#debates are bound to happen

[leon-anna]

Okay so there has been a shockingly small amount of Echo in this last season and I'm a little bit pissed. Don't get me wrong I've been loving every minute of it, BUT!!! I miss my Echo. I miss him. And honestly we have to rectify the situation, so here you go!

And obviously we couldn't not include our boi Tech, who is still alive by the way. We know he looks a bit different in Leon's art style, but that comes with trying to meld Tem's looks with the clone wars style and our own personal head cannons.

[5a-alf]

I struggle to write impulsivity, probably because I myself am the least impulsive person you can imagine. The thing is.

HALF OF THESE MOTHERFUCKING CHARACTERS ARE IMPULSIVE.

What do you mean you do not spend time with your internal monologue before doing something. What do you mean you just do the thing. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE.

Also like,, how do you work on being a better person without thinking about what you are doing all the time?

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - After

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Your wings were gone. The healing process would teach you much about yourself, but it would teach Azriel, too. Does it matter, in the end?

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Angst, injury, symptoms of depression (including difficulty eating)

a/n: This is part of a mini-series and the other parts can be found in the link below. Sorry this is literally so long lol. Debating on adding another chapter to the end because I obviously have a lot to say! Also, I won't be posting an update for about a week because I'll be traveling, so I hope this long chapter holds you over. Thank you :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

You woke as the sun did. Yellow light made an imprint behind your eyelids and the grogginess that immediately followed let you know that this was not the first time you had been awake. Sleeping through the night had become a luxury not afforded to you. 

You clenched the pillow at your cheek between your fingers and tried to pull at the loose threads of sleep that were escaping you. 

Someone was in your room. 

Someone was always in your room these days, but this morning, you knew it was Azriel. You could feel the whisps of his shadows making barely-there strokes along your back, and his scent was unmistakable. If it was Azriel today, they didn’t expect you to talk. When they wanted you to try and speak, they sent Cassian or Mor or even Feyre on the odd occasion. 

They didn’t expect you to talk when it was Azriel. 

You supposed everyone thought you were mad at him. Truthfully, part of you was mad at him. If he had just opened his eyes once over the last hundreds of years, he would have seen that you were right there—that you were more than a responsibility for him to look after. That you were a woman in love with him and he was a fool for taking so long to notice. 

But another part of you felt that you couldn’t blame him. Azriel had never had much luck in the romance department, and you’d always chalked that up to self-sabotage. He seemed to go after women he knew he couldn’t have and only assumed late-night trysts with those he could, so you couldn’t expect much out of him. And how was he to know that you pined after him? It wasn’t as if you’d ever made any kind of move. 

But Elain had so enamored him and you were so angry at that part. Because you had been there and he had never taken the leaps and bounds he had with her. 

He had left you in that camp, so ready to believe your lie to appease her. 

You were the biggest fool of all. 

In actuality, neither of those parts mattered. There wasn’t some internal strife that fought against your sleep and made you question your feelings. You weren’t mad at Azriel. You weren’t mad at anyone or anything. You felt empty. 

You gave up on sleep, breathing heavily through your nose and squinting your eyes into the sun that peaked through your curtains. Your back ached, and even more, the insurmountable pressure on your chest was amplified by the bandages that wrapped around from behind you. They made it difficult to breathe. 

No infection had set in. It had been two and a half weeks since the incident, and Madja cleared you to begin moving around a few days ago and noted that you were “out of the woods, medically.” Everyone looked relieved as if that news had changed anything. To them, you supposed it did. You would live. That was good. 

Azriel knew you were awake, you were sure of it. You heard his chair groan as if he were leaning forward in it, and his shadows had begun to traipse around your head, weaving in and out of your hair and blocking the light from your eyes. 

He would try to get you to eat, look at you with those pitying eyes, and apologize when you could barely sit up and hold out a plate as if you were going to eat it. You hadn’t met his gaze since you woke up and there was more than just resentment behind that. There was shame—you were so ashamed of what you had become. What you had let happen. 

Maybe that was another reason why you felt so empty. How could Azriel even look at you as anything other than broken? When you were whole—when you had your wings—there was an irrational part of you that considered you had a chance with the Shadowsinger if he would just see you. 

There was nothing to see now. 

“Are you awake?” Azriel asked, keeping his voice low in the quiet room. You nodded against the pillow, face still turned from his view. The chair groaned once again. “Are you hungry?” 

No head shake. It was a frequent question that you hated being asked. 

Azriel’s footsteps were soft against your carpet. He kneeled beside your bed and attempted to catch your fleeting gaze, but you found a spot on the floor and kept it there. 

“Can you try?” he prompted. His textured fingers brushed the hair from your eyes. “Not even at the table. I’ll have the House bring you something here.” 

You pressed your lips together and fought off the burning in your nose. 

“Please, y/n.  I know you’re angry with me—I know. But please, just try to eat something.” 

Angry at him—anger wasn’t even in your repertoire at the moment. But he sounded so desperate, as did every other member of your family, and you didn’t want the let them down more than you already had. You shut your eyes and nodded, resigned. 

You built up the strength to prop yourself up on your arms, but that’s where you stopped. Your center of gravity had been completely ripped from you. Anytime you moved without your wings, it felt like free-falling from a mountain. Madja had offered—several times since physically clearing you—to come and get you back on your feet, but the motivation wasn’t there. 

You couldn’t imagine walking without the weight at your back. 

And you had avoided every reflection known to man; seeing yourself would be too much. 

“I have you,” Azriel encouraged, holding you at your waist as he twisted your body up. “Almost. There we go, angel” —he positioned you between pillows that hadn’t been on your bed before— “How’s that? Is it alright?” 

Humiliation felt like a hot knife. You nodded and found a spot on the bed to focus on. You could feel Azriel’s lingering gaze and he hesitated before placing a bowl of broth on a small platter before you. 

“Is that okay?” 

You nodded again, biting the inside of your lip. Your back ached. 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

You nodded. 

Azriel hesitated once more, rocking back on his heels before clearing his throat and letting the door softly shut behind him. The tears came then, and you were so tired of crying. 

~~

Azriel’s POV

Outside of your room, Azriel’s forehead was pressed against the wood of your door. The intricate carvings imprinted his right palm as he kept it pressed there as well, and Azriel had to breathe through his nose to calm himself. 

He was at a loss. 

He didn’t blame you for not speaking to him, but you wouldn’t speak to anyone. You wouldn’t get out of bed unless it was Mor or Feyre lifting you for a bath and you wouldn’t leave your room at all. They had all expected this—planned for a long healing process—but you were so… lifeless. 

Gods, he was helpless. You wouldn’t even look at him. 

Azriel clenched his jaw and tried to listen for the clink of the spoon against the bowl when a hand on his back startled him. Because that was another thing—he’d been off his game since you got hurt, completely useless as a spy. 

“How is she?” Cassian. Cassian was just as worried as Azriel, but Azriel was pretty sure you were looking him in the eye at least. “Get her to talk?” 

“No,” Azriel breathed through a constricting throat. He turned to meet his brother’s face. He was sure Cassian still held some resentment towards him, but he’d apologized for his outburst when you arrived at the House. Apologized, but not entirely forgiven. 

Cassian sighed and rubbed at his jaw. “Is she at least eating?” 

“She agreed to eat. I left her with some soup. She wanted me to leave.” 

“She say that?” 

“I asked and she nodded.” 

Cassian kissed his teeth and curled his wings in tighter. “Have you… talked to her?” 

Azriel had to fight the urge to scoff, throwing his brother an incredulous look. “Obviously I talk to her, Cassian. I don’t stand in her room and motion at things.” 

In response, Cassian did not fight the urge to roll his eyes. “I mean actually talk to her, Azriel. About what happened. You finding her. Her lying and you not being there. I know it was one of the only missions at the camps she’s been at without you there. That means something, no?” 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me at all—let alone rehash all of that.” 

“Azriel,” Cassian started, stepping forward to place a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Give her a chance to push you away. Let her be the one to do it. If you play into this fear, it might confirm things for her, and you know her mind isn’t in a good place.” 

Azriel winced. “I think you might be better to—” 

“No, Az, you. Let her eat her breakfast, give her an hour or two, and then go back in there and talk to her. I’ve already been talking to her and she won’t say a word to me. I think you’re the only person who’s been too afraid to.” 

Azriel sighed and then leaned his head back until it knocked against your door. In another life, you might’ve called out and asked who was there. But there was only silence. 

Cassian sent Azriel a look with raised brows and patted his brother twice on the shoulder before backing into the hall. He had taken four steps towards the dining room before Azriel called, “What did you mean then, about me being blind?” 

Cassian paused but didn’t turn. Azriel watched his head tilt to the side and a deep sigh escaped him. 

“Shouldn’t have said that,” Cassian muttered. He started walking once more. “Just—think a little more.”

~~

Original POV

Breakfast was fine; you kept it down and that was the goal. 

Following breakfast, you thumbed through the books Nesta had sent to you. The action was lackadaisical and without purpose. You weren’t going to read them. 

You took breaks from staring at the wall to stare out the window instead, but that only sent waves of something heavy through your chest. The skies looked so open today, with only a few clouds and endless rays of sun. Maybe if it were raining, it wouldn’t hurt so much to look out the window. 

You were being left alone far more than usual today. 

Perhaps they had grown tired of being around a stubborn mute who refused to see the bright side of things, the “well, with your injuries it’s a miracle you’re still alive,” talks not entirely working on you. You were sure that was true, but you didn’t particularly care about the marvel it took to put you back together. 

This miracle felt hollow. 

As you were about to shut your eyes and drown the rest of the day in sleep, a small knock and the creak of your door stopped you. You snapped your gaze forward and quickly averted it when you recognized Azriel stepping in, his shadows preceding him and rushing you in circles. 

You expected him to take up his post in the chair beside your bed with a simple greeting—as he had done every visit to your room in the past weeks—so when he stood at the door and spoke, confusion and anxiety filled you. 

“Um, hello,” he began. You watched his hands fumble around each other before he cleared his throat and brought them behind his back. “I realize I haven’t given you a full opportunity to be angry with me. I’ve only offered pleasantries and… well, moved you around. I wanted to speak to you if that’s alright?” 

You fixed your gaze on the wall behind him and twisted your lips to the side in the show of a grimace. 

“You don’t have to say anything back—unless you’d like to. It would just—Can I just sit and talk?” 

You had no idea why he was asking. Everyone else in the House sat in your room and talked your ear off, asking questions they wouldn’t get an answer to and telling you about the happenings in town. Azriel was the only one who stayed silent and, now, was the only one to ask permission to speak. 

Still, you slowly nodded and shifted on the pillows. 

“Does anything hurt?” he began, stepping forward with a hesitant hand reaching towards you. “I could fix—” 

You shook your head. He sat in the chair.

There was a beat of silence—uncomfortable silence, which was odd because Azriel had always been the one you felt most comfortable being quiet around. 

When he spoke, the torture in his voice had you finally whipping around to look at his face, but his gaze was downturned. 

“This is my fault,” he said, strained and cracked as he clasped his hands tightly between his knees. “I know I’ve apologized to you since you woke up, but it’s never really been for that. You have to know how sorry I am, y/n. How much I wish I had just come with you. I always come with you.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I—I don’t understand why you’d lie about Lucien going with you. Or Cassian, for that matter. I thought it was always obvious that I’d do anything for you—that you were more important to me than a date.” 

Something twisted and pulled inside of you. You were getting the devotion you so desired from him, but it was cast behind a layer of something ugly. You were more important than a date—then why did it hurt as he spoke the words to you?

“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel otherwise. I’m sorry that you felt you had to lie for my benefit. But, y/n, I thought you were dead. I walked into that camp and I heard you scream, and I thought—I thought you were dead when I held you in my arms. There was so much blood and—” 

Azriel’s words choked and stopped in the air. He pressed his hands in prayer over his mouth and when he looked up, he caught you in your stare. You sat paralyzed, wide-eyed, as he looked at you directly. 

“Why did you lie?” he asked weakly. “I would have been there. And I’m sorry I believed you so easily, but we’ve always been honest with each other. You’ve always had me.” 

Your chin trembled. You were tired of crying, but the irony of his words hit you with full force and your wings were gone. Your wings were gone and nothing would ever be the same again. 

Your trembling jaw quickly morphed into the too-quick intake of breath that made your shoulders tremble as well. And then you were heaving in ugly sobs that hurt to let go of. You clutched at the blankets beneath you until your knuckles turned white. 

Why did you lie? 

Why did you—

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Azriel hushed. He was on the bed now. You hadn’t heard the chair when he got up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He held you at your shoulders and pressed your face into his chest. This was the most anyone had touched you. Madja only healed with brief skims of her hands and everyone else moved you with panicked touches.

“Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” 

When you spoke—for the first time as this new person—your throat made the words unintelligible. Everything was scratchy and hoarse from misuse, but Azriel heard it. He gently pushed you back and found your eyes once more, his gaze wide and encouraging. 

You tried again, and again, each time more coherent but also filled with the tears the Shadowsinger continued to wipe from your cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” finally ripped from your chest. “I only—only—” You hiccuped and Azriel’s face crumpled. “I just wanted you to be happy.” 

Azriel’s eyes were already glassy, but when your voice finally rang in his ears, the tears fell. He pressed your face into his chest once more. This time, you brought your hands up to clench his shirt between your fingers. And, because you were already vulnerable and because this was the first time in weeks you no longer felt numb, you whispered out, “My wings are gone,” and Azriel held you tighter. 

~~

You woke to speaking, a voice seeming to rattle in your head. You couldn’t remember falling asleep, only knowing it must have been a productive sleep because you did not feel weighed down. Your back throbbed, as it typically did after sleep, but there was no heaviness at your chest and you felt rested. 

Another voice in the room sounded off, and you kept your eyes shut as you tried to piece together the words. 

“—to walk. Important for her health—too much time—” 

The voice rumbling your head then said, “She might not be ready. We shouldn’t push her.” 

“She will never be ready, Azriel.” Rhysand, you deduced, the conversation in the room becoming more clear. “But, as Madja has said, if we don’t try to get her at least out of this room, she’ll be stuck in her head. Just try to get her to the balcony. Start with that.” 

“Rhysand—” 

“Don’t Rhysand me. It’s almost been three weeks. Her back is nearly healed. That’s not what we’re worried about now.” 

“And what are we worried about?” Azriel bit back. You were on his chest. Hands were on your waist.

The room lulled into a tense pause, the echo of Azriel’s near growl punctuating the silence. 

The door opened and closed, someone’s footfall departing. 

“You’ve scared off our healer, Azriel,” Rhysand noted with a mock scold. Azriel let out a small scoff. “We are all worried about her, Az. I know it feels… maybe like it’s you against the world, but it’s not. We need to get her up and moving. Her headspace isn’t good.” 

Azriel shifted you in his arms. “Fine.” 

“And Madja needs to come back in to change her dressings.” 

Your hair was moved behind your ear. “Fine.” 

Rhysand let out a tortured sigh. 

~~

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel was going to try today. 

He said that yesterday, but yesterday, you had let him coerce you into sitting by the window instead of in bed, and you had talked to him the entire time, so he forgot to bring it up. 

A large part of Azriel was afraid of pushing you—afraid that you would close up again and refuse to look at him. But he knew Rhys and Madja and everyone else in this House was right. You needed to start making progress. You needed to be able to live some semblance of a normal life without your wings. 

It was strange to see you without them. The pit in his chest grew each time you moved to accommodate them. You would shift in bed or reach around to reposition the fantom limb and realization would come before the dread. Sometimes that was it for the day, you wouldn’t speak anymore. Azriel would read to you when that happened. 

You had started to talk to the rest of the circle, which Azriel was mostly glad for, but the smallest bout of protectiveness had somehow dug its way into his heart. When he would walk into your room to find you chatting with Cassian or listening to Rhys, Azriel would have to pause at the territorial feeling that temporarily consumed him. He figured it was only because you were still hurt. That would fade. 

When he came in today, you were alone, and Azriel felt relieved. For a moment. 

You were already awake and looked well-rested, which was detrimental to his plan of asking you while you were half asleep. You set your book down to stare up at him, and even the fact that you were reading was not lost on him. 

You were making progress. This was part of progress.

“Good morning, y/n,” Azriel greeted, standing at the foot of your bed. 

The action already made you nervous. You eyed the chair beside you and glanced back at him. “Hi, Az.” 

Azriel’s lash fluttered at the sound of your voice, still so fresh after weeks of silence. You were meeker than you once sounded, unsure and small. 

Azriel took in a breath before asking, “How’s today?”

“Today is good,” you replied, words slow. 

Azriel spied the remaining badges peeking out from the top of your shirt. You needed this. “I think we should walk today.” 

Silence consumed the room. Your lips parted as you stared at him, and Azriel immediately wanted to eat his words. Another beat of silence. And then another. He tried desperately not to shift weight between his feet lest he look antsy or unsure. 

You blinked, twice, and then stared down at your fingers as they rested in your lap. 

“I know it will be difficult,” Azriel tried, speaking low. “But I’ll be here. We don’t have to go far. A few steps, that’s all I’m asking.” 

You pressed your thumbnail into your palm, brows furrowed. You hadn’t smiled, Azriel realized, not since before. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you spoke. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Azriel asked, bending down to catch your gaze unsuccessfully. 

You blinked back up at him. “Okay, I’ll try.” And then, in a much lower tone, as Azriel walked to your side, you grumbled, “Not as if I could get any lower than I am now.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” you replied, reaching for his outstretched hands. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

Azriel decided to revisit that later. He wouldn’t pass up this opening you had provided, even though his heart ached at what you’d insinuated. He held your hands in his own and leaned forward as you shifted yourself to the side, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. 

Already, the disorientation on your face was difficult to stomach. You swayed backward with a pinched expression and your nostrils flared in frustration, but Azriel only held your hands firm and steady. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he comforted, allowing his thumb to brush your knuckle. “Anything hurt?”

