggled to try to stop. This is why I should have kept my mouth shut. But when he made me explain why I thought Athletics wasn’t important, I decided to be snide, insulting anyone wasting time with sports and weights. Then, emboldened by his relative silence, his arms crossing over his titanic chest, I went in for him as well, his age mostly, but also that he worked as a trainer at a Resort, not something to brag about. Well, turns out that was Zeus, this is his resort, and every one of those beefed up, thick-built lumbering brutes currently filling the gym with a humid funk, were snotty rich boys who’d been stuck here for weeks, as the Zeus forced them to grow. I was then pushed onto a bench, and began helplessly lifting, as Zeus pushed me through the first workout of my life, and many, many more. I was there 3 months and did nothing but eat, sleep, workout, and sometimes we were allowed to talk with the others. Over that time, with the help of a cursed metabolism, I had to stuff myself at every meal, often snacking in between. We were all like this, constantly shoving food into our mouths to fuel the endless bulk. The whole place seemed to ring out with grunting, groaning, the sound of protein shakes being chugged, and helpless belching, as our bodies burned the calories into pounds. We had no choice, and Zeus only made it worse when you complained. By the time my vacation was finished, I was 6’, 205lbs of thick, padded bulk. Just a pile of muscle, lumbering around on huge, sweaty size 14s. Everything about me had gotten big. Even my hair grew, wild and curly, although it was also more often than not, plastered to my forehead as I grunted out another 50 reps. No matter how much I showered, there was always the lingering scent of testosterone pouring from under my arms. My pecs were Zeus’s pride, and he finally let me go when he said I’d gotten far too big to ever hide the muscle and warned me that I’d never lose the bulk, that I’d always be starving for food, and would get fat if I didn’t work out. That’s how I started college as a Big, sweaty Physics Major, with a skinny little roommate who complains about my mountain of dirty laundry, my sweaty shoes, and has no idea there’s nothing I can do about it! I can’t fight it, I eat, I sleep, I work out, and sometimes I even get to study, when I’m not getting crumbs all over my textbooks.

[auspicioustidings]

For the 1k requests/suggestions:

Druid!Soap who's protected the lands faithfully and ferociously for years, and Reader, the nature god/goddess/diety/spirit of those lands, decides to reveal herself and reward him for it?

Could go in any direction you want, pure fluff or darker or smut or anything! Just the first idea I had

Ok so you know how you said it could be darker or smut? Got carried away with this one :') This is just feral PWP that was written in one sitting and Johnny is mean as shit in it so pls HEED THE CWs.

Foul Magic

Words: 2.8k

CWs: Non-con, heavy smut, threatened bestiality (sort of, it's a Druid-ey shapeshifting hybrid thing and I have no clue how to CW that)

He was your greatest protector, had been for a decade now. When John MacTavish had offered himself to your service he had been a reckless teen, already an expert at spilling blood. You were no Silvanus, only a simple forest spirit with your own forest to tend and a handful of followers amongst the bordering villages mainly made up of the hunters and foragers who benefited from your kindness. 

“I will pledge myself tae ye for 10 years forest spirit” the young man had called out in the midst of the trees, “and in return I ask that once my service is complete ye reveal yourself tae me.”

It was a strange offer. You had never had anyone pledge themselves to you before. People left offerings certainly, made small shrines, but you had never had a sworn protector. A Druid, you thought, you could make him a Druid. You could finally test what your magic could really do.

Human lives were such short things that you didn't fully believe he would complete the 10 years. The life of a Druid was solitary and hard. He took to it with a violent fury that took your breath away. Never before had the soil been so sustained on the blood of those who sought to plunder its treasures without the proper respect. Every boon afforded him, John took and wielded as if born to hold such power. 

He was magnificent. Bear like in his strength, wolf like in his ferocity, fox like in his cleverness. And all too soon the 10 years was up. You had made a deal and would have to hold to it if you wanted to keep him. And you did want to keep him. The thought of your Druid leaving your forest made the flowers wilt around you.

He strode into your Grove, a man now. He was broad and full of scars proving his devotion to your protection, his hair shaved in at the sides but left long in the middle with braids shot through. You were fascinated by how strong he had become, muscles functional and snuggled under a layer of fat as proof of your care for him, tartan fabric held to his body with only clever pleating and a belt. 

“I have served faithfully for 10 years as was promised, I’ve come tae collect what I’m due.”

“And I hope in those 10 years you have enjoyed my patronage.”

He turned to see you, an ethereal thing made flesh for him. Fucking finally. He strode forward as your fond, soft smile turned to a look of fear, his hand bunching up in your hair and yanking you to look at him. You found that when you tried to shift to another form his magic, the magic you had given him, was weaving through yours to try and block you. The thought that you would be as helpless as some human maiden was horrifying.

“If ye had any sense at all, ye wouldnae have given me all yer power. Did ye really think I’d serve ye for ten years just tae look at ye?” he spat, venomous and unlike the Druid that had spoken worship on the wind to you all this time. “Fucked plenty of virgins in yer wee forest right under yer nose, had them gagging and crying, but none of them have satisfied what it is I really wanted. Been thinking about your tight wee nymph cunt being good and broken on my cock since I could use it, and I am a very patient man when it comes tae the things I want.”

You glowered at him, feeling your magic slide against the wall he had built and glancing off. He grinned an awful beastly grin and threw you to the floor, the slam of your knees on dirt unfamiliar and unpleasant. 

“You cannot do this. Please John, see reason. You are a protector of this place!”

He laughed and circled you, putting a boot firmly to the centre of your back and kicking you down so your face landed in the soil.

“Aye, I was until today. 10 years was the agreement, and now I take payment. Arse up, present properly for yer protector, least ye could do after all this time.”

He surely couldn’t mean to mount you like some beast. The idea that he meant to violate you at all was already unthinkable, but to do it in such a violent and debased manner was unforgivable. 

“You will not do this!”

You flared your power and he shoved it back, forcing it to act against you. He controlled it, the sickening pulse of your own magic being twisted as your body cracked and shifted. It was wrong, some half shift that felt unnatural. You heard the tear of the thin gossamer gown draped over you as something ripped through it. He laughed meanly and you howled in pain as you were grabbed by what you realised was a tail to force your hips up for him. He had done a disgusting thing with your magic, keeping you in your human form with the tail of your wolf form purely to torture you. It was forbidden to do such a thing, to create some new creature outside of nature in any way. You could feel hot tears spilling over as he wrapped the tail around his fist, pulling and twisting horribly. 

“Ye going tae behave? Or dae ye need to find out what I can dae to my own form?”

The implication was horrible. You scrambled with a sob, bracing your knees and moving yourself to present the way he wanted you to. 

“Aww, dinnae want a nice knot?” he said as he leaned over you, pressing his body to yours so his hot, wet breath was panting in your ear. “Maybe ye’d prefer something else.”

His foul magic invaded you again and you could see how your nails sharpened. Your hand barely started to shift into the paw of a snow leopard and you immediately started to plead. If he fucked you using that kind of cock you would surely be torn to shreds.

“P-please! Your cock! Just yours John, I want it.”

“Aye? I dinnae ken if I’m convinced. Maybe it’d be good to get my barbs in ye, fuck you bloody.”

“No please, it… it wouldn’t fill me properly if it wasn’t your human form. Wouldn’t be able to breed me like I want. Please fuck me with your cock John, I want it so badly” you sobbed, bile rising at your own words.

He laughed in dark delight, the hand gripping painfully at your tail letting go to plunge two fingers into you. It felt like you were being penetrated with a hot poker with how little warning he had given. You choked through breaths as your shape twisted back to yourself, tail painfully deforming and the formation of paws reversing. 

“Good thing yer body is backing ye up. So fucking wet and messy already little slut, knew ye’d be drooling for my cock.”

He noticed how you were taking shuddering breaths, clearly fixating on a spot in the distance to try and dissociate. That wouldn’t do at all and he ripped apart what was left of the thin gossamer so he could bring his open palm hard to the meat of your ass. He knew by how you squealed that nobody had ever taken a hand to you before and it was delicious.

Breaking you was all he had ever wanted, it was all he thought about when his cock was deep inside some new needy cunt or tight arse or wet mouth. He hated how after they would try to keep him as if he was something to be owned by anyone else. He had lost count of the lives he had taken from losing his temper over it. But now that he had you crying in the dirt, pussy throbbing around his fingers, he wanted to savour it. 

Your nails clawed at the ground and you tried to get onto your hands and crawl forward when his fingers left you and instead he buried his head between your legs. His grip on your thighs was painfully tight, yanking you right back into position with your arms collapsing back under you, face down ass up. 

It was too much, his tongue was wet and squirming and hot and inside you. He meant to devour you, to ruin you entirely. You had about braced to be fucked, but not for this, not for the intense spark of heady desire that came from this. 

“Fuckin’ knew it, knew ye’d taste sweeter than anything else” he growled against you as he released one thigh to get his fingers on your clit, needing to get you wetter to sait the thirst for your arousal that was burning through him now. “Dae ye taste good everywhere?”

“J-John! Ah you can’t, not there” you babbled as he licked up to your rim, diving into it with the same enthusiasm as he had your pussy. 

It was disgusting how he tongued up the slick that was weeping from your cunt to drag it to your ass, plunging his tongue in and out of your hole and driving you absolutely mad. This was debauched. The trees were creaking and groaning around you, powerless to help their mistress.

