#but then you get it and you're like 'oh my god' and it kind of just sinks into your chest t and becomes this core thing in a way

[bucketofdeltav]

There's a lot in the notes here about 'there should be free laundromats' and 'free bathhouse/swimming pool/library/garden/tool library l'. Who. Is going. To pay. For that.

In the society we live in, things have to be paid for. They just do.

You can get it by philanthropy (if you're willing to put up with the philanthropists' ideas of how it should be run).

You can get it by council tax (if you're willing to pay council tax and deprioritize other stuff like public art or idk utilities).

You can get it by national tax (if you're willing to pay national tax and also deal with the necessary bureaucracy of any national endeavor).

You can sometimes get it by crowdsourced, ethically-pure communal volunteer labor if, and only if, you are willing to pitch in and clean the floors or weed the garden or do lifeguard duty or check the tools back in or clear the lint traps, or at the very least, not go out of your way to make life hell for the people who are doing that so that you can have your nice free socialist garden/laundry/pool.

I've done community organizing on a small scale, and oh my God, never again. Never ever ever again. It can be the most exhausting, thankless, grinding work and you're not getting paid and you're often throwing your own money at it (while getting told off for being so privileged as to have the job that lets you have your own money to throw at the project, naturally) and you're spending all your free time on it (while getting told off for having a job that etc. but also means not all of your time is free, naturally) and it feels like everyone hates at least one aspect of what you're doing, so they keep using it, and they keep shitting on it, and if you think that's bad you are NOT ready for how unfilteredly NASTY the users will get when you say 'I can't do this anymore' and stop. Because if it's that important to the community someone will pick it up, right? Right? Wrong. And somehow that will also be your fault.

Anyway, be kind to the people who provide literally anything free in your community; it may not be exactly what you wanted, but if you use it, it's useful.

I'm very tired and right now all I have the headspace for is weaponizing my ability to appear Normal British to convince the building management that their wiring is in fact dodgy and they need to stop being racist about international students' appliances and fix it already.

whenever i see talk about third spaces people pretty much always mean bars, or other places of consumption. Nobody really talks about something like a public bathhouse that would be a massive boon for local homeless people, or making local laundromats a free public service. These can, and I think absolutely should be valuable and very utilitarian third spaces for community building.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

Series Masterlist

You’re a completely normal person. You eat normal meals at normal times, sleep the normal amount of hours (give or take a few, who needs all eight anyway?), and hold down a regular, soul-crushingly normal job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets you indulge in your one true love: reading web novels for five hours straight like some kind of feral literature goblin.

Your current obsession? The Lady’s Tragic Love. It’s the sort of story that you can’t put down—not because it’s good, but because it’s so excruciatingly terrible that it loops back around into comedy. The heroine has all the personality of a wet tissue but somehow manages to ruin everyone’s lives with reckless abandon. It’s almost impressive.

You rub your temples as you skim yet another chapter. “Oh my God, this woman has the moral compass of a black hole,” you mutter.

The plot makes less sense the deeper you go: the heroine starts off as the daughter of a down-on-their-luck noble family. Her father racks up an unholy amount of debt, so she’s forced to marry a viscount who—get this—is actually a nice guy. Like, genuinely kind. He agrees to marry her in name only to protect her from debt collectors, even offering to fund her hobbies.

And what does she do? Poison him. Poison him!

"Okay, maybe she's misunderstood," you think, in the kind of delusional optimism only a web novel enthusiast can muster.

Nope. She poisons him because she "can’t stand looking at his face," which is only mildly unattractive and not the ogre-like monstrosity the text implies. Also, he was literally helping her stay alive.

“Oh, sure, let’s kill the only decent male character in this hellscape. Why not?” you hiss, scrolling furiously.

After committing literal murder, the heroine sets her sights on an archduke, who is tall, handsome, and very much engaged to the so-called villainess. The villainess is stunning, kind, intelligent, and inexplicably hated by everyone because—checks notes—she’s too perfect?

At this point, you're gripping your phone so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half. “Why is the villainess the villain? This should be the heroine’s title! She’s practically speedrunning how to be the worst human being alive!”

But no, the heroine gets rewarded for her nonsense. The archduke doesn’t fall for her (because he has taste), but the crown prince does. The prince, apparently a sucker for chaos, marries her. Instead of being happy with her new title and riches, the heroine spends her days scheming to ruin the villainess’s life because, in her words, “How dare the archduke choose someone that isn’t me?”

You pause and reread that line. Then reread it again.

“WHAT?!” you yell so loudly that your downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.

It’s a spiral of nonsense that drags you through emotional whiplash until you finish the last chapter with a migraine and a full-blown existential crisis. You stare at the screen. "Why...why did I do this to myself?"

You stumble out to your tiny balcony to clear your head, phone still in hand. The cool night air washes over you as you lean on the railing, your brain buzzing with rage and confusion.

“Why does she get a happy ending?” you grumble. “She’s a walking red flag factory! The villainess deserves to be queen, and the prince deserves a lobotomy for his taste in women!”

In your frustration, you kick the balcony railing. Unfortunately, your landlord hasn’t exactly been diligent about repairs. The rusted screws holding it in place give way with a terrifying screech.

“Oh, come on,” you say, deadpan, as the railing collapses beneath you.

You plummet ten stories down, bouncing off an awning like some kind of cartoon character before landing face-first in a suspiciously placed fruit cart.

As darkness creeps in, your final thought is not of regret, nor fear, but of pure, unfiltered pettiness:

“I hope my next life is more exciting… and I never have to read about this heroine again.”

With that, you pass out, blissfully unaware of the absurd fate that awaits you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, and immediately ask yourself the first logical question: Why the hell am I alive?

The last thing you remember is gravity betraying you and a suspiciously convenient fruit cart breaking your fall. But when you sit up and look around, it’s very clear you’re not in your crappy apartment anymore. For starters, this place is way too clean, smells faintly of vanilla, and—oh, is that sunlight streaming through those beautiful glass windows? Not the dim, depressing flicker of the streetlight outside your old place?

Something is very wrong.

You scramble out of the bed, which is definitely not your rickety twin-sized monstrosity held together with duct tape and misplaced hope, and start poking around. The furniture is elegant, the carpet is plush, and there’s an oil painting on the wall that practically screams, Welcome to Generic Medieval Europe™!

The realization slams into you with all the subtlety of a freight train: You’re in that garbage web novel.

You pause, frozen, your brain throwing up a million red flags at once. Your knees almost buckle. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. This is some kind of cosmic punishment," you whisper to yourself, clutching your temples.

You creep towards the ornate mirror on the other side of the room, your reflection getting clearer with every step. “Please,” you mutter, “if there’s a single merciful entity out there, don’t let me be the heroine. Or the villainess. Or, God forbid, one of the male leads.”

You finally reach the mirror, squeeze your eyes shut, then crack one open. And there you are: just some random face.

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale, slumping against the wall. You’re not the heroine. You’re not the villainess. You’re not one of the tragic walking disasters that make up the main cast. You're just… some person. A total nobody.

But just as you’re about to bust out your victory dance of mediocrity, something catches your eye. You lean closer, squinting.

Wait.

No.

NO.

You’re that nobody.

You’re the tragic commoner knight who gets blackmailed by the heroine, coerced into doing her dirty work, and ends up assassinating the villainess for her. The same commoner knight who dies in three chapters because the heroine throws them under the bus as soon as the villainess's fiancé finds out what happened.

You stagger back from the mirror like it’s cursed. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I did not reincarnate into this medieval soap opera just to get unalived in the dumbest way possible,” you say, pacing the room like a lunatic.

Your character’s life flashes before your eyes: the abusive father, the crippling family loyalty, the gambling debts. This poor soul had it rough even before getting turned into the heroine’s personal murder minion. And you? You’re not about to pick up that torch.

So you grab some parchment and pen what might be the most passive-aggressive resignation letter of all time.

“To Her Highness, the Crown Princess,

Kindly do your own dirty work from now on. My father can gamble himself into oblivion. I’m out. Good luck with your reign or whatever.”

Satisfied, you sign it with an unnecessarily large flourish, slap it on the desk, and prepare to bounce.

You’re halfway down the hall when you almost walk face-first into him.

Rook Hunt, the walking embodiment of “this guy doesn’t belong in this novel but here he is anyway,” stands there with his golden hair and overly dramatic smile. He’s loud. He’s eccentric. He’s dressed like he’s about to break into a musical number about the beauty of life. Oh, and he’s also the duke whose household you served in as a knight before you quit.

“Mon ami!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide like you’re long-lost lovers. “You’ve returned to me! What an exquisite twist of fate! Shall we celebrate the beauty of reunion?”

“No,” you say flatly. You attempt to sidestep him, but Rook doesn’t just let things go.

“You cannot leave me again! Do you not wish to resume your role as my loyal knight?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap on instinct, because why on earth would you willingly dive back into this mess? But then it hits you. Wait.

Rook isn’t part of the main plot. He’s not the crown prince, not the archduke, not the villain, and definitely not one of the doomed love interests. He’s just… there. A minor character. A colorful extra who pops up to sprinkle poetic nonsense into the plot and then wanders offstage.

Your brain kicks into overdrive. If you stick with him, you’ll be close enough to the action to keep tabs but far enough to avoid the heroine’s nonsense. Plus, salary. And minor characters like him rarely die!

Your decision solidifies. You plaster on a winning smile and nod. “Actually, on second thought, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Magnifique!” Rook practically beams as he grabs your arm. “Come, let us bask in the splendor of returning home!”

You follow him, letting his endless stream of poetic babble wash over you. Is this the best plan? Probably not. But it beats getting murdered for a heroine who couldn’t find her moral compass with both hands and a map.

You make it back to the duke’s grand estate—because of course it’s grand. Every aristocrat in this godforsaken novel seems to have a mansion the size of a small country. Rook practically floats through the gates, his dramatic energy causing every passing servant to give him the “not again” look. You follow, still trying to process the reality of your current situation.

After an unnecessarily flowery tour of the place (you’ve been here before in this body, but you let him talk because it’s easier than interrupting), he finally stops in the courtyard. He turns to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Now, mon chevalier, reclaim your rightful position as my trusted bodyguard!” he declares, flinging his arms wide as if inviting the heavens to applaud him.

You blink. “…Respectfully, sir, why do you need a bodyguard?”

He pauses, staring at you like you just asked why water is wet. Then, with an infuriatingly serene smile, he says, “Ah, but the shadows are filled with secrets, my dear knight! The beauty of life is in its mysteries, n’est-ce pas?”

You squint at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the wolves, mon ami. The wolves.”

You freeze. “…What wolves?”

Rook straightens up, tilting his head as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Ah, they are everywhere and nowhere. In the forests, in the halls, in the hearts of men. Who can say where danger truly lies?”

This man just said a whole lot of words without saying anything.

“Right,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you’re, like, ridiculously strong. I’m pretty sure you could take on any wolf—metaphorical or not—by yourself.”

“Ah, mon chevalier,” he says with a wistful sigh, placing a hand on his chest like he’s reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Strength alone cannot protect one from the unexpected, the unseen, the poetry of peril!”

You stare at him, trying to figure out if this is some sort of elaborate prank. But no. This man is completely serious.

“So… wolves. Poetry of peril. Got it,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I’ll, uh, just… go patrol or something, I guess.”

Rook claps his hands together, beaming. “Ah, magnifique! I knew you would understand! Truly, you are a gem among knights!”