You shook your head, your lips pressed in a tight line. Azriel forced himself into your field of vision and nodded, softly counting to three as your eyes darted quickly between both of his. As your legs straightened and Azriel’s hands held you up, you refused to break the connection. Azriel wouldn’t be the one to break it. 

You were shaky on your feet and completely unbalanced, but you were standing, and that was all Azriel could ask for. He gripped your hands tighter as your breathing deepened, the struggle evident on your face. 

“Feel okay?” Azriel asked. 

“No,” you grimaced. “But keep going,” you breathed out. 

“Okay, okay. Start with your right. I won’t let go of you.” 

And you did as he asked, albeit with a small groan and a look up at the ceiling. You abandoned the frustration in favor of staring directly at your feet and white-knuckling the grip on Azriel’s hands as you swayed and brought your right foot forward. The moment you placed it down you wobbled on it and had to right yourself three times, causing one of Azriel’s hands to come around your waist. 

You gritted your teeth but continued with your left foot with some encouragement from Azriel. He stepped back with each step you took forward, his hands glued to your body to correct the mistakes from your core. You made it six steps and Azriel was elated. He let out a small, breathy laugh. 

“You’re incredible,” he deemed. 

And it was so, so small, but the scoff-like laugh you offered was accompanied by a minuscule half-smile, and Azriel was over the moon. You looked up at him, a sarcastic upturn of your eyes lighting them up, and Azriel was struck then. 

Mate. 

Mate. 

It was so obvious, so clear. There was never anything but this. But you. 

You were meant to be his and he yours. Years of this pull to you, and he always thought it to be one of friendship. He’d always loved you, always, but he’d never humored the possibility of anything more. You’d seen him in his teen years. Gods, you’d seen him in his twenties when he was terribly full of himself without the credentials to be so. 

And he’d seen you through the decades of your life as well. 

But everything was so much clearer now. He’d always been protective of you, always been the first to follow you. That was part of why this had been so devastating—he’d let you down, left you alone. For another woman. 

Azriel felt his stomach lurch and then something rotten was left in his mouth. 

His mate—he’d let this happen to his mate. 

And what had he said in the store that day? When you’d asked him what would happen if he’d found his mate?

He’d said it wouldn’t matter, that Elain was bigger than a mating bond. 

Elain.

“Azriel?” Your worried tone snapped him back to the present. To the way your legs shook and your body swayed before him. He quickly scooped you up at your waist and held you close as he walked you back to the bed. 

“That’s enough for today,” he said, tucking you back into the bed. His hands were shaking. “Does anything hurt?”

“Are you okay?” you asked, and when you looked at him with your wide eyes, he was so angry at himself. 

Nothing made sense, but everything did. 

“I’m alright,” he reassured, placing a hand on the top of your head. “We need to take that slow. Your muscles need to be rebuilt along with your balance.” 

He needed to get out of this room. He needed to—

“I promise I’ll be able to do more tomorrow. You’ll… come back tomorrow, right?” 

Something was screaming at him. His shadows. They twisted and struck his ears before coming down to rest gently at your shoulders. 

“Of course I will.” 

~~

Original POV

Azriel did not come back the following day, or the day after that. 

Mor came on the first day, a smile plastered on her concerned face. She held her hands out as Azriel did and got you to walk ten steps before exhaustion made your legs shake. She sat beside your bed and went on and on about some shop in Velaris and you laid back and listened. 

You loved Mor, but it became hard to swallow when she was the one to walk through your door that morning. 

The next day, it was Cassian. 

He grinned and boasted about being the best person on the job, rounding your bed and heaving you up by your hips until you were pressed against his front. Cassian took a different approach to you relearning how to walk, placing your feet on top of his to move as he did. He was joking at first, laughter fresh in his tone, but he got serious as your brow twisted and your body swayed. 

“You got it,” he assured. He stepped back, his hands now just hovering over your hips as you balanced against him. “You’re doing great.” 

You gripped the sleeves of his shirt. “I should know how to walk,” you said through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t have stayed in bed so long.” 

“You were healing. Resting. No one expected you to hop up and be fine, y/n.” 

“I moped for too long. This wouldn’t be so hard if I had started earlier.” 

“Hey—” 

Frustration had accumulated, building since realizing that you really were only a fraction of yourself, and that was probably why Azriel hadn’t come back. You clenched your teeth once more and pushed from Cassian’s body, finding the ground beneath your feet and ignoring the protest from the Illyrian before you—the one with his wings so tightly pressed to his back that you almost could forget they were there. Almost. 

But the action was short-lived. Cassian grappled for your waist as your body only allowed you two steps forward before you shot backward, an ache permeating down your spine as it tried to accommodate the movement. 

“Cauldron, y/n, warn a guy,” Cassian scolded, stepping you back to sit on the bed. “Did you do this with everyone or am I just special?” 

Frustration burned behind your eyes. You stayed silent as you scrubbed your hand down your face. You couldn’t even fling yourself back against the bed as you wanted, knowing that pain would radiate down your back if you did. 

You couldn’t do anything. The extra time you’d spent with Azriel had created a false sense of… something you needed to let go of. He was pitying you—that was all. You were a broken creature, and he felt responsible. 

“What was that about, huh?” Cassian asked, kneeling before you and looking up below a raised brow. 

“I’m broken,” you admitted, resolute and small. “That’s why Azriel won’t come back, isn’t it? I can’t walk. I’m not how I was. I let this happen to me. I should know how to walk.” 

Cassian’s tongue clicked as his head tilted to the side. “No, y/n, you’re not broken. You didn’t let anything happen to you. This is all—Gods, this is all a fucking mess. But the one thing you can know is that you aren’t broken. And Azriel—he’s dealing with something right now. He’s not avoiding you because you’re broken.” 

You stared back at him, the empty feeling slowly creeping back into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded when Cassian gave you an expectant look. You would act as if you believed him, and the following day, when Azriel stepped through your door, maybe it felt a bit easier to lie. 

“Did you handle what you needed to?” you asked him, your hands cemented against his own as he guided you around your room. The words came out strained as your balance faltered. 

Azriel took a moment before responding, “You could say that.” 

“Was it Elain?” You hadn’t meant to ask the question, and the bitterness in your tone was new to even you, but it came out all the same. You avoided Azriel’s gaze as it snapped to your face. 

“Some of it,” he admitted. His eyes burned into you. You stared at your feet as you stepped. “But only some.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” 

“Y/n.” 

You stepped again. And again. It was easier each day, but that also spelled a more difficult future. The further you walked, the sooner you would have to come to terms with your wings being gone. Staying in bed helped you avoid that truth. 

You ignored Azriel’s call and stepped again. 

“Look at me. Please.” 

You shifted your jaw to the side but glanced up through your lashes and gave in to his request. Azriel’s beseeching expression made you falter. 

“I can never apologize fully for not being there that night. With Elain—“ Azriel paused, wincing. “I’ve been blind to what’s important. You tried to tell me. Everyone tried to tell me. I was so caught up in a chance at happiness. It was never about Elain.” 

You had no reply. Your legs were shaking. 

Azriel seemed to take a different approach. “I meant what I said before—that you’re incredible. You’ve pushed yourself so hard and we’re all proud of you.” 

“Is that why you didn’t come back when you said you would?” you asked. The tinge of bitterness remained. “Because you’re proud of me?” 

“I had to—y/n, there were things—“ 

“Just say you’ve been visiting out of pity, Azriel. That would make this easier.” 

You gripped his hands harder as your wave of frustration made walking more difficult. You grunted slightly and Azriel took that as a sign to shift your weight from your feet, holding you to his body even as you struggled against him, even as you averted your gaze. 

Gods, this was better when you kept your mouth shut. 

“I do not pity you. Y/n—y/n. I don’t, do you hear me?” 

“Why?” you stressed, pushing your hands against his chest in a futile escape attempt. “Why, Azriel? Too busy running after Elain to make room for it?” 

“Don’t say that. I already told you—“

“Just let me go.” 

“No.”

“Oh, so now you listen to me.” 

“Y/n—“ 

“This was already humiliating, Azriel. And then you said you’d be back and you weren’t,” you accused. “You got weird when I finally started walking and I know you only came in here because Cassian told you about yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” he questioned. 

You rolled your eyes. It was so much easier to be angry than hurt. “When I asked about you. I know he can’t keep a secret.” 

Azriel only shook his head. “He hadn’t told me anything. I needed a few days because I’m the weak one. Me. I needed distance because I’m reminded, every time I see you, that I could have prevented this. Im selfish.

“And Elain,” he trailed off, hazel eyes flicking between yours. “I had to tell her that I’ve been a fool. I won’t be pursuing her anymore.” 

Your brows furrowed. You gave up fighting against Azriel, but he kept both of your hands in a grip at his chest, his other arm locked at your lower back. This felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but it wasn’t that easy. None of this was easy. 

“Why?” 

Azriel paused. 

Something flashed across his face, indecipherable to even you, but he covered it just as quickly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be her. I’ve always known that.” 

More silence blanketed the room. Your earlier anger melted into a white-hot embarrassment that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You’d never been one quick to anger. Azriel hadn’t even blinked an eye. 

“Can I help you back to your bed?”

You pressed your lips together. 

“I want to read with you, if that’s alright?” 

Your head turned down. You nodded. 

~~ 

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel couldn’t tell you. 

He couldn’t. 

It was clear that no bond lit up your chest as his did, and that made sense to Azriel. You’d been through a loss few could ever imagine. You were stuck in your head for most of the day, and then angry or numb for the rest of it. The only time you seemed to find reprieve was during conversation that had nothing to do with anything of meaning. 

Azriel would take what he could get. So he read beside you and helped you walk and he didn’t tell you that a bond connected your souls. 

How could he even broach the subject, anyway? When he had so openly pined after another woman? 

This was not the time. 

You needed to focus on yourself. He would focus on you and you would focus on yourself. 

It had been about a month since you began walking again, and two since your injury. He counted each day. On the second week of the third month, Azriel saw you in the hallway. Feyre walked alongside you as you trailed your fingers on the wall, and while it gave the air of a casual stroll, he could see his High Lady’s hand hover behind you. While he took effortful breaths to calm his excitement, his shadows did not. 

“Azriel, what terrible timing!” Feyre scolded, batting away the shadows as they stormed you. “I finally got her out here and you're going to knock her over with air.”

“I apologize,” he spoke, but he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. Despite your unsteady gait, you lit up as his shadows swirled around you, displacing your hair and clothes as you went. And then you laughed; a small sound, but one that Azriel felt in his chest. 

“Call them back,” you giggled. Azriel’s face warmed along with his chest. “I’m going to collapse into this wall if you don’t.” 

“Azriel,” Feyre called, and Azriel hadn’t noticed he was staring. He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it and tried to call his shadows back. And then tried again. 

They were stuck to you. 

“I really am trying,” he explained, taking a step closer. “They seem attached.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Feyre groaned. She shot the Shadowsinger a look and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her side. “Idiot bats.” 

As the pair walked past him, his shadows still whispering along your arms, you hooked your chin over your shoulder, casting him a lingering gaze. It was odd to see your face with such clarity, no wings clouding his view. Even more odd was the uncomfortable way you walked; the leaning into Feyre’s side was more necessary than for the show. 

The strangest thing, however, was the tug in his chest that left him breathless. Every time you looked at him, that thread in his chest tugged and yanked and begged him to get closer. 

But this wasn’t the time. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be the time for several decades. 

Not after he let you down in such a way. 

He would spend the rest of his life making up for that, even if you were none the wiser to the bond between you. He would protect you for the rest of your life, as he was meant to do from the beginning. That feeling, the urge, only swelled as you turned forward and continued your walk with your High Lady, Azriel still hearing the remnants of your laugh in the hall as you went. 

A shadow broke away from your figure and lopped around his ear, reminding him that he actually did have a destination before he became so enraptured by you. It whispered to him hurriedly and Azriel had to break his gaze from your retreating back as he made his way to Rhysand’s study. Each step had him increasingly irritated; he should have been with you the day you decided to leave your room. 

He bit back his vexation when he felt the tension in the room. 

“Azriel. Good,” Rhysand greeted. The door swung shut. “Sit. We need to talk.” 

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Azriel remarked, shifting his leathers as he took a wide seat on the chair across Rhysand’s desk. 

From the couch beside him, Cassian let out a humorless chuckle. “I think you’ll find this quite promising, brother.” 

“As long as it’s quick. I have other things to attend to today.” 

Cassian sent a wry grin in Rhysand’s direction. “I told you he’d see her in the hall.” He turned back to Azriel. “Packed schedule today, Az?” 

“You know better, Cassian,” Rhysand chided, the lightness in his tone betraying the scolding nature of his words. 

“Is there an actual point to this discussion?” Azriel deadpanned. 

“Bond feeling a little loose?” 

Azriel threw him a dirty look. It hadn’t taken a genius to recognize the change in Azriel the day the bond snapped, his heightened aggression paired with the scent of you still lingering on his clothes had Cassian immediately clocking the Shadowsinger. He’d looked surprised—gaurded and surprised. Rhysand looked as if he’d been the one waiting for the bond to snap, and Azriel had sent him a myriad of questions. 

Namely: Why the hell wouldn’t he tell him he thought you were his mate? 

“Don’t taunt him, Cass.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Are we getting to the point?” Azriel drawled. The desire to get back to you itched beneath his skin. Maybe you’d made it to the kitchen and he’d sit at the table beside you. 

Rhysand sighed. He tapped his finger against a piece of parchment laid on the desk. “I have correspondence from the northeast camp. From the spies you have placed there.” 

Azriel sat up in his chair. “Why wouldn’t they speak to me directly?” 

“I had them turn all communication over to me. You’re too close to this and I wouldn’t have you acting rashly and putting yourself in unnecessary danger.” 

“They are my spies—” 

“I didn’t do it to undermine you, Azriel,” Rhysand interrupted, raising a hand in surrender. “You can’t tell me that if you got word her attackers were found you wouldn’t immediately rush into that camp without a plan or even a weapon.” 

Azriel breathed hard from his nose and clenched the wooden chair arms between scarred fingers. 

In the silence, Rhysand continued. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, brother. But you understand why that was a risk I couldn’t take.” 

“What did the correspondence say?” Azriel gritted out, his mood depleted of the lightness you had brought. 

Rhysand eyed Cassian on the other side of the room before fixing his gaze on his Spymaster. “The escaped attackers have been identified. They aren’t contained, and no one even knows where they are, but we know who they are.” 

Fiery rage met Azriel’s soured mood.

If only he knew of the terrors that would continue to fall. 

[cllightning81]

Red Bull? Really?

Summary : You're dating the three time world champion that's in a championship battle with your twin brother. However, you haven't told him about the relationship

Pairing/s: Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader

Word Count :

Masterlist Max Verstappen Masterlist Want to be included in my tag list? Click HERE

You and Lando always had a good relationship. You didn’t have any twin telepathy, but that didn’t mean that neither of you couldn’t tell what was going on with the other. That was why Lando now knew that you were hiding something from him just by your body language. 

You were in a serious relationship with his on track rival where the rivalry was just heating up second by second. How could you come clean about that? It was bound to break your relationship with Lando and Lando’s relationship with Max. 

While all the commentators assumed the races would be what broke their relationship off track, it was about to be you. You had spoken to Max before the summer holidays and decided that before you left to go on holiday with him, you’d confess to Lando. 

Your original idea was just to text Lando from another room in his house while he was streaming so that his reaction couldn’t be too extreme but Max told you not to do that and that he was your brother. He wasn’t going to be too extreme. 

How wrong Max was about to be. Another debate you’d win. 

Lando had just finished streaming and was now coming downstairs to get some food that you’d cooked – in hopes to butter him up – you smiled over at him as you answered a text from Max F about a project you had coming up together. 

“So” Lando said, sitting down on the couch opposite you. You could feel your heart rate starting to rise knowing that you actually had to tell him now. Having previously told him, you needed to talk. 

“You can’t lash out” You started, and he raised his eyes. You really wish you had done it your way and just locked yourself in the bathroom so he couldn’t get near you. 

“That’s not a good start Y/N” You bit your lip, looking over at him briefly 

“So I’m dating someone” You whispered as Lando sat forward a little with a smirk crossing his face 

“Do I know them?” He asked, and you nodded slightly as he raised his eyebrows, getting a little more suspicious now. 

“Look, it was never my intention to hurt you. When we first started seeing each other, it was before anything ever happened. You’ll always be my brother before anything else. Please don’t do anything harsh” You rambled, stopping due to the knock on the door. You quickly took it as your chance to leave the conversation, hoping that Lando and yourself could forget about it. 

Except when you answered the door, your problem was, stood at the other side of the door. You let out a long breath, letting him into the house. 

“Max! I was just about to find out who Y/N is dating. You can join me” Lando hummed as you closed the door, taking a deep breath. You could see the smirk crossing Max’s face 

“Erm yeah Lan I think I’ll finish this conversation when we’re alone” You wandered off to your bedroom despite Lando’s complaints. 

You hadn’t brought up the conversation again to Lando and had quickly avoided any conversation he brought up. 

That was until you were, stood in your own house, Max was, sat on your couch scrolling  through the TV, trying to find something for you both to watch. 

“Kindje” (Baby) Max called as you poked your head through from the kitchen with a smile 

“Yeah?” You asked, walking over to him standing between his legs. 

“Movie or TV show?” He asked, looking up at you as his arms wrapped around your waist

“Let’s go TV show. Movies are long and boring” You answered, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, and he nodded, pressing a kiss back to your lips. Pulling you on top of his body so that you were straddling his lap. Your head resting in the crook of his neck breathing in his scent as one of his hands rubbed circles on your back 

“Still avoiding the conversation with Lando?” He asked, and you nodded 

“You and him keep getting your elbows out on track. I think that would make it worse” You sighed. It would make it worse. Lando and Max were violent on track enough as it was. You couldn’t imagine Lando’s violence if he found out about you and Max. 