“Tell me ye fucking love it.”

“Stop, please!”

“Fucking say it” he growled, sinking his teeth into the same flesh he had slapped earlier. 

You screamed, sure he must have used that horrid magic again to sharpen his teeth to that of a predator with how you felt the skin break, his tongue lapping at the trickle of blood he had earned himself. 

“I love it” you said quietly, ashamed.

“Use your fucking words.”

The threat of his teeth was still there, they were scraping against your clit.

“I love your tongue in my ass! It’s perfect, thank you so much, making me so w- making me so wet” you moaned out, feeling your cunt clench with the shame of knowing it wasn’t quite a lie.

“Good girl” he purred, the praise vibrating through you. “Should reward ye naw? What dae ye want?”

There was a dark warning laced in his tone. You knew there was a wrong answer and you wouldn’t dare to give it. If you pleaded for a stop to this he would do much worse to you than if you pleaded for the less painful option.

“Want to cum on your mouth, want to cum on your cock in my pussy.”

“Mm? Whose mouth? Whose cock?”

You squeezed your eyes shut against the utter humiliation this human was making you face.

“Yours… master.”

“Atta girl.”

He laughed behind you before bringing that sinful mouth to latch onto your clit. He sucked hard and then lapped at it like a beast until you were squirming only to then go to your opening and make sure he got every drop of sweet liquid drooling out of you. It was torturous as your body betrayed you over and over again, pliant and gushing for him. He kept you on the edge of euphoria for what felt like hours before you broke.

“Fuck! Please master, want to cum!” 

The panting moans were brainless, you were so desperate. He cooed at you, his tone saccharine even as his words were degrading.

“Needy wee slut, cannae keep your legs closed can ye? Disgusting bitch tae let a man do this tae ye. Bet ye dream of walking into the village and letting everyone have a go at this sloppy cunt.”

“Only you master, please please please!”

“Aye, only me.”

His tongue which had been wild before was now lethally precise, the tip of it flicking rapidly at your throbbing clit. As you felt yourself crest he wrenched one of your arms to put your own hand there while he removed his face. Out of some hedonistic instinct you started to play with yourself to make the orgasm last, so stupid from the pleasure that it took a moment for the pain to sink in as his cock was forced inside you to the hilt.

Johnny was in rapture. Forcing himself in while your poor cunt was fluttering and clenching on nothing was almost painful from how tightly his cock was being squeezed. Your body was panicked, pleasure and pain at their height at the same time making you so incredibly tight and hot for him. Fuck, the way you were pulsing around him it was almost like getting a blow job, the ripple of wet pressure making him howl out his pleasure against your screech of pain.

He had already so thoroughly broken you that when he started to fuck you at a brutal pace you just drooled and cried and babbled. The distinction between pain and pleasure, what you hated and what you loved, was completely erased. It was all the same liquid heat inside of you that was demanding this. Demanding for you to be fucked savagley into the dirt, for you to take everything he had to give you. Demanding to be bred like the bitch in heat you were.

“I ken sweetheart, ye need tae earn it. Cum around my cock again.”

You didn’t even know what you were saying out loud and what thoughts were your own anymore as your clumsy fingers slipped around on your clit, trying to create friction despite the smooth glide from how much you dripped with arousal. You could feel the stickiness on your fingers, feel tendrils stretching lewdly in a connecting strand whenever you moved them away from your skin.

“Fucking dae it, cum on my cock!” 

It was a lightning storm of pain versus pleasure ripping through you as he adjusted to slam into that spongy spot inside you that set off every nerve ending over and over with no reprieve. At the same time he began to absolutely brutalise your ass with his open palms, violent and unrestrained. There was a gush of liquid as you came, screaming your throat raw.

John had never felt so powerful. You had been reduced to a squirting, screaming mess underneath him, a fucking animal begging in the dirt. He handled you how he liked, went as hard as he wanted. Any human would have broken. Any human would have fucking died with how he finally unleashed the beast inside of him, finally married violence with sex the way he had always wanted. 

“That’s it, fucking daft bitch, stupid wee brood mare, made tae fucking take it!”

You were begging again, nothing left in your brain but the desperation to be bred by a strong male. He was happy to do it, loyal protector that he was. Happy to give you exactly what you whined and mewled for, slamming home and cumming deep inside you. He fucked you through his own orgasm. He fucked you even when it was painful. It wasn’t until his cock finally slipped out, spent and struggling to find any purchase when he wasn’t fully engorged given how fucking sloppy you were.

He pushed you away after, leaving you a pile on the floor panting and ruined. Sitting back on his heels he had to take a moment for the dizziness from what had just happened to subside. Time for him to get out of this forest he supposed. He was not welcome on this land anymore. As he stood he took stock. While his kilt simply draped again to cover the sticky mess you had left on his skin and the dirt on his knees was easy enough to dust off, your gown was torn to shreds, your body beaten and bruised. He was perhaps a little surprised when your eyes opened and you blinked at him.

You felt the delicious strain of the most satisfying fuck of your life, only opening your eyes when you heard him get to his feet. Oh, he thought he was leaving. His eyes lit up with confusion and a tiny spark of feral delight as vines erupted from the ground to ensnare his ankle. Silly boy, thinking you powerless. If you had truly imbued him with the amount of your power he had deluded himself that you had, his human body would have burnt up and been dust on the wind years ago. It was laughable that he would have been able to block your magic.

“Did you truly think I didn't know your intentions from the start? Oh John, you are mine” you said with the fond bemusement one might have for a grumpy child. “Now come and perform your duty to your mistress, I am hardly done with you.”

[merv606]

Any thoughts on Terry being truly scared that he could have lost Daniel (supposing that Daniel was stabbed instead) and he goes to the hospital while Daniel recovers. Danny is surprised at how…soft and gentle Terry is with him, treating him like glass, and realizes that Terry was terrified of losing him.

I’ll try to answer this without having the fill by @thereminwriting influence me too much but I am going to take the idea of Terry being the one who saved him because it adds another layer of 🌶️ to the whole fucked up situation. There may be some overlap with Mercy but, with Silverusso there always is, as the themes with them are always the same.

Link below for her take - a suggestion to read it as it’s brilliant! It will live rent free.

What this ask inspired, while I feel hits some points made in the ask it may ultimately fail to hit the mark for exactly what you were looking for.

“You think you’d be grateful, is all,” Terry says, picking at some imaginary lint on the bed, which is not there. They both know that. The place is pristine, more high end hotel than hospital. The thread count on the bedsheets has to be higher than what he has at home, and he is an admitted snob when it comes to his night time comforts.

“Gratitude?” Daniel says slowly, like he’s both processing what Terry said and also surprised he’d even say it.

If it wasn’t for the dull ache in his side, the way he can feel the stitches and staples pull when he moves he’d do something stupid. As it were though.

“Gratitude, gratitude,” his voice rising, and then suddenly Daniel just deflates, that little bit of anger burning through the little energy he has built up.

That scared Terry more than anything. His boy’s fire was always so bright, so warm to bask in, so strong and big, despite the small frame it lived inside. That was why it came out so often, too big for it’s confines, never truly able to be contained at all times.

A fire that drew Terry to it like a moth to a flame, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it’s seductive allure. Helpless in the knowledge that like the moth stunned and destroyed by the light it sought, he too would die by it’s heat.

He could’ve think of a better way to go though.

Softly, “it’s just another cage, Terry.”

“Never pegged you as the religious type,” Terry says after a few long moments.

He’s not, not really. He goes through the rituals of it - mass on Christmas Eve - stopping only when his kids got older and Amanda admitted she was only going for him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know why he did, except that he did when he was a kid.

Daniel looks at the keychain’s pendant in his hand, the keychain having been ripped off and stretched to pick the lock of the cage, and he hadn’t even realized, at the time when he bought it what it was, he had simply handed the kid over some money.

He only kept it because he considered it a lucky charm of sorts considering, what it saved him from - that belief was cemented by the fact it was in the pockets of the leggings he wore under his GI when this happened.

A coincidence, he’s sure, but still, he thinks he needs all the help he can get. He’s probably in the most danger right now, after all.

It had been placed on the bedside table, and it was one of the first things he saw when he woke, and when he groggily reached for it, Terry had stilled him, telling him not to move, placing it the palm of his hand.

Here now, he turns it over in his hand.

Even you can’t save me now, Daniel thinks.

Sitting in a hospital paid for by Terry - his life forfeit it wasn’t for Terry.

His life forfeit all the same.

All the same.

More like delayed, all things considered.

Because now he owes Terry.

He owes Terry a debt he cannot possibly repay.

He wonders how Terry will try to collect; what he stands to gain.

“I must say, I was surprised to learn of your skills.”

“I’m from jersey,” Daniel answers absently. “Of course I know how to pick locks.”

Terry chuckles but then the doctor comes in and like always, Daniel is not made privy to the decisions. Everything in Terry’s hands which, as much as he hates that, they have proved to be quite capable.

He’s alive because of them.

——————————

When a few weeks have passed, he finally gathers the courage to watch the video, and for the first time he sees Terry, how he was saved, how calm Terry was, how efficient, how …. Not what Daniel expected.

He doesn’t know what to feel, not only about watching himself get hurt but about Terry. The feed had cut rather quickly all the same. He doesn’t know why, but he hits replay.