You slink off, still scratching your head. You’re 90% sure the wolves are a metaphor for absolutely nothing, but who are you to question the logic of a trash novel? At least the pay is good.

You quickly realize this trash novel is trying to trash you right back. It’s like every corner you turn, fate has decided you don’t deserve a peaceful life.

Walking through the garden to calm your nerves? Someone leaps out of the hedges with a dagger. You narrowly dodge, trip over a decorative fountain, and the attacker runs off, cackling.

Trying to enjoy the roses because you’re starting to think, “Hey, if I gotta die, at least let it be aesthetic?” Nope, arrow. Right past your ear.

By the fifth assassination attempt (some guy “accidentally” dropping a potted plant from a balcony), it clicks. The heroine must’ve decided since you’re not doing her dirty work anymore, she needs to eliminate you before you spill the beans. But, unlike her, you have brains.

So, you write a letter.

Dear Villainess and Esteemed Archduke,

I hope this letter finds you well, though considering the general chaos surrounding us, that feels optimistic.

I am writing to inform you of an unfortunate situation involving a certain someone (cough the crown princess cough) who has, shall we say, less-than-noble intentions toward your continued existence.

To clarify: she asked me to assassinate you. I know, shocking. However, as someone who values integrity, personal safety, and not being murdered by shady royalty, I’ve decided to step down from my position as her unwilling assassin.

This does mean she may hire someone else to handle the job, which is unfortunate for you but also none of my business anymore. I’m not sure how you typically handle murder plots, but I suggest taking precautions, like perhaps not smelling your roses or standing under precariously placed flower pots.

Lastly, while I am admittedly a pawn in this chaotic mess, I felt it was only fair to let you know what’s going on. I wish you both a long, unassassinated life.

Warm regards,

Your Local Retired Assassin

P.S. Please don’t kill me. I’m just the messenger.

You thought this letter would buy you peace. Instead, it bought you an invitation.

And by “invitation,” you mean you’ve been dragged into a private meeting with the villainess and the archduke, who are both sitting across from you now, looking like they’re deciding whether to thank you or strangle you.

“So,” the villainess says, her voice like ice. “You’re telling me the crown princess is plotting to kill me?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, your palms sweating. “But, like, not me anymore! I’ve retired. Permanently.”

The archduke raises an eyebrow. “Why would she want to kill us?”

You glance at the villainess. “Uh… because you exist?”

Before the villainess can stab you (she looks ready), the door swings open, and in saunters Rook.

“Ah, my friends!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “How serendipitous that we are all here. I believe I can shed some light on this matter.”

You gape as Rook launches into a detailed explanation of the heroine’s convoluted scheme—exactly what she’s planning, who she’s hiring, and even the color of the dress she’ll wear while gloating about it.

The villainess and the archduke exchange a glance, then rise, thanking Rook for his “invaluable insight” before sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Rook alone.

You turn to him, your jaw still on the floor. “How do you even know all that?”

Rook just winks at you. “Ah, mon chevalier, the shadows have ears, and I am their maestro.”

He struts out, humming a jaunty tune, leaving you sitting there, more confused than ever. At this point, you’re half-convinced Rook is either a genius or just making stuff up as he goes. And honestly? You’re too tired to figure it out.

You’re stationed at the edge of the garden, trying your best to blend into the scenery while the tea party unfolds. Rook, as usual, is the life of the gathering, passionately chatting with Vil and Epel, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re in your usual "bodyguard mode," which mostly consists of staring off into the distance and trying not to fall asleep. It’s peaceful—for once—until Epel casually drops a comment loud enough for even you to hear.

"Rook, you finally got them back, huh?"

Your brain screeches to a halt.

Got you back? Back? What does that mean? What is there to get back? Was there something to get back in the first place?

You barely have time to process any of this before Rook, in the most Rook way possible, interrupts with a flurry of poetic nonsense.

“Ah, young Epel, the winds of fortune have indeed graced me with their bounteous song! But let us not dwell on the past, for the present blooms before us like a radiant garden of opportunity!”

You blink. Did… did that mean anything? Epel seems to think it doesn’t, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’re too busy processing the odd look on Rook’s face to care.

Because, for the first time ever, Rook looks nervous.

His usual serene confidence is still there, but there’s a hint of something else—a faint pink dusting his cheeks, an almost imperceptible shift in his tone. And why the hell is your heart fluttering at the sight?

You squint at him, trying to decode whatever is happening here. Is he… embarrassed? Flustered? Can Rook even be flustered?

Before you can spiral further into overthinking, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze cutting through the moment like a knife. His violet eyes lock onto yours, and an infuriatingly amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He knows.

Vil, of course, pretends like nothing’s happening, smoothly pouring himself another cup of tea and joining the conversation like the consummate aristocrat he is. But every so often, you catch him glancing at you with that same entertained expression, like he’s just discovered a juicy secret.

You try to shake it off, refusing to let yourself be dragged into this nonsense. But Rook’s flushed face lingers in your mind, and every time he smiles at you for the rest of the party, you feel the heat creeping up your own cheeks.

Great. Just great. Whatever this is, it’s going to haunt you for days.

It started with an uproar in the palace—a desperate, urgent call for help sent to Rook, Duke of Hunt.

"The wolves are attacking!"

You were mid-sword practice when the messenger arrived, breathless and frantic. He handed the summons to Rook, who took the parchment with an amused smile.

"Wolves, you say?" he mused, tapping his chin dramatically.

"Yes, my lord!" The messenger practically collapsed from the effort of delivering the message. "They’ve breached the outer gardens, and the prince and heroine request your immediate assistance!"

Rook looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, mon chevalier, do you recall what I told you once about wolves?"

You blinked, frowning. "You mean the thing about being surrounded by wolves one day? I thought you were joking."

Rook’s grin widened. "Oh, I never jest about wolves."

You opened your mouth to demand clarification, but Rook waved the parchment dismissively. "Alas, I must decline."

The messenger froze. "W-What? But…you’re the Duke of Hunt! The greatest tracker and marksman in the kingdom! Without you, the palace is doomed!"

Rook leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, mon ami, what makes you think I’d risk life and limb for the likes of the heroine and her precious prince?"

The messenger stammered. "B-But—"

Rook held up a hand, silencing him. "No, no. I simply cannot. My schedule is far too packed. Why, just this morning, I promised my chevalier here that I’d help reorganize their weapons rack." He turned to you with a wink. "Isn’t that right?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Yep. Super busy."

The messenger left, looking utterly defeated. You figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Over the next two hours, messengers kept arriving, each more desperate than the last. Rook refused them all with increasing flamboyance.

One messenger was sent away with, "Alas, the stars are not in alignment for such a hunt!"

Another was dismissed with, "The winds whisper that this is not my destiny today."

Finally, a personal plea came from the heroine herself. She barged into the estate, dramatically throwing herself at Rook’s feet.

"Oh, noble Duke!" she wailed. "You are the only one who can save us! Please, I beg of you!"

Rook tilted his head, pretending to think it over. Then he glanced at you, his expression suddenly sharp beneath the veneer of cheer.

"And what of my chevalier?" he asked.

The heroine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve made quite a nuisance of yourself lately," Rook said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. "Why, only yesterday, you sent someone to ambush them in the gardens, did you not?"

Her face paled.

"I might reconsider," Rook said, his tone taking on a singsong quality, "if you promise to leave them alone from now on."

There was a long, tense pause. The heroine’s expression flickered between rage and fear before she finally forced a smile. "Very well. I promise."

"Splendid!" Rook clapped his hands and stood. "To the hunt, then!"

You stood there in stunned silence as he walked out the door, bow in hand. When he turned back to flash you a grin, you couldn’t help but mutter, "What the hell just happened?"

Rook’s laugh echoed through the halls, and you were left wondering yet again if you’d ever fully understand this ridiculous man.

It’s payday, baby.

You’ve never been more excited to hold a pouch of jingling coins in your life. Your day off couldn’t have come at a better time, and you’ve already decided to treat yourself. No assassination attempts, no cryptic poetry, no Rook yammering about beauty—just you, the market, and sweet, sweet retail therapy.

After wandering for a while, you stumble upon a fruit stall, and your eyes light up. The produce is incredible—vividly colored, juicy, and nothing like the waxy, suspiciously glossy stuff you’d get in your original world. You don’t even know what half these fruits are, but they smell amazing, and you’re buying them all.

As you carry your haul back to the manor, an idea hits you like a freight train. You’ve been craving dessert—specifically, something you can’t get in medieval Europe. Something simple, sweet, and utterly anachronistic.

And that’s how you end up in the kitchen, surrounded by fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and whatever else you’ve managed to scrounge up. You’re determined to make crêpes. Yes, you know they weren’t invented yet, but the cooks don’t even seem to know what a waffle is, so they’re not going to stop you.

It takes a bit of trial and error—because, shocker, medieval kitchens are not equipped for finesse—but eventually, you’ve got a plate of soft, golden crêpes filled with fresh fruit and drizzled with honey. It’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You’re mid-bite, mentally congratulating yourself, when Rook materializes out of nowhere like some kind of dessert-seeking missile.

“Mon chevalier! What marvel have you crafted here in this humble kitchen? The scent alone rivals the sweetest perfume!”

You freeze. This is fine. He’s just curious. There’s no reason to panic. Subconsciously, you scoop up a bite on your fork and offer it to him, your body on autopilot.

Rook doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and accepting the bite with the elegance of a prince at court. “Magnifique! Truly, you have woven magic into this creation, mon cher!”

You relax slightly, pride swelling at the compliment—until he takes your hand and licks a stray drop of honey from your finger.

Your brain short-circuits.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, Rook grins at you with that infuriatingly charming smile of his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You are as talented in the kitchen as you are with a blade,” he says, his voice warm and soft, as if he hasn’t just dismantled your sanity.

And then he’s gone, striding out of the kitchen with his usual jaunty step, leaving you standing there like an idiot, replaying the sensation of his lips on your cheek and his tongue on your finger.

You slowly sink to the floor, crêpe in hand, trying to process what just happened.

“Why,” you mutter to yourself, taking another bite of your crêpe for courage, “does this keep happening to me?”

Life had been…dare you say it, pleasant recently. No assassination attempts, no tea parties and no surprise arrows whizzing by your head. You were almost convinced this world might not be so bad after all.

But like clockwork, the plot reared its ugly head.

You were outside, basking in the rare serenity of a quiet afternoon, when the shouting began. You knew the voice instantly. It was grating, furious, and way too familiar.

Your abusive father—the original you’s deadbeat excuse for a parent—had somehow crawled out of the woodwork.

“You useless brat!” he snarled, stomping toward you. “How dare you stop sending money? Do you think you’re too good for your family now?!”

Oh, for the love of—

You crossed your arms, already done with the theatrics. “First of all, family implies mutual care and respect, neither of which you’ve ever provided. Secondly, kiss my ass.”

The man’s face turned a deep shade of purple, veins bulging in his forehead. He raised his hand, and you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared of him. You were just irritated that he had the audacity to show up and ruin your vibe.

But before his hand could even swing down, an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It nicked his cheek, leaving a shallow cut, and he yelped like a scolded dog.

You turned, and there he was.

Rook.

But this wasn’t the poetic, flowery Rook who praised sunsets and waxed lyrical about everything under the sun. No, this was Duke Hunt. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, his expression colder than you’d ever seen. His eyes locked onto your father, sharp and unyielding, and for the first time, you truly understood why people called him a hunter.