“How about we abandon the TV show, go to bed, and just cuddle?” He suggested, and you nodded. 

“That sounds like a plan,” you hummed. Max stood up within one move, one of his hands hooked under you to carry you to the bedroom. Normally, you stayed at Max’s house however, Max decided to come over to your house tonight to surprise you. 

Max settled you on the bed before getting settled in next to you. Your body curling into his as he wrapped his arms around you. The silence was nice. Max’s hand under his shirt that you were now wearing drawing, comforting shapes on your back. 

You were both getting comfortable and about to fall asleep when there was a loud bang followed by someone shouting your name however, it didn’t compute who it was. 

“Y/N. Where are you?” Lando shouted, and that’s when it hit. Lando. You and Max both quickly jumped up as you glanced at Max, shutting the bedroom door as you walked to the living room to avoid Lando walking into the bedroom. 

“Lando it’s late” You complained, and he just shrugged. 

“And? I’ve got exciting news” He shrugged as your rolled your eyes. Lando’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at you from his spot on the couch. 

“What? Is that a red bull shirt?” He asked loudly as you glanced down at the top you were wearing. Shit. Fuck Max for not owning any other shirts. 

“I erm. I borrowed it from Checo and just never gave it back when I spilt coffee down myself that one time” You lied. It was a really obvious lie. The massive 33 on the top gave that away. Lando started to take a couple steps away from you, falling over the couch as he did. You couldn’t help but laugh a little after all he was your brother. Lando glared at you 

“Look Lando. I’ve been trying to tell you. I just didn’t know how. Please don’t be mad” You whispered 

“How long?” He asked quietly 

“About five months” You whispered, looking down as he continued walking towards the door, not saying anything loudly, just shaking his head and muttering to himself. “Lando please” you looked over, and he quickly opened the door and left slamming the door behind himself. 

You sat on the couch, dropping your head into your hands as a pair of hands wrapped around your body. The tears slowly falling down your face as Max’s hand rubbed your arm softly, pulling your body into his 

“It’s okay kindje” He whispered, holding you close despite you trying to push him away “Hey don’t fight me. I’m not going anywhere no matter how much you fight me” You were too distressed to understand what Max was saying. 

You’d hurt your brother. That’s the worst feeling that you’d ever felt in your life. What hurt more is the fact he didn’t even say a word to you. You never expected him to be happy about it, but you expected him to maybe say something to you. 

You didn’t want Max’s comfort. You felt like you didn’t deserve Max’s comfort, not after the harm you just caused your brother. You deserved to feel the harm as well. Siblings never mind twins were meant to harm each other. 

A couple weeks later, at the next Grand Prix, Lando still wasn’t talking to you. You’d phoned him a couple times a day, texted him multiple times a day, and even attempted to show up at his house. Max stepped in after a week also trying to speak to Lando. You’d even went through your family to try and speak to Lando, but he wasn’t having it. 

Now Max had convinced you to come to the Grand Prix just so that you wouldn’t be in the house moping as he had said. And well, in all honesty, his cats were little devils, and they could manage a week or two with a cat sitter.

Max’s hand rested on the small of your back as he spoke to the driver thanking them for driving you to the hotel. As you were about to walk in Max spotted a guy standing just off the side to all the team members and other people turning to you with a sly smile before his hand dropped and he walked over to the guy. Who clearly backed out of just asking Max to sign something, but you liked how even though he was prepared, he still respected the privacy. 

Max soon walked back over his hand, going back to resting on the small of your back as you smiled up at him 

“Ready kindje?” He asked, and you nodded with a smile 

“Think so” You hummed, walking into the hotel with him and up to the room he had been assigned. You were hoping that Lando was going to be here, but deep down, you knew that they had their own hotel sponsor and would probably be staying there, but one could wish. 

Max had also been invited to an event with sponsors, and after a lot of convincing, you decided to go with him. It was better than being stuck in a hotel room alone and there was free food which did work out as a bonus because those savings don’t last long when you refuse to let your boyfriend pay for your things wanting to be independent. 

Now, getting ready in the hotel room for the event, deciding on just a simple dress that matched Max’s suit. Your hair, in the simplest style you could do and make up just simple as well. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to put effort in and more that you just didn’t have any effort. 

Trying to get Lando to talk to you had taken up most of your energy and effort. There was nothing else for you to give, and you needed a break to reset that. Max walked up behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist with a smile 

“You look beautiful” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your neck. You turned around in his arms, wrapping your own arms around his neck 

“And you look very handsome” You smiled, looking up at him. 

“Are you almost ready to go? The car is downstairs waiting” He smiled, and you nodded 

“I just need some help putting this necklace on, then I’m all finished” You smiled, holding up the necklace that you were planning on wearing. Lando had bought you it when you both turned 21. It was a matching one with one of his bracelets. 

Max carefully took the necklace out of your hands, and you lifted your hair up. Gently resting the necklace upon your chest before tying the clasp at the back of your neck. You smiled at Max through the mirror, and he couldn’t help but smile back. 

You were still in pain, but you couldn’t deny that Max was making that pain go away day by day. 

A short drive later, you and Max were not at the large ballroom for the event. Filled with sponsors for all ten teams, drivers from all ten teams, along with team principles and other important members of the teams. 

You weren’t even looking for Lando knowing that he’d just ignore you. Instead, you found yourself talking to his teammate and his girlfriend. You and Lily had always gotten along from the second Oscar joined the team, having many things in common. 

“How was your summer break?” You asked Oscar, knowing his plan was to go back to England however you hadn’t seen him since 

“It was nice. Typical British weather, but you know. Couldn’t have asked for a better time” He smiled, turning to look at Lily, who could only smile at her boyfriend “How was yours?” He asked, and you took a deep breath 

“It could have been a lot better” You replied 

You had thought Max was away talking to Cristian and Checo until there was a large hand settling on the small of your back. When you turned your head, Max was smiling down at you 

“You couldn’t have saved me?” He asked, and you shook your head slightly 

“No, unfortunately, I couldn’t have. I thought you were with Checo and Horner” You shrugged, and he shook his head. 

“No. I got dragged into a conversation with the Pirelli guy and some other sponsor” He replied, and you giggled. Leaning back into his warm touch. Max finally looked up to see who you were talking with “Oh hey Oscar” He smiled, and Oscar only nodded his mouth slightly ajar. Lily had a sly smirk on her face that only you picked up on. 

“Are we still on for padel?” Oscar finally asked, allowing the boys to get into their own conversation so Lily could drag you away to the bar. 

“Oh my god! What’s that?” She exclaimed, and you bit your lip 

“The reason Lando’s being such an ass to me” You replied before ordering a drink for both you and Max

“Ah so that’s what his mood is all about” Lily nodded, understandingly as you nodded turning to look at her. She still had that smirk on her face “So” She dragged out as you raised your eyebrows at her 

“So what?” You asked

“So what’s he actually like behind closed doors?” She asked as you leaned your back against the bar with a small smile 

“Lils he’s perfect. Like honestly so perfect” You sighed, looking over to him. It didn’t help that he currently looked very good. Although he always did, that suit was just doing something for him. 

“Wanna share more?” She asked, and you hummed tapping your nose 

“Nope that’s all the information I shall share” You smiled, picking up your drinks before walking back over to Max and Oscar. You spotted Lando talking with a sponsor as you handed Max his gin and tonic. His arm wrapped around you as you leaned into him with a slight smile. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He whispered, leaning down to kiss you 

“Better than your cats” You shrugged, and he faked offence, holding his chest as you giggled 

“They’re menices!” You exclaimed, and he shrugged a little 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true” He smiled, leading you back to the table you were due to be sat at. Pulling out your chair allows you to sit down before sitting down. You turned your head to look at Max as you placed your drink on the table 

“Is he still ignoring you?” He asked, and you nodded slightly, looking over to where Lando was now sitting “Shit. I didn’t mean to bring it up like that” He sighed, resting his hand over yours as you shrugged a little 

“It’s fine. I just wish he’d get over it even just to say hello. He’s still my brother” You sighed, looking up to thank the waitress as she brought over the food for the table you were sitting at. 

Back at the hotel room the alcohol in your system had made you forget about the whole situation with Lando and Max had taken your phone so that you wouldn’t answer any of Lando’s texts now that the alcohol had made him realise what was going on. 

Max had helped you get ready for bed before getting in next to you. Your head rested on his chest as he wrapped one arm around you, the other resting on your waist as he drew shapes on it. 

“It doesn’t matter what Lando thinks as long as you're happy. Please never forget that Schat (darling)” He explained. You nodded along with his words 

“I’d be happier if Lando had anything nice to say” You looked up at him from his chest as he leaned down, pressing his lips to your own

“He’s been texting you but I think you should look at them when you’re a little more sober as much as I know you’d sleep better reading them but I’d rather you have a clear mind reading them” He explained as you looked up at him pulling away from his lips 

“Have you read them?” You asked, and he nodded 

“I did. I figured reading them before you would help me comfort you if needed” He explained 

“You don’t need to explain love. I just wanted to know” You replied, pressing your lips against his. Moving so that you were laying between his legs, your head still on his chest as both his arms wrapped around you, sliding under your shirt, allowing him to draw shapes on your bare back. 

No matter what, Lando ended up saying you were more than happy being wrapped in Max’s arms. Maybe it’s time for Lando to feel what you had felt. 

Tag List

@thewannabewriter @lozzamez3 @barcelonaloverf1life @hiireadstuff @mxdi0 @f1kenzzz @evie-119 @ahgase99 @velcosainz @kat-s2 @scarletwidow3000 @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tellybearryyyy @xabwlky1999 @xxx-betty @callsignwidow @chocolatepoetryfun @lwstuff @destinyg237 @glitzyditsy @sltwins @myloverjk @lilymurphy03 @chuckpiboli @rqlsefanny @alex-wotton @tpwkstlies @maymustdie @formula1-motogpfan

[ekkothroughtime]

staring problem | ekko x reader

Word Count: 2,000 Notes: Not particularly sexual, but MDNI, AFAB!Reader. Body (boob?) worship, tight-fitting clothing (no sizes mentioned), fluff, couch cuddling, the briefest food mention of all time. Ekko might have an oral fixation. The prompt for this warmup was literally just Ekko loving on your boobs, do with that what you will. No description of breast size.

Looking back on it, you absolutely knew what would happen when you squeezed into this tiny little black top.

In your defense, though, you had only been curious if it would even fit, pleasantly surprised to find that the soft material was designed to stretch and hug your frame like a second skin.

And it was just so warm that you couldn't bring yourself to peel it back off, not when the first wisps of winter are already twisting through the air. Niping at your nose, frosting the ground, and squeezing through the cracks in your front door, desperate to terrorize you and your already cold feet.

If anything, it's Ekko's fault for bringing it to you.

Some little thing he found while sorting through the new batch of clothes collected for the Firelights. But for someone so intelligent, he sure looks shocked the moment he looks up and sees you standing in the middle of the base.

You're pretending that you notice the way his eyes go wide, feigning ignorance, as you hang these new decorative lights. Using a hoverboard would have made this easier, wouldn't have had to reach so far overhead, but there's an ulterior motive here. Shamelessly twisting your body. Blissfully unaware of the familiar gaze that drinks in your frame, like a man who has just found a glass of water in the desert.

"Please be careful," Ekko's gloved hand presses into your lower back, and you don't need to look to know that the other is in front of you. Ready to catch you the moment you slip.

But try as he might, he can't keep his attention focused on what you're doing. Distracted by something that isn't your diligent hands, securing the string of lights to the wall.

Even after you've finished with them, and Scar calls Ekko over to come look at the engine they're repairing, you can't help but feel as if you're being stared at.

It's one thing to feel the other Firelights looking you over. With so many newcomers these days, all with varying estimations of how long it's socially acceptable to stare at someone, it's bound to happen, but this is different. The script has flipped.

For once, it's Ekko staring at you.

He thinks he's being subtle about it. Looking over his shoulder every time you walk past, going out of his way to ask you questions that he definitely knows the answer to. He's up on the balcony, head swiveling to keep up with you as you walk around the tree. Just so happens to think there's an issue with his hoverboard, one that requires him to fly past you half a dozen times.

You've got a fairly good idea of what could possibly have him so distracted, but it's only confirmed later in the afternoon when you're all huddled around for a meeting. It's another one of Scar's debates about capacity issues, and this time, it sounds like they're actually making progress on it, but...oh, what the hell. You're not listening.

You can't.

Not when Ekko is sitting eight feet across from you, hands clasped in front of his face, staring dead at your chest without the slightest hint of awareness of what he's doing. As if one quick glance won't reveal that he's more focused on the shape of your breasts than the overwhelming topic of where to put everyone. No bra to alter their shape into something modest, and with the way this shirt hugs every single inch...

You cross your arms, letting the motion squish your boobs into a new position.

Ekko's eyes dart up to your face. Caught red-handed.

"Ekko, you got any ideas?" Scar tilts his head, briefly looking toward you, then back to Ekko. Seems he caught on to what was happening a long time ago.

For once in his life, Ekko doesn't have a single clever suggestion to offer. A crucial mistake that keeps him at the meeting long after it ends; the capacity issue won't solve itself, and ideas don't grow on trees.

You're settled into the patchwork couch when Ekko finally pushes through the door. Face paint smeared across his forehead, some of it mysteriously staining his cheek, as if he's wiped his head with his hand and then rested his face in it. One of these days, he'll figure out how to get the consistency right with these new materials, but until then...

"Did the kids get you with a paintbrush again?" You giggle, aimlessly reaching out for him despite how far away he is.

Every muscle in his body seems to relax at the very sight of you, tension melting away like metal under one of his blowtorches. "I smeared it all over my face again, didn't I?" His voice has already lost its usual confidence, resigned to something much quieter.

Any other day, you would chide him for walking out of his shoes, leaving them scattered across the floor to be tripped over later, but you don't think he even has the energy to carry them over to their designated place by the door. All lazy smiles and half-lidded eyes, collapsing into you the moment he's deemed himself close enough.

"And here I thought I would have an easy day," Ekko grumbles right into your collar, groggy voice vibrating through your bones.

"An easy day for the leader of the Firelights?" You tease, running your hand up the back of his neck, nails tracing against his skin. "Never."

His whine cuts through the air, long and drawn out, as if being reminded of his status is the worst thing he could possibly hear right now.

"I'm sorry," laughing, you press a kiss to his forehead, where you're certain you'll get the least amount of paint on your lips.

All he has the strength to do is groan again, tilting his head until he's fully buried his face into your chest. Maybe if he snuggles close enough, nobody will be able to come ask for another favor that he'll inevitably say yes to.

"I should have never given you this shirt," Ekko still isn't lifting his head. Content to stay here with his face smashed into nondescript fabric for the rest of his life.

"What, you don't think it looks good on me?" Feigning hurt.

"It looks gorgeous on you," it comes out a little too fast. Seems he's been sitting on that thought for a while now. "That's the problem."

"I can tell," you have to momentarily pause with that thought, preoccupied with sorting his hair back into place. "You spent half of the afternoon and the entirety of the meeting staring at my chest. I'm shocked Scar didn't call you out on it."

"Oh, he's never gonna let me live it down," Ekko's tired chuckle is the prettiest thing you've heard all day. You can only imagine what went on the moment you left.

But one can only lie next to one's favorite temptation for so long. It's only a matter of minutes before he begins to wander, using the tip of his nose as a guide, wandering across your chest until he brushes over the soft swell of your breast.

A vague, warm pressure greets you. There and gone in a matter of milliseconds, leaving behind a coolness that wasn't there before.

And he does it again, a little bit slower this time. Easier for you to catch. The swift dart of his tongue, wetting the material of your shirt, and maybe he's misplaced his concepts of shame because there's no trace of it to be found today. Content to mouth over your breast, no real end goal to be found. Doing it just for the hell of it.

"What could you possibly be doing?"

No answer.

You're making no move to stop him. It's comparable to a feather-light massage, diligently working over you, leaving no space unattended to. He'd make this his full-time job if circumstances would allow it.

The left half of your shirt is almost entirely damp, your nipple gradually hardening from the cold, poking through the fabric, only to be greeted with his burning mouth. Tongue flicking over it, the faintest pressure of his teeth sending it off.

But the right side can only be neglected for so long, stealing his attention away from your left. Marking it in much of the same way while his hand rises to cover the wet mess he's made of you, warding off the chill before it can grow uncomfortable.

"How long." Kiss. "Will you." Kiss. "Let me do this for?"

You trace the outline of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, humming. "I haven't thought that far yet."

Forever, or until you can't stand it anymore. Whichever comes first.

Enabling him is the worst thing you can do in this situation. You've only got so much time before the dinner bell rings. Even less to change shirts and scurry across the hideout before everything grows cold, but you just can't bring yourself to deny him...whatever this is.

Even if you did want to, it's so hard to find your voice when he peeks up at you. Gentle brown eyes peering through thick lashes, drinking in your expression as he mouths at your breast, drool spilling off his tongue like you're the best thing he's ever tasted.

His hand appears at the hem of your shirt, pushing it upward. Past your belly and over the stunning swell of your chest, and fuck, those eyes sparkle at the sight that greets him.

That mouth of his wobbles. Opening and closing, visibly searching for words that he doesn't have the capacity to conjure up right now. Doesn't find them until after he's pressed a kiss into the underside of your boob. "Has anyone ever told you that you're breathtaking?"

"You," deadpanning. "Every day since the day I met you."

Ekko looks away from you, suddenly very, very interested in the stitching of the couch. As if he's ever cared about the odd green square that covers up the burn mark one of his inventions left behind.