Terry comes in, and freezes, grabbing the tablet from Daniel, shattering it against the wall. A nurse rushes in, and Terry barks something to her as he strides out, and after she cleans the mess, she injects something into his IV bag. He doesn’t bother asking, they never tell him.

Terry finally reappears as the drugs settle through him. Daniel can feel them as they move through his blood, dulling everything further, the pain never truly gone, leaving behind heavy limbs and bad coordination, but a sense of peace even as he feels the bed dip and Terry’s side press flush to his. Daniel goes slack against the older man, his weight fully pressed against him until Terry is the very thing holding him up.

Terry puts Daniel’s hand in his, the only apology he’ll get for the outburst, the thumb rubbing the skin.

“My team will have it removed,” Terry explains, like they do anytime a new one pops up, and although Terry knows he can’t get rid of it entirely, it helps. Having something he can control.

Daniel, after all, makes him feel so out of control.

Daniel, after all, had never made him feel so scared.

All the blood that was already blooming out from him on the mat by the time Terry got to him, and it had only taken moments.

The knife - Kreese’s knife - embedded deep - and the white of Daniel’s skin as more blood appeared, watching life drain out of him right before his eyes.

Something that only hit Terry after. Terry only allowing it to hit him after, needing to, in that moment, focus on saving Daniel.

Not willing to accept anything else.

You can lose something you never really had.

But Daniel will be now. Something he has. Finally. And Terry will be damned if he’ll lose it.

———————————

“I can’t believe you put me in a dog cage,” Daniel grumbles as he eats his steak and buttered lobster.

Well he can, but a part of him can’t - won’t - examine it too closely. The same coping mechanism he’s been using when it comes to Terry for thirty years now. It mostly proves successful,

“Danny,” he starts.

“Thought that would, what? Make me submit? Like before.”

A deep sigh, and really Terry has no right sound that put upon.

He wasn’t the one locked in a dog cage.

“Of course you would see it like that.” Both exasperated yet fond.

“How should I see it?!”

At first you would think humiliation, and Terry’s attempt to install fear in Daniel - the same fear Terry felt but, that wasn’t it - not at all.

Nothing could be further for the truth.

It was protection.

Cages keep things in, but they also keep them out.

They keep things safe.

They keep them from leaving.

He actually hadn’t wanted Daniel to wake up until reaching the desired destination.

“I fear cages,” Terry starts but stops, not sure what to say, off kilter in a way only Daniel manages to do to him.

“Why do you fear cages?”

The story pours out, and Daniel sits, stunned.

He had no idea. At all.

Terry’s loyalty to Kreese makes so much sense now. As does their falling out. Which has hardened into hate since the accident.

Part of Terry blames Kreese.

It was his knife after all.

“He always tries to destroy the good things in my life.”

It not only makes sense but Daniel realizes, with a clarity he wouldn’t before, as he too carries that same burden now. Carries the same mixed feelings about being indebted to someone you do not wish to be indebted to.

An understanding, a part of him connected to Terry.

A part of himself that will never belong to him again.

———————————-

He protested in the beginning, Terry helping him change, but now he doesn’t; there would be no point.

He winces, the scar twisting, so new it’s still more deep purple, the skin too tight from where he was sewed and stitched back together.

Terry frowns, his hand touching it, and Daniel flinches; he can’t help it. Even he doesn’t even like touching it himself

It feels wrong - foreign. It feels like a change he didn’t want but will have no choice but to accept.

Isn’t that Terry whoever he comes into Daniel’s life.

It feels like the situation he finds himself in.

It looks ugly, even if he knows in time it will fade to pink and then further still until it’s faded to the point that it nearly matches his skin

He knows he should be grateful to be alive, to be here, even if here is with Terry.

He knows all of this but still, he will carry a piece of this always.

He carrie enough of Terry around with him - he has for thirty years.

The older man’s fingers are so damm gentle as they trace the new skin forming, solidifying into something permanent.

Everything about Terry has been so damm gentle.

All his touches, all the looks directed at Daniel, even when Terry thinks Daniel isn’t paying attention.

Terry helps him into his shirt.

————————————-

“Why?” Daniel asks when he finally gathers the courage. The thing that took him the longest to do.

“I wasn’t about to let you die, Daniel,” Terry nearly scoffs. “I’m not that much of ….”

“I know,” Daniel interrupts.

And he does. Truly. Terry is a Bond villain, and like all Bond villains, he lives to monologue and come up with elaborate plots, plots he knows, deep down, won’t work.

Just like they know Bond will walk away each time, that they want him to, so does Terry.

Because If you really want someone gone, it’s not hard. Simple is best.

If you truly want to win, that is.

But the winning isn’t the point. The end isn’t the point, because it’s not even a journey.

It’s a game, and it’s the fun in playing the game.

But when you take out the opponent, and you win the game, oh how you stop having fun.

Because the opponent was what you actually wanted all along, this game, was the only way to get that.

Something almost ruined this ages old ritual, something the villain hadn’t planned himself, hadn’t even accounted for.

“Why all this?” Daniel gestures around. It certainly is above and beyond. Putting aside the part Daniel can never hope to possibly repay, can’t even begin to, the money alone Terry has spent is astronomical, and shows no signs of stopping. The money Terry has assured Daniel he does not want, nor does he seem to even care about.

They stare at each other.

“I think you know,” is all Terry says, and it’s not cryptic, not at all.

Because Daniel thinks he does too.

Daniel thinks, he always did.

—————-

The plastic surgeon is flown in.

Daniel is fine with the scar.

It’s Terry that hates it.

It reminds him of too much.

The overwhelming fear in the days after, the unbridled anger at it even happening. Something Terry has been felt before.

How he had failed.

How he had almost lost something, that while never was his, was something he had never wanted more.

How he would have lost everything all the same, had Daniel not pulled through.

No.

No part of his boy is to be reminded of this.

No part of him will be marked by any man but Terry.

If his body is to change now, to open and accept anything inside, to be split open, to bleed, it will be by Terry’s doing.

And it will be by pleasure and not pain.

——————————————

The night he wakes to Terry sitting in the side of the hospital bed, everything dark expect for the light of the moon filtering in through the near floor to ceiling windows, is the night he really sees.

The older man’s back is to him, and although everything is silent, eerily so, he can tell Terry is crying.

Daniel sits up, hand holding onto his side, where he thinks it will always twinge slightly, although it’s more a habit now than a need, and the fact that Terry doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t hone in on the fact he’s awake and moving adds to the wrongness of this whole thing.

He gently and slowly lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder, not wanting to spoke him, he’s clearly out of it, and in an even softer tone, the ones he’d use on his kids when they were younger and upset, he asked, “Terry?”

Daniel expects the older man to get up, leave, but instead a large hand comes up and covers him.

They say nothing, but then Terry’s hand squeezes his, and in a broken voice finally speaks.

“I could have lost you.”

Terry made a mistake.

A mistake he can’t fix. - not now. Because he’s in too deep, because he loves Daniel.

And this, this was never the plan, all those years ago. To fall for the boy …. to fall again for the man the boy became.

Because when you love something, you now have something that can destroy you.

Destroy you without even meaning too.

Daniel would have destroyed him, without even trying.

Destroyed Terry in away that he would not have been able to rebuild himself from.

Even a phoenix eventually loses its will to rise again.

A world with Daniel is not one Terry wishes to be in. He tried, for thirty years, and it was no life at all. It certainly wasn’t living.

He got it back though, that feeling of being alive, but oh, what he traded for it. Because now he has this fear, heavy on his chest.

This fear of losing something you cannot replace.

When he looks down, sometimes he can still see the blood on his hands.

“You didn’t though.”

Daniel kneels, his chest to Terry’s back, his head on his shoulder, thin arms wrapped around the older man.

“You saved me.”

He had.

Terry had battled death with his bare hands for Daniel and won. But one day, one day …..

“We saved each other,” is all Terry says, focusing on that to stave off the panic.

“Let’s focus on that,” Daniel says, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Terry can feel the warmth of his breaths gaunt his neck.

Plastered against his back, Daniel moves with Terry almost, to the feel the rise and fall of Terry’s breathing. Terry can feel the beat of Daniel’s heart, they’re pressed so tight.

Concentrating on that. On the moment. On what he can control in the here and now.

The dread subsides, for now, even if Terry knows it has simply retreated.

The moonlight shines down on them, this moment in time, and they stay like that until the sun chases it away, illuminating the sins instead.

———————-

“Oh god,” a breathy little moan, as Terry’s cock slides home, opening Daniel to him.

Four fingers, four of Terry’s thick fingers, and his mouth, had put the time in to get Daniel here like this, body open enough to accept the older man inside him; to accept his love.

Like a virgin on a mound, about to be offered up as sacrifice, this is how he will repay Terry.

Daniel arches up, legs squeezing tighter to the older man’s sides as his eyes squeeze shut, blunt fingernails drawing down a broad pale back.

They’ll both bleed for this tonight.

They’ll always bleed for each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Terry groans, and Daniel kisses him, only because he can’t handle much more.

He can’t handle Terry here inside him like this - how good it feels - how right it feels - and hear the raw truth in Terry’s voice.

He can’t.

His body is already the temple Terry is about to worship at - to ruin and rebuild - his body the vessel for this offering of his.

He knows his heart and soul will follow suit. If he was being honest with himself, something he seldom is, they already have.