Your father stumbled back, clutching his cheek. “Y-you’ll regret this! I’ll get my revenge!” he spat, turning tail and running like the two-bit villain he was.

You didn’t even watch him go. You were too busy staring at Rook, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that, dammit, he looked good like this.

You silently scolded yourself. Really? Now? This is when you’re going to have a revelation about your feelings? Pull it together.

Rook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and without a word, he closed the distance between you. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm, steady embrace.

You stiffened for a moment, but then it hit you—you were shaken. You hadn’t realized it until now, but the encounter had left your hands trembling. And Rook…he didn’t say a word. He just held you, radiating warmth and reassurance, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

Slowly, you relaxed, leaning into him, letting the tension bleed out of your body. For once, there were no witty remarks, no poetic musings, no cryptic riddles. Just Rook, steady and solid, and the quiet comfort of his presence.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

It was the hunting competition trope—the bread and butter of every third-rate villainess novel ever written. Noblemen rode out in droves to massacre innocent wildlife in the name of prestige, while the women gathered on the sidelines to swoon over who could kill the most majestic creature.

Normally, you'd find this whole affair ridiculous, but today? Today, it was a strategic opportunity.

Rook and you had cooked up a plan. After bagging his game, Rook would publicly gift it to the villainess, cementing the stance of his household against the heroine. A subtle yet unmistakable message to everyone present: this duke’s house wasn’t here to play politics; it was drawing battle lines.

Rook was, predictably, ecstatic about it all. “Ah, mon chevalier, what a splendid opportunity to honor beauty and justice with the art of the hunt!” he proclaimed, twirling dramatically as he readied his bow.

What you didn’t anticipate was his strange fixation on a handkerchief before he left.

Throughout the day, noblewomen approached Rook, each one batting their lashes and holding out dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs. It was practically a parade of desperate peahens.

“Oh, Lord Hunt, a token for luck!” cooed one particularly persistent lady, pushing her frilly kerchief toward him.

Rook clasped his hands to his chest with exaggerated reverence. “Ah, mademoiselle, your thoughtfulness moves me beyond words, but alas, I cannot accept. To carry such a treasure into the wild would be to risk its loss, and I could never bear such tragedy!”

Another woman attempted to loop her kerchief around his wrist directly. Rook gracefully dodged, as though she were offering him a live snake. “My dear lady, your artistry is unparalleled, but the only adornment fit for this hunt is the pure, untainted spirit of nature herself!”

By the third rejection, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from laughing.

But then came the curveball.

“Ah,” Rook sighed as he approached you. “If only I had a handkerchief imbued with sincerity. A simple, honest token to guide my aim and steady my heart!”

You blinked at him. “What, like…this?” You pulled out your completely ordinary, unembellished handkerchief and held it out.

Rook’s eyes lit up as though you’d just handed him the Holy Grail. “Mon chevalier! How perfect! How divine! This humble square of cloth shall be my guiding light!”

Before you could protest, he tied it around his arm with a flourish and rode off, looking like he was ready to star in his own personal opera.

From his place in the pavilion, Vil Schoenheit took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a glint of pure amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips seemed to say, Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Epel squinted between you and Rook, his expression shifting rapidly as though he’d just cracked the secret to immortality. He whispered something to Vil, who nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure.

What the hell is going on? you thought, baffled.

Fast forward to now, the present, where the plan was supposed to culminate with Rook triumphantly presenting his prize to the villainess. Simple, elegant, strategic.

So why, why, was Rook standing in front of you holding a literal griffin?

“Uh, Rook,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is supposed to go to the villainess.”

But Rook was having none of it.

“Ah, my loyal chevalier,” he declared loudly, drawing the attention of every noble in the vicinity. “It is only fitting that such a prize goes to the one who inspires my steadfastness and resolve!”

Your jaw dropped. “Rook. No.”

He turned his radiant smile on you, looking like a proud schoolboy showing off a crayon drawing to his teacher. “Yes!”

The gathered nobles erupted into murmurs, and you could already feel the weight of every single judgmental stare. This was not part of the plan. But despite your internal screaming, a small, annoying part of you couldn’t help but feel…flattered. This was a duke, and you were just a knight. A very confused, very underqualified knight, sure, but still.

Vil, still seated with his ever-present cup of tea, took another long, pointed sip, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

This was the drama he’d signed up for.

The hallway leading back to the room where Vil, Rook, and Epel were sitting felt oddly silent, the muffled voices of their conversation barely filtering through the door. You weren’t one to eavesdrop—but when you heard your name, well, curiosity got the better of you.

"Just confess already," Epel was saying, his tone exasperated. "We’ve all seen the way you look at them."

Vil chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. "Epel is right for once, Rook. Love is about timing, and yours is abysmal."

"But love is an art, mon ami," Rook replied, his tone unusually hesitant. "It cannot be rushed. It must unfold naturally, like the petals of a flower in spring."

"Okay," Vil drawled, clearly unimpressed. "But what happens when someone else plucks your ‘flower’? Say, the gardener they’ve been spending so much time with?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You leaned closer, your heart pounding, hoping—no, needing—to hear Rook’s response.

Instead, you heard nothing.

The stillness stretched unbearably until you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the door open, startling all three occupants. "What are you talking about?"

Vil raised an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalance, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Perfect timing, as always. I’ll leave you two to sort this out."

He grabbed a very reluctant Epel by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "Wait, I wanna see what happens!" Epel protested, but Vil shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

Which left you and Rook alone.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that you hoped masked the frantic hammering of your heart. "So…what’s this about a confession?"

Rook’s usual composure faltered. For once, the poetic, perpetually self-assured Rook you knew looked…unsure. Vulnerable. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, and he avoided your gaze, staring instead at the floor.

"Rook," you said softly, stepping closer. "Please, just tell me what’s going on. I need to know."

He finally looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to steal your breath.

"Mon chevalier," he began, his voice low and trembling, "I have loved you from the start. At first, it was the camaraderie of equals, a kindred spirit I admired. But when you returned from the heroine’s side, defying expectations and staying true to yourself…you captured my heart completely."

You blinked, stunned. "Rook, I—"

He continued, the words spilling out as though he’d been holding them back for far too long. "You never treated me like I was strange. You accepted me as I am, even when others mocked my passions or dismissed my eccentricities. I never truly needed a bodyguard. I just needed you. Near me. Always."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and you felt your resolve crumble.

You sighed, but it wasn’t from exasperation. It was the sound of relief, of something clicking into place. "Next time," you said, stepping even closer, "just tell me your feelings directly. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble."

Before he could respond, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was everything a first kiss should be—long, searing, passionate. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you flush against him as though he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside that kiss ceased to exist.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Rook’s lips quirked into a smile as he whispered, "Your lips are the sweetest arrow, mon amour, and they have pierced my heart beyond repair."

You burst into laughter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. "Gods, Rook, only you could ruin a moment like this with something so cheesy."

He chuckled softly, his arms still secure around you.

And as you stood there in his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that this ridiculous, trashy novel world was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The parlor was warm with the golden light of afternoon sun filtering through the windows, but the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. You stood near Rook, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, as Vil and Epel looked at you expectantly.

“Well?” Vil prompted, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You glanced at Rook, who smiled encouragingly, as if to say, go ahead. Clearing your throat, you announced, “We’re…together.”

Vil sighed dramatically, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d have to intervene.”

Epel, on the other hand, froze mid-sip of his cider. Slowly, he set the glass down, stood, and walked over to you. His expression was a mix of grief and dread, like someone had just informed him of some terrible, life-altering news.

He placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Good luck,” he said, solemn as a funeral bell. “This is a life sentence, y’know.”

Rook chuckled, clearly amused. “Mon cher Epel, you wound me! Surely being with moi is more of a treasure than a trial?”

Epel turned to him, unimpressed. “Treasure? You follow people for fun. You recite poetry to wild animals. You can’t even eat pie without analyzing its existential meaning. I mean, who does that?”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you patted Epel’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Epel. This is a sentence I’m more than happy to serve.”

Vil smirked behind his tea, watching the scene unfold with obvious amusement. “Frankly, I’m just relieved we won’t have to endure any more of his tragic sighs every time you left a room.”

Rook clasped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Oh, Vil! My sighs are poetry incarnate!”

Vil didn’t even blink. “Your sighs are the sound of unspoken melodrama. Spare me.”

Epel plopped back into his seat with a long groan, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess congratulations or whatever. At least now we can all stop pretending we don’t notice him staring at you like some love-struck puppy.”

“That’s rich,” you shot back, grinning. “You’re the one who looks like your pet rat just died every time we get close.”

Epel huffed. “I’m just saying! Now you gotta deal with him being even more poetic! And clingy! You thought the prince and heroine were bad? Wait till you see Rook when he’s in love. You’re doomed.”

At the mention of the prince and heroine, Vil made an exaggerated sound of disgust. “Speaking of those two… Honestly, has anyone ever been so painfully predictable? The prince has all the charm of wet cardboard, and the heroine—don’t even get me started on her hair ribbons.”

“Ah, the heroine,” Rook sighed wistfully, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Always so delightfully transparent. Her schemes are like open windows to her soul.”

You snorted. “If by soul, you mean her desperate attempts to turn everything into a sob story, then yeah, sure.”

Epel leaned forward, grinning. “Did you see her crying at the hunt competition? Like, girl, it’s a competition. What did you think would happen? That the griffin would apologize and hand itself over?”

Vil smirked, tapping a manicured finger against his chin. “Or how about the prince declaring his ‘eternal devotion’ to her at the banquet last week? I nearly choked on my wine.”

Rook chuckled, turning to you with a soft smile that was far more genuine than his usual theatrics. “Ah, but let us not waste all our words on such trivialities. This moment, mon amour, is one of joy.”

You leaned into him, your laughter subsiding into a contented smile. His arm slipped around your shoulders, holding you close as Vil and Epel continued their playful bickering in the background.