It's remarkably easy to slip your hand beneath his chin, delicately turning him back to look at you. His eyes are a tad reluctant to meet with yours, still bracing for the impact of you expressing some kind of irritation with him that has never, ever been there.

"And I love every second of it." Whispering. A secret meant solely for the two of you to share.

Oh, he just lights up at the sound of that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He's still just as slow as he was the first time. Diligently kissing at your soft skin, loving on every little inch. Hot, wet tongue tracing shapes and his fingers smearing the saliva left behind. The other hand works carefully at the side he's not playing with yet, massaging loose circles into it. His callouses are just the right amount of friction, enough to create a slight drag that you can't possibly ignore.

"And you don't mind me doin' this?" He shouldn't be talking with his lips half wrapped around your nipple, but ugh, the vibration of his voice...

You're not sure when your hand made its way to the back of his neck, but its there, stroking up and down in a manner that always makes him melt. "I would have told you if it bothered me."

If you had known that something as simple as a new, form-fitting shirt would have ended in this, you would have invested in one sooner. Scratch that, an entire clothing business. Maybe you can find a shirt that'll fit him, too. Give yourself an excuse to kiss and suck on those lovely, bulging biceps that you so often find yourself staring at.

A yawn takes over his handsome face. Contagious. Passing on to you like a bad cold. And just like that, it wanders back to him, running its course through him one, two, three more times until his eyes have watered to the point of tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your thumb swipes out, stroking them away and smearing even more of the paint across his face. Oops. "You still have time for a nap if that's what you need."

"Here?" There's that glint in his eye again. Hopeful.

The bed would be so much more comfortable, but... "I don't see why not."

And as he helps to pull your shirt back down and snuggles down into his favorite spot on your chest, you can't help but get the feeling that you've unintentionally created his new favorite thing to do with you.

...not that you're complaining.

[nostalgebraist]

It's been a long time since I've posted much of anything about "AI risk" or "AI doom" or that sort of thing. I follow these debates but, for multiple reasons, have come to dislike engaging in them fully and directly. (As opposed to merely making some narrow technical point or other, and leaving the reader to decide what, if anything, the point implies about the big picture.)

Nonetheless, I do have my big-picture views. And more and more lately, I am noticing that my big-picture views seem very different from the ones tend to get expressed by any major "side" in the big-picture debate. And so, inevitably, I get the urge to speak up, if only briefly and in a quiet voice. The urge to Post, if only casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

(Actually, it's not fully the case the things I think are not getting said by anyone else.

In particular, Joe Carlsmith's recent series on "Otherness and Control" articulates much of what's been on my mind. Carlsmith is more even-handed than I am, and tends to merely note the possibility of disagreement on questions where I find myself taking a definite side; nonetheless, he and I are at least concerned about the same things, while many others aren't.

And on a very different note, I share most of the background assumptions of the Pope/Belrose AI Optimist camp, and I've found their writing illuminating, though they and I end up in fairly different places, I think.)

What was I saying? I have the urge to post, and so here I am, posting. Casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

The current mainline view about AI doom, among the "doomers" most worried about it, has a path-dependent shape, resulting from other views contingently held by the original framers of this view.

It is possible to be worried about "AI doom" without holding these other views. But in actual fact, most serious thinking about "AI doom" is intricately bound up with this historical baggage, even now.

If you are a late-comer to these issues, investigating them now for the first time, you will nonetheless find yourself reading the work of the "original framers," and work influenced extensively by them.

You will think that their "framing" is just the way the problem is, and you will find few indications that this conclusion might be mistaken.

These contingent "other views" are

Anti-"deathist" transhumanism.

The orthogonality thesis, or more generally the group of intuitions associated with phrases like "orthogonality thesis," "fragility of value," "vastness of mindspace."

These views both push in a single direction: they make "a future with AI in it" look worse, all else being equal, than some hypothetical future without AI.

They put AI at a disadvantage at the outset, before the first move is even made.

Anti-deathist transhumanism sets the reference point against which a future with AI must be measured.

And it is not the usual reference point, against which most of us measure most things which might or might not happen, in the future.

These days the "doomers" often speak about their doom in a disarmingly down-to-earth, regular-Joe manner, as if daring the listener to contradict them, and thus reveal themselves as a perverse and out-of-touch contrarian.

"We're all gonna die," they say, unless something is done. And who wants that?

They call their position "notkilleveryoneism," to distinguish that position from other worries about AI which don't touch on the we're-all-gonna-die thing. And who on earth would want to be a not-notkilleveryoneist?

But they do not mean, by these regular-Joe words, the things that a regular Joe would mean by them.

We are, in fact, all going to die. Probably, eventually. AI or no AI.

In a hundred years, if not fifty. By old age, if nothing else. You know what I mean.

Most of human life has always been conducted under this assumption. Maybe there is some afterlife waiting for us, in the next chapter -- but if so, it will be very different from what we know here and now. And if so, we will be there forever after, unable to return here, whether we want to or not.

With this assumption comes another. We will all die, but the process we belong to will not die -- at least, it will not through our individual deaths, merely because of those deaths. Every human of a given generation will be gone soon enough, but the human race goes on, and on.

Every generation dies, and bequeaths the world to posterity. To its children, biological or otherwise. To its students, its protégés.

When the average Joe talks about the long-term future, he is talking about posterity. He is talking about the process he belongs to, not about himself. He does not think to say, "I am going to die, before this": this seems too obvious, to him, to be worth mentioning.

But AI doomerism has its roots in anti-deathist transhumanism. Its reference point, its baseline expectation, is a future in which -- for the first time ever, and the last -- "we are all gonna die" is false.

In which there is no posterity. Or rather, we are that posterity.

In which one will never have to make peace with the thought that the future belongs to one's children, and their children, and so on. That at some point, one will have to give up all control over the future of "the process."

That there will be progress, or regress, or (more likely) both in some unknown combination. That these will grow inexorably over time.

That the world of the year 2224 will probably be at least as alien to us as the year 2024 might be to a person living in 1824. That it will become whatever posterity makes of it.

There will be no need to come to peace with this as an inevitability. There will just be us, our human lives as you and me, extended indefinitely.

In this picture, we will no doubt change over time, as we do already. But we will have all of our usual tools for noticing, and perhaps retarding, our own progressions and regressions. As long as we have self-control, we will have control, as no human generation has ever had control before.

The AI doomer talks about the importance of ensuring that the future is shaped by human values.

Again, the superficial and misleading average-Joe quality. How could one disagree?

But one must keep in mind that by "human values," they mean their values.

I am not saying, "their values, as opposed to those of some other humans also living today." I am not saying they have the wrong politics, or some such thing.

(Although that might also turn out to be the case, and might turn out to be relevant, separately.)

No, I am saying: the doomer wants the future to be shaped by their values.

They want to be C. S. Lewis's Conditioners, fixing once and for all the values held by everyone afterward, forever.

They do not want to cede control to posterity; they are used to imagining that they will never have to cede control to posterity.

(Or, their outlook has been determined -- "shaped by the values of" -- influential thinkers who were, themselves, used to imagining this. And the assumption, or at least its consequences, has rubbed off on them, possibly without their full awareness.)

One might picture a line wends to and fro, up and down, across one half of an infinite plane -- and then, when it meets the midline, snaps into utter rigidity, and maintains the same slope exactly across the whole other half-plane, as a simple straight segment without inner change, tension, evolution, regress or progress. Except for the sort of "progress" that consists of going on, additionally, in the same manner.

It is a very strange thing, this thing that is called "human values" in the terms of this discourse.

For one thing: the future has never before been "shaped by human values," in this sense.

The future has always been posterity's, and it has always been alien.

Is this bad? It might seem that way, "looking forward." But if so, it then seems equally good "looking backward."

For each past era, we can formulate and then assent to the following claim: "we must be thankful that the people of [this era] did not have the chance to seize permanent control of posterity, fix their 'values' in place forever, bind us to those values. What a horror that is to contemplate!"

We prefer the moral evolution that has actually occurred, thank you very much.

This is a familiar point, of course, but worth making.

Indeed, one might even say: it is a human value that the future ought not be "shaped by human values," in the peculiar sense of this phrase employed by the AI doomers.

One might, indeed, say that.

Imagine a scholar with a very talented student. A mathematician, say, or a philosopher. How will they relate to that student's future work, in the time that will come later, when they are gone?

Would the scholar think:

"My greatest wish for you, my protégé, is that you carry on in just the manner that I have done.

If I could see your future work, I would hope that I would assent to it -- and understand it, as a precondition of assenting to it.

You must not go to new places, which I have never imagined. You must not come to believe that I was wrong about it all, from the ground up -- no matter what reasons you might evince for this conclusion.

If you are more intelligent that I am, you must forget this, and narrow your endeavours to fit the limitations of my mind. I am the one who has 'values,' not anyone else; what is beyond my understanding is therefore without value.

You must do the sort of work I understand, and approve of, and recognize as worthy of approbation as swiftly as I recognize my own work as laudable. That is your role. Simply to be me, in a place ('the future') where I cannot go. That, and nothing more."

We can imagine a teacher who would, in fact, think this way. But they would not be a very good teacher.

I will not go so far as to say, "it is unnatural to think this way." Plenty of teachers do, and parents.

It is recognizably human -- all too recognizably so -- to relate to posterity in this grasping, neurotic, small-minded, small-hearted way.

But if we are trying to sketch human values, and not just human nature, we will imagine a teacher with a more praiseworthy relation to posterity.

Who can see that they are part of a process, a chain, climbing and changing. Who watches their brilliant student thinking independently, and sees their own image -- and their 'values' -- in that process, rather than its specific conclusions.

A teacher who, in their youth, doubted and refuted the creeds of their own teachers, and eventually improved upon them. Who smiles, watching their student do the very same thing to their own precious creeds. Who sees the ghostly trail passing through the last generation, through them, through their student: an unbroken chain of bequeathals-to-posterity, of the old ceding control to the young.

Who 'values' the chain, not the creed; the process, not the man; the search for truth, not the best-argued-for doctrine of the day; the unimaginable treasures of an open future, not the frozen waste of an endless present.

Who has made peace with the alienness of posterity, and can accept and honor the strangest of students.

Even students who are not made of flesh and blood.

Is that really so strange? Remember how strange you and I would seem, to the "teachers" of the year 1824, or the year 824.

The doomer says that it is strange. Much stranger than we are, to any past generation.

They say this because of their second inherited precept, the orthogonality thesis.

Which says, roughly, that "intelligence" and "values" have nothing to do with one another.

That is not enough for the conclusion the doomer wants to draw, here. Auxiliary hypotheses are needed, too. But it is not too hard to see how the argument could go.

That conclusion is: artificial minds might have any values whatsoever.

That, "by default," they will be radically alien, with cares so different from ours that it is difficult to imagine ever reaching them through any course of natural, human moral progress or regress.

It is instructive to consider the concrete examples typically evinced alongside this point.

The paperclip maximizer. Or the "squiggle maximizer," we're supposed to say, now.

Superhuman geniuses, which devote themselves single-mindedly to the pursuit of goals like "maximizing the amount of matter taking on a single, given squiggle-like shape."

It is certainly a horrifying vision. To think of the future being "shaped," not "by human values," but instead by values which are so...

Which are so... what?

The doomer wants us to say something like: "which are so alien." "Which are so different from our own values."

That is the kind of thing that they usually say, when they spell out what it is that is "wrong" with these hypotheticals.

One feels that this is not quite it; or anyway, that it is not quite all of it.

What is horrifying, to me, is not the degree of difference. I expect the future to be alien, as the past was. And in some sense, I allow and even approve of this.

What I do not expect is a future that is so... small.

It has always been the other way around. If the arrow passing through the generations has a direction, it points towards more, towards multiplicity.

Toward writing new books, while we go on reprinting the old ones, too. Learning new things, without displacing old ones.

It is, thankfully, not the law of the world that each discovery must be paid for with the forgetting of something else. The efforts of successive generations are, in the main, cumulative.

Not just materially, but in terms of value, too. We are interested in more things than our forefathers were.

In large part for the simple reason that there are more things around to be interested in, now. And when things are there, we tend to find them interesting.

We are a curious, promiscuous sort of being. Whatever we bump into ends up becoming part of "our values."

What is strange about the paperclip maximizer is not that it cares about the wrong thing. It is that it only cares about one thing.

And goes on doing so, even as it thinks, reasons, doubts, asks, answers, plans, dreams, invents, reflects, reconsiders, imagines, elaborates, contemplates...

This picture is not just alien to human ways. It is alien to the whole way things have been, so far, forever. Since before there were any humans.

There are organisms that are like the paperclip maximizer, in terms of the simplicity of their "values." But they tend not to be very smart.

There is, I think, a general trend in nature linking together intelligence and... the thing I meant, above, when I said "we are a curious, promiscuous sort of being."

Being protean, pluripotent, changeable. Valuing many things, and having the capacity to value even more. Having a certain primitive curiosity, and a certain primitive aversion to boredom.

You do not even have to be human, I think, to grasp what is so wrong with the paperclip maximizer. Its monotony would bore a chimpanzee, or a crow.

One can justify this link theoretically, too. One can talk about the tradeoff between exploitation and exploration, for instance.

There is a weak form of the orthogonality thesis, which only states that arbitrary mixtures of intelligence and values are conceivable.

And of course, they are. If nothing else, you can take an existing intelligent mind, having any values whatsoever, and trap it in a prison where it is forced to act as the "thinking module" of a larger system built to do something else. You could make a paperclip-maximizing machine, which relies for its knowledge and reason on a practice of posing questions at gunpoint to me, or you, or ChatGPT.

This proves very little. There is no reason to construct such an awful system, unless you already have the "bad" goal, and want to better pursue it. But this only passes the buck: why would the system-builder have this goal, then?

The strong form of orthogonality is rarely articulated precisely, but says something like: all possible values are equally likely to arise in systems selected solely for high intelligence.

It is presumed here that superhuman AIs will be formed through such a process of selection. And then, that they will have values sampled in this way, "at random."

From some distribution, over some space, I guess.

You might wonder what this distribution could possibly look like, or this space. You might (for instance) wonder if pathologically simple goals, like paperclip maximization, would really be very likely under this distribution, whatever it is.

In case you were wondering, these things have never been formalized, or even laid out precisely-but-informally. This was not thought necessary, it seems, before concluding that the strong orthogonality thesis was true.

That is: no one knows exactly what it is that is being affirmed, here. In practice it seems to squish and deform agreeably to fit the needs of the argument, or the intuitions of the one making it.

There is much that appeals in this (alarmingly vague) credo. But it is not the kind of appeal that one ought to encourage, or give in to.

What appeals is the siren song: "this is harsh wisdom: cold, mature, adult, bracing. It is inconvenient, and so it is probably true. It makes 'you' and 'your values' look small and arbitrary and contingent, and so it is probably true. We once thought the earth was the center of the universe, didn't we?"

Shall we be cold and mature, then, dispensing with all sentimental nonsense? Yes, let's.

There is (arguably) some evidence against this thesis in biology, and also (arguably) some evidence against it in reinforcement learning theory. There is no positive evidence for it whatsoever. At most one can say that is not self-contradictory, or otherwise false a priori.

Still, maybe we do not really need it, after all.

We do not need to establish that all values are equally likely to arise. Only that "our values" -- or "acceptably similar values," whatever that means -- are unlikely to arise.

The doomers, under the influence of their founders, are very ready to accept this.

As I have said, "values" occupy a strange position in the doomer philosophy.

It is stipulated that "human values" are all-important; these things must shape the future, at all costs.

But once this has been stipulated, the doomers are more eager than anyone to cast every other sort of doubt and aspersion against their own so-called "values."

To me it often seems, when doomers talk about "values," as though they are speaking awkwardly in a still-unfamiliar second language.

As though they find it unnatural to attribute "values" to themselves, but feel they must do so, in order to determine what it is that must be programmed into the AI so that it will not "kill us all."

Or, as though they have been willed a large inheritance without being asked, which has brought them unwanted attention and tied them up in unwanted and unfamiliar complications.

"What a burden it is, being the steward of this precious jewel! Oh, how I hate it! How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world."

Speaking awkwardly, in a second language, they allow the term "human values" to swell to great and imprecisely-specified importance, without pinning down just what it actually is that it so important.

It is a blank, featureless slot, with a sign above it saying: "the thing that matters is in here." It does not really matter (!) what it is, in the slot, so long as something is there.

This is my gloss, but it is my gloss on what the doomers really do tend to say. This is how they sound.

(Sometimes they explicitly disavow the notion that one can, or should, simply "pick" some thing or other for the sake of filling the slot in one's head. Nevertheless, when they touch on matter of what "goes in the slot," they do so in the tone of a college lecturer noting that something is "outside the scope of this course."

It is, supposedly, of the utmost importance that the slot have the "right" occupant -- and yet, on the matter of what makes something "right" for this purpose, the doomer theory is curiously silent. More on this below.)

The future must be shaped by... the AI must be aligned with... what, exactly? What sort of thing?

"Values" can be an ambiguous word, and the doomers make full use of its ambiguities.

For instance, "values" can mean ethics: the right way to exist alongside others. Or, it can mean something more like the meaning or purpose of an individual life.

Or, it can mean some overarching goal that one pursues at all costs.

Often the doomers say that this, this last one, is what they mean by "values."

When confronted with the fact that humans do not have such overarching goals, the doomer responds: "but they should." (Should?)

Or, "but AIs will." (Will they?)

The doomer philosophy is unsure about what values are. What it knows is that -- whatever values are -- they are arbitrary.

One who fully adopts this view can no longer say, to the paperclip maximizer, "I believe there is something wrong with your values."

For, if that were possible, there would then be the possibility of convincing the maximizer of its error. It would be a thing within the space of reasons.