The older man will accept nothing else. Daniel finds he wants nothing else.

Hands roaming, touching warm sweat slick skin, sharing the air moving between them.

The older man so damn gentle as he keeps sliding in.

Daniel finding within himself, to somehow open more and more, until Terry’s cock is all the way in, both men joined as one.

Terry carving a spot for himself that only he will be able to fill.

Hips snapping in, the wet noises of their coupling, the pin pricks of pleasure when the older man’s cock brushes his prostate, the sharp grin, like a shark sensing blood in the water as Terry concentrates on hitting that spot.

Hands pins above his head, Daniel opening his eyes at the older man’s command, Terry staring down.

“I love you. So much, Danny. So damm much,” he groans, rocking in, burying his face into the smaller man’s neck.

The slapping noise of skin on skin as he’s taken, as Terry chases his release, both of their releases, in each other.

Hands grab slim hips, feeling the bone under his palm, fingers digging in, greedy and covetous, but Daniel can feel the love even if he can also feel the bruises it is leaving.

Love with teeth, it suits them.

Always did.

And a love that leaves marks from those teeth, stained red with blood.

A love that is visible - a mixture of pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure.

That is them.

“Oh,” he sobs out as he comes in the space between them, not even a hand on his cock needed.

The clenching of his body, already a tight and perfect fit around Terry’s cock, is the older man’s undoing, and his hand grasps the smaller man’s side, covering the now barely visible scar, as empties himself inside the smaller body.

Daniel’s legs fall off his sides, splayed open obscenely as Terry fills and fills and fills him. He moans softly at the sensation of Terry’s come inside him, which doesn’t seem to be stopping, the warming blooming through him as his hips keep gently fucking in, making sure it’s as deep as it can go, making sure Daniel is even more full than he thought possible.

Finally finished, Terry collapses on top of Daniel, careful as he does though. He’s always careful with his boy, even if sometimes it’s his own personal brand of it.

He doesn’t bother to pull out, loathe to leave Daniel’s body until he absolutely has to, even if he is eager to see the mess he’s left his boy in.

There is always later for that.

They have that luxury of later now.

Who would have thought that here, of all places, a second, third, and fourth chance.

Terry’s lost count.

As many as they need to get it right.

Terry will see to that.

[belit0]

Would you be willing to write angst where Madara and indra (separately) finally broke the last straw and they and their lover have a heated argument. It escalates to the point where she threatens to take off her ring. How would they react. (The argument was their fault.)

I am convinced Indra is one of those persons who says hurtful things without feeling it just to make the other one angry, and no one can change my mind.

Indra

He knows the argument is his fault, he is aware of how he pressures (Y/N), and how she feels lesser for not being able to give him a child. It is no one's fault really, only the Otsutsuki's impatience and helplessness for not being able to control nature itself.

Indra is mighty in every way, the most powerful man in the world, but he is failing at the one fundamental task of his present time: to conceive an heir and start a clan with his own blood.

He does not know where the failure lies, he has no idea if it is because of him or (Y/N), all he cares about is how he fills his wife with his seed every single night, hoping for an immediate result that never comes. It is frustrating, having achieved the most difficult goal of his life, conquered everything he wanted, and not being able to achieve the most common and ordinary task of any man.

An afternoon of problems is when he explodes against his beloved, bearing the pressures of his followers and resolving situations within the village he managed to create after his victory. Everyone counts on him, everyone needs him, and the pressure of authority becomes exhausting.

(Y/N), worried about her inability to grant him an heir, seeks validation and reaffirmation from him. She just needs to hear everything is okay, that they will get through it together, and that patience will be the greatest virtue for them both to get through the predicament, finally getting a child. The woman goes to her husband's private training camp, where she always counts on being able to find him. The man senses her arrival and stops his practice to give her his attention. "It's nothing urgent, my love, I'm just worried."

With a cold stare, Indra hides his concern, refusing to let his wife see the worry is shared. Unable to show he feels fear about it too, he chooses a distant stance, kicking the problem down on her, "You should be, it's been a while since we started trying."

"You talk like it's my fault...we have no idea what's going on and-" (Y/N) is interrupted by curt words, throwing responsibility on her actions, as if she doesn't want to have a family with him.

"I'm not certain about that, and I'm afraid consequences must happen soon." The Otsutsuki glares at her, red-eyed from his height, inwardly regretting not knowing how to put his feelings into words without hurting her in the process. He knows his position will only lead to trouble, but he can't do anything about it, riding a train with no brakes.

"Consequences...would you risk all our years together for a stone in the road...? Indra, I've been with you from the beginning, long before everything that happened..." There are tears in (Y/N)'s eyes, threatening an early free fall down her face. The woman stares at him in disbelief, genuinely mortified with every response she receives. Does her company mean nothing to him, the unconditional love she gave him through all their moments?

"My life was built upon losing people I believed to love. If I had to lose you for this, it wouldn't be news, (Y/N)." His sentences are like many kunai burying themselves in different parts of her body, and the woman can do nothing but rethink everything until now.

"You should probably keep this then." She throws the gift he gave her on their wedding night, a beautiful ring engraved and embedded in red gemstones, at his feet. Pain is visible on her features, and the anger with which she turns away from him is palpable.

Worst of all, Indra does not feel any of the words he said. He would never abandon her, even if it meant not being able to bear children of his own blood. He cannot control the image he pretends to have in the outside world, even if that includes hurting those he truly cares about.

(Y/N) has been with him since before his curse, was with him during his eternal fight with Ashura, and helped him build the place he now calls his. She is his safe space, his little home, but he can't help the awful unreasonable words flowing out of his mouth in frustration, anger, and rage. She knows him, and understands he's usually a pain in the ass to argue with, but this time she seems to have been truly affected by his statements.

Maybe he took it too far, without even meaning to.

He picks up the ring at his feet and puts it in his pocket before deciding to run, get away from the place, and find a distant and remote village to kill every single one of its inhabitants. Indra lashes out at the life of all the innocents he finds in the tiny town, destroying children, women, and fathers alike.

His anger is directed at himself, raging at his inability to control and suppress his reflex to hurt others. Of course, ironic to analyze his own self while dismembering humans left and right.

Madara

It is in the early evening when Madara decides to leave in search of (Y/N). Having arrived earlier than usual, he wanted to surprise her at home, but she was nowhere to be found. He opted to go to Izuna and ask about her, his brother always being everywhere and nowhere, knowing the whereabouts of every person in the clan.

The younger Uchiha recounts how he saw her walking a while ago, presumably towards the local Uchiha market, intending to buy something to make Madara some dinner. How Izuna knows so many details is none of his concern, yet he is grateful for the information.

Arriving at the market, he scans the place for her presence, too tired to use the Sharingan and deciding to do it the old-fashioned way. He walks among the stalls and greets every person who dares to speak to him, being stopped many more times than he would like at this hour.

As he talks to a little old lady, he sees her in the distance, having a very animated conversation with a man he recognizes from his army. He is an average warrior, one of the many Uchiha who never managed to develop a Sharingan, and he is too close to his wife for his liking.

Quickly excusing himself, Madara frees from the old woman to get closer to where (Y/N) is, without revealing himself to her but close enough for the man to notice. Behind his wife's back, the Uchiha stares at him with eyes full of hatred and menace, causing the warrior to flee in terror without even saying goodbye to her. Confused, (Y/N) turns around to see what spooked the man, caused him to be so horrified, and meets her husband face to face.

Judging by his expression, it looks as if he has just met Tobirama, and the woman is extremely embarrassed when he lifts her over his shoulder, abducting her from the market and concluding her shopping moment.

"Madara what the fuck! Put me down now!" She yells angrily, slamming a fist into his back and trying to lift her head to keep all the blood from going to that area. He doesn't comply with her demand until a few minutes later when they are in the privacy of their home, and away from any prying eyes.

"What got into you?!" (Y/N) exclaims indignantly, trying to understand what could have affected him enough to not even say hello.

"Who the fuck was that man and why were you conversing so cheerfully with him?" He asks with both loathing and resignation, expecting a terrible answer from his wife. Maybe it was her lover, maybe it was the person she would want to replace him with, or maybe she already had.

"He's one of the guards you assigned to take care of me today, you idiot! He was with me all day, under your own orders! Don't you even register what you decree, all day locked up in your office?!"(Y/N) is overcome with indignation, being indirectly accused of unfaithfulness wrongfully.

The Uchiha is speechless, not knowing what to say about it. He deals with so many things per day and at the same time, he tends to forget one or two matters. He feels disgusted for having assigned such a weak warrior as his wife's bodyguard, but even more so for not being able to remember it. The stress was consuming him to such an extent he was beginning to forget important things, skipping some and erasing others altogether.

"Even if that hadn't been the case, seeing me talk to another man doesn't give you the right to freak out like that! Interacting with people of the opposite sex doesn't mean I'll be looking to cheat on you, Madara! Grow the hell up, and learn to respect me as your wife, or it ends here!"

Enraged, (Y/N) storms out of the house, leaving a stunned and shocked Uchiha in the middle of the room. The only thing Madara is thankful for is the fact she didn't take off her ring, which could mean two things: either she didn't notice, or she doesn't see it as serious enough to genuinely leave him. Either way, he feels terribly guilty, and can't understand how he lets himself be driven by jealousy like that.