For the first time since you’d been thrown into this absurd world, you felt completely at ease. If this was the result of being trapped in a trash novel, then so be it. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

Trash Novel Masterlist

Complete Masterlists

[sicksorrows]

my nanami hcs (nsfw & sfw)

idk if these are hcs or smth bc he'd look like he'd do most of these but anyway enjoy my rant on my man

sfw

he would allow you to do ANYTHING to him and I mean anything, or vice versa because he'd also do anything for you. if you ask him to do the laundry or dishes, he'd do it without asking any questions.

if you ask him for help on something he'd literally help you without making you feel dumb.

he would give you a good morning kiss every morning.

he would make breakfast for you every morning and if you didn't feel like eating it he'd persuade you anyway (I would still eat it even if I have the urge to throw up)

he would ask you to put his tie on for him before work, just so he could spend a little more time with you before he heads out--he would also give you a peck before leaving.

if he comes home from a mission and got severely injured he would run up to you right away to get his wounds treated.

he's a big spoon.

he is 100 precent devoted to you, he would remember every single thing about you, ranging from your birthday to your favourite food, to your siblings/parents name, anything.

if hes willing to do anything for you, then that means learning stuff you like just so he could connect with you better. for example you really love drawing, he would practice drawing everyday and show you it just to get the smallest reaction from you.

he is SO good at communication. say you both are having a heated argument, he would try to keep you, and himself calm, to help the situation better. and just basically be respectful throughout the way

he would never abuse you for his own entertainment, I just can't see him do that.

he gets jealous but doesn't show it, which leads me to that hes really good at hiding things or keeping things secret.

he is a soft spoken person.

brag about you to anyone he meets, or he would definitely bring you up in most conversations if it reminds him of you.

nsfw

he would so fuck you in his clothes, and it would always be the shirts because he loves the way you wear him.

he is such a switch.

he would enjoy pegging

he whines and begs, he is also a grunter.

praises you during and after sex, telling you how good you were and just basically makes you feel better about yourself.

he is slow and gentle but also pushes your limits the slightest, just to get a reaction out of you.

loves hand jobs ...

if you're sucking his dick he wouldn't make you take his full length unless you're ready for it.

oh my god he always asks for reassurance

angry sex..imagine him coming home angry from work or a mission and he just needs something to calm down, which is you. so he fucks you whilst still being angry, so you're basically his energy recharge

pulls your hair. especially during oral

into slight bdsm, (blindfolds, handcuffs ect.)

knows how to use his hands/fingers.

body worshipper.

teases or edges you.

if you're receiving backshots from him, he would be slow with you and hold onto you carefully.

if were talking about foreplay he is SLOW. he wants to savour his time with you and taste every part of you at his own pace, he isn't one to rush with it.

loves hearing you being loud, if you were quiet he'd force you to become loud somehow

he whimpers.

makes sex tapes on certain occasions..and jerks off to them later

if its a special occasion like your birthday, he would so give you birthday sex.

hes kind of the type to do semi public sex, for example; a changing room, the beach, movies, elevators

roleplays..

lastly, he is the aftercare king. after you guys are done whatever you were doing he would pamper you like a princess with seven servants. he would clean you up before himself, and make sure you feel satisfied when he finishes. when you both are clean he would cuddle you and stroke your hair as you fall asleep in his arms.

ughhh I love this man so much its actually making me go insane every single second of the day, my life is getting so fucked up because of this man. nanami is literally perfect in so many different ways, I literally have so much more scenarios or hcs for this man but I can't say it on here cuz I dont wanna get flamed...I need this man so badly I literally only told two of my friends about nanami because im worried my other friends would judge me for this. but either way i love him so so so so much oh my god the way I wish he was real, because id actually treat him like a king and not like some person who just wants him for sex...anyway...if he was real id actually give him the biggest hug ever and literally ask him out, I would not care if he rejected me, in fact id be happy that he even interacted with me because this man is so hot and beautiful and all of the above I know im out of his league, or not even his type. I need his dick inside me so badly and I know I say that a lot but genuinely I dont think his dick is enough for me, theres something about him that makes me want to have him by my side forever, I wish our souls combined and we are spiritually together. I wish that we could mold into each other and stay like that, forever. my love for this man can not compare to the love I have for anyone else. if I were to choose over nanami and my old hyper fixation from like 5 years ago, id choose nanami. and there may be some days where I just dont fuck with jjk but that may not change my love for him. I have never talked about a character this much esp it being an anime character but that doesn't stop me.

I want to give him the most malevolent, jaw dropping, hip thrusting best fucking head in the whole world. I dont care if it doesn't fit in my mouth id let my jaw lock if it had to be sucking him off. I wish jjk was an underground unknown show so I could just thirst over nanami so no one else could have him, but im glad it got popular because this is literally how I found my man. especially when I was a jjk hater and I never knew about him, but when I gave it a try im SO glad I did. im also SO grateful gege even made nanami a character, just a little ungrateful he killed him off but that okay! at least nanami existed through out two seasons. but if gege went with his other plan which was making nanami into a villain I would still hit cause oh my god the thought turns me on and im going insane about it. I literally wish I could write well, or draw well, so I could complete my desires which is drawing nanami in any way I could, or writing good scenarios with him but god gave me that ability to not draw (or write) because He knew id be unstoppable if I did, anyway, I need backshots from nanami until my voice practically runs out and the last words im left saying is: I love you, nanami.

[chiyana]

what a veritable pile-up of emotions

because on the one hand, a lot of YJ missions are wacky and insane and so much fun to tell stories about

but on the other hand, oh my god some of those were so fucking dangerous and these kids had no business being the ones handling them

and that's not really something you fully internalize until you're older and looking back and it kind of hits you that like "oh. wow. yeah that really almost killed us and we should not have been in that situation, huh".

so you have the team reminiscing, telling the fun parts and having a good time, laughing and joking and using J'onn or the Lasso of Truth to prove they're really telling the truth, until someone, either an adult or Jon (possibly Damian) actually asks about it like "hey, when you say you were tortured on Apokalips, what does that mean?"

and because they're holding the Lasso of Truth let's say, they just... tell them. the whole truth, about what it was like and what they experienced (and how terrified they were).

and from there it's a slow spiral down to how they weren't taken seriously and thought to be lying so they stopped telling anyone, how even after they were proven to be telling the truth they still weren't given the guidance or supervision they needed, how they did exactly what they were supposed to in trying to help people who needed it and couldn't get it from anyone else, how it blew up in their face despite all their best efforts, how they bore a lot of the brunt of bad press without support or guidance, the weight of trying to do good against impossible odds, and all the shit piled on them over time until their team fell apart.

and yeah they fucked up in a lot of ways, but they were kids. yes they were mid to late teenagers, but that's not a group particularly well-known for being good at handling interpersonal issues and friction without someone with more experience helping them work through it (or being listened to by authority figures), of course there were issues within the team that made it hard to work together

and Jon and Damian have been watching this whole thing, with Young Justice talking about it and even as adults being dismissed as lying and needing to hold onto the lasso of truth to 'prove' they're not lying, despite the fact that they were proven to be telling the truth about the missions before (they just stopped telling people about them after being accused of lying AGAIN), despite the fact that by this point they've had YEARS of being trusted heroes in the community, why are they believed about missions and reports now without issue yet dismissed or accused of lying about what happened to them as kids? what does that say for them, who have had their own fuck-ups and interpersonal drama with teammates and other heroes, who are still kid heroes?

and the rest of the Justice League have been watching this too and realizing just how many times these kids (and others, there were other members of Young Justice who stopped being heroes all together because they didn't have the support of Justice League members and it became too dangerous/difficult for them to continue) came close to dying, and the Justice League probably wouldn't have noticed they died until it was far and away too late. they wouldn't have even know how it happened, because they never believed YJ about their missions so YJ just stopped telling them about them.

I fully believe that yj98 doesn’t tell ANYONE about their missions anymore.

they probably did in the past with their early ones, but after the 7th lie detector test, and 3rd time they had to get Jon and/or Wonder Woman’s lasso involved to prove they were telling the truth, they just stopped.

After you’ve heard one mission people usually think they’re lying and stop asking questions. All YJ have to say is ‘it was a Classic yj mission, do you really want to hear about it?’ and all other inquiries would be dropped. YJ themselves won’t bring it up, and you won’t believe them anyways, so what’s the point?

So you won’t believe what this leads to when Damian and Jon after being curious for a while, decided to answer “yes, we do wanna know” to them

now YJ has to deal with two teens and the justice league, who finally decides to look at them (and what they’ve done) for the first time…

[mochinomnoms]

OH MY GOD JAMIL WAS AN OPTION??? sorry I'm obsessed with him... snake man..... did you have any thoughts on what ptm would have been like with him...

Referring to this post

I considered Jamil for a bit cause he fit the basic plot that I wanted, but I fucking hate that bitch so—

I'm kidding, he's not my most favorite character but my "hatred" is more of a joke than anything, but since he isn't an appealing character to me I didn't feel like writing such a big fic for him when there were others I liked much more.

Similar to Vil, I think I would've written an enemies to lovers story, specifically focused on the reader never really getting over what Jamil did to them in Book 4 and him sensing that. I think for Jamil, despite knowing exactly how much you dislike him, can't help but slowly fall for you. You're...an idiot, there's no other way to put it, but he's surprisingly fond of you still, so perhaps he's also an idiot.

You're not dumb in the way he's grown to see Kalim, but you share a similar naïveté that is more endearing when it comes to you. You don't take the bullshit from others and are blunt regardless of your peers' social status. Blame it on you not being born in his world, but he wishes he could be so blunt, so open, so free like you.

It's in the way you smile at someone as intimating as Malleus, the way you speak bluntly at someone like Vil, the way you bring Kalim down to reality with your brashness. Leona even remarks at how you try to roughhouse with him, badly mind you as you'd get bruised from the play fighting.

There's just something that makes him jealous with how you treat these royals and socialites like they're just some person you know. At first, he thought he was jealous of how no one retaliated against you. Kalim wasn't surprising, but the others? They found it amusing, charming even, and were happy to let you be for the most part.

Jamil is jealous that you can be carefree with others, something that would have dreadful consequences on him and his family if he were to do the same. But the longer he watches you, and the more you soften up to him as the months pass by, the more he realizes that he's jealous of them. He's always been envious of people like Kalim, though he hates to admit it, but this is a different kind of envy.

He's not that stupid though, Jamil knows he's jealous because he wants to see you act like that with him. He wants that smile you give Malleus on him. He wants that blunt way you speak to Vil to instead fill his own ears. He wants the brashness you give Kalim to be his instead. He wants you to roughhouse with him instead of Leona, to give you those bruises instead.

Bruises that he can kiss, that he can soothe, that he can ghost his thumb over as he imagines the way you look up at him with soft reverence in your eyes. He imagines you on your knees, he imagines you underneath him, he imagines your skin meeting his lips, he imagines you uttering those three words to him, and him only—

Oh. Oh.

Jamil has an entire summer to deal with his feelings, to figure out just how he wants to go about this. When he comes back, after you've developed your telepathy, he's confused as to why you are suddenly so...shy around him. You, who used to be a bit catty, a tease, things he liked about you. Now? You can't even look him in the eye, like you know something. Your eyes darting everywhere but his face, always putting space between you two, even going so far as to ensure that you two are never alone.

What happened to his Prefect? The one who would bicker with him, the one who would stick their tongue out at him when he pasted by, the one who'd call out his sly words and joke that he really was like his namesake—a snake.

He's wanted very few things in life that he could actually have, and he wants you. So sue him if he decides to make it his mission to bring you back to how you were so that he could have the challenge of winning your heart. It won't be satisfactory otherwise, it's too bad he's unaware that even thought he has passes through your mind, making his goal much, much more difficult.

[taringill]

MY FAVOURITE GIRLS!💕 I'VE FINALLY DONE IT!😭

МОИ ЛЮБИМЫЕ ДЕВОЧКИ!💕 Я НАКОНЕЦ-ТО ДОДЕЛАЛА!😭

I know that I have made almost no changes to the Rouge, but this is my opinion. I don't mind if the creators make changes👍 Although, come on, cinematic beasts literally copy their gaming counterparts with minimal changes, or no changes at all. So what are you going to do to me?😁

Я знаю, что в Руж я почти не внесла изменений, но это мой взгляд. Я не против, если создатели внесут изменения👍 Хотя, камон, киношные звери буквально копируют свои игровые аналоги с мини��альными изменения, либо без изменений вообще. Так чтоооо, что вы мне сделаете?😁

Guys, I want to express my opinion. You don't have to read it if you're not interested. I, like many, am waiting for the appearance of Amy and Rouge, I really wait and want to! But I was struck by the craziness of some fans. Who knows, he understands what I mean. Knuckles is confused with Amy (in one shot from the first trailer for Sonic movie 3) because of the lighting, which makes Knuckles' hairstyle lighter and screams about it on every corner. They think that Amy was cut out of some of the footage of the first trailer because... Sometimes they look empty, as if there is room for another character... What the fuck? I don't understand, should the whole screen be packed with characters in every corner? Even an ordinary dent on the asphalt is confused with a shadow (I'm not about the Shadow the hedgehog)!🤦‍♀️ Fuck... There are simply zero arguments. It sounds much more realistic that, for example, the same Amy may appear in the scene after the credits. But these are just rumors. Before the release of the second trailer, I realized that some fans had gone crazy... And after the release of the second trailer, I was convinced that I was right, so you don't have to argue with me. It's useless. In addition, before the release of the second trailer, there were leaks of toys for the third film and NOT A SINGLE HINT OF AMY OR ANYONE ELSE. There were only Sonic, Knuckles, Tails, Eggman and Shadow. Guys, if there was anyone else in the movie, this character would be in the toy set. Recently, new toys were leaked and there is also no one new except Shadow, because no one else appeared in the film.