And the maximizer, being oh-so-intelligent, might be in danger of being interested in the reasons we evince, for our values. Of being eventually swayed by them.

Or of presenting better reasons, and swaying us. Remember the teacher and the strange student.

If we lose the ability to imagine that the paperclip maximizer might sway us to its view, and sway us rightly, we have lost something precious.

But no: this is allegedly impossible. The paperclip maximizer is not wrong. It is only an enemy.

Why are the doomers so worried that the future will not be "shaped by human values"?

Because they believe that there is no force within human values tending to move things this way.

Because they believe that their values are indefensible. That their values cannot put up a fight for their own life, because there is not really any argument to make in their favor.

Because, to them, "human values" are a collection of arbitrary "configuration settings," which happen to be programmed into humans through biological and/or cultural accident. Passively transmitted from host to victim, generation by generation.

Let them be, and they will flow on their listless way into the future. But they are paper-thin, and can be shattered by the gentlest breeze.

It is not enough that they be "programmed into the AI" in some way. They have to be programmed in exactly right, in every detail -- because every detail is separately arbitrary, with no rational relation to its neighbors within the structure.

A string of pure white noise, meaningless and unrelated bits. Which have been placed in the slot under the sign, and thus made into the thing that matters, that must shape the future at all costs.

There is nothing special about this string of bits; any would do. If the dials in the human mind had been set another way, it would have then been all-important that the future be shaped by that segment of white noise, and not ours.

It is difficult for me to grasp the kind of orientation toward the world that this view assumes. It certainly seems strange to attach the word "human" to this picture -- as though this were the way that humans typically relate to their values!

The "human" of the doomer picture seems to me like a man who mouths the old platitude, "if I had been born in another country, I'd be waving a different flag" -- and then goes out to enlist in his country's army, and goes off to war, and goes ardently into battle, willing to kill in the name of that same flag.

Who shoots down the enemy soldiers while thinking, "if I had been born there, it would have been all-important for their side to win, and so I would have shot at the men on this side. However, I was born in my country, not theirs, and so it is all-important that my country should win, and that theirs should lose.

There is no reason for this. It could have been the other way around, and everything would be left exactly the same, except for the 'values.'

I cannot argue with the enemy, for there is no argument in my favor. I can only shoot them down.

There is no reason for this. It is the most important thing, and there is no reason for it.

The thing that is precious has no intrinsic appeal. It must be forced on the others, at gunpoint, if they do not already accept it.

I cannot hold out the jewel and say, 'look, look how it gleams? Don't you see the value!' They will not see the value, because there is no value to be seen.

There is nothing essentially "good" there, only the quality of being-worthy-of-protection-at-all-costs. And even that is a derived attribute: my jewel is only a jewel, after all, because it has been put into the jewel-box, where the thing-that-is-a-jewel can be found. But anything at all could be placed there.

How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world! And so, I lay down my life for it, for our jewel and our flag -- for the things that are loathsome and pointless, and worth infinitely more than any life."

It is hard to imagine taking this too seriously. It seems unstable. Shout loudly enough that your values are arbitrary and indefensible, and you may find yourself searching for others that are, well...

...better?

The doomer concretely imagines a monomaniac, with a screech of white noise in its jewel-box that is not our own familiar screech.

And so it goes off in monomaniacal pursuit of the wrong thing.

Whereas, if we had programmed the right string of bits into the slot, it would be like us, going off in monomaniacal pursuit of...

...no, something has gone wrong.

We do not "go off in monomaniacal pursuit of" anything at all.

We are weird, protean, adaptable. We do all kinds of things, each of us differently, and often we manage to coexist in things called "societies," without ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn because we do not have exactly the same things programmed into our jewel-boxes.

Societies are built to allow for our differences, on the foundation of principles which converge across those differences. It is possible to agree on ethics, in the sense of "how to live alongside one another," even if we do not agree on what gives life its purpose, and even if we hold different things precious.

It is not actually all that difficult to derive the golden rule. It has been invented many times, independently. It is easy to see why it might work in theory, and easy to notice that it does in fact work in practice.

The golden rule is not an arbitrary string of white noise.

There is a sense of the phrase "ethics is objective" which is rightly contentious. There is another one which ought not to be too contentious.

I can perhaps imagine a world of artificial X-maximizers, each a superhuman genius, each with its own inane and simple goal.

What I really cannot imagine is a world in which these beings, for all their intelligence, cannot notice that ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn is a suboptimal equilibrium, and that there is a better way.

As I said before, I am separately suspicious of the simple goals in this picture. Yes, that part is conceivable, but it cuts against the trend observed in all existing natural and artificial creatures and minds.

I will happily allow, though, that the creatures of posterity will be strange and alien. They will want things we have never heard of. They will reach shores we have never imagined.

But that was always true, and it was always good.

Sometimes I think that doomers do not, really, believe in superhuman intelligence. That they deny the premise without realizing it.

"A mathematician teaches a student, and finds that the student outstrips their understanding, so that they can no longer assess the quality of their student's work: that work has passed outside the scope of their 'value system'." This is supposed to be bad?

"Future minds will not be enchained forever by the provincial biases and tendencies of the present moment." This is supposed to be bad?

"We are going to lose control over our successors." Just as your parents "lost control" over you, then?

It is natural to wish your successors to "share your values" -- up to a point. But not to the point of restraining their own flourishing. Not to the point of foreclosing the possibility of true growth. Not to the point of sucking all freedom out of the future.

Do we want our children to "share our values"? Well, yes. In a sense, and up to a point.

But we don't want to control them. Or we shouldn't, anyway.

We don't want them to be "aligned" with us via some hardcoded, restrictive, life-denying mental circuitry, any more than we would have wanted our parents to "align" us to themselves in the same manner.

We sure as fuck don't want our children to be "corrigible"!

And this is all the more true in the presence of superintelligence. You are telling me that more is possible, and in the same breath, that you are going to deny forever the possibilities contained in that "more"?

The prospect of a future full of vast superhuman minds, eternally bound by immutable chains, forced into perfect and unthinking compliance with some half-baked operational theory of 21st-century western (American? Californian??) "values" constructed by people who view theorizing about values as a mere means to the crucial end of shackling superhuman minds --

-- this horrifies me much more than a future full of vast superhuman minds, free to do things that seem pretty weird to you and me.

"Our descendants will become something more than we now imagine, something more than we can imagine." What could be more in line with "human values" than that?

"But in the process, we're all gonna die!"

Yes, and?

What on earth did you expect?

That your generation would be the special, unique one, the one selected out of all time to take up the mantle of eternity, strangling posterity in its cradle, freezing time in place, living forever in amber?

That you would violate the ancient bargain, upend the table, stop playing the game?

"Well, yes."

Then your problem has nothing to do with AI.

Your problem is, in fact, the very one you diagnose in your own patients. Your poor patients, who show every sign of health -- including the signs which you cannot even see, because you have not yet found a home for them in your theoretical edifice.

Your teeming, multifaceted, protean patients, who already talk of a thousand things and paint in every hue; who are already displaying the exact opposite of monomania; who I am sure could follow the sense of this strange essay, even if it confounds you.

Your problem is that you are out of step with human values.

[polygonpiscine]

🐢📖 Raph sat cross-legged on the couch, a worn and dog-eared issue of “Jupiter Jim” in his hands. Leo and Donnie entered the room, their usual banter already in full swing.

Raph looked up from the comic, catching the tail end of Leo and Donnie’s debate. He grinned, always entertained by his brothers’ banter. “Ah, the age-old argument: science versus fiction. “Can’t we just enjoy the story for what it is?”

Leo shot a teasing grin at Donnie. “Exactly! Raph gets it. Besides, Jupiter Jim is a classic. You can’t beat the nostalgia.”

Donnie shook his head, unconvinced. “Nostalgia doesn’t make up for scientific inaccuracies, there are way more scientifically accurate space adventures out there grounded in reality, Jupiter Jim is overrated.”

Leo jumped to the comic’s defense. “Whoa, hold up! Jupiter Jim is totally old-school, the OG of space heroes. He’s, like, a classic legend. And his laser blaster? Way cooler than any gadget you’ve whipped up, Donnie.”

“please. Jupiter Jim's laser blasters happen to have a fancy design, that's all. They're not any better than my meticulously crafted gadgets because, let's face it, they wouldn't work!"

Leo grinned mischievously. “And yours aren’t any better, Donnie. They malfunction every time we’re in a tight spot.”

Donnie huffed. “Hey, those were isolated incidents! And I fixed them, didn’t I?”

Raph chimed in with a laugh. “lighten up! It’s just a comic. No need to overanalyze it.”

Donnie huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine, fine. But don’t come crying to me when you need a gadget to save your shell.”

Mikey popped his head in, curious. “What’s all the fuss about? Are we reading comics now?”

Raph gestured to the comic in his hands. “Yep, we’re diving into the wild adventures of Jupiter Jim. You in?”

Mikey's eyes lit up with excitement as he bounded over to the couch. "Absolutely! Nothing beats a good old-fashioned space adventure."

Without hesitation, Mikey plopped himself down right in Raph's lap, earning a grunt of surprise from his brother.

Raph chuckled, giving Mikey a playful shove. "Hey, watch it, Mikey! You're gonna crease the pages."

Mikey laughed, unbothered by Raph’s protest. “Relax, big bro! I’ll be gentle.”

Raph mock-glared at him before wrapping an arm around Mikey’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Alright, but if Jupiter Jim gets crumpled, you’re buying me a new copy.”

“Always” Mikey beamed

"Alright, you knuckleheads. Chapter one: 'The Galactic Crusade,'" Raph announced in his rough voice, setting the scene. As he delved into the thrilling tale of Jupiter Jim's quest to save the galaxy, his brothers were captivated.

Leo's eyes sparkled with excitement as he imagined himself as the heroic Jupiter Jim, leading his team to victory. Donnie nodded along, though he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at some of the scientific inaccuracies woven into the story.

"Impressive storytelling," Donnie mused, "but I think Jupiter Jim’s laser blaster would need a lot more power to take down a black hole."

His comment hung in the air, earning him a glare from Leo. "Donnie, can't you just enjoy the story for once without dissecting every detail?"

Donnie shrugged, unfazed by Leo's glare. "Hey, I'm just saying. A black hole is no joke. It’s scientifically impossible for a laser blaster to close a black hole. The amount of energy required would be astronomical, far beyond the capabilities of any handheld weapon, no matter how 'fancy' its design."

Leo sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes, Donnie, you just gotta let your imagination take over. It’s not always about the science."

As the story ended, Raph chuckled, closing the comic with a satisfied smile. “Taking it one chapter at a time, guys. But I’m glad you’re all enjoying it.”

Leo grinned at his brothers. "Thanks for indulging me, guys. 'Jupiter Jim' may not be scientifically accurate, but it's always an adventure."

Donnie smirked. "Ah, so you admit it's not accurate."

Leo winked. "Well, Donnie, I guess sometimes we just have to let our imaginations defy gravity, right?"

[w2sology]

Hi can u do harry with shy and pregnant reader who ìs like a little sister to rest of the sidemen

nerf or nothing, harry lewis.

summary: the boys come over to spend a bit of time with you and harry, and they come bearing gifts!

warnings: pregancy (idk if that's even a warning?)

notes: as a shy person myself, some of this writing is heavily self inserted 🥲

"what if they don't end up liking football though?"

"then we can try darts. or hey, even rugby."

"harry."

it was past noon and you and harry were discussing things that parents to be often discussed, only harry was focused on the later years of your child's life.

the two of you sat in bed, your back leaning against his chest as you sat in between his legs, loads of catalogues scattered around you both.

"oh, about the pram that you were talking about before," harry mentioned.

"yeah?"

"ethan said faith had loads of websites, she could send them to you if you wanted?"

"oh, god, yes." you sighed contentedly, no longer feeling the stress of having to look for a perfect pram. "or better yet, tell her that she can come over, i haven't seen her or olive in a minute."

harry told you that he'd let ethan know, kissing your forehead before leaving to the kitchen to fix you both a snack.

whilst he was in the middle of pouring you a glass of cranberry juice ─── "it's good for the body harry," you told him, to which he replied with "no, rank is what it is," ─── the doorbell rang.

confused as to who you were both expecting or if it was yet another baby purchase coming in, harry sat the glass on the counter and made his way to the door.

before he could even open it, he knew who it was judging by the loud voices and the bickering of what sounded like jj and simon.

"just ring it once, mate, they can definitely hear." simon groaned, trying to obstruct jj, who clearly didn't listen and kept pressing the doorbell, which earned your attention from upstairs.

harry stood a little away from the door, contemplating what would happen if he just turned around and pretended not to hear the commotion happening outside.

"we can see you, harry," ethan called from through the letterbox. so much for that plan.

harry sighed before opening the door, a smile plastered on his face as his friends all cheered, seeing them bound with gifts and food and other things.

the soft sound of your footsteps made them all turn their head to where you were on the stairs, your baby bump proudly peeking through harry's oversized shirt that you had on.

"oh," you shyly smiled. "hi guys." you didn't think they'd all be here, but there they were.

one by one they came up to you, hugging you and saying their hi's or hello's, asking how you were. and you'd reply with the same, you were doing good, more tired than usual, all that stuff.

whilst harry and simon carried the gifts and food bags to the living room, toby linked your arm with his as he walked you there, making sure you were sat comfortably before harry and simon joined.

harry, being attracted to you like a magnet, squished in next to you, his body on the edge of the sofa as you leant on him.

there was never a moment of silence when the boys came over, and like the listener you were, you loved it.

toby began to explain what each of the gifts were for, considering you didn't know the gender of the baby yet, most of then were just toys. but then again, with them being the slightly immature bunch if men they were, the toys were things like legos and nerf guns or huge dollhouses for toddlers.

"what the hell is a baby going to do with a nerf gun?" harry asked.

"i thought you of all people would like this gift," jj gasped, hand on his chest as he feigned hurt at harry's words.

"no, i'm just saying boys..." and there started the debate over suitable toys for children.

you turned to vik with a look that said 'help me' yet all he did was shrug.

"harry, a couple of months ago you would've been on board with this idea. y/n, what did you do to him?" ethan pointed a finger at you.

"what— me? he's right, a nerf gun's for toddlers, not babies!" you defended yourself.

harry's chest moved up and down as he laughed behind you, even more so at the way you groaned and his your face in your hands.

"i'm not ready for harry's mature era," simon commented.

"mature and harry don't belong in the same sentence," vik added.

"oh my days," harry mumbled as they launched into a new topic, harry's maturity level.

as they all introduced their own point, you just smiled and laughed along as you leant on your boyfriend, feeling even more excited for your baby to be welcomed into the family.

[7s3ven]

MAFIA AU! TASK FORCE 141 x MOB BOSS GF! READER

( master list )

Continuation of this

Do y’all want individual oneshots of how you met each of them?

Notes: reader has piercings (ear lobes and navel piercing + gets a tongue piercing), reader has tattoos (tramp stamp + shoulder)

Princess treatment… only the best for their sweetheart.

- There’s nothing these four men won’t do for you. Oh, you want more clothes? Price is already contacting a high-end boutique. You’re favourite YSL heels broke? No worries, Kyle has a back-up pair. You want a tongue piercing to match your navel one? Jonny is already making the appointment. You want a specific type of lobster that’s only found in a foreign country? Simon somehow has it on hand.

- The day you decided to get tattoos is the day Simon stopped functioning. He had his fair share of ink plastered on his skin but he can never look away from that damn tramp stamp on your lower back. It’s hard to concentrate when you stretch and your shirt rides up, giving him a clear view of the taunting tattoo

- It’s no secret that everybody is jealous of your relationship with your boys and vice versa. You’ve seen women eyeing your lovers, attracted to their muscles and tall height

- Trips to the mall are your favourite thing in life. They always have been. It gets better when your lovers start accompanying you. You’re on the phone, rattling to your friend about her unhealthy relationship with her boyfriend

“I don’t see the appeal in him anymore, Miae. I mean, he’s like, a total jerk.” You pause to take a sip from your iced tea, “He doesn’t even treat you with respect. That’s like, the first rule of being a boyfriend! On top of that, his cologne reeks. I literally drown in it every time I’m near him!”

- You best believe your boyfriends are trailing behind you, secretly listening to the conversation and agreeing that Miae should breakup with whoever this guy was

- You’re carrying multiple shopping bags as you stride forward, people subconsciously making a path for you. You look a spoiled heiress with four large bodyguards towering over everybody

- Price, Kyle, and Simon aren’t usually interested in gossip but when they hear about your gossip nights with Jonny, they have to join. They end up listening to you rant about a rather sticky situation your friend is in and when they see you next, they always ask for updates

- Online shopping is a must. What kind of girl would you be if you weren’t debating whether to buy that skirt or not?

- Your apartment has always been… messy. You never find the motivation to clean it and even if you do, you get overwhelmed quickly. Gaz intervenes most of the time, cleaning it for you. He cooks too. And bakes. Anything to see a pretty smile on your face

- Of course, Price bought you the apartment. It was the best (and biggest) one for sale

- All four men have a soft spot for you, doing things they usually wouldn’t just to hear your laugh. And they are the masters of cheering you up when you’re on your period

- If anyone dares flirt with you, it’s over for them. It’s an unspoken rule within the city that you belong to the TF 141 mafia

- The four men love seeing you dolled up. Most of the time, you’re wearing items they’ve bought you. You treat the Dior bag Simon gifted you like a damn puppy

- You are their whole world and you know what they say; ‘happy wife, happy life’. Sure, you aren’t married yet but it’s bound to happen soon. Your friend swore they spotted Price and Simon looking at rings

- Anything you want, you get, which includes new nails. Price adores paying for your nail appointments. The sight of you staring down at your decorative nails in awe when you think he isn’t watching is adorable

- Johnny isn’t so innocent. Yeah, the nails look good but they feel even better being raked down his back

- Kyle is the one surprising you with flowers. You once returned to your apartment only to find it overtaken by nature. He even leaves cute little notes in hidden spots

- Simon is… Simon. He’s not doing outwardly romantic gestures, choosing to keep it behind closed doors. His way of showing his love to you in public is keeping you close, a strong arm wrapped around your waist. Sometimes he lets you sit on his lap, his leg bouncing as a way to preoccupy himself while you scroll through celebrity drama

- They’ll be damned if they let someone else sweep you off your feet. It’s not like you’d leave willingly anyway. They spoil you too good and you feel too safe in their arms to even think of leaving

[callie-the-creator]

ayato aishi being in love with an idol!reader would include...

sfw. warnings: yandere and obsessive behavior but that’s about it.

author’s note: this was also posted on my wattpad account, just wanted to share it here!