Unfounded jealousy, even worse.

The Uchiha is left pondering in solitude before he goes off to find her, determined to apologize on his knees if that's what it takes to get (Y/N) not to be angry at him anymore.

[57sfinest]

i wanted to look at the symbolism of the ocean in disco elysium because it features so prominently in the setting. insulinde being an isola comprised of islands, martinaise as a port town financially anchored by its ocean trade. the divisions brought by water that we see in the geography: how the canal separates the working district of martinaise from the even poorer, commerce-less village-- how the river esperance separates the worst ghettos of revachol and jamrock from the more rebuilt and financially stable districts-- how, for example, lilienne looks across the bay of revachol to the wealthy district of la delta, a poignant moment of separation between someone desperately poor and the towers of wealth built out of the ruins of revachol. we see water, and often the sea specifically, acting as a divider in various contexts. 

the ocean of time and distance that separates dora and harry, that separates klaasje from oranje:

then, further into the idea of the ocean as representative of time: in various contexts i see the ocean as representing the past. memory residing under the waves, and each of us living above water-- in the present-- but often still helpless to the tides when we’re not careful. to me this is cemented by the implication that the pale is commonly theorized as an *outer ocean* (juxtaposed with harry’s introspective skill, inland empire!!): the pale is the past, and if the pale is seen as an outer ocean, then right there is a tangible connection between the two. memory and the past as an ocean, dangerous if you don’t respect its power, but ultimately navigable. there is frequent reference made to the fact that the bombed ruins of martinaise are sinking or lost into the ocean, lost to the past, now only memory. 

and harry, who is living in the past and being consumed by nostalgia like a rot, drives his car into the ocean. harry’s badge, which is conflated with his identity in the aftermath of his amnesia, was underwater before he pulled it from the car: until he got it, his entire identity was lost with his memory in the past. klaasje’s documents, too, presumed lost to the ocean, a loss of who she was or claimed to be (until you meet the phasmid). lilienne’s husband was lost to the waves, and in the same lines she’ll dismiss your concerns-- he’s in the past now, she’s really not too upset. the cleaning lady, abandoned by the world, who has only her own memories for company in her sea-beaten room. in the context of ruby’s near-suicide in the shack, how inland specifies how the “waves had calmed” as she put the gun away: ruby distancing herself from the past that she thinks is chasing her to form a better plan. the working-class husband, who, had his corpse fallen through the boardwalk into the ocean, would have been lost to the past, living only in the memory of billie and their daughters.

for me, the final dream had some of the heaviest but most subtle inclusions of the ocean symbolism. it’s brought on by looking into the ocean around the seafort and takes place under the ocean somewhere. even before the dream, dora is alluded to in the context of the sea. she moved across the ocean and now, to him, she’s lost under it. she’s trapped in his memory.

where we see things half-submerged or partially oceanic, we see a bridge between the past and the present being represented. something partially lost to the past but still with a foot in the here and now. harry’s half-sunken car, in part a representation of his career: part of his past, yes, but still very much in his present. one of the primary spiritual practices we hear of is the volta do mar: originally a palefarer’s practice to keep them grounded in an onslaught by the past, and its meaning is *return from the sea*. when harry tries to turn back time, he wants to go back to a time when the sun had not yet sunk into the sea-- when the light in his life didn’t reside solely in the past.

also in this context, something that really struck me was how harry will sometimes think of himself in the context of the sea. first is the sea monster thought, brought about by the broken plaza: him as a creature submerged in the past, terrorizing the present. and seafaring brought up to represent a kind of compromise between living in the present and acknowledging the draw of nostalgia. even joyce in her limited knowledge of harry compares him to a “half-submerged ruin”. and when harry is prompted into introspection by the dros predicament, inland empire becomes the *inland sea*.

and i really want to make a final, individual point of this. the whirling-in-rags music is sea power’s song “fire escape in the sea”. there is an explicit reference made to the song by shivers as well, and i think the choice of this song is very intentional. the whirling-in-rags is where harry forgot his whole life, the whole world, and it’s where he wakes up and begins to piece it all back together. the whirling-in-rags is harry’s fire escape in the sea. his bridge between his past and his present, his last-ditch attempt at escape from the tortures of his subconscious. 

(this is by no means exhaustive, there are a lot of other moments where the sea comes in, but i included the moments that spoke to me most. you’re welcome to add your own!)

[mystycalypso]

I'm gonna go on a mini rant here.

TW: p3d0ph1lia, and child s/@

God, I shouldn't have to put a TW like that on a blog where I post Hello Neighbor content with my bff, but I need to just- let off steam about this because it's something that seems to happen every time there's a franchise centering around kids facing a big bad adult where- people assume that said big bad s3xually @ buses one or more of the minor characters.

A main big example of this is obviously FNAF, with the P3d0philia William Afton being popularized by PinkiePills with her comics to the point where a large chunk of the fandom believes that it's canonical. Despite that not being the case.

The example that has pushed me over the edge to talk about this today is Theodore Peterson. I have been worried since Episode 6s release that people were going to claim that Peterson S/@ ed Nicky. And today, low and behold I see a post (not gonna name drop them for obvious reasons) saying

"At this point it's obvious what Mr. Peterson did to Nicky" with the teaser image tinybuild recently posted

Now, at first my autistic ass said, "...What?" And I couldn't figure out for the life of me what they were referring to because I mean, we don't even know when this shot is from

Then I open the comments and see people talking about whether or not it was infact s/@ . I know I said I was expecting and dreading this, but it still shocked and bewildered me because- there's genuinely nothing in the show that actually makes it seem like this.

Thankfully, a lot of the comments were openly disagreeing with this idea and sentiment. But- I need to discuss why it's a problem to me, ESPECIALLY with this franchise, which I've already explained is very near and dear to me.

But good FUCKING GOD, especially with WTRB

THIS IS A KIDS SHOW

Is WTRB able to go much darker than most kids' shows because it isn't run on tv or owned by a network? Absolutely. But would TB go that far? FUCK NO.

I've seen this person using moments from the show like this

To call Mr. Peterson, a p3d0phil3, and I need to clearly explain the purpose of this image. It is to show the power he has built in his lies. Trinity witnessed Mr. Peterson kidnap Nicky before her own eyes, but he has built up such a persona as this pathetic old man in the town that even when she can see behind his lies and see his actively horrific behavior, no one else can.

We see this same back and forth in all their interactions in episode 5. From the moment he offers cookies based on Nicky's goggles to the framing of him looming while her parents work the printer. He believes he has won and can flaunt it because there is no one in Ravenbrooks who believes these kids. No one even notices or is suspicious of Nicky going missing in the first place.

And if Trinity was also an adult or even if Mr. Peterson was say- a woman this wouldn't be coming up or a theory/hc. It is only because Theodore is an older male antagonist.

Now, why is this a problem? Why do these hcs and theories urk me so much every time I see them?

It adds nothing. All they do is make the story "edgier" and "darker" in a way that's so- flat and dimensionless. There's nothing gained by saying "oh Nicky was s/@ ed" if anything you have taken so much from the actual story of Hello Neighbor and the themes of feeling helpless to the horrors you see going on around you. You're not taken seriously as a kid, especially after doing something others see as a slip up like Trinity or by not being the model student type like Nicky. You're young and can see through the lies of others easier but no one believes you.

Not only that, but the supernatural theming of Hello Neighbor is lost because of this. The Guest, The Thing, the Cult, everything is lost or disregarded all to make the series dark on a very surface level.

I'm tired of actual themeing and good writing getting thrown to the wayside for hcs that do nothing for victim representation and do nothing to add to the story and I say this with utter genuineness

If you believe in these p3d0 hcs and theories, do not interact with our work.

Kaydin and I are both VIOLENTLY disgusted by the things we saw written by that poster and by the comments agreeing with their sentiment and we don't want to be associated with the parts of the fandom that twist the series that way.

Thanks for reading.

[caelysiiium]

do you think tanfang would have kids in the future? i can see fang being a little nervous initially bc of his upbringing, esp if they have more than one kid, but his trust and feeling of security with tan helping those fears. and tan being the most supportive parent in the world who's so loud and proud of his husband and kid. i imagine they have a little boy and tan is the dad who matches his toddler energy 200% and is at the front of every event cheering loudly while fang reigns him in (and then joins in immediately w the biggest smile)

I think you nailed my thoughts exactly, anon. fang would definitely be hesitant at first, never having had that secure upbringing—his parents prioritizing their work in the false assumption that it'll be better for their kids down the road, growing up so young so quickly because it was up to him to take care of phum from a vast ocean away—and witnessing/experiencing first-hand the way neglect shatters a family. does he even have an example of what a happy childhood should look like? can he provide something he has never known to his children?

extrapolating from his insecurities depicted in the series, fang would wonder if he'd be enough. he knows he's not as openly affectionate as tan and he may overthink about how his every minute action impacts their kids and the way they perceive him compared to tan. I can imagine that he's terrified of turning out just like his father, as it's clear he's the closest of his brothers to the man, clinging desperately onto whatever tattered mess is left of their relationship (although maybe ep 16 will give us something different).