Okay, I also thought that Amy and Rouge would appear, because the third film is an adaptation of the game SA2: Rouge, who worked for G.U.N. and Amy, who dissuaded Shadow from killing humanity. And I remember the girl I was arguing with, using it as an argument. To which I will answer that, guys, these films are A NEW, ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE, therefore A MODIFIED CANON. And that's okay, it's a NEW UNIVERSE. Do you want to see the same thing? Well, if you're an ardent and old fan, then of course you want to see the same thing. But I'm not. Let's be honest, almost anyone can dissuade Shadow: Sonic or Tom, for example. And Amy will get her new role in fourth film. What's wrong? As for me, everything is fine. This is a new universe! It was clear from the first film)))

Oh, and do you remember the girl I mentioned in the second paragraph? Attention! She told me that the creators would be sexist if they didn't add Amy or Rouge fully to the third film🤡 I'm afraid of people like that...💀 What kind of moronic fashion is it to call everyone (especially men) sexists for no reason? Just to be offended🤦‍♀️ This abomination is infuriating🤮 I wish this disease would go away as soon as possible... If you don't agree with me, then just accept it. Poor creators, my God... They're already trying to please the fans, but they're still bad... Guys, the creators have THEIR OWN plans for THEIR MODIFIED canon. Let's think logically, if there are few new characters in the film, then MORE attention will be paid to them, therefore MORE disclosure and therefore the character is MORE INTERESTING, and not just a stupid fanservice...

Phew, I've spoken out... There may be touchy people here, but I don't care. You can't change my mind, so just accept it. I know it's gone, but I still wanted to speak out. I have the right.

Ребят, хочу высказать своё мнение. Можете не читать, если вам не интересно. Я, как и многие, жду появления Эми и Руж, очень жду и хочу! Но меня поразила шиза некоторых фанатов. Кто знает, тот понимает, о чём я. То Наклза путают с Эми (в одном кадре из первого трейлера Соника в кино 3) из-за освещения, которое делает причёску Наклза светлее и кричат об этом на каждом углу. То считают, что Эми вырезали из некоторых кадров первого трейлера, потому что... Видетили они выглядят пустыми, как будто там есть место для ещё одного персонажа... Что блять? Я не пойму, весь экран должен быть забит персонажами в каждом углу? Даже обычную вмятину на асфальте путают с тенью!🤦‍♀️ Пиздец... Аргументов просто ноль. Гораздо реалистичнее звучит, что, например, та же Эми может появиться в сцене после титров. Но это только слухи. Я до выхода второго трейлера понимала, что некоторые фанаты сошли с ума... И после выхода второго трейлера я убедилась в своей правоте, так что можете не спорить со мной. Это бесполезно. К тому же до выхода второго трейлера были сливы игрушек по третьему фильму и НЕ ЕДИНОГО НАМЁКА НА ЭМИ ИЛИ КОГО-ТО ДРУГОГО. Там были только Соник, Наклз, Тейлз, Эггман и Шедоу. Ребят, если бы в фильме был бы ещё кто-то, то этот персонаж был бы в наборе игрушек. Недавно слили новые игрушки и там тоже нет никого нового кроме Шедоу, потому что в фильме никто кроме него не появился.

Окей, я тоже думала, что появятся Эми и Руж, потому что третий фильм адаптация игры SA 2: Руж, которая работала на ГАН и Эми, которая отговорила Шедоу убивать человечество. И я помню девку, с которой я спорила, приводила это как аргумент. На что я отвечу, что, ребят, эти фильмы ЭТО НОВАЯ, АЛЬТЕРНАТИВНАЯ ВСЕЛЕННАЯ, следовательно ИЗМЕНЁННЫЙ КАНОН. И это нормально, это же НОВАЯ ВСЕЛЕННАЯ. Вы хотите видеть одно и то же? Ну, если вы ярый и старый фанат, то, конечно, вы хотите видеть одно и то же. А я нет. Будем честны, Шедоу может отговорить почти кто угодно: Соник или Том, например. А Эми получит свою, новую роль в 4-части. Что вас не устраивает? Как по мне, всё нормально. Это новая вселенная! По первому фильму это было понятно)))

А, и помните девку, которую я упоминала во втором абзаце? Внимание! Она мне сказала, что создатели будут сексистами, если они не добавят Эми или Руж полноценно в третий фильм🤡 Я боюсь таких людей...💀 Что за дебильная мода называть всех (особенно парней) сексистами без повода? Лишь бы обидеться🤦‍♀️ Бесит эта мерзость🤮 Поскорее бы эта болезнь прошла... Если не согласны со мной, то просто смиритесь. Бедные создатели, Господи... Они и так стараются угодить фанатам, но они всё равно плохие... Ребят, у создателей СВОИ планы на СВОЙ ИЗМЕНЁННЫЙ канон. Давайте рассуждать логически, если в фильме новых персонажей будет немного, то им будет уделено БОЛЬШЕ внимания, следовательно, БОЛЬШЕ раскрытия и следовательно, персонаж ИНТЕРЕСНЕЕ, а не просто тупой фансервис...

Фух, высказалась... Тут могут быть обиженки, но мне всё равно. Меня не переубедить, поэтому смиритесь просто. Я знаю, что это прошло, но я всё равно хотела высказаться. Имею право.

[osmanthuscest]

"this entire post is part of the problem" Me vale verga. No me podría importar menos. No estoy hablando de parafilias tipo objectum, me vale verga. You KNOW what paraphiles I am talking about. "Oh but pro para also include-" Me chupa un pico, estoy hablando de los pedófilos, incestuosos y los zoo. Esas vainas asquerosas.

Sorry to break it to you OP but I do also believe proship community can groom children. Call me an anti or keep telling me that I use the same rethoric, I don't care. You are not getting what I'm saying at all.

These kind of communities are a mistake, in general. You guys lack of critical thinking, thought crime it is not a crime, I am AWARE INSTRUSIVE THOUGHTS ARE A THING. Thanks to trauma I used to have intrusive thoughts about my brother and thank God I am glad I am slightly older so when I experienced these horrible thoughts the para community wasn't as big it is now. You don't get it, do you? The problem is not having a community to vent, to seek help. The problem is making it this quirky fandom-like thing.

The problem is believing these thoughts are OK. The problem is not being aware at how it can genuinely harm you if you don't seek an actual solution. And yes, I'm also pointing out proshipping. I am critical of underage users being in the current community it is also not the best. Sometimes people just need actual help, I have seen amount of teenagers proshippers who wish they are groomed and that kind of stuff, who wish they were in relationships with older men or women. Instead of seeking help, imagine them crossing into pro-para community, seeing that there's even terms for what they're suffering, that it is okay if you wish you dated an adult or want to fuck your sibling 😝😝

It's awesome you are anti contact, op, it is the bare minimum. That's not the problem. The problem is not having a deep thinking of "Why am I thinking like this? Why do I have these thoughts? Is there something I can do?" To not know where the root of the problem is. You are doing nothing by doing pride flags of incestuous trans pedophiles, you are not seeing how the help the real problem.

The community is an encouragement to comform yourself and not get any help, to believe there's nothing wrong with it. My problem is that the community is full of underage users who lacks of critical thinking because well, they are children, they don't know any better. And before you say any anti rethoric, I do believe a proship community it is also dangerous for minors. Not all, but the danger it is there ready to happen, it was my case as a children but I grew up and realized it wasn't my fault nor the people who wrote about it, it was the fault of no supervision.

Pro para community it is not safe for children. It doesn't matter if you say Ezra is bad if you have the same thinking without critizing at all the pro para community. With no questioning we believe everything is okay and there's nothing wrong we need to dive deep into.

Pro para and proship is not the same. While in another one you talk about your favorite age gap ship in the other one you talk about how you want to kiss your dog.

And is not even "Lately I've been having these thoughts about [...] but it's okay. My thoughts not makes me who I am, this also applies to you. I hope you get help, you're not alone." I am aware there are posts like this, which I do encourage and believe is what they'd need.

Not some bullshit like "Imagining kissing my dog.. I love being a zoo ❤️" #propara #proudzoo #ThisIsTotallyOK

If you don't get it then there's nothing more I can say. You guys lack of critical thinking, if you accept anything without questioning, then you are a lost cause and should not be in these kind of communities.

I hate these posts.

either you are AGAINST the idea of thought-crimes, or you're not. just bc someone's a paraphile does NOT make them any kind of offender. being proship, you almost HAVE to be pro-(anti contact) para, because part of being proship is recognizing that your imagination also can't hurt anyone.

ignoring all that, though, the other glaring issue is that these are the exact arguments antis make towards us. calling people predators with no proof, saying paras should "keep it private", that paras are trying to "groom" people into believing their paraphilias are good. replace "paras" with "proshippers" and you've got the same dumb arguments WE'VE BEEN HAVING FOR YEARS.

EVEN FURTHER THAN THAT, what happened to using the block button? why do y'all forget all about that as soon as it's a paraphile, or at minimum, someone you DEEM to be a paraphile. y'all are no better than the people you are against.

[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Blondes, feet, bowl-cut guardian lady.

He did not, they never had sex. But he was in love with her.

For sure. I think she struck him more like a teenager with the black hair and bangs, after the change (both visual and in attitude) she became a far more mature AND attractive person in his eyes.

PFFT, well, if you're saying they meet ALL of the criteria, I assume you mean both in looks and personality and hence be damn near his soulmate. DU drow could overlook weird feet (and a lot of other things, actually) if he were in love with the person in question. He would probably gently request they take better care of them, though.

Nothing special there, I'm afraid! He just has human-like skin - perhaps a little on the oily side but completely within the bounds of normality.

He runs a little hot, if that's anything. Oh! His hair is shockingly soft.

Correct! DU drow only (arguably) looks like a drow. He doesn't have their usual bone structure, height, or associated magical proclivities. He has some dark vision but its nowhere near as good as a drow's either.

I don't necessarily think all Bhaalspawn are the same way, but the Dark Urge IS quite different from the previous game's iterations. DU isn't simply Bhaal's child conceived with a partner, he's a piece of the god that supposedly slobbed off and grew legs and a face, pretty much. So yes, I do think that the Dark Urge at least is it's own unique thing.

The reason why he looks like a drow, is because he was placed in the Underdark upon creation. The metaphor I always use here is that if you place something infantile in a biome that is alien to it, it may try to adapt to it's environment to survive as it develops, to different degrees of success. This is why DU drow looks the way he does.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

You're welcome!