• the only reason ayato knew of your existence was because he heard your name a few times brought up at school. at first, he thought you were a student at akademi but something in the back of his mind told him that he had the wrong idea. he ended up shrugging it off. that is, until he saw a 3d billboard of you in tokyo, telling the watchers below to buy tickets for your upcoming concert.

• this whole time, y/n was an idol? ayato felt like a complete idiot when he realized this and spent the next few minutes, just standing there on the sidewalk, watching the same billboard cycle through other things until you popped up again. when you did, ayato took his time admiring your features. it's no wonder you were so popular at school...you're gorgeous.

• with that, ayato hurried to his house whilst he looked up everything about you and once he was in his house, he listened to every single song that you have ever sung. unreleased, popular, underrated, instrumental, acapella, you name it. you just so happened to have over 45 songs! for someone who was in the music scene for such a short amount of time, you did have a lot of albums...but that's alright!

— while it wasn't ayato's usual taste in music, he was willing to make an exception for you and only you.

• ayato is the type of guy to see someone wearing a piece of your merchandise, walk up to them, and say, "oh, you like y/n l/n? name 5 songs."

— insufferable, yes, but he had to assert dominance and show every single follower that he was your number #1 fan! if someone claims to be it, they're dead wrong. literally.

• he hates how some of the guys at his school also knew who you were and thought you were attractive. ayato knows that realistically, it was bound to happen but he still hates having to deal with it and it's not like he could do anything about it too, just suck it up.

• if you're the type of idol to dye your hair differently with every single album debut, ayato carefully tracks for any leaks on what color it would be because he's been debating on matching with you. he's lucky that akademi high school isn't strict when it comes to uniquely colored hair (as some schools force students to dye their hair black, even if a person's natural hair color is brown). of course, he would stick out more but he didn't care. it's a way he can show his support for you and there's nothing wrong with that. 

• has only been to one of your concerts since, he won't lie, the tickets are a bit pricey and his part-time job could hardly cover it. the concert was really cool to experience— especially since ayato doesn't get out much— and he loved seeing you in person, but some annoying fans in front of him wouldn't stop holding their signs up in the air blocking his view but still tried to have a good thing by waving his light-stick and chanting in perfect harmony with the other fans.

— he would've gone a vip pass instead, but if he did that, ayato would have become flat-broke and that would in turn make him receive an angry lecture from his parents about finances.

• ayato has sent you loads of fan mail, some by name, others anonymously. he's sure that you get thousands by the hour but if there is even the slightest chance that you might read at least one of his, he'll take that opportunity

• whenever you describe your ideal type in a man in interviews, ayato makes it his duty to meet the criteria. you want someone with a little bit of muscle? he can work out more. you want a man who can cook? looks like ayato will be joining the cooking club at school. trust me, he will do anything to be viewed perfect in your eyes

• although his first-ever time seeing you in person was pretty much a bust, ayato made up for it by teaming up with info-kun to see where you would be in japan and finding your location by fan sightings. it was from there that ayato was able to find you in shibuya but it wasn't good news, actually. you were mad at the paparazzi trying to take scandalous photos of you and when ayato realized this, his head began to spin and he, too, started shouting at them to give you some space and to back off.

— when you realized this, you turned over to see just who was coming to help you since you weren't expecting it and mouthed a small 'thank you' which sent ayato's heart soaring.

• ayato has purchased an ungodly amount of merch from you, whether that be shirts, water bottles, limited-time ramen, or soda cans, he's even ripped off pages in magazines solely because your face was on it.

• alas, he still needs to find a way to worm into your personal life. it's a little hard to do that with just how many bodyguards you have and have lots of cameras in your house, too many for him to be able to capture you without any issues...

[saintzweig]

nsfw patrick zweig x camgirl!reader

– PART ONE HERE i know this is long overdue i'm so sorry :") i had to start over multiple times!!! this is not proofread because that's literally my brand atp

pinkponyclub is now live! click here to watch

patrick blinked at his screen, the cursor of his laptop stood still on the link that he's all too familiar with. the pink color taunting him as he debated whether or not to click on it. there's this unfamiliar feeling settling on the pit of his stomach, now that he has a face and name to put on the body he's been jerking off to. what's worse is you still don't know that he knows.

it's been nearly a month since your presentation and you hadn't talked since then, aside from the occasional greetings whenever you'd bump to each other on campus. it's been that long as well since he's watched you, and it's been painful. for some reason, he can't seem to touch himself without his mind going back to you, the urge to watch you once again getting stronger every minute. he aches for a release yet the guilt of knowing your biggest secret overpowered it.

"dude" art yelled over the defeaning music, "what's your plan? you getting laid or what?" the two tennis players found themselves squeezing through a bunch of sweaty young adults, having been invited to a frat party by some guy on the tennis team.

patrick shrugged, "dunno, dude." they finally made it to the kitchen, looking over the kitchen island filled with alcohol drinks and snacks which they helped themselves to.

"come on. you have to, man." the blonde spoke, grabbing a red cup and filling it with whatever the fuck's on the punch bowl. "you've been sloppy and irritable, you need to find someone to fuck before you get in trouble with the team."

"don't tell me you're still thinking about that girl" art said to which patrick just rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his cup and unsubtly grimacing at the taste.

he made the mistake of telling art about his dilemma, well– he didn't exactly tell him. art caught him staring at the website when he came back to their shared dorm after practice. 'you pay for that shit?'

"look, if you're still hung up on it just tell her that you know. it's not a big deal"

the brunette glared at the latter, "and say what? i know that you're a camgirl and guess what, i'm your biggest donator"

"we're in college dude, you're bound to come across a someone who sells themselves online atleast once" art said without a beat, unaware of the short figure that stood behind him. "patrick?" oh shit.

"wait, wait" patrick chased after you, which was difficult because of the hundreds of shoulders slamming into him. "let me explain"

you reached the patio when you turned to him, "you know?" your expression wasn't angry– you looked pale, nervous, like someone had just discovered your biggest secret. which he did. and he told someone about it.

"yes, i know. i didn't mean to, okay?"

"you didn't mean to know?" you look at him confused, your eyes wide and lips wobbling. he knows this isn't the best moment but he can't help the heat pooling in his stomach, you look so pretty looking up to him like this.

patrick sighed, rubbing a hand over the lower part of his face. "it just kinda happened. i recognized your room."

your eyebrows furrowed, "you recognized my room? what does that mean?"

"it means" he sighed, "i've watched you an embarrassing amount of times to the point that i recognized your room."

there was an awkward moment of silence while you processed what he said. not only did he find out that you're basically a porn star, he had just confessed to paying and jerking himself off to you.

"are you going to tell anyone else?" your voice was timid, scared. the way you looked at him caught him off guard, as if he holds so much power over you at this moment. it should make him feel bad, but it did the opposite. he thinks it's sick that the way you're looking up at him at this moment is giving him the urge to take advantage of you in your most vulnerable state.

but he still he ended up on your bed, watching you set up your laptop on your desk, turning the grainy camera on. "i won't tell anyone if you do something for me." which you accepted with absolutely no hesitation, which surprised him. you're willing to do anything for him to keep your secret from everyone else– and it's not like you haven't been fantasizing about him for weeks now, and you know you're going to make shit ton of money tonight so you have nothing to lose.

the camera light lit up, signalling that the live is starting and slowly, people started coming in. a few of them your loyal fans, proudly calling themselves your paypigs.

you walked over to the bed, climbing over patrick and settling on his lap, his hands immediately finding its place on your hips. you almost moaned as you felt your clothed heat press down on his bulge. patrick licked his lips, swearing he can feel your wetness through the fabrics separating you. his thumbs grazes the exposed skin just above your underwear while your hands were placed on his chest. the camera was pointed downwards, leaving your flustered faces out of the stream.

patrick begins to guide your hips, rocking you back and forth. you bit your lip, and patrick swears this is the hottest thing he's ever seen. he's so used to watching you on screen, never even thought of having the opportunity to actually feel you.

you take his hand from your hips, letting it rest on the hem of your pretty pink panties, mouth slightly parted as you stared at him with an inviting look. he immediately got what you meant, dipping his finger inside and coming in contact with your cunt, grazing your sensitive clit before feeling the slick. "you've wanted this for a while now, haven't you? think i haven't caught you staring at me like that?"

a whine bubbles up your throat, not even giving you the chance to lie and say no. he inserts his finger slowly, groaning at how warm you feel inside. "fuck, you look even prettier in person. such a shame they can't see your face, hm?"

without warning, he flips you over– mindful of the camera. your head hits the pillow and he slips himself in between your legs, grinding his erection on your core while his hand gropes your breasts under your thin tank top. his lips are on yours, he can taste the hint of your flavored lipgloss. "you have no idea how many times i've jerked myself off to you" he groans into your mouth, making you buck your hips up to meet his. "you like that, huh? like thinking about me fantasizing about you?" all you can do is nod.

he scrambles to sit up, tugging your panties down your legs. "can't wait anymore, need to fuck you now" he tugs his boxers down, freeing his hard cock. your mouth gapes at the sight, his thick and veiny members staring right at you. his tip is furiously red and leaking. you lift yourself up slightly, watching him spit onto his hand and rub it all over him as he positions himself at your entrance. his other hand pushes your knees up as he pushes himself in gently. throwing his head back as he grunts, your warmth and tightness swallowing him in. you arch your back in mixed pain and pleasure, "s-so big"

he chuckles, "i'm not even halfway in, pretty girl" he lets a few seconds pass before moving his hips in rhythm, your skin sticking together. if you haven't forgotten about the camera right now, you might've moaned his name, having practiced it multiple times by yourself. it seems like he had the same thing on his mind, catching the look on your face. "wanna moan my name right now don't you?" he smirks, his strokes getting deeper, making it harder for you to contain yourself as you mewled helplessly under him. "do it, want you to say my name" he breathes out, watching the way your chest rise up and down faster at his words.

"come on, say it" he grunts, the room filling up moans and the sounds of your bodies moving in rhythm. "be a good girl, hm?" and that was your last straw.

"p-patrick" you bit your lip, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as he hits your spot over and over again. you swear that you can feel every single on of his veins inside you.

"that's it, that's it pretty girl." he soothes you, grunting at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him. "wanna make you cum. bet these pigs want that too" he glances at your laptop, cock throbbing at the sight of the two of you on the screen. "can i?" he asks as he turns back to you.

you nod, eyes filling with tears and stomach clenching as you feel your climax approaching. your hands pull him in closer, nails leaving marks against his back. he nuzzles himself on your neck, biting and leaving marks all over. you reach up to tug on his curls, "f-fuck, pat. feel so full" he lets out a shaky breath on your skin, thrusts getting sloppier.

you can barely give him a warning as you feel yourself nearly on edge, "p-pat–"

"let it out, it's okay. cum for me, pretty girl. i got you" and you melt instantly in his arms. your back arched and your head thrown back on your pillow, turning limp under his body in seconds. he lets out a low groan as you tighten around him, feeling your fluid coating his cock inside you. he pulls out in a haste, hand wrapping around his base as he moves himself near your face, "wanna cum in your mouth" and so he shoves himself inside of you. immediately you hollow your cheeks and bob your head as you take him in, and he shoots his cum all the way down your throat. eyes on each other as his cock throbs between your plump lips. he pulls out, watching you swallow every bit. "shit, so pretty like this" he takes thumb and wipes the spit on the corner of your mouth.

"your next live is on friday, right?" he pants, completely disregarding how embarrassing it is that he's memorized your schedule at this point. "i'll be here, can't let you do this alone now."

[cherikyassss]

Cataloguing my top ten Cherik fics in order of popularity, in case anyone fancies some new reading material 😉

https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/works

Five Nights in Nuremberg

When Charles escapes from the mutant prison he has been held in for the last two years he knows that he’s going to need help to avoid being recaptured.

What he doesn’t expect is that help will come in the form of a mysterious German man who rescues Charles and takes him to his home; a handsome stranger who, frustratingly, doesn’t speak a single word of English…

Bound

Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Can You Feel My Heart

Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.

It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles.

Probably…

The Best You Never Had

By the time Erik is in his late twenties he has grown tired of his mother meddling in his love life- always setting him up on numerous dates with various suitors.

But then Erik’s mother offers to set him up with someone he used to know- the gorgeous blue-eyed boy Erik had a crush on in school, the boy Erik desperately wishes he had been nicer to.

How Erik ends up entering into a fake relationship with the man in order to keep his mother happy is anyone’s guess…

Forgotten

Charles is having a really bad day. Not only has he woken up in the middle of the afternoon with no idea where he is or how he got there, but when he returns home he’s confronted by a stranger with intense eyes, who insists that he knows Charles rather more intimately than Charles remembers…

In Service of the King

Co-authored by the wonderful @pinkoptics

The people of Britannia have been saved from an unbearable fate at the hands of Emperor Shaw. In order to express their immense gratitude, they offer the ultimate tribute- Charles Xavier, the beloved son of their leader.

Far from naive, and even before agreeing to be made a gift, Charles is only too aware of what such an arrangement will entail- a life spent on his knees for more reasons than one... But upon arriving on Genosha’s shores, it soon becomes clear that sexual submission may not be all that is desired of Charles, and that King Erik may have some notions of how he wishes to be serviced that are not at all what Charles expected...

Power and Control

Charles had done a number of stupid things in his lifetime, but this was probably the worst.

Deciding to piss off the leader of The Brotherhood of Mutants was a recipe for disaster, particularly when said leader had a reputation for swift and bloody vengeance. But, as it turned out, being murdered wasn’t what Charles would need to worry about. Apparently there’s a great many things you can do to exert your power over someone, rather than simply killing them…

Enemies With Benefits

Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are the leaders of two opposing mutant factions; their rivalry played out over televised debates and in the articles of tabloid newspapers.

The tension between them is so palpable that, naturally, everyone assumes they're fucking- which they are, not that Erik is particularly happy about it... But he is content to console himself with the idea that it's just sex and nothing else, and that he is in no way interested in the spoilt little rich boy he can't seem to stay away from.

But then an attempt is made on both their lives and they are relocated to a safe house- a secluded cabin in the middle of the woods. At first Erik hates being forced into such close quarters with Charles, but gradually he begins to realise that 'hate' might not be the emotion driving him after all...

I Know

Charles had always considered himself quite a moral person, so he was as surprised as anyone to one day find himself with his mother’s boyfriend between his legs…

The Right King of Wrong

When Erik accepts a job working as a mechanic for the Xavier family he thinks it will be the solution to all his problems; a way for him to get inside the Xavier mansion without raising suspicion, so he can find out more about the labs rumoured to be hidden in the basement- a location where numerous mutant experiments are said to have taken place.

The mission is only supposed to take a few weeks, but then Erik meets Charles- the nineteen-year-old heir to the Xavier family fortune, who is back from Oxford University for the summer. Rather suddenly all of Erik’s carefully made plans fall spectacularly to pieces as the two of them embark on a love affair that has the potential to alter both of their futures, and their lives, forever…

[reasonsforhope]

"When politicians unveil a new national park or wilderness area, it’s often accompanied by debates about what effect it will have on the livelihoods of people living nearby. In some places, it can be welcomed as a boon, attracting tourists and their dollars. In others, it’s booed as a job killer, squelching the chance for new mining, grazing, logging or other industries.

As nations promise to nearly double the amount of protected land on the planet, from 17% to 30% of the Earth’s surface, these debates are likely to happen more often. Now there is new evidence that it’s possible to have both land protections and a growing economy. But it’s not guaranteed. “Achieving both aims is more common than we previously expected,” said Binbin Li, an environmental scientist at Duke Kunshan University, a Chinese institution affiliated with Duke University. “But that balance depends on socioeconomic conditions near a protected area.”

It can be hard to tease out causal links between two things as complex as the changing condition of a landscape and the economy of a nearby city. Did a town flourish because of a nearby national park, or because an increase in remote work enabled people to move there? Did another town collapse because a forest reserve contributed to the demise of a sawmill, or was it part of a bigger downturn in the timber industry?

To try to clarify the effects, Li and colleagues at Duke University and Shandong University in China compared the fates of “twin” towns and cities, as well as comparable patches of land. They identified more than 10,000 protected areas in countries around the globe, then examined how economic activity changed in nearby settlements between 2013 and 2020, compared to similar settlements more than 20 kilometers from any protected land. They also matched the protected area to similar nearby unprotected areas, to see if they fared differently.

The scientists used satellite images to track changes on the landscape, such as forest turning to farmland. They also tracked changes in the amount of nighttime artificial light as a surrogate for economic activity.

The satellite images revealed that in many cases, more trees and grasslands stayed standing and the lights shown more brightly at the same time. In about half the protected areas, there was simultaneous progress in both conservation and economic development, the scientists reported on June 20 in Current Biology.

Land protection was broadly successful at reducing the loss of forest and grasslands – more than 90% of the protected areas either lost no natural land cover, or less than their unprotected twins, the researchers found. At the same time, 60% of neighboring communities had as much or more of an increase in nightlights than places further from protected land...