and of course tan will soothe these fears (phum too, because fang practically raised him and he knows the enormous capacity of fang's love). tan and his I see all of you and I love all of you and his constant words of affirmation and endless acts of service are already inspirations to fang, and they will continue to be as they navigate parenthood together. fang would never want his children to go through what he and his brothers had, and does his best to keep that promise. he still stumbles from time to time, especially at certain milestones where the three of them were never provided the appropriate parental support, but tan reminds him that he's allowed to make mistakes (we all do, after all; tan would as well, being a parent is hard), that he's not only his father's son, that he has come so far and there's always room to grow.

agreed, tan would be the most obnoxious [affectionate] parent in the world, loud and proud of fang and their children. I don't have definitive ideas on the number nor the genders—2 at most though, I don't think fang would be comfortable with more—but little boy or little girl or both tan would certainly match their energy and be helpless to their every whim. their child would have tan wrapped around their little finger, utterly in love and unable to tell them no. fang is still the voice of reason and would have to be the one to do any scolding, but yeah he would join in on their shenanigans more often than not (or, y'know, that fond eyeroll of exasperation, watching the loves of his life from the sidelines). again, not as openly affectionate as tan, especially in public spaces, but I like to imagine fang having a little bedtime ritual with their child—reading a story, perhaps, or counting the stars, or gossiping about schoolmates, or or or—sweet and tender and just the two of them. quieter in his love, yes, but every person under the sun knows that fang would level cities for their children.

both of them would unhesitatingly carve out family time, the home they built a sacred priority. tanfang would also be very protective, almost overbearing, which their child would 100% complain about as they grow older lol

[waxingrunes]

your art is the most realistic art i have seen this fandom spit out i really wish you would make remus shorter and stop making oc’s

This is why I lose enthusiasm for you cunts.

Sick of defending a fucking drawing, a fictional character. Sick of the same agendas in this online world where Remus has to be this fucking wet mop of a man who has one singular personality trope of being obsessed with Sirius Black and wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Have you met real men? You ever interacted with your average Joe, who is a bit shy, bit awkward, bit of a weirdo but he doesn’t have to come with a pre installed stutter and helpless heart eyes and no other arsenal but a goo goo gaga state of mind for his love interest. You lot are unhealthily obsessed. Daily, fucking, bullshit, daily headcanons, daily this, daily that.

My Remus and Sirius are never going to change. What’s insane is the amount of ‘heteronormative’ claims I see attached to this debacle of height and size. I know a man, who is exceptionally tall, built, has had a boyfriend, and topped him the entire way through the relationship. He did not enjoy bottoming, and yet is a bisexual individual, nothing ‘stereotypical’ homosexual about him or his appearance whatsoever. In fact, he’s very much a Remus variant in my eyes; he is softly natured, introverted, and selective socially and STILL A STONY TOP. Real life, real person, not curated from a thread you found on Twitter and have swallowed up whole.

What happened to coming into a fandom space, making something and going, “that’s hot”. When did it become a space to make sure every representation was ticked, to make sure one character isn’t too this or too that. I’m not here to read the same stories or see the same art 100 times over. I fell in love with these two men and have since had a very solid image of them in my head and create art based off of those ideas. I don’t feel pressured to make sure I give my Remus certain soft traits to justify making him look the way I do. I don’t feel the need to advertise Sirius being this massively charismatic guy just to give him a personality because otherwise you might think he doesn’t have one, because of the slightly more feminine light I draw him in (which is misogynistic you dumb fucks). Just because, I draw my Remus tall and a buffed out lank, does not make him an ultra turbo Alpha. Just because I draw my Sirius smaller, does not mean he is a helpless twink. But here’s the secret nobody’s telling you— even if I did draw them like that, even if those were my holy canons and preferences for these boys, that’s okay. I’m here to create things that make me go, “fuck yeah that’s hot”, “hell yeah I want to see Sirius get pulverised by Remus and no I don’t want to see Remus get pulverised by Sirius and no I don’t feel the need to defend that”, “yeah I prefer tough love over easy love”, “absolutely love it when one of them is a dick to the other and there’s heaps of toxic tension, or maybe they’re both like that and they’re both sarcastic pricks that have to work it out”. I’m never going to adhere to the obsession of character moulds you lot have created.

Sick of this space being turned into a political pansy parade. It’s alright if you want to draw this gay couple with any features you want, hyper masculine, hyper feminine, somewhere in the middle, trans, prefer one of them topping, prefer them to be asexual, prefer them to be toxic and have grit (that’s my trope), or just want easy fluff. And it’s also alright if you’re just in fandom because you’re a bit perverted (like me) and wanted to explore that in a couple you found super fucking hot. Don’t let people use the word fetishise, don’t let people use the word heteronormative, don’t let people bamboozle you with big words and reams of bullet points to incite shame, don’t let people box you in, just keep watching the porn, keep consuming the porn, keep avoiding the shit you want to avoid, and enjoy what you want without shame.

[a1307s]

Take Me From You #3

(Jason Todd)

[Art is not mine! Credit to Naijarski]

Requested by: ynight14  and RavenMoore7799

Keys:

Y/N: Your Name

Word Count: 2,814

Warnings and/or Pre-notes:

Gets a little heated at the end

———————————————————————

     I can hear the blood beating against the veins in my ears, drowning out the sound of Y/N and Bruce yelling at each other. The scene is almost funny. A hysterical Batman screams at Y/N to not kill as Y/N yells at him for being a murderer. A poor drug dealer sitting between the two screaming adults, confusion and fear on his face. I can feel the laughter brewing in my throat from the scene in front of me.

     Even with the mask covering a good chunk of her face, Y/N is as beautiful as she was the last time I saw her. Though she's more filled out than she was when we were fifteen, that only makes her prettier and is expected. She's not going to look the same as she did four years ago. Honestly, she could be in a flour bag, and I would still think she's the most perfect person in the room.

     Despite the funny scene in front of me, my heart races. I haven't seen her in years. I didn't even know if she was still in Gotham, let alone still in contact with Bruce. Given, it doesn't seem like good or willing contact, but it's still contact.

     Y/N's hair bounces around as she yells, making my fingers ache with the want to run them through it. The want to touch her, hold her, and hear her voice is overwhelming. Well, hear her talk to me in a normal tone at least, but I'm happy to hear her in any way, even if she is yelling. At Bruce, of all people.

     "I'm done. I'm done with you, you're helpless!" Bruce yells, throwing his hands up as he parades himself in a little circle. Y/N must have been a big hell-raiser over the years to get a response like that. The bat grabs the drug dealer, dragging him away as he mumbles to himself.

     I watch as Y/N turns on her heels, tilting her head back and forth as she uses her hand as a puppet, mimicking Bruce's meltdown as she walks away. It's good to see that she still has her humor. Good to see that Bruce hasn't managed to get her killed yet either.

     I follow after her, staying hidden as she walks away. I should talk to her, tell her I'm back. Maybe she knows though. I mean Bruce and Dick know so I would assume Y/N and Alfred know too. Though, if Bruce and her are fighting like this all the time I wouldn't be surprised if Bruce 'forgot' to mention my revival. It's a petty move that would be right up his way.

     Y/N turns down an alley, so I wait a second, just in case. The sound of metal scratching concert fills the night. It's quickly replaced by soft clicks of boots against metal. I poke my head around the corner, watching as she climbs up the fire escape. I slide forward, grabbing a hold of the latter before it slides back into place.

     I don't know why I feel the need to stay hidden as I watch her slide open a window and crawl in. Well, I kind of know. I don't know if it's best for me to just pop back into her life. Maybe she has a boyfriend or a husband. Maybe she has a whole family. If she has settled in life, what gives me the right to tear that up?

     I know it's selfish of me to hope her life ended when I died. What kind of shitty person hopes that? Me. I hope for that. Given, I also hope she's had a fulfilling life since my passing, I just hope it wasn't with another man.

     As I climb up the fire exit, ideas of how to kill Y/N's imaginary boyfriend circle my head. Maybe Bruce is right, maybe I am crazy. I try my best to be silent as I follow Y/N's path. Once I'm on her floor level, I push myself against the brick wall, not wanting to startle her. Well, I'm doing it mostly to catch a breather and prepare for the worst.

     It takes a second, but once my courage is built up, I move, looking into her window, only to be met with a gun barrel in my face. "What the fuck Y/N?!" I yell, raising my hands in a sign of surrender. It would be pretty shitty to come back to life just for my girlfriend - ex-girlfriend? - to blow my head off.

     My eyes scan over her maskless face, taking in her bright eyes, her cheekbones, and her lips. God her lips. It might just be the horn-dog in me, but I've missed her kissing me the most. Well... I can think of other parts of her I missed more. Off-topic, very off-topic thoughts. My... Y/N is holding a gun to my face and my identity is still very much hidden in my helmet. I need to stay on topic.

     "Who the fuck are you?" She yells, her finger featherily light on the trigger. Her body shifts some, causing a small clinking sound.

     My eyes drop down to her neck, the direction the sound came from. Wrapped around her neck and resting on her chest is a black chain with two rings strung on it. One is a basic black ring, with a red band through it. Even from here, I can make out the words on it. Curved on the inner side of the band are the words 'Come home to me' with Y/N's name next to it.

     The other band is a copy of the first but with a small ruby held in the middle. 'Be safe for me' is curved into this one, my name next to the wording. It's the first thing I ever bought Y/N. I bought it when we were thirteen, the cheesy words curved into them being enough to back that up. It took three weeks of pickpocketing to afford, but it was worth every penny.