I've received a few snippets here that you can find through the #gift art tag! There is also the fic I'm in the process of writing called A Novel Experience on AO3.

It was just something I was compelled to do when I first drew him! The facial scars felt like they should lead into something else so I just made up a pattern on the spot, minus a tiny tweak here or there, it has stuck basically unchanged. All and any lore relating to the scars came later.

I get a lot of sweet messages but "thanks for your man's penis size" has to be one of my favorites. Thank you!

HELLO!

Thank you so much for the kind message! And that sounds like a fun dream, I love that your Tav got jealous of the attention ASTARION was receiving instead of mad that he had to share in the first place LOL

DU drow is desperately monogamous. He doesn't care what other people do with their lives but he's very much a "one and done" kind of person.

He would be willingly to participate in a threeway/have group sex with a partner, assuming the rules and regulations of said encounter were laid out clearly before or at least mutually understood between them. He would never want to see these people again after the fact though.

She does not, naturally I had no idea that this character was going to turn into anything when i made him, so I just... Made a lady. And since she was supposed to be a "guardian" I gave her a Joan of Arc type of look.

I've occasionally thought about changing this, but... Y'know, sometimes you don't need lore to be that in-depth, LOL.

The emperor gave everyone else a nondescript hottie he assumed they would trust, DU drow just got the same treatment. She's not even DU drow's type but definitely someone he would be compelled to take seriously yet not feel threatened by - so ultimately, her design does make sense.

---

That's all I have the energy for tonight folks, as always thank you for the many encouraging and sweet messages you send me, I'm sorry I can't reply to all of them! 😭

Have yourselves a great week!

[icarusredwings]

Baby talk 2/2

Trying something new. Be kind (take 2)

A very little wade fic

Ft. Wo-wo, Mama, and 'essy

For @sirwadewilsonfromimgur because apparently people like my brain

"Logan? It's a bit late, what's wrong?" The voice asks over the phone. He wasn't sure why he called her. Why he called Jean. But he felt like she might know what to do.

"Yeah.. sorry, i-.. It's nothing.. I'll go if you're busy - I just.." he mumbles, phone in his shoulder as he begins boiling some water for the pasta.

"Logan... tell me." She says, in a way of someone who knows he won't tell her if he feels like he's bothering her.

"So, I'm... er.." He turns to see Wade laying in his pile of stuffies, watching the movie with large eyes and a curious o shaped mouth. Right now, they were at the part where she was singing in her secret cave, Wade's eyes glued to the screen in awe, as if he hadn't seen this movie 40 times already. "Babysitting... and I don't really know what to do?"

"Oh.. okay. Well how old are they?"

"Young. Really young. Barely talks." He says, trying not to sound nervous out of his mind as he preps the chicken to be cooked.

"That can be as young as 12 months. Are they potty trained?" She asks, trying to help best she could over the phone. Not like Logan would ever let them see him like this anyway.

"God I fucking hope so." Is all he can awnser with a big sigh. "I don't know, I just.. it's so much different then the kids at school."

Chuckling, he could feel that 'well no duh' look in her eyes and that smug smile. "Well, I would hope that 12 month olds are different than 12 year olds. That's 12:1, Logan." She says, and he grunts, nodding.

"Yeah, yeah, I just.. you read parenting books, right? What do they like? Babys, I mean."

Instantly Wade turns, Giving him a small glare and a pount. "MmMmh.."

"My bad, kids this little." He didn't need to understand the whines to know exactly what he was saying.

'I'm not a baby' He always said that.. man.. Wade not talking felt so weird, and it freaked him out, getting to the point he would subconsiously check to make sure he was still consious and that he COULD talk if wanted, but he didn't.

Wade was just quiet today. Al must think it's a blessing but to Logan? This was a nightmare.

"I do" She laughs again, giggling. "Why? Are they misbehaving?"

"Well... No.. but i'm afraid I might..." He mutters, blowing his cover at pretending not to be anxious about this entire thing.

"Mama?" He hears, indirectly awnsering. "No bub. Not your mama."

The woman giggles again from the side conversation. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Do you want me to-"

"NO!!" He screams, watching as Al got spooked, drawing her pistol on Wade, and for once, she had a good shot. "Get off of me!!"

"Well, jeez Logan, you could have just -"

"Sorry! I have to go!!"

Beep.

"Logan??.. He hung up on me." Jean says, miles away. Logan just knows it.

"Althea! It's Wade!! It's just Wade!!" He shouts, quickly coming over to take the gun from her. "He's just.. really little right now. God damn kid, are you tryna die!?" He yells at him, seeing him only try to curl up more into the woman, tearing up.

"Althea, why don't you go sleep in the room, okay?"

The older woman grumbles, shifting. "Baby you can't lay on me like that. You're too big." She says, much calmer now as Logan pulled Wade off of her and set him back on the floor.

"You're too big for that, kid, you're gonna hurt her!" He tells him, only making Wade feel worse.

"..mama?"

"No! No mama. She dosn't feel good and-"

"Logan. Enough. I can take care of myself." She mutters, groaning as she got up.

".. Mama?" Wade says again, his mind very one tracked at the moment. He knew three things. That he wanted held. He liked Mama. And he didn't know why he was so upset with him. Did he hurt her? Was she okay? Wade wished he could ask, but no words seemed to come out when he tried.

"Hi, Honey, Mama's gonna go take a nap. Behave. Both of you." The old woman mumbles, cupping his face and giving him a kiss on the head, stumbling towards the room. "Wake me up when dinner's ready."

"Yes ma'am.." Logan mutters, glancing down at Wade, watching as he wiped his tears, pulling Fluffy and his legs into his chest, sniffling.

Swallowing, he wasn't even sure if he would understand if he apologized, but he needed to anyway. "Hey.. I'm sorry for yelling at you.. I thought... I thought that.." He rubs his hand into his face with an embaressed grumble. "..Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking. You can't even.. well, no, that's not right. It still would hurt, and I guess I just didn't want Mama to hurt you and- "

Wade wasn't even looking at him. He was staring at the Tv, curled up, and didn't seem to be litsening.

Sighing heavily, he looked at the gun in his hand, deciding he should put it up. It wasn't something he should have down with Althea not feeling the greatest and Wade not even being able to put together sentences.

Walking away, he puts it in the closet, making sure to lock it like it was supposed to. God, there were so many weapons in here. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that these guns weren't just for hunting or a hobby. No one had this much ammo when owning a gun collection that was "just for show."

Making his way to the kitchen, he stirred the boiling noodles, dumping them in the colander.

"Wo-wo?... wo-wo!"

"Woah woah?" He asks himself, looking up to see Wade pointing at the tv. Prince Eric had picked up Ariel and was now twirling her while smiling.

"Wo- wo?"

Tilting his head, he thought that perhaps this was cool to Wade. "Yeah, Wow buddy. That's amazing." He says but Wade gave him a dirty look. One that usually was his 'Bitch? Thats not what I said' squish of his non existing brows.

"Wo-wo. Ups?"

"Ups?"

"Wo-wo, Ups?" He grins, putting his hands up as he did the grabby motions again.

Oh. That made more sense. "You want me to do that to you?"

Wade nods, crawling about two feet before doing the hands again.

"Mmh... okay, but just once. And then I have to cook. Deal?"

Putting the butter in the pan, he came to pick him up, raising him up. The small squeal and the wide, sparkly eyes said all that Logan needed to know. When put back down, Wade claps.

"Yaay!"

Logan couldn't help but smirk. Really? That's all he wanted? "Heh.. yeah.. Yay." Was it that simple? This.. easy??

Vanessa made it sound so much more complicated when she talked about it. But then again.. I guess Vanessa wasn't as strong as him either, so it must have been difficult for her to hold him. The idea of her holding a 6'2 man on her hip made him snort.

She was strong, obviously, most dancers had to be, but dancers were lean and nimble as well. Logan was much more on the heavier side, so it was far easier for him.

"More?"

"More ups?" He asks, despite seeing his hands reach up. It wasn't the fact that he didn't know. Rather, he wanted confirmation.

"Wo-wo, Ups!" He smiles, excited and happy to be given the attention.

"Ok, ok, but last time, alright?" With another nod, Logan picks him up again. This time, Wade wraps his arms around him tight, nuzzling him again.

Sighing, Logan rubs his back, letting his chin go to the top of his head. "I can't hold you forever, you know... I have stuff to do.." he mumbles, bouncing just a bit in his knees, keeping his arm under his bottom so he didn't drop him.

"You're a good kid, Wade but I really do have to cook."

The whine that comes out of Wade is desperate for attention, lonely even. As if he just told Wade he was leaving and never coming back ever again.

"I come."

"No, sweetheart.. you'll get burned." The bouncing stops as he tries to set Wade down but he holds onto him like a kitten whos afraid of being dropped too far.

"Come on, let go. You'll be okay in here. See look. She's using a fork as a comb. Isn't that funny?" Logan says, trying to distract him enough to stay put. Vanessa wasn't kidding about the wanting held part. He was quite literally clinging to him like his life depended on it.

"Alright, get off. Here- do you want this? Take it." Putting him down, he took his hoodie off with him, letting him hold it as he stood. "There. Now stay. Im trying to make you some noodles, bub."

Finally getting to walk away, the look on his face hurt his chest.. just a bit anyway. The way he watched him go with such sad eyes and clutching the hoodie close to him. As if he was abandoning him.

Eh. He'd be fine. He could still see him in the kitchen so there wasn't really any reason to worry.

In said small kitchen, Logan put together the sauce, butter, and some seasonings, starting to stir it when he glanced towards the tv, doing a double take because Wade was missing.

"Wade?" He says, only to be met with him tugging on his jeans. The sight was something he wasn't prepared for, Wade put his hoodie on, and it was too big for him by at least two sizes. "Wo-wo!"

"Woah woah huh... wait, is that me?" He asks, tilting his head. "It's an L, bud. L" he made the L noise for him. "Lo-Lo."

"Wo-wo."

His eyes roll. "What ever. Come on, kid get out of the kitchen. You're gonna burn yourself."

This lasted about 2 seconds before Wade came back in. "Ups?"

At this point, dinner was practically done. Now, just have to finish it up and serve. "Fine... but don't touch anything."

"Yaaay!!" He claps, reaching up only to get scooped up and put on his hip, holding him with one arm, the other stiring.

"Yeah... yay.. fuckin' brat.." Wade was always getting what he wanted.

Wade giggles, holding his neck and once again snuggling up to him.

"Yeah, yeah, that's enough. Just be good. Don't touch. Ouches."

"Ow?"

"Yup. Ow."

So now, here was Logan, an almost 400 pound man holding 150 pound 6'2 guy on his hip, stiring and plating dinner. With his head on his shoulder, Wade calmed down immensely from being carried, just watching what Logan was doing and silent.

Dipping his finger into the sauce, Logan held it up. "Do you like this?"

Taking the finger in his mouth, Wade immediately made a 'mmmh' noise, nodding.

"Good. Do you want it on the side or on top of your noodles?"

" 'op."

" 'kay." Putting the sauce on top, he began to make Als.

" 'essy?"

"Huh?" He asks, not sure.

" 'essy??" Wade points to the plate.

"No. Mama's."

"Mama?"

"Mhm. Wo- wo's." Logan points to his own.

"Ooooh! Yummies."

"Yup.. Yummies..." he says, only to become embarrassed, face heating up as he grunts. Man... damn this baby talk..