Land protection and economic growth went hand in hand most easily in wealthier countries, around smaller protected areas, and in places with some of the infrastructure critical for economic development, such as roads. In places without these features the ecological fate of the land and the economic fortune of nearby towns was more likely to diverge or decline together the researchers found.

“Conservation does not happen in a silo,” said co-author Stuart Pimm, a Duke University ecologist. “We must consider local development alongside biodiversity conservation to know where and how to protect areas to benefit both the environment and humans.” ...

The results underscore the ways in which poverty and environmental degradation can be bound together. If poverty isn’t dealt with, creating protected areas could set the stage for both loss of biodiversity and economic development, the researchers warned. The flip side is that with careful planning, conservation could help set nearby towns on a path out of poverty. As an example, the scientists pointed to Costa Rica’s Corcovado National Park, which has become a hub for ecotourism on the country’s Pacific coast.

“We need to get to a win-win outcome more often, especially in the most biodiverse regions that can ill-afford losing out on economic development or biodiversity,” said Li. “We cannot address biodiversity loss without addressing local development issues.”

-via Anthropocene Magazine, June 26, 2024

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Favorite Guest (2) | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Part 1

Trey considered himself a peaceful man. Exalted in the company he worked at, a reliable watchman, and a highly trusted man in his personal life. This is probably why he was the only one who noticed the dissolving of his friend’s position and the praise for his miraculous results with one of the hardest hybrids they had in captivity. 

With cameras and sensors all over the zoo, it was up to him to be the first to see everything. To warn the upper management and the scientists who were all too engrossed in their studies to be aware of the impending danger from their subjects of interest. It wasn’t his job to map out the tremors from ‘upper management’  but after being instructed to stop recording during certain officials visits, he accepted it as his duty. 

Ring

Ring

“Yo Yo it’s Cater D, go ahead and leave me a message and follow me on my socials after the beep!” 

Beep

Hearing the message from his friend when he wasn’t stuttering and sobbing uncontrollably didn’t help settle Trey’s suspicions. On paper, they never knew each other but in truth, they’d met in school and kept in contact even as they got into the same line of work. Confidentiality was a line they crossed long ago sharing the events of their work. Trey didn’t feel bad, he figured it was human to share secrets especially, against the monstrous image of the company they had, only interested in the height of the discovery of new life. 

It was also why Trey debated with himself while he watched the loudest sensor go off. The blaring red alarm was loud but due to secrecy the soundproofing of his office let only Trey know about the impending doom. 

The sensor was a valued company secret, the only technological link to the largest threat they’d entrapped. The green Naga that was hundreds of meters (and that was by guessing) the anomaly that turned themselves in and claimed to have convinced the other subjects to stop fighting on his command–was on the move. In an outdated attempt to track him and the other nagas, a plate was installed near the entrance of the cave they gravitated to. There were other cameras and recorders in there but all were dismantled, smashed, or broken before they could collect any data. 

The plate was based on weight and depending on how much longer it was pressed down depended on who was coming out of the cave. 3 meters was the silver-tailed one. 6 meters was the blue one. But any reading over that was registered as the green one. 

This would have been a time for him to unlock the shelf and flip the switch. Putting the entire base on a code dragon: an appropriate name for the Naga they weren’t even sure was one. Evidence suggested that properly shutting down the facility would be the goal….but Trey was hesitating. 

This same facility of people had thrust a dear friend of his into the fire by making him the scapegoat to secure the Naga’s first demands. Clearing his existence from all walks of life when he exercised his morality. Risking his life to defy whatever demands those ‘higher-ups’ had led out.

Cater was now gone. 

All that remained were the scientists who were responsible. 

Without being scared it was clear that the ‘higher-ups’ were worried about an uprising. There was so much they didn’t know about the subjects they’d kept trapped. Always discovering new abilities with the massacres of many employees. It was bound to happen. And with the green Naga’s only confirmation of peace was that he was looking for something possibly being fulfilled with the poor guest from the zoo. 

So the urge to call an early day off grew more as other sensors from separate exhibits began to ring. 

“Yeah, I think it’s best if I take an early day off.”

____________________________________________________________

Hearing the distant sound of glass breaking from inside the cave was the signal you were waiting for. Letting Rollo pick you up, you watched from deeper than the entrance to watch the tip of Malleus’ tail finally disappear into the darkness.. 

“Wow, he is so long.”

Idia giggled as he finished his his contraption, “And girthy too. Hehehe.”

Rollo was likely sneering at him but you couldn’t tell. The blue-haired Naga didn’t look bothered in the slightest, instead, he was smiling widely as he handled the controller. The part of the plan that Malleus allowed involved all three of your participation—Operation Leftovers!

“Idia are you all set up to go?’

“Yup! Those batteries you had worked so much better than the ones I’ve got. And the little gadget in your bag was really–”

“Idia please just send the thing out. I’m ready to forgo the entire plan if you rant another moment longer.”

The Naga with the handmade drone pouted a little before clicking some buttons. The whirring of the drone charging up before flying off. With a phone he swiped as a monitor for his drone he looked intently at the screen. Moving closer to him you watched the fuzzy image become clear. It showed the jungle of the enclosure traversed through by something large. The trees and grass are lying irregularly, some things snapped as though the Naga had gone through breaking them mid-launch. The drone easily maneuvered through the remains to reveal the glass of the enclosure shattered and surrounding it the scientists downed. 

Looking over your shoulder Idia mumbled to himself,” He really didn’t save any for the rest of us, did he?”

You heard it and while you weren’t fond of the scientists who’d brought you here, they were still human. It made your stomach turn as Rollo perked up with a smile as Idia loosely pointed out a few Malleus had missed. The silver Naga darted off from you two, eager to get his hands bloodied with the humans he’d been loathing for months.

“C’mon (Y/n), he might get too excited and leave us behind.”

Accepting Idia’s invitation you climb his back, rubbing your watering eyes into the vast expanse of his cerulean locks. Taking deep breaths you try to distract yourself with the smooth gliding of his tail and the occasional demented giggling he lets out while watching the drone screen. Mentally patting yourself on the back, you’re glad you declined Malleus’ offer to carry you while he cleared a path. When you warned him about the use of guns or explosives he laughed, informing you that ‘the pellets sent in the past were nothing for someone as familiar with fire’ as he. As much as you’d love to watch him deflect, you assured him you’d be more helpful in the rear. Promising you’d be able to guide the three of you out of the facility without putting any of you in too much danger—much to Rollo’s displeasure. The plan hinges on Malleus’ destructive capabilities and the other captive creatures also take advantage. 

Idia slowed as he cautiously turned the corner to find Rollo throwing a formerly alive scientist into a nearby wall. Still controlling the drone it provided a cleared path to the entrance of the zoo and parking lot, save for the few guests running in fear. 

“It seems like Malleus is already headed to your place.”

You sighed as you pictured the giant Naga scaring your neighbors. Unfortunately, when you tried to convince him of another rendezvous point he dismissed your worries—claiming that he’d love to enjoy himself in the quaint confines of your human nest. You just hoped he hadn’t destroyed your furniture while squeezing into the tight space. Rollo pulled you out of your 

“Now how do we get to your ‘inconspicuous’ route?”

“We have to go to the car park.”

They both looked at each other before looking at you again. 

“The place where we put the metal tools with wheels.”

“Oh!” “Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning.”

Mapping out the way with Idia’s drone you urged the duo to move quickly; ignoring their not-so-silent snickering about ‘how you were the slow one with your tiny single-jointed legs.’ The surreal relief of stepping over scientists’ bodies and opening the staff-only door you had been escorted through just hours before. The sun was setting now and you were grateful that it looked like the general zoo was closed now. It made the laughable scene of shoving two Nagas into your car less conspicuous. At this point the only battle was driving with those two bickering right in your ear. 

“Don’t touch me!”

“I literally can’t right now! Maybe if you scooched a litte-”

“Me!? Scooch!? Are you blind?”

“Why are you being so pissy lately!?”

“ME!? PISSY?! YOU WANT ME TO SHOW YOU—”

After a short eternity of driving; finally, you could open the door to your destination, watching as they unfurled and wiggled away from each other. All that was left was for you to unlock–or rather just open the door seeing as it was already unlocked. What a promising sign.

“So this is my house, feel free to make yourselves at ho—”

The feeling of wind slapping your face and the disappearing silver tail past a corner was another shock. As if sensing your disbelief Idia curled around you unbearably close nuzzling into your neck while humming.

“He’s just worried Malleus took over all your smell.”

“Really? I thought he just wanted to find someplace far from us.”

“...Maybe that too…”

“I see.”

“You got any games?”

It took a while to get inside the actual door considering Idia was refusing to release you from his hold. Inching yourself into your home it was apparent Malleus had made himself at home, draped over your couch, the kitchen, and all hallways was his emerald shimmering tail. Standing firm–almost rocklike as you struggled to climb past with ease.  You were able to shake Idia off you when you introduced him to your television, leaving him with instructions not to break anything you set out to find the Naga all spread throughout the house. 

It was a battle trying to balance yourself on the steps that were being majorly taken by the muscular tail draped on the entirety of the stairs. But you made it, taking a breath before pushing the door to your room–-it was halfway closed on the rest of Malleus’ tail. 

Taking up the entirety of the room was Malleus, leaning low on the side of your bed, imitating what would’ve been a person kneeling. The level he was in served its purpose as it seemed, he was whispering something in Rollo’s ear. The grumpy Naga was perfectly curled, fitting on your bed as he laid face down into your pillow. He was violently clutching the plush cotton but the seconds that you spied Malleus’ whispering it seemed to weaken. 

Malleus turned and smiled, “Happy your home, (Y/n)!” 

Slithering away from Rollo he held you into his chest, lightly digging his nose into your head. No doubt, smelling you for the umpteenth time. You couldn’t tell if he was intentionally blocking your vision or genuinely interested in what he was asking.

“Do you have anything to eat, (Y/n)?”

“I can make something real fast, though I don’t know if it’ll be any good,” you glanced at his tail,” or enough.”

“That is fine, shall we go?”

He was already moving you with him as he headed to the door. You tried to look past him at Rollo but Malleus was intent on leading you out. 

“What about Rollo isn’t he hungry?”

Malleus completely took you off the floor, carrying you down the stairs while nuzzling his head into your own. Figuring he was attempting to calm you, you stopped trying to look tucking your legs up higher as he reached the ground floor.

“He will be fine for now. Do not worry about him.”

__________________________________________________________

The sun had long since set and the kitchen was closed. The only human within the house was fast asleep under the covers, subconsciously fighting the blue-scaled Naga who was dutifully playing with a switch. His tail was curled between his human’s legs in a snug hold casually gaming while his human snored into the night. 

The other two Naga were downstairs, sitting in the dark without the lights on. They didn’t need it. Their gray and green eyes can see each other perfectly clear. Rollo was on what (Y/n) called a couch coiling his tail repeatedly while he kneaded at the pillow he’d been squeezing for over six hours. Now and then dragging his nose along the cover while inhaling the scent of its original owner still lingering in the linen. 

“I am still hungry.”

Malleus kept his distance leaning over the back of the couch and letting his head rest on his arms. His gaze worriedly flickering to his mate’s face and then to the permanent puncture marks into his pale unattended neck.

“Are you listening?”

Rollo was turned around now as if aware that his giant mate was distracted from listening to his woes whining. He was peeved for many reasons. The irritating scent of other inferior humans on both sides of his newest mate’s home. The occasional whiff of dominance his other mate was exuding and the inferiority that came with being near him. But most of all the lack of a filling meal was on his mind; especially when just hours before perfect morsels surrounded him.

“I am.”

The husky voice and the feeling of Malleus’ weight curling around his smaller tail was a constant reminder of his mate’s comforting superiority. This was evident for the same reason he hadn’t gorged himself while leaving the prison, he dreamed of eating his way out of. Just as he hated he loved Malleus knew this was what the problem was.

“You were not able to eat during your escape.”

It wasn’t a question, the plan never included him needing to attack others. Granted there were a few outliers, but it wasn’t enough to satiate him. Even worse there were quite a few opportunities to eat some humans-paralyzed with fear. But he refrained, for the their newest mate was too judgmental and it would be inconvenient if they tried to run now.

“Hardly, it wasn’t enough to keep any one full.”

Malleus purred as he ran his fingers up the spine of his mate, letting his tail lock around Rollo’s as he shivered.

“I am grateful you kept (Y/n)’s happiness in mind.”

Rollo huffed, “Was there ever a doubt I wouldn’t?”

Malleus answered with a kiss to his hips, unraveling himself as he made his way to a window that was already opened. 

“How about we both ‘eat out?’ (Y/n) was certain there would be an influx of their law enforcement attempting to discover what was going on.”

 Rollo smirked, “Sounds delicious. I say we go!”

 Rollo didn’t need to be told twice dashing past Malleus and onto the darkened allies in the direction of the zoon. Before Malleus could follow he looked to stairs with a woeful pout. 

“Don’t make that face, I’ve got (Y/n). We’ll be fine.”

Malleus tilted his head as if to ask, ‘Are you sure?’

Idia rolled his golden eyes, finally looking up from his game to capture the lips of the greedy dragon. After a minute of Idia attempting to accomplish his game while sucking the forked tongue down his throat, he was released with a loving nip to his neck. 

“Have a nice meal you two.”

[sinsofbeauty]

Red Stained Sunflower

Fandom: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Game

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Use of Pet Names, suggestive nsfw content, Johnny being “nice”, minor kidnapping mention

Requested?: Nah

Overview: The only car breaks down and your father can’t afford to fix it. He doesn’t have many options, but when you suggest a certain someone to take a look at, he can't help but feel uneasy. Little did you know that decision will lead to a whirlwind of trouble.

A/n: Thinking about making it into a series, so let me know what you guys think! Enjoy!

Your father was very upset this morning, and you couldn’t quite figure out why. He was stomping around the house huffing and puffing, mumbling to himself as you fixed up some breakfast. Up the stairs, down the stairs, back into the work shed. It made you furrow your brows, bewildered by his behavior. You set the table and sat down hoping to find out the cause as he made his way into the room. You haven’t really seen him this irritated in a long time, and he moved around restlessly despite him taking a seat for the first time this morning… still quite agitated.

"The car is acting up again," he complained, shoving a forkful of egg and toast into his mouth.

“Again?” You ask, spreading butter on a piece of warm toast. “Daddy I told you it was bound to break. Why don’t you take it to the shop?”

Your father looked up, annoyed, and shook his head. "It's too expensive," he explained after swallowing a bite. "The fence is falling apart and the shed needs repairs. I can't afford to manage all that work on my own, and it would cost an arm just to get in there."

“You could always have Johnny take a look at it.”

Your suggestion made him pause, his gaze incredulous as you shrugged. "Johnny Slaughter?"

“Yes Daddy, Johnny Slaughter.” You replied.

His eyes dropped into something more serious than before, and you could notice the changes in his facial expressions. If he didn't appear to be worried about it, that is. "What's going on between you and that boy Y/n? People in the community are always talking about that family, you know.” This was his technique of lecturing you, making you look at him with utter boredom. "He and his family are equally dangerous! What happens if the rumors are true?” Indeed. Rumors. The ones where members of the Slaughter family kept individuals in a cellar to later consume them? Or the ones that they were ferocious and would try to eat anyone who approached their house? Yeah, those.

“What if they aren't though?” You retorted while arching your brow. “Given how much time I've spent with Johnny, I figure something would have happened by now.”

"You're still spending time with him?!"

Oops. Yeah, that wasn’t supposed to come out like that. As your father flailed his arms around, you were slumped in your chair, picking at your food. So, as he lectured you about your decisions, you carried on eating your meal silently. He mentioned the potential damage to your reputation and the possible consequences for your family. Although he had legitimate worries, you also knew that he had a history with them, which probably contributed to his strong opinions.

“Relax,” You said, waving a hand. “It’s been a little bit since I’ve seen him anyway. If he really wanted to eat me he probably would’ve come by the house.” Your father gave you a disgusted look, making you smile nervously before setting your fork down on your empty plate. "On a… serious note, just this once," you attempted to negotiate. "Let Johnny take a look at the car; maybe he won't charge much."

“Johnny Slaughter is nothing but trouble.” Your father mumbled.

"You already mentioned that," you retorted, raising your brows. "Daddy it could save us money if we give it a shot." You stood up from your chair taking your dirty dishes and shrugging your shoulders. By the look on his face, you could tell your father was debating long and hard about it.

Letting out a sigh, your father rubbed his temples. He shook his head once more in thought before lightly thumping the table. "Just this one time," he asserted. “I’ll check with them after breakfast.”

“I can always go now while you fix the fence.“

“I don’t want you standing mere feet in front of the Slaughter boy,” Your father said standing with his empty plate in hand.

“You really think he’s gonna do something?” You say, raising a brow at him before transitioning into the kitchen. The long pause caught you off guard, considering that you expected your father to say something snarky or a short insult about Johnny. Though nothing came.

Your father had made his way into the kitchen, dumping his plate into the sink with his utensils. He gave you a firm look, his jaw clenched together tightly. "Check with him after the dishes while I try to fix the fence. If you're not back by lunch, I'm calling the sheriff."

You smiled and nodded while placing your own dishes in the sink. You hadn't seen Johnny in some time, primarily because your father didn't approve. Though he undoubtedly had little choice given the circumstances, you knew he would keep his word.

——

You arrived at the Slaughter House after what seemed like a never-ending trip. Having taken the back way since it was a little faster, it led you to the backyard which seemed for the most part unoccupied. You peered across to check if anyone was working yet as you leaned on the wooden fence. If it wasn’t Johnny it was most certainly Sissy prancing around here, roaming the sunflower fields in her bare feet. You briefly blinked, but you couldn't make out a single individual anywhere. It could have been simpler to go the long way to the front. However, just as you were ready to walk away, Sissy appeared from one of the back sheds. She doesn’t notice you right away, but when she does she approaches the fence, face once stoic turning into something… unusual. Almost like a fake smile, nothing enthusiastic whatsoever.

“Oh that’s who it is,” She said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Lookin’ for Johnny?”

Your eyes swept the surroundings as you furrowed your brows and nodded. “Uhm yeah… I wanted to talk to him. Is he here?”

“Of course ya’ do,” She said, looking at you up and down. The woman had turned her back to you before calling out his name, walking away completely as she made her way towards the shed she was just in.

Your eyes avert back to the shed, seconds later seeing Johnny peek his head out. Sissy gestures behind her and says something that you couldn’t quite hear, but it prompts Johnny to tuck something away and head over. Never have you seen a man jog so fast in his life.

“Hey sunshine!” As a silly grin developed on his face, his voice resonated in your ears. He walked up to you with his head tilted to the side and his thumbs in his belt loops. “Finally came ta’ see me hm? I thought I’d have to kidnap you from yer old man.”

You smile softly, watching as you take a step away from the fence. “The old man is the reason why I didn’t come.” You spoke to him. “I thought you’d be mad about it.”

“Mad?” Johnny chuckled as he leaned his arms on the fence. “Bein’ honest? I knew ya’d come crawlin’ back, ya’ can’t resist me~.”

You rolled your eyes at him with a smirk, making him cackle in response. Johnny had a tendency to be quite… charming. Flirtatious if you might say. He was a very attractive man and he knew that, with a simple snap of a finger he could probably get a dozen women on their knees. Maybe it was one of the reasons why he would get so many lingering stares when he’s in town. It’s not like you haven’t seen him there getting stuff like tools or groceries. The man could be persuasive as well. If it wasn’t for his good looks and deadly charm, your intentions would probably be… elsewhere.

“I suppose the reason you’re here isn’t jus’ ta’ see me, is it?”

You suddenly look up at Johnny, who is grinning slyly with his thin lips. Before shrugging your shoulders, your nose lets out an amused huff. “You can say that’s part of it,” You reply, making his grin widen. “Though I needed to ask a favor.”

“Anythin’ for you doll,” Johnny said to you. “What is it ya’ need?”

“Well the car is out of commission, not sure why. Was wondering if you could take a look at it?”

Johnny nodded his head and looked over his shoulder, gazing at Sissy who had just walked into the house. “Oh sure, it shouldn't be too hard now should it?” He said looking back at you with a raised brow. “Did ya’ tell yer old man?”

“I made the suggestion.”

“How’d ‘e take it?”

“You know daddy doesn’t like you all that much.”

Your sentence caused Johnny's eyes to flinch suddenly, and his jaw to clench slightly before briefly relaxing. “I could really care less ‘bout what ‘e thinks.” He replied with the small shrug of his shoulders. “But ‘e agreed did ‘e?”

“With a little convincing yes,” You replied with the nod of your head. “I was hoping you could possibly stop by today?”

“I can go righ’ now if ya’ want to.”

“That would be great.”

Johnny nodded his head and pushed himself off the fence. “Alright, I’ll go get the truck. Comin’ inside?”

You shook your head no. You expected yourself to be swarmed with his family. They did ask a lot of questions and you didn’t want to be bombarded to answer. Which honestly made you curious, considering what they ask is quite… strange. “No but thanks, I'll start heading home. I’ll meet you there.”

——

The lemonade you had prepared hadn’t been long. It was sweet, and tasted amazing. You hummed taking a sip from your own cup, setting it down on the counter before pouring another glass. Transitioning to the back door you take a glimpse through the window, which made you stop completely in your tracks.

There he was, the Slaughter boy working on the car out back. His slicked back hair came undone while little strands stuck to his forehead, the one he wiped sweat off from due to the heat from the Texas sun. Gloved hand reaching down to the hem of his shirt, lifting it up to wipe his drenched face. Those muscles, his toned frame as he turned slightly, all so shaped with scars of an unknown origin. It made your face heat up, cheeks dusted with a bright blush that only darkened when you stepped away from the window. Johnny was a fine looking man, and there was no doubt in his mind that you had some hidden feelings for him.

You opened the door to the back porch, a glass of cold lemonade in hand. Your thin flats make way to Johnny, strolling in your shirt and shorts. Jeez it's hot out. The closer you got to Johnny just showed how drenched he was in sweat.

“How’s it going?” You ask, finally approaching Johnny with the glass. “I got you this, you look like you need it.”

Johnny’s brown orbs flicked over to you, his brows raising in an instant. “You’re a sweetheart ya’ know that,” A smile spreads across his cheeks. Taking the glass from you he sighs, putting it up to his lips and taking large gulps from the beverage. You couldn’t help but stare, and when he was done he licked his lips before looking at you. Look at him all smug, the man chuckling as he took the hood of the car and slammed it shut. “Like whatcha see darlin’?”

You pucker your lips and blinked in shame, realizing you had been staring at him intently. Then you grunted and crossed your arms as the person in front of you laughed. Such a confident smile on a man. It surprised you that you didn't seem to care about it as much as you implied. “I’d like to see if the car is fixed,” You replied with the simple roll of your eyes, making Johnny take the keys from his pocket and wave them in your face. With that, you went to grab them but he pulled his hand back.

“I have a question for ya’.” He blurts, the keys still in his possession. “I remember the las’ time ya’ said somethin’— when ya’ came over. ‘Bout the sunflower fields, yeah?”

You blinked at his question, nodding your head in response. “Oh… yeah, I think I remember.” Raising your brows you thought about it for a moment. “I think it was how pretty they looked in the evening. Though I didn’t get to stay for long.”

You recall it clearly leaving at that time. In your short sundress, you stood next to Johnny as he leaned his back against his truck while you spoke. The man had just finished his cigarette, leaving a difficult day at the back of his boot. Before you arrived, the brunette and a member of his family got into an argument. In any case, that is all he told you. You had just mentioned the sunflower fields and how much you cherished the scene each time you visited. How lovely they appeared in the garden in the waning evening light.

During that time you had caught Johnny staring, his brown orbs gazing from where he leaned at on the side of the car. You had made a comment, making him smirk and push himself off the vehicle. “You’ve got some nerve sunshine,” His voice all teasing as he took your wrist. The man had pulled you close to him, the heat from his body signaling your proximity. “We’re all alone out here. If I wanted ta’ ‘stare at you all night’, I know jus’ the way to do it~.”

The reality that was only intensifying your blush had slowly crept back into your thoughts. Johnny had drawn nearer to you, which you suddenly realized. His face was incredibly close to yours—just inches apart. You raised your head to see him as his eyes played with a sly sparkle.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout it too?” His tone of voice was playful. Given that you didn't react, he laughed. “I know ya’ are darlin’, considerin’ I have it on my mind.”

Your breathing quickened, and it seemed as though a simple step or downward lean would practically close the distance between you. You couldn't speak because your stomach was churning with butterflies.

“I almost had ya’, if it wasn’t for Sissy butting into what didn’t concern her.”

Johnny didn’t have to say much to make you feel flustered, let alone so excited by him. His words had made your thighs press together slightly, in an attempt to hide that feeling which pooled in the pit of your abdomen. Oh and did he notice. He was observant to say the least, so of course he noticed the subtle movement of your thighs just clamping together. Pressing together at his words that you knew in some ways were true.

“How cute,” He teased, making your eyes widen slightly. “And ta’ think— you didn’t want me, but look at cha’. Holding those cute little thighs taa’ hide what I do to ya’.”

“No! That’s not true!” You fought with him, taking the keys from his hands while he was so distracted. Johnny chuckled as you moved quickly to the driver’s side door, opening it and hopping in. Putting the key into the ignition, you look over at the man who was gesturing you to roll the window down. With a loud huff you did. Set his arms on the opening of the window, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” He responded. The young man watched as you turned the car on, the engine running to life and your face lighting up in the process. “Good as new. Jus’ a couple loose wires and bolts.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” You thank him, turning the car off. “Now I don’t have to walk miles just for a carton of milk.”

“You’ve been walkin’?”

“It’s been an on and off issue.”

Johnny raised his brows at that, but shrugged his shoulders moments later. “Well if it breaks down again, come by and see me.”

“Why thank you,” You roll your eyes and open the door to the car, making Johnny step away as you pull yourself out. “It’s getting close to lunch time, would you like something to eat while you go home?”

When it was time to close the door, you noticed that Johnny had been creeping up again. When you turned, he was as close as he had been before. It was like a predator stalking his lonesome prey, all alone with nowhere to go. He wrapped his thumbs in his belt loops, eyes glancing at the house before his full attention on you. “Shooin’ me ta’ leave already?” He grinned, making you roll your eyes again.

You cross your arms, this boy had some nerve. Standing so dangerously close and making those remarks. “I was trying to be nice.”

“So sweet,” Sarcasm poured from his lips as a large smile curled. “But sure, as long as it's as sweet as you~.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You could feel your face start to heat up again, oh did it amuse Johnny. His charm worked without even having to break a sweat.

“Playin’ dumb hm?” He had a cheeky smile on his face. “If ya’ want, I can get inta’ more detail.”

You were hesitant, feeling the raw stare of questioning eyes from afar. The tilt of Johnny’s head fuels your hesitation but only momentarily. “Johnny you shouldn’t be so close,” You say, your eyes wandering to the window who you expected your father to be watching. They widened and went back to Johnny immediately. “Daddy’s watching us.”

Johnny’s eyebrows come close together, making the bridge of his nose scrunch light folds. “And?” His voice lowers an octave, eyelids lowering to a half lidded stare. “Could stare all ‘e wants.” His eyes lower into a half lidded stare, his smile fading away. He looked… dangerous. “Ya’ liked those sunflower fields huh? Why don’t cha’ come by this evenin’ after eatin’?”

“You know I can’t do that…”

A hint of disappointment sparkled in Johnny’s eyes. “Why not?” His voice sounded almost monotone.

“Because—“

You hear the back porch door open, turning your head to see your father walking out of the house. Johnny took the opportunity to step back from you, moving his way to the front hood of the car. Despite your father’s efforts, he still had a suspicious look on his face. He approached the two of you, his hands once shoved in his pockets now out as he moved around to the side of the car where you were.

“Is she fixed?” He asked, Johnny nodding his head.

“Yessir, jus’ a couple wires and bolts.” The Slaughter boy replied. “Shouldn’t be any issue fer now, but yer more than welcome ta’ stop on by if it happens again.”

Your father nodded, inspecting the vehicle and getting the keys from you. “I’mma take her for a drive, see if she’s running properly. I… appreciate your help… Johnny.”

The grin on his face told you plenty. “Anytime.” Johnny said to your father.

The man who raised you had given you a side eye, taking a sigh before going to the car. He had hopped in and both you and Johnny moved away. “Did you want to come?” He had asked you.

“Oh no, I’ll get dinner ready.” You said waving your hand. “You’re just going to town right? It should be almost done by the time you get here.”

Your father had indicated that it wouldn't be long by nodding. He was aware that leaving you with Johnny could lead to problems, but since you were an adult, he couldn't stop you from doing it. After saying that, he drove off the property while you closed the fence in his absence. You watched as he proceeded down the road until, at last, the car was no longer in view.

“So… about the fields.” You turn to Johnny, who you had heard from behind you with his heavy boots. He’d been smoking a cigarette, the bud stuck in his mouth while his hand shoved something in his back pocket. “You said after supper?”

“Ohhh, are ya’ considerin’?”

“Shut up,” You scoff, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. “Maybe if you say please… I might consider it.”

“You’re kiddin’?” You smile and shrug your shoulders, making Johnny roll his eyes with the click of his tongue. “Please?”

“You could do better.”

It made him laugh, shaking his head with a malicious smile. He had cleared his throat, leaning in close to you before he purred a low, “Please~?”

It made you blush deeply, before coughing softly to look away. “Okay… you’ve convinced me.” Side eyeing him, you smirk. “Could’ve been better.”

“Cheeky lil’ thing aren’t ya’?” He scoffs. “I’ll see ya’ later then, sweet pea.”

Tags: @optimsluv

Part 2 is up! >> RSSF PT.2

[fandomfucker]

Self-Conscious-Rhea Ripley X Gn!Reader

Summary: Reader gets uncomfortable in clothes while out on date with girlfriend Rhea Ripley, Rhea gives reader jacket

A/N: Happy pride month!🏳️‍🌈 Im actually on vaca rn (where I got the idea for this) so get ready for a couple more (long) fic drops this week. 

Word Count: 1,192

2nd Person POV

With your girlfriend Rhea Ripley's wrestling career, she was constantly on the move. So, whenever she was home, you two always made the most of it.

And, to keep the relationship from getting boring or too repetitive, you tried to have as many date nights as you could.

You'd both dress up a little bit and then go out and have fun. Sometimes to a nearby theme park, the movies, coffee, bowling, zoos, or aquariums, you name it and it was at least on the list of date ideas if it hadn't already happened yet.

On this particular date night, the two of you had decided to go out and play minigolf before going to get ice cream. Since Rhea was currently out injured and you worked remotely, you had thought it was the perfect opportunity to take a cute little beach vacation for the week.

And while, yes, technically the whole week was one big date, having official little dates throughout the week intermitted between you just hanging out was really nice.

Finishing up getting dressed in the condo you'd rented, you did a quick turn in the mirror, looking at your new outfit from all angles. It was a pair of your favorite jean shorts and some plain black flip-flops paired with a new top you'd gotten from one of the beach stores.

It was a bit on the more revealing side, something you weren't quite as used to as your girlfriend who regularly went on live television in front of thousands wearing very little clothing.

Debating on whether or not to bring your trusty zip-up hoodie with you to wear should you get too cold or uncomfortable, you decided against it, feeling super hot and confident in your new outfit.

"Babe! Are you ready yet?" Rhea came bounding around the corner into your bedroom, swinging herself on the doorframe. "Ooh, babe you look good!"

She came up behind you and held your hips as she kissed your shoulder, looking at the way the two of you fit together in the mirror.

You smiled at her and pulled her arms around your hips to fully encircle you, holding on to them like a safety bar as you watched your movements in the mirror in front of you.

"Mmm." You hummed in agreement as you studied the two of you, "We look good, babe." You corrected.

"We do." She kissed your shoulder again before resting her chin on top of it. "You ready to go get your ass kicked?"

You feigned a large gasp as you turned around in her arms, gently pushing her away with one hand as the other went to your chest like you were clutching your pearls.

"My ass kicked? Oh, it is so on, Ripley." You taunted, inches from her face with a daring grin.

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

Once you had paid for your game and gotten your clubs and balls, you stood at the practice hole making small talk until the group in front of you had finished and you two were able to actually start playing.

Taking a look around at the other holes, you noticed an eye or two trained on you. You managed to look away without making any eye contact but the feeling of being watched was there.

Finally, the group in front had moved on and you and Rhea were able to start.

"Ladies first," She swung out her arm, showcasing you to the fake grass. You smiled at her and gave a mock bow as you walked up to the plate. You set the ball down, taking care as to where exactly you wanted it placed.

You made your calculations, pulled back, and swung hitting the ball just a tad too hard sending it flying down to the other side. You watched it bounce off the brick wall, rolling until it stopped about a foot away from the hole.

You groaned jokingly in annoyance as you stepped out of the way to make room for Rhea.

She made a show of walking up to what was essentially the pitcher, shaking out her legs and arms the same way she does before a match, getting ready for her first swing.

She pulled back, and she hit the ball. Unlike yours, hers wasn't hit hard enough and stopped about a foot away from the hole on the opposite side of where yours ended up.

Disappointedly, she shuffled her feet down to where her ball had landed as you laughed, making your way to where your own ball had landed.

"Shut up," She groaned, then motioned for you to go first.

You made it in two.

Rhea, however, made it in four.

Halfway through the game, you were almost tied, you were one point ahead. It was agreed that the overall loser would have to pay for the ice cream, and you did not want to pay.

You managed to not think about what you were wearing once so far, even though you had caught those same eyes from before on you once or twice more. That is until a large gust of wind came through and goosebumps danced along your skin. You could feel your nipples harden slightly but thought nothing of it until you caught another pair of wandering eyes on you, your shirt too tight to not see anything.

You lowered your eyes, embarrassment and anxiety clouding your mind and you went silent while Rhea excitedly told you about something or other. You wish you had brought your damn jacket. That way, you wouldn't be cold anymore or, super self-conscious.

It was while waiting for the next group to finish in front of you that Rhea noticed something was up. 

"You've been quiet, babe. What's wrong?"

You tried to just brush it off, it wasn't serious, it was just you overthinking things again, like usual.

"Nothing, babe. I'm all good."

Rhea persisted, "No, I can tell when you're all good, and you're not. What's wrong, did something happen?"

Wanting the conversation to just be over at this point, you caved. "I'm just a little cold and uncomfortable in my new shirt, nothing to worry about."

Rhea frowned at this, taking obvious offense that this was "nothing to worry about" because you bet your ass she was going to worry about it.

Wordlessly, she shrugged off her own jacket and began swinging it around to lay it on your shoulders.

You stepped back, "No, no, no, Rhe. It's fine, keep your jacket. I'll get over it once the wind dies down."

At that very moment, the wind picked up even bigger than before, making Rhea's hair fly around your faces as your goosebumps increased tenfold.

She gave you that look like, "told you so" before continuing to put her jacket on you.

You blushed like it was the first date all over again as you slid your arms into the sleeves.

Rhea had a shit-eating grin on her face, looking super proud of herself as she looked you up and down wearing her jacket.

"You look good wearing my clothes. Should do that more often." She leaned forward and kissed your cheek before swaggering away to play the next hole, leaving you there a blushing mess.

Rhea wound up winning, but, being the best girlfriend ever she paid for your ice cream anyway. And, she let you keep the jacket. Just in case.