     "Who. The fuck. Are you?" Y/N repeats, empathizing her words more.

     "Um... Jason... Todd..."

     Y/N's face shifts to confusion and then anger. "Last time I checked, Jason Todd is buried in a box in the Gotham Graveyard. So, try again asshole."

     "Bruce buried me in the fucking public graveyard? Didn't even cross his mind to bury me in the Wayne Graveyard? What the fuck?" I say before I can stop myself.

     "What is going on?" Y/N murmurs, shaking her head some as her eyes widen. "Go... go away murderer," she says, pointing the gun down before slamming the window shut.

     Murderer? Like she wasn't just fighting with Bruce over her wanting to murder someone. I stand still, hands still in the air as I watch Y/N march around her apartment, panic-cleaning as she talks to herself. Her head keeps shifting around like she's trying to erase what just happened. Hopefully, this isn't how she would react if a different murderer appeared outside her window.

     Once my head is on straight again, I push the window open, the wood of it yelling in discomfort as it moves. Y/N keeps pacing around, muttering to herself about crazy people and leaving Gotham. I carefully crawl in, making sure not to knock into anything.

     I let myself rest against the windowsill, watching her pace around the small apartment. How has she lived this long if this is her response to a stalker? Maybe I caused her a mental breakdown.

     A small smile rests on my face as I tug off my helmet and set it on the side table placed next to the window. It's littered with loose change and bullets. Good to see she still has a careless air to her. I always found it cute when we were younger. It made me feel needed, knowing she wouldn't pay attention to the small details even if it would make her life easier. I liked doing those things for her, I like her needing me to do those small things, even if it's not things that need to be done.

     I snap my mask off as well, placing it next to my helmet. Y/N continues to mutter and pace, occasionally throwing a phrase or two at me as she works her thoughts out. I look around her space. There's not much of it, which I'm not surprised about. It is an apartment in Gotham after all. Her living space is filled with bookcases, all of them filled to the seams with books and movies. There's a big, overstuffed couch across from a pricey television, probably an apology gift from Bruce. He's good at replacing emotions with money, which is easy to do when you have enough for ten lifetimes.

     Y/N's kitchen is littered with recipe books, loose papers, random dishes, and spices all over the counters. Her fridge is littered with pictures and more papers. Her bathroom and bedroom doors are swung open, unsurprisingly. She sucks at closing doors.

     Just like Y/N's kitchen, her bathroom counters are littered with makeup. Her bedspread is a mess, but besides that, her room is pretty straight and tidy. Even the nightstand by her bed is item less besides a lone alarm clock. That's not usual for her, maybe Y/N does have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who doesn't mind taking care of the small details for her, just like I used to do.

     From here, I can see the edge of a small table, a deep green cloth drooping off of it, that's tucked into a corner of her room. I let my curiosity get the better of me and push myself off the windowsill, making sure to close it behind me or else it'll be left open for the next two to three weeks.

     I walk into the room, expecting a hidden mess, but there's none to be found. I let my gaze settle on the mystery table that's not so much a mystery anymore.

     In the middle of the table is a picture of me. Well, a picture of us. It's from our first date night at the manor. I'm stretched out on the couch, my head in Y/N's lap and her hands tangled in my hair as we both smile at the camera.

     On either side of the picture is a candle; A white one for peace and a pink one for love. Each is held in a gold candle holder. In front of the picture is a few things. One is a bowl of Skittles, my favorite candy. To the left is a small, blue, empty bowl, and to the right is a full, red bowl.

     In the full bowl is the jewelry I use to wear; my dog tags Bruce gave me, the pocket watch I got from Alfred, the matching Robin bracelet from Dick, and my family cross I got from my mother.

     "So... you are alive," Y/N says, pulling my attention from the altar to her, standing in the doorway. She keeps shifting her weight and her fingers tap against the wood. It would only be more obvious that she's nervous if the word was stamped onto her forehead.

     "So, you made me an altar," I tease, trying to help Y/N calm down and loosen up some.

     "Of course, I made you an altar, Jay. You're Hispanic, it's part of your culture. Just because Bruce won't respect it doesn't mean I won't," Her words come out hot and fast, like she's embarrassed that I saw her memorial of me.  "Dumb, stupid, ginger ass, Hispanic boy," she mumbles, walking into the room.

     "Not my fault a Hispanic woman fell in love with an Irish man," I shoot back, watching as she slides onto her bed, her eyes looking everywhere but me.

     "I know," she mutters, lying back on her bed. "So... you must have one hell of a story to tell me."

————————————

     Ever since my lap around the Lazarus pit, it's been weird waking up. Mostly because my body doesn't remember it's alive yet, and partly because my subconscious has the same feeling, which means it takes a second to remember to breathe in the morning.

     Just like every morning, it takes me a second to remember how to breathe along with taking some time to remember I'm not in a box in the ground. I can feel pressure on my chest. It isn't dirt, it's just my mind playing tricks on me. Just a PTSD attack. It'll clear up any second now.

     Except, it doesn't clear up. I debate on whether I should open my eyes or not. Sometimes opening my eyes makes the attack worse. I don't want to take that chance. There's nothing on my chest, I'm fine. I repeat the thought as I slide my head over my chest. Instead of coming in contact with myself, my fingers slide into a bundle of hair. Well, that's not dirt but the sure as shit is something or someone on top of me.

     I slowly open my eyes, being met with the sight of Y/N curled up on top of me. I can feel the smile crossing my face as I look down at her. She looks so peaceful, fast asleep, softy breathing as she clings to me. I've missed these peaceful moments with Y/N. Most days memories like these were the only thing keeping me going.

     I shift a bit, peaking at the alarm clock on her nightstand; Five sixteen. I didn't plan on spending the night, but there was a lot to talk about, and a lot of time to make up for. Most of the time was spent with me explaining everything from the past four years, my death, the Lazarus pit, my service in the League of Assassins, my reappearance in Gotham, and the newly forming hatred between Bruce and me.

     I guess we ended up falling asleep on accident, especially since my boots are still on. That, and Y/N is still in her spandex suit.

     I shift again, flexing my arm and fingers to try and shake the static feeling out of the arm Y/N's head is on. Despite my efforts to not wake her, Y/N stirs, shifting around on top of me. She whines a bit, her body scooting down my body as she moves. It feels nice having her weight on me, feeling her body heat crashing into me. "Good morning," I whisper, rubbing my hand through her hair.

     "Good morning," She whispers back, pressing a sloppy kiss into my chest. It's sweet, but I wish my shirt was off, I wish I could feel her lips against my bare skin. "You're alive," she adds, sleep still very evident in her voice.

     "I'm alive," I repeat, wrapping my free hand around her back. I pull her up my body, her legs squeezing my sides as her head tucks into my neck. I struggle with being alive again, a lot. It's hard dealing with Bruce. It was hard being in debt to Ra's Al Ghul. Despite that all, in this very moment, it's so worth being alive.

     I flip us over, Y/N's hold still strong on me as I do so. I prop myself up with my knee, not wanting to crush her under me. "I missed you so much," I murmur, sliding my hands under her shirt, the spandex clinging to both of us now.

     "I missed you too," Y/N answers, sliding her hands into my hair, her fingers twirling the strands around themselves. I push her shirt up, laying kisses across the newly exposed skin. It's been so long since I've seen her, smelt her, touched her. After four long years of nothing but my thoughts of her, I can finally play out all my fantasies. I mean, there's no better way to start the day than with a bang.

    ��Soft mewls fall from her, only encouraging me more. If I had my way, I would keep her locked away in this apartment. Just her and me, and my longing for her. Nothing but her begging for me and me answering her every beck and call.

     "Y/N?" I hum against the skin of her stomach. She tugs softly on my hair, letting me know she's listening. "We're going to stay right here, all week. Maybe even two weeks."

     "I... I can't. I have work."

     "Not anymore. You're not leaving this apartment until we play out every last thought I've had of you. All four years' worth." Her legs tighten around me, an easy sign of her getting needy, an easy sign of me getting my way. I smirk to myself, dipping my hands down to her thighs. "After all, making you feel good is the least I could do after letting Bruce take me from you." Y/N lets out a breathy moan, letting me know I won.

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

[herbofgraceandpeace]

Spoilers for A Deadly Education below:

(I haven’t discovered how to do the read more link on mobile yet, sorry for being a tech loser.)

So I really, really, REALLY enjoyed A Deadly Education! It was such a deeply, richly imagined world, and the exposition of it was done wonderfully through El’s grumpy, sarcastic inner dialogue. I don’t think you could actually justify it as complaining, but it sort of works as an explanation for her breaking the fourth wall.

The characters were so deliciously real and believable all around, not just El! Side note: I love, love, love books with many women characters; they are just like life, which ALSO HAS MANY WOMEN CHARACTERS. I don’t think it has to be just women authors who do this, but it’s telling that they’re usually the ones to do so. Anyway, the boys and girls of this book were such people very teenagers, and it heightened the drama naturally as a result! A lot of the book relies on hierarchies of the kind usually found in school stories, but that wasn’t just a cool gimmick or means to enliven the stakes. It meant that the morality of their actions was much more obvious and undeniably relevant, and that’s such a powerful truth about suffering on its own! It strips back the fripperies of life and requires us to make very real decisions about what our relationship to the people around us. What will we do to survive? Can we survive alone? And what counts as survival? If we sacrifice others to save ourselves, what will be left of us at the end?