____

A little later, after dinner, Wade came out of the room, looking almost ashamed, wearing Logan's x-men athletics department hoodie, the back saying 'HOWLETT' in big letters.

He was playing with his hands as he came to him. "Hey.."

Glancing away from the Tv, Logan was a bit confused, Not now sure if he was still small or not. "Hey?"

"I-.. im sorry.. for.. ealier. I know you don't like that stuff. I don't really.. know.." It seemed the farther he got into the apology, the tighter his voice got, his eyes becoming glossy.

"Hey-hey, stop. Why are you crying? You don't have anything to be sorry about. You're alright. Everything's okay, Wade. Sit." He says, patting next to him, but he just shook his head, rubbing his arm.

"No. I-it's not okay. You didn't ask for that. And you don't like t-taking care of me like that-" he wipes his eyes with the sleeves, clearly feeling bad about being so small infront of him.

"What? No, hold on. I never said that. I'll always take care of you." He says, a little frustrated that he would think differently.

"B-but you-"

"Shut the fuck up and come here."

Swallowing, He hesitantly sat on his lap, letting Logan pull him close and kiss the tears from his eyes. "Don't you ever say that shit again, you hear me? If I didn't want to take care of you, I would have left a long time ago. It was just.. odd at first. Because I've never seen it before. That's all. Just because something is new doesn't mean it's bad. You taught me that, idiot."

Sniffling, he shifts to nuzzle up under his chin again, curling up to be as small as possible, letting the man hold him in his arms. "I-i don't.." he heaves.

Logan is patiant, holding his cheek and rubbing his breath. "Shh.."

"I-i don't even know why I did that. I just.. it just happened." He whispers.

"That's alright. You don't have to know everything... a little heads up would be nice though." He mutters, pulling him up more to rub his cheek on him the way he liked.

Sniffling again, he smiles softly. "I'll try.. worst case senerio I just ask you to pick me up."

"Tell ya what. You ask me to pick you up and I will. Just... not during missions. I don't wanna have to slice a fucker in half because he shot you when you're small."

Wade giggles, his heart rate finally settling down as he listened to Logan's. "No promises.." letting out a big sigh, he let his body relax, taking a few deep breaths, nestling into him, the smell of the hoodie making him tired. "..I love you.. a-And thanks for not letting Al shoot me.."

Logan's eyes widened. He did hear his apology. A soft half lidded smile came to his face, glad that it wasn't for nothing. "I love you too.... cry baby."

"Can you guys shut up? Wheel of fortunes on." Al says, feeling much better that she too has had a nap and a good meal.

Sigh... that was their Althea.. keeping them humble.

The little giggle that came from him and the rythemed breathing following told Logan that he would be stuck in this spot for quite a while. Oh well... He was always up for a good nap.

"...Morons." The old woman says with a hint of fondness in her voice, hearing not one but two sets of snores. It was music to her ears.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

I'm asking for😏 moon knight boys vampire smut pls 😏

Oo! This one's a surprise. I'll do it!!! ;)

Three course meal

Vampire!Moon boys x f!reader

Cw/triggers: Blood, biting, markings, nsfw, smut, p in v, possessive behavior (and kind of orgasm denial at first)

Jake, Marc and Steven are particularly hungry and horny.

"God, love, please stay strong one more second, yeah?"

Steven mumbled against your wrist, drinking slowly while his eyes were fixed on your face, he started moving again after he stopped to make you focus more on your neediness rather than his slurping and the feeling of his fangs in your wrist.

"One more second and I'm done for today." He reassured, thrusting harder.

Steven's drinking stopped but he didn't pull away, his fangs aren't retreating either.

"Such a good girl, always there for us whenever we need you." Steven couldn't resist taking another sip of your sweet blood.

Then, his eyes changed, turning more hungry and possessive. When he finally pulled away, he took a moment to admire the small punctures of Steven's fangs.

"There you go, wrist perfectly marked up," his eyes swept over to your face. "but... your neck needs some markings too."

His deeper voice left no doubts about who's fronting.

Marc.

He rolled his hips against yours, the constant reminder of getting pushed on the edge had your eyes rolling back from the delicious friction.

Marc's cold hand slowly came up to your throat, his fingers wrapping gently around your delicate skin, giving just a slight pressure where he knew your tasty neck vein would be.

He leaned down, pushing himself fully into you while at it. "Try focusing on my cock."

The pointy tip of his fangs pressed against your skin.

"Your tasty veins are ours." he chuckled softly before plunging his fangs into your neck, while simultaneously pulling almost all the way out of you and sheathing himself back into your wet depths.

The groans both of your escaped were almost unholy.

"Fuck!" Marc groaned against your skin, starting to drink slowly in order for you not to pass out from all the bloodloss you already endured.

You started feeling lightheaded, but as if somehow sensing it, Marc occasionally stopped drinking only for your to get your bloodflow regulated before drinking again while keeping his pace steady to keep you on the edge.

"Faster please..." you begged. "Need more–"

Marc smiled against you. "I'm almost done, but we aren't finished yet, honey."

When he was done, he swept his tongue over the wound to close them, then pulled back to look at you.

His eyes were different again, more predatory and cold.

"Our territory is almost marked." He grins, flashing his fangs at you with your blood staining his lips. His stronger tone hit you.

Jake.

"You want to come? If you come faster than you're about to pass out I'll allow it." Jake teased, gently cupping your face to tilt it into the other direction to expose the other side of your neck without any markings.

He gave you no time to answer, pounding into you and leaning down to your other vein, wasting no time to plunge his fangs into your delicate skin.

Your hips bucking up to meet his, desperate for release. Jake drank faster, his hips slamming against yours in frenzy. The feeling of finally getting what you wanted had your belly tighten up.

"Oh fuck- Jake, I'm gonna–"

You were about to get your release any second now, but with Jake drinking this fast you also felt about to pass out.

Then it hit you like lightning, your orgasm had Jake on the edge too, and he spilled himself inside you seconds after your release.

Jake slowly retracted himself from your neck, licking the wound close and pulling his softened cock out of your well-fucked hole.

"Look at those beautiful marks on you." Jake licked his lips, cleaning off your blood stains from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

You were at the brink of passing out, a heaving mess on the bed.

"Go get your rest now, sweetie. We will be there when you wake up." Jake's expression softened, his hand gently stroking your cheek before he rolled off, laying down beside you and pulling you into his arms.

"You were so good, just like always when we've gotten like that."

He moved in, giving your temple a lingering kiss before he closed his eyes.

"Sweet dreams."

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

Tags:

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Wanna get tagged?

[shatcey]

Yves sequel (new princes/new countries)

UPDATE: Thanks to the information from @.caffedrine, I can add Clavis and Nokto sequels.

Are they showing them to us for the first time? I'm really confused because I'm reading the sequels at the same time in JP and EN games, and in a rather random order.

I think it is…

In the last, 14th chapter, of each sequel (starting with Yves), we are shown a small scene with three new princes. I only read the dramatic ending so I will show you screenshots from it. Let's talk about new countries.

New princes mostly tell us how fun it will be to visit their country. And who and where to expect to see.

In the first three sequels, we visited Obsidian. Chevalier, Leon and Yves.

Licht and Sariel went to the Tanzanite.

I haven't read the sequels to Nokto and Clavis yet, so I have no idea where they were going. I hope Nokto wasn't in Tanzanite. I like Azel, but I would like to see other countries.

And here they hint what Keith will be in Ruby and Silvio in Bentonite (I'm not surprised in both cases).

So… That's what I got.

Green - I'm sure, I've already read that. Orange - we got hints on this (Yves) sequel. And blue- this is my guesses. I don't think Gilbert is able to travel anywhere. Jin is kind of a friend of Mathias, so he's probably going north.

So we have 12 princes (minus Gilbert) for 4 countries. It gave us 3 in each. Which means we won't see Tanzanite until Silvio's sequel (actually, until Azel's route, but you get what I mean). Well, I will not see, Licht and Sariel's sequels haven't been released on EN server… yet.

But I have no idea where to put the rest of the boys. Let's say… Luke is pretty wild, he can survive in Ruby. Rio? I think he has no choice, because I don't see Nokto in this country at all.

They should show us new countries to the same extent, but so far I don't see how they could do that…

And with the new information, it's going to be even more confusing. Again… I like Azel, but there are other guys. Devs should not ignore them!

Or I'm wrong, and Gilbert will go to… Ruby… Damn… It's going to be a real show.

Oh, and this…

You're talking about a greedy god, mind you. The answer is obvious. Actually Azel will brings snacks in the Licht and Sariel sequels… Sometimes he can be generous (if he has received a lot of donations or free food).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[thepigeonhasapen]

I was wondering if you could do the Olympian Gods with a reader whose asexual? Like, what would their reactions be, would they mind, stuff like that d:

Asexual Reader, Olympian Edition

(Doing these asks out of order but shhhhhhh. Also strong warning for acephobia because Zeus in an ass)

🩷Aphrodite🩷

Very chill about it. She's the goddess of love and that includes ALL kinds of love. Self-love is one of her favorites. The fact that you know and accept who you are and that you're willing to let her in on it? Well, Aphrodite might just adore you even more than she already did.

"You’re...? Well of course I don't mind, dearest! In fact, I think that's positively wonderful!"

Regardless of whether or not you're interested, Aphrodite still can't refrain from making comments about your physical appearance. She'll try and curtail some of them if you find them uncomfortable, but she loves lavishing praise upon you and talking you up to her friends.

Partially jealous to be perfectly honest. She can't help but wonder if you have a more pure understanding of beauty because you're not looking at it though the rose-tinted lens of horny. Aphrodite is deeply fascinated by asexuality and even if she doesn't quite understand it, she tries her best.

⚔️Ares⚔️

Doesn't mind. Honestly, it doesn't even really impact him that much. Just neatly writes sex out of the equation and carries on.

"You seem nervous, my dear. You... oh? Is that all? No need to distress yourself so much over such things. I love you as you are and knowing this will not change that."

May ask you a few questions at the beginning but mostly leaves the subject alone after that.

If anyone's giving you shit, all it takes is a dirty look from Ares to shut them up. What can I say the man has a way with not using his words.

🏹Artemis🏹

You too?? Artemis tries to play it off cool but she's low-key thrilled actually. Internally screaming because thank the Fates, she can get as close to you as she wants and she doesn't have to worry about things getting Weird™️

"You’re ace? That's... cool. Sorry, that came off as really insincere. It's just... me too, you know? I got a little surprised is all. And um, we've been hanging out for a while and I just wanted to say, you know, now that we're talking about this and I know you're not gonna take this the wrong way, I think you're really neat. I love hanging out with you. ...Don't go spreading that around though, okay?"

Artemis is sex-repulsed. If you are too, she drags you to family events so she can make faces at you whenever her family starts talking about their sexual conquests. If you're not, she's deeply fascinated and will probably ask you WHY on earth you would want to do that.

Despite the fact that Artemis doesn't want to have sex, I feel like she'd still enjoy certain kinks. Primal play, petplay, and leather are things I feel she'd enjoy partaking in. (Source: I am ace and very kinky lmao)

🦉Athena🦉

What a good match, Athena is asexual too! She probably blanks your confession to be honest because she sometimes forgets that people actually have sex frequently and on purpose.

"Asexual? Yes, alright. And how fared your journey up to Olympus by the way? I hope Hermes treated you well."

Sex-neutral. Will occasionally give sex a go if her partner happens to bring it up but will mostly just forget it's existence as a thing entirely.

Athena is actually quite haughty about her asexuality. She is definitely looking down on anyone who is swayed from the path of wisdom by someone else's sex appeal. Loves that you can understand her point of view on the subject.

❄️Demeter❄️

As Demeter has aged her sex drive has shrunk to like nil so really nothing about your relationship is much different.

"Asexual...? Ah, like young Artemis, yes? Fascinating. I've never been able to pin her down long enough to converse upon the subject. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Demeter tends to be a touch more overprotective than she needs to be. If anyone even so much as gives a hint of giving you shit for it, Demeter is sending them an absolute withering glare that has the potential to kill even the most vibrant flower. She follows it up with some bitterly cold words if necessary but it rarely comes to that.

She's honestly quite relieved about it really. She was never really that horny of a person and is happy to find someone who can relate to that. I personally think Demeter is some kind of acespec but that might also be my asexual ass projecting my aceness onto every character I get my grubby little hands on lol

🍇Dionysus🍇

Chill about it. He's chill about literally everything, what do you expect? Dionysus is commonly associated with trans people and I like to believe that queer people in general just flock to him because he's just so open and accepting.

"Ace, yeah? Congrats, man, thanks for telling me. Just let me know if I ever step on any toes, 'kay?"

Not gonna lie, he secretly corners Artemis and Athena to bother them on the subject just in case he's got it wrong. He didn’t as it turns out, but he's glad he checked in anyway because it was an enlightening conversation. With Athena anyway. Artemis runs off at the first available opportunity.

Happy to go whatever speed you want, if you want to go any speed at all. He may still get a little handsy sometimes but he doesn't mean anything by it, he just really likes holding you like a teddy bear. Honestly, I think he'd get a real kick out of somebody aegosexual and think it was such a super fun party trick that you can say such horny things and not be interested at all. Probably mildly pesters you to engage with smutty things because he finds your unamused expressions absolutely fascinating.

🪽Hermes🪽

Bursts out laughing when you tell him. It's not for the reason you think and he does feel really bad about it when he sees your face.

"Haha, of all the...! Haha– oh, hey, hey, I'm sorry, it's not that. I totally don't mind you being ace or anything, far from it, it's just that I seem to have an accidental habit for attracting your type and I seem to be collecting you."

Besides you, the person Hermes spends the most time with is Charon... who is also asexual. Hermes, the uberhorny hypersexual fuckbunny who would literally die for a quickie every five minutes find this hilarious. Opposites attract I guess? Hermes has a good giggle about it everytime he thinks about it.

Doesn't mind if you don't want to have sex. If you do, great! But if you don't, it's not a big deal.

🔱Poseidon🔱

Poseidon is... confused. It'll work out better if you're sex-repulsed and straight up don't want to have sex ever, otherwise poor Poseidon will absolutely struggle. He doesn't understand the difference between sexual attraction and aesthetic attraction and is just genuinely so out of his depth. You like the way he looks... but you don't want to have sex with him??

"What's that? Asexual? I, uh... okay, just between the two of us, you're gonna have to explain that one to me, babe."

He talks to Dionysus. Even after that he still doesn't get it. Poseidon tries his best to be supportive but has like no idea how. Probably shooes away people who try to even mention sex in your vicinity. It's gonna take awhile before he understands how this works. Confused but he's got the spirit kinda?

May initially try to convince you that you just haven't had good sex yet. Sit him down, explain this all to him, and he'll probably get it. Okay, let's be honest, he still doesn't get it but he respects your choice and generally leaves the subject alone. His libido is quite high though so he will frequently sleep around just to scratch that itch.

⚡️Zeus⚡️

We were doing good until we got to you, huh Zeus? Zeus just quite firmly doesn't believe in asexuality. He definitely thinks you're just confused or that you haven't had sex right yet or that you'll change your mind at some point.

"Asexual? Oh dear, have you been talking to that daughter of mine, Artemis? She's always on about something or other, if she chooses to talk to us at all."

Zeus won't force you to have sex but he will make subtle (he thinks he's being subtle anyway) comments about how you're a tease or a prude. If you're interested in having sex, Zeus doesn't understand the definition and just thinks you don't find him attractive. His feelings are now hurt. He will be throwing a violent totally-not-a-tantrum now.

Will eventually, probably shut up about it. Look, he's never gonna understand it so shutting up about it is the best you're gonna get from him. This idiot thinks with his penis, okay? Athena stole all the intelligence from him at birth. Just doesn't get it, very confused, cannot even comprehend the idea of not wanting to bang everything in sight.

[supercap2319]

Arvin reaches over, his hand brushing against yours as he opens the glove compartment. "Got a bottle of bourbon in here."

"You drinkin and drivin? Yu lost your mind?" Y/n asked.

He laughs, pulling out the bottle. "Nah, I'm just gettin' comfortable." Arvin twists the cap off, taking a swig directly from the bottle. "You want some?" He holds the bottle out to Y/N. "It's good for the soul, preacher man."

"No thanks." He waved his hand in dismissal.

Arvin takes another swig, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Suit yourself." He puts the bottle back in the glove compartment, leaving it open. "You know what I was thinkin'?" He looks at you, sitting in the passenger seat of the Plymouth. "What's that?" Arvin grins, voice low, and husky. "I was thinkin' it's a damn shame you're a preacher man. You'd make a fine outlaw, or maybe a soldier. You got that fire in you, that spirit. It's a waste, if you ask me."

"Maybe I will. I'll be a soldier. Or a family man." Y/N said, not that he actually thought of becoming those things, but it was gonna happen anyway, right? Arvin's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "A family man? You'd settle down, have a wife, kids?"

"Yeah? Won't you?"

The Russell boy laughs, the sound harsh and bitter. Me? Married with kids? Hell no." His gaze sharpens as he looks at you. "I'm not the type to settle down, preacher man. I've got too much...restlessness in me."

"That's for sure. When God made you, Arvin Eugene Russell, he made you ornery as a sidewinder on a hot driveway."

"Well, at least you don't beat around the bush. Thanks for not sugar-coatin' it." Arvin leans closer, a devilish glint in his eyes."You wanna know what your problem is, preacher man?" His wasn't a question. More of a statement if Y/N was being honest. "What's that?" He asked, gave hovering from Arvin's calf-brown eyes to his pinkish lips. Arvin reaches out, his calloused finger tapping his chest. "You care too damn much about people. About doin' right. It's goin' to get you killed someday." His voice drops to a low, intense whisper. "But I'll tell you a secret..."

"What kind of secret?"

"Sometimes... I wish you weren't so damn pure. I wish..." He moves even closer, his breath ghosting against Y/N's ear."I wish you'd just lose control for once." His voice drops to a husky whisper. "I don't know how to lose control." Y/N admits. It wasn't a lie. He did everything the high and mighty way. Y/N went to church on Sundays and school during the week. He never swore or drank, and he certainly didn't cause trouble at school like Arvin did before he stopped going.

Arvin finger traces a line along his jaw, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his voice. "That's because you're a good man, preacher man. Too good for this damn world." He pulls back, his expression hardening. "But I ain't. I know how to lose control."

"Oh, I know you do. Folks think you're dangerous. A misfit."

A predatory smile spreads across Arvin's face. "And what do you think, preacher man? Am I dangerous?" He leans in closer, invading his personal space. "The kind of man your mama warned you about?" His breath is warm against his ear.

"Maybe my mama don't need to know what I do behind closed doors. Only the big man upstairs will." Y/N said.

[takeout-taradiddle]

[ EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE: 19 - PASS ]

Ivy stands up, and hurries over to throw her arms around Anya's neck, pulling her into a tight hug that awkwardly tucks the nurse's face and head into Ivy's neck and collarbone. She grips the other woman like she's afraid she'll disappear.

"Anya. It's not a child."

Well-trained hands, nimble from so much sewing and stitching, gently pet through Anya's hair as she speaks. Speaks with conviction, too, with as much heart as she can.

"Right now, it's just a clump of cells. It has a heartbeat, yeah, I know, you're the kind of person who's just really affectionate and sweet and empathetic, you know what else has a pulse, Anya? Tumors. And those things can grow hair and teeth, by-the-fucking-way. Sorry for that mental image, but it's true. And you can't keep it, there's no way we can do a live birth here with what Pony Express has, oh god, Anya you would die. You won't survive that. I can't help you give birth, you know you wouldn't make it. You would kill yourself and the..."

She takes a breath, and suddenly softens her voice. "I know you don't want to keep this. I'm sorry for the tough love, I promise it comes from my heart in a genuinely loving way, but you don't want this, Anya, and you know what? That's not a fault against you, it's just how you feel. It's life risking to have a baby in space, for you and it. This is the inevitable, Anya, if you don't get this clump of cells out of you, it will grow to kill you."

Ivy presses a gentle kiss to the top of Anya's head, and her long ass manifesto comes to an uneasy end. "There's no morality to this, Anya. It's just what you have to do to survive. One life lost over two, if you have to look at it that way, but I'll never see you as a murderer for this. Never. Even if you think this is wrong of you, I never will."

Her hands shake and her voice cracks.

"You would be a good mom. But you can't die to become a mom, that's not how it works. Please don't blame yourself for not wanting to die. That doesn't say anything bad about you."

The ship is a pain in the ass to navigate. It's considerably easier with just one ghost following her around, though - and she tells him under no uncertain terms to stay outside of the door while she talks to Anya. She makes sure he knows that she doesn't want to deal with him. He understands, he's had to deal with daughters.

Ivy waves Swansea out of sight, and then takes in the medical wing door. It's kind of impressive to her that Anya runs the ship's medical departments with just Odessa's help, but then again, there's multiple Anyas, so that must help.

She's got her little stolen uniform on, with it's stupid little heart sewn over the logo, and the sleeves rolled down to the gloves so her injuries are well hidden. Take a deep breath, and steady your hands.

Just a quick conversation.

Just to see what options they have, what Anya's thinking, what Anya's feeling, what Anya needs.

Just to see Anya's pretty face in person.

Armed with her pistol, her box cutter, and a secret, surprise, oh so special gift that she intends to give to the nurse, Ivy knocks politely on the door.

( - @takeout-taradiddle )

Anya couldn’t quite place the way she felt about the impending visit. Terrified, intrigued, confused, maybe an odd mix of all three, but she couldn’t tell which one would win out over the other.

But when she heard the knock at the door, she realized that terrified was in the lead. She opened the door just a crack, to get a good look at her first, and couldn’t help but notice that Ivy looked ready for a fight. Anya hadn’t done anything. She hadn’t hurt anyone— but since when did that matter? Maybe she should have listened to the warnings, maybe it wasn’t too late, but the alarm bells were already going off in her head, warning her that she would be completely cornered as soon as she opened the door.

So she didn’t open the door completely just yet, just stared at the woman with wide eyes, trying to will herself not to tremble. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” She said, eyes on the gun, “Don’t have the means, even if I wanted to. There’s no…” She didn’t know how to finish her thought, the next ones rolling over it until she didn’t know how to make sense of any of them. “I don’t… have I done something to upset you?”

[sergle]

you bitches have got to watch Scavengers Reign if you haven't yet, i'm only a few episodes in and it's already completely unlike anything else i've ever seen

[hopeswriting]

daily life arc miura haru. does anyone know who i'm talking about. do you guys remember her. i still can't believe what happened to her 😔