I loved the way that El’s internal dilemma centers around her ability to harm others easily and her desire to not do so—and sometimes, painfully but so realistically, her battle with her desire to harm them in retaliation for how she’s been treated. One of my favorite parts of the book was El’s moment of decision on whether or not to fight the maw-mouth; it reminded me strongly of the moment from Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables when Valjean has to decide whether to turn up at the trial of the man who has been misidentified as Valjean himself. In both cases, the protagonist is forced to make an utterly self-sacrificing choice—to choose something which will most likely destroy their life completely in order to save someone in many respects undeserving. The freshmen El was attempting were young, innocent, and helpless, but they had done her no favors, and she knew she would gain little to no benefit from saving them. But she did it anyway!! Just as Valjean has to realize that he can’t keep his position as mayor and do good if it’s built on the unjust suffering of this man. (I’ve no idea if that connection makes sense to anyone but me, but I’m tired and can’t explain better.)

I couldn’t help contrasting this book with Spinning Silver since I just read it, and I have to say I was delighted by how much more open discussion of morality (see the paragraph above lol) there was in this book! Spinning Silver was so action-focused that I’ll have to look deeper to get at its themes, whereas El’s narration AND her character arc brought it all to the surface in A Deadly Education. Another of my favorite moments was El’s thoughts on her own anger with Magnus; there was lots of real, convicting truth there. You cannot fight the cycle of violence, of fear, of hatred with the very same weapons—you can only break it through choosing mercy and justice (paradoxically) and giving of yourself. Which brings me to the delightful Orion Lake! Ladies and gentlemen, a certified Boy. I’m not sure if he could be called a narrative foil to El (I’m so tired help), but it’s interesting to observe the difference in how they go about caring for others. El is jaded; she sees the brokenness of the world and all of its cruelty, and she chooses to help others (by denying herself at all times!) anyway. Orion sees much less of the evil in people and in the systems of the world—but! fascinatingly! he sees the evil in the scholomance system in a way that El doesn’t (or at least isn’t prepared to deal with yet). He can’t be bothered to think about the consequences of saving everyone, but he’s darned well willing to die doing it. I was amused and frustrated with El for not seeing him as a kindred spirit earlier on in the book because they both recognize the fundamental principle that might does not make right, that the strong should not prey on the weak. Yet while El refuses to acknowledge how deep her loyalty to this principle really is, Orion’s thoughtlessness means that he’s blind to the ways he himself is perpetuating the abuse of the weak through the enclave. Delightful stuff, and realistic character conflict born of different perspectives and experiences!

also, did I mention we get sisterhood?? I don’t care if they’re just friends, El and Aadyah and Liu are sisters now. To me.

Basically, it’s a great book, and I can’t wait to read the next ones

[lxdymoon0357]

Here's a crossover idea. Sovieshu and Minho friendship in modern au. Sovieshu is from way richer and powerful family than wookyung and he helps Minho by hiring him as Gloryem's tutor. Slowly they become close friends and wookyung still tries to destroy Minho but Sovieshu protects him. I mean canonically Sovieshu has a thing for helpless being and likes to help them. Maybe they'd form a brotherly bond and Gloryem would get an uncle. Rasta is the best sister in law.

(..This is one crossover I can love!!! I need my best bois to be with each other, honestly if Sovieshu was in actor AU, I'd like to believe he was twins with Minho!! Also Sovieshu has a good relationship with Rashta and doesn't like Navier in any romantic way, she's his sister figure! Ian and Gloryem are both with Sovieshu and Rashta!)

Parallel lines...

╟ Minho met Sovieshu as he was friends with the principle of the school despite not liking the man cause Sovieshu found him annoying knowing he was only sucking up to the boy...when his eyes fell on another black haired boy, quite pretty he was....Sovieshu couldn't lie, and he looked so small and sensitive despite being so well-built and having such an intimidating face...

╟ Definitely easily befriended Minho and they became close and learning of his great teaching begged Minho to tutor Gloryem and Ian...Minho was worried for scaring the girl, but Sovieshu comforted him saying they won't be...They're Rashta's kids after all and Rashta.....she either never learnt what fear was or she wasn't intimidated by scary facial features....and the kids inherited that...

╟ Minho agreed, albiet a bit nervous to get mad at the kids, but he followed the address Sovieshu gave him and arrived at one of the most grandest houses he's ever seen, tall with a palace like feeling with a dark turquoise and black columns... Leaving Minho FLABBERGASTED...my mans was too stunned to speak..but softly knocked on the door

╟ He expected the door to be opened by Sovieshu, but was instead pulled open by one the most gorgeous women he's seen; pale skin, white-blonde wavy hair, gorgeous, large, grey doe-like eyes and dresses in a soft white dress with the brightest smile he's ever seen...she reminded him of himself as a kid... she happily welcomed him and introduced herself; Rashta, wife of Sovieshu and mother of his two kids..

╟ Rashta spoke happily in a bubbly explaining how Sovieshu often talked highly of him, as she called two kids to meet him, seemingly Sovieshu's genes decided to put up not a single speck of fight as the kids were carbon copies of her and were just as bright and bubbly, especially the girl; Gloryem...

╟ He had a talk with Rashta who decided on the timings, syllabus and what to teach the kids. He agreed and she had him stay for dinner; he wanted to leave but Rashta wouldn't take no for an answer and so he stayed as Sovieshu and Rashta happily served him dinner...

╟ He started tutoring the two kids, and Sovieshu began inviting him for drinks or things like that and they got close, during this time the situation with Doona and Wookyung happened and the first person he told that to was Rashta who cried with him in her arms and raised hell until her husband did something about the situation.

╟ Sovieshu first told them to wait as there was a business deal going on, but a argument and two crying session from Rashta later, he called up his company in anger and called it off while Rashta simply winked to Minho with a cheeky smile with her crocodile tears still streaming down her cheeks...

╟ Basically becomes his sister and mother, always gifting him things like a mother, Rashta is rather protective of Minho, making sure his inner child is safe, he reminds her of himself when living with his abusive father..she doesn't want him to experience that, he has gone through enough in his life in her opinion..

╟ Whenever she introduces him, she calls him "Dear brother, Minho-ssi" and she never lives it down, she refuses to say he's Sovieshu's brother, even though people believe Minho is Sovieshu's brother and even if Sovieshu claims that Minho is his brother, Rashta will refuse to believe it because she likes being his sister. It's a petty thing, she rubs of off Minho ...

╟ Rashta is most likely to be a fashion model, on top of trends, the trend-setter and maker and she has Minho as her top model, they're called "the moon and sun twins" because of how much of a moon Minho looks and how bright Rashta...they go viral on insta for their matching photos!

[cauliarty]

Got any Angst Marx lore?

I am one of the "marx is a demon beast" and "marx used to be a noddy" believers. That is what mainly propels how i write him.

Marx is an attention seeker. He'll do anything to be seen. He wants to be noticed. He wants to be loved feared.

If he became really, really strong - if he had Popstar all to himself... he could do just about anything. Freedom. Power. That is what defines and drives him. Despite the fact that he was born to be anything but that.

Noddies are known to be, well, sleepy. Very sleepy. All they do, in fact, is just sleep. Demon beasts are Nightmare's soldiers. They are little more than objects. Pieces on a chess board. Pawns. In both scenarios, Marx has no control.

So he wants to become powerful. He wants to be strong and scary so that no one can control him.

And when that finally happens? When he finally gets those golden wings? It's absolutely wonderful. He still considers it the best thing to ever happen to him. The feeling of a wish come true. He has been proven right - he is big and strong and capable and he can do anything.

As his Star Allies title says, Marx has galactic ambition. He (thinks he) knows what he wants, and he will stop at nothing to get it. It's childish, really.

So when he's confronted with the truth - that he's immature, helpless, and weak at heart, it destroys him. It destroys the image he's built up for himself. All that he is. All that he wants to be.

After I made the Post-Milky Way Wishes "get exploded idiot" angst comic, I suddenly had an idea for that beginning page, but didn't go through with it because it was too late to incorporate it. In the comic, Marx immediately lashes out at Kirby, but this scenario isn't as immediate.

Kirby reaches out their hand to a defeated Marx. But instead of taking it, getting back up, and perhaps apologizing, Marx acts all snarky. He teases Kirby - did they really think it'd be THAT easy? Do they know who they're dealing with? This is Marx! His perfect little plan is still in motion, and it's not gonna stop until he gets what he wants! And with his new, golden, colorful wings, he--

His wings - his wings are broken. Their scales, reduced to fragments, scattered around him, a reminder that he failed. His power is gone, his one opportunity to become someone, and all of it - EVERYTHING - has been smashed to bits. Shining bits of broken glass that litter the arena.

He stares in disbelief as Kirby tries to offer support. Marx scratches them across the face and screams.

This power was not meant for him. It wasn't even his to begin with. He has no power of his own. He's just a noddy with a whole lot of ambition, and "his perfect little plan" was just one of his little fantasies. And, being the fool he is, he tried to bring it to life.

He's not a big, scary monster. He's not really all that strong. He's just a kid. A helpless, weak, tiny little noddy.

When backed into a corner with no way out, when forced to confront the fact that he's weak, when he's completely helpless, that is when he snaps. Because he doesn't know what else to do.

in conclusion, yes (: