#differently and for different (non-combat) purposes

[unionizedwizard]

small headcanon of the day: long before The Actual Yearning and Years-Long Complex about it (kickstarted before she joined the scions, but in a sort of hopeful way; it only soured after she joined the scions), sharlayan was the #1 destination/port to deal with for irma as an assessor of mealvaan's gate. first of all you KNOW they had all the relevant paperwork ready and signed in advance and with an extra copy, printed with the neatest Mammet-Powered Copy Technique to ensure perfect legibility & legal duties, with everything in the cargo properly labelled and accounted for and the manifest in an alphabetized list. also while i know the conservative factions (like the bibliothecs) have been gaining influence within the forum for the past few years, and their main thing is that they refuse to share their knowledge & interact with the world, realistically speaking i still think most of their export (and economy) would involve (general) books (nothing too advanced, but like. basics of every topic. you know? SUP. sharlayan university press. do you see my vision) which would of course be super interesting to her & also easy to inspect and unload. not to mention sharlayan boats are smaller than other ships so they'd be quicker to inspect & unload (always appreciated i think). ALSO the gleaners would definitely see her & the other assessors as (distant) colleagues - not even only because of the arcanima part, but because they're (underpaid and overworked) civil servants and basically their lominsan counterparts. so they'd be pleasant to deal with & competent too, definitely a far cry from the average lominsan sailor lmao. would be funny if she actually dealt with erenville at, like, 15 also. "hey i remember you" "hm?" "you delivered a cargo of books and got a load of la noscean flora and fauna in return" "what the hell are you talking about"

[levi-4uckerman]

just a lil something I’m working on…………….

TW: pregnancy, secret pregnancy

“Oh,” was all you could say, breathless at the little figure—; black and white and barely visible on the screen in front of you. It just barely resembled a human, with a too-big head and little nubs on the side that you could hardly even call arms. It was so stupid, so ridiculously not-real looking, but when the tech moved her wand just right, goddammit, it almost looked like it was moving and if it was moving then it was alive and if it was alive— 

“Is it real?” You asked dumbly. “Is… is this real?” 

She didn’t laugh at you, surprisingly. She merely smiled and said softly, “Yes, it is. It’s real.”

You tilted your head at the screen, trying to contain your increasing heart rate. “Is it… is it moving?” 

This time, she laughed. “It sure is. At this gestation, they’re able to float, bounce, and even swim around a little. You might feel intense twitches every now and then deep in your belly where the fetus is hanging out— that’s totally normal, and just it moving around inside its little sac,” she explained nonchalantly, as if she didn’t just confirm to you that not only were you pregnant, but you were pregnant with a real, tangible, moving *thing* inside of your body that was put there by—

“Would you like extra copies for Dad? Grandparents, maybe?”

“Yes,” you said, without thinking. You had no intention of sharing this with Gojo. You had no parents to share it with. But a part of your mind, something so deep and instinctive, wanted every moment of this little creature’s existence captured— on film, on paper, on everything. 

Before this day, you’d never once considered having children. Until you knew that those little twitches deep in your stomach had arms, legs, and a heartbeat. 

Maybe it was the fact that you lacked a purpose. Since the death of Suguru, your role has caused nothing but unrest amongst your colleagues. Unlike Satoru, you weren’t a teacher. You didn’t take the kids on missions. You fought well, but it felt like a performance these days— when was the last time you truly used your combat skills? You knew the fight was never really over, but… maybe this was the beginning of something. 

Something new. Something different.

Your hands went to cup your tummy, the being inside non-palpable, of course. This was… incredible. In all of your life as a sorceress, nothing felt quite as magical as the little thing growing inside of you. 

You tried not to think about its potential to throw the entire jujutsu community into chaos. 

Gojo Satoru. It always came back to Gojo.

hey! did you like this? it's based on this fic i'm writing! come take a look („ಡωಡ„)

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:22」 — p.seonghwa

» ateez menu | seonghwa menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ naga!Seonghwa × fem!Reader wc: 6.3k summary: Y/N’s naga roommate is still trying to get used to the hustle and bustle of life in the city. He finds it difficult to go out and socialize as monsters aren’t socially accepted yet. So he tends to go a little stir crazy and get bored often. dinner time is no different when he suggests they do something fun. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: food & alcohol consumption, snakes, snake behavior (literally. Not metaphorically lol), snake biology and anatomy; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this was originally Wooyoung when I started planning but I couldn’t get the idea of naga!Seonghwa out of my head so I swapped him and Woo, giving Wooyoung siren instead. Nagas are one of my favorite creatures/monsters/cryptids. I have a special place in my heart for naga!Idols after writing that Mingi one for the Library of Illusion. It’s just a fun concept. Thank you for reading! If you like this, please consider reblogging and supporting my writing! The next part is another member of Ateez and it’s going to be an interesting one, so stay tuned! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), table sex, double penetration (f receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (seonghwa is a snake man with two d!cks, they don’t make condoms for snake men. But they do make them for humans. So use them), multiple orgasms (f receiving), use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, etc.), that should be all but of course, let me know if I missed any. kinks: Table/counter sex + double penetration dialogue prompt: ❛❛ I’m bored. Let’s fuck. ❜❜

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You stared, dumbstruck, at your roommate as he stared at you with his bright, green, reptilian eyes.

“What did you just say?” you asked incredulously as a smirk started to form on his face. “I said,” he started, never taking his eyes off yours. “I’m bored.” Your eyes narrowed as you stared him down. “I meant after that,” you retorted. The smirk on his face grew even more.

“Let’s fuck.”

When he had initially said those words to you, it was after you had returned home from work, excited to have the entire weekend off to relax and unwind. You had been prepared to come home, make dinner, and perhaps curl up on the couch with your favorite bottle of wine.

What you hadn’t expected was for your naga roommate to suggest the two of you have sex to combat his boredom. That was the furthest thing from your mind. The idea of fucking your 4.5 meter long naga roommate had not even crossed the threshold of possibilities in your mind.

When you first met Seonghwa, it was like seeing the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot for the first time. Nothing truly prepares you for seeing a cryptid for the very first time. There are no preparation classes or exams for that kind of thing. You have to rely on your instincts and while every single bone in your body had told you to run, you just couldn’t bring yourself to listen.

Despite his monstrous stature and long, snake-like body, Seonghwa was the exact opposite of a monster to you. He was kind, courteous, polite, and quiet. He sometimes had a bit of a chaotic streak but he was great company and you enjoyed every second you spent in his presence. 

When the Monster Relocation Initiative was enacted, making it illegal to discriminate against sentient humanoids, you found yourself wanting to help in some capacity because of your new budding friendship. You went through the proper channels, signing up for a monster roommate. Somehow, Seonghwa got matched with you and you were beyond excited to have him in your apartment.

Your ridiculously cramped apartment.

Not that it was cramped before, oh no. Before Seonghwa moved in, your apartment was just the right size. Perfect for you, living alone in a historic building renovated into apartments after the Monster Relocation Initiative was announced.

To you, your apartment was exactly the right size… for a single occupant. But add a 4.5 meter long snake-man and it started to get cramped real quick.

Not that you were complaining. On the contrary, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Seonghwa may technically be a monster but he was the furthest thing from scary. Was he capable of wrapping you in his strong coils, squeezing the life out of you and eating you whole? Probably, but you knew he would never do that.

The difference between most monsters and the ones protected in the M.R Initiative was that the humanoids were sentient, capable of intelligent thought and able to learn and distinguish the difference between right and wrong. Could Seonghwa kill you in your sleep? Of course, he was fully capable of that. But would he? No.

This integral difference between most monsters and the humanoids allowed most of them to get jobs and integrate into society. It was illegal to discriminate in any way against them, denying them employment, housing, or entry to establishments was punishable by law. They were legally members of society with citizenship cards, IDs and the right to vote.

Socially, however, was another matter entirely. While they couldn’t be denied jobs for being who they were, many places of employment found entirely valid, albeit bogus, reasons not to hire humanoids. This had been the subject of many of your conversations with Seonghwa by this point.

He often complained of boredom, being cooped up in the apartment all day. It was a difficult subject and rather sensitive for him. His lack of employment. Since Seonghwa moved into your place, you’d taken on most, if not all, of the financial responsibility, paying all the bills, buying all the household groceries and supplies. Again, you weren’t complaining entirely. You enjoyed having Seonghwa around.

He did wonders for your mental health, which was why you often sat and listened to his complaints.

The topic of unemployment had come up again while you sat at your dining room table, where you were finishing up your dinner, Seonghwa having finished a long time ago. He had been talking about his day spent inside while you were outside, at work. He complained of the boredom and you listened patiently.

“Come on, Y/N!” he whined for the nth time that day. “I'm so bored!” You swallowed your mouthfuls of noodles before giving him an apologetic look. “Hwa,” you said calmly, setting your fork down as you finished your meal. “Why don't you try again and find another job?”

His lack of employment wasn’t entirely his fault. He’d been extremely diligent in the beginning, applying for a plethora of jobs he was more than qualified for. He managed to secure job interviews left and right but each time after the interview, the result was the same and after almost a year of numerous failures to secure a job, Seonghwa became more and more dejected. More depressed.

While being legally accepted into society, Seonghwa was still not accepted socially due to his monstrous size and form. He’d been passed over again and again for job simply because he looked different. The more human the humanoids looked, the more likely they were to blend in and while the top part of Seonghwa was human enough, the other three meters of him was all too telling of his nature.

It had been well over a year since Seonghwa started living with you and while you were financially capable of handling the household bills until he did manage to land a job, Seonghwa was berating and beating himself up for it. He often snuck into your bed, at least as much of his body that would fit, and the two of you would stay up, talking late into the wee hours of the morning.

Most of his concerns circulated the same train of thought: finding a job and establishing himself as a member of society. He hated the isolation that his previous life forced on him, living all alone in the caves in the mountains with no one to talk to, being confined to the caves and starving until some poor creature wandered into his lair. He hated every second of it.

It was nice, having a warm body near you, and while Seonghwa wasn’t the cuddliest creature, he did tend to wrap you up in his embrace, mainly to keep from pushing you off your bed with the rest of his huge, elongated body. The amount of heat between your bodies on some of the colder nights was nice but it left you wondering what the line between you was and had you crossed it already.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think about Seonghwa in that way. More than once you had walked in on him showering, water running down his human torso as he tried to wash only his hair and not get his scales wet. Not because he couldn't get wet but because he didn't want trail water everywhere.

You pushed the inappropriate thoughts aside as your friend started to speak.

“What's the point?” he muttered. “All I get is rejected. By jobs, by society, by everyone.”

You felt your heart sink. Your poor best friend. He was such a bright, bubbly person-- monster? He had so much love to give so to see him so down pulled at your heartstrings. You set your chopsticks down and reached across your tiny table to place a gentle hand over his that rested on the wooden surface.

Seonghwa looked from your hand up to meet your gaze as you smiled warmly at him. “I don't reject you,” you said softly. Seonghwa accepted your gesture, taking your hand in both of his hands and bringing it to his face, turning your hand over and pressing your palm against his cheek. “I know,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

As quickly as it started, the tender moment was over when your phone buzzed violently against the table. Using your free hand, you grabbed the device as Seonghwa stared wide-eyed, his slit-like pupils widening to twice their normal width. “Ugh. What part of working hours do my bosses not understand,” you grumbled, reading over your supervisor's text. 

“It’s the weekend and nearly nine at night,” you added as you read over more of the message. “Well, at least I can handle this from home,” you continued when Seonghwa didn't reply.

You glanced up, mid-text, to see why he wasn't responding. He was looking at your phone, a far off look in his eyes. “Hwa?” you called gently. He seemed to snap out of it and look up at you. “Are you alright?” you asked softly. Seonghwa nodded, eyes fixating on your phone again. “That sound,” he started, voice barely above a whisper. You looked down at your phone and back up to your friend.

“The vibration? Oh shit! I totally forgot!” you said quickly changing the vibration settings on your phone. In the wild, snakes sense the world by vibration and heat signatures. Seonghwa was no different. He'd told you in the beginning how highly sensitive to vibrations he was. He also can see in the dark using heat.

“It's not that,” Seonghwa said suddenly. “It reminded me of… nevermind,” he said after a brief pause. You could tell something was on his mind. Not wanting him to feel like he couldn't talk to you, you locked your phone screen before setting the device back on the table, face down and giving Seonghwa your undivided attention.

“No,” you started. “It's okay, you can tell me.”

You noticed how Seonghwa's cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of peach. “No,” he said nonchalantly, waving his hand. “It's nothing.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to feel the weight of your stare which took less than three seconds. “You know you can tell me anything,” you replied kindly. “You know I'll never judge you.” Seonghwa gave you a very pointed stare, raising one eyebrow.

“Okay, except for that one time I saw you swallow three whole rotisserie chickens at the store, I won't judge you.”

A familiar smile broke over your roommate's face as he remembered the day in question. “The look on your face was priceless,” he mused, a giggle escaping him. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but the chickens weren’t,” you retorted, causing Seonghwa to burst into laughter. “I know, I'm sorry,” he said between giggles. “I promise I'll pay you back!” You joined him in his laughter a moment later, shaking your head as he laughed loudly.

The laughter eventually subsided and you got up to clear the table, moving to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Seonghwa followed, leaning on his elbows against the kitchen island while he watched you. It was only a few dishes you needed to wash and once you set them aside and removed the gloves, you turned to find Seonghwa staring you down, his green eyes exploring your form.

“Hwa?” you called to him, drawing his attention slowly back up to meet your gaze. You saw the tip of his long tongue, which was remarkably human in color and forked, dart out to lick his lips. “I’m bored,” he said, making you roll your eyes as you moved to the fridge, your fingers wrapping around the handle only for his next words to make you freeze.

“Let’s fuck.”

You had been staring at him for a good five minutes, equal parts shocked and confused by his sudden proposal. “What did you just say?” you asked, your voice cracking as a smirk spread across his face. “I said I’m bored,” he repeated, trying to play coy. You shook your head. “I meant after that.”

Seonghwa’s smirk only grew as he stared at you, his eyes seeming to glow slightly. “Let’s fuck,” he repeated, his words taking all the breath from your lungs. Never had he been so bold. He’d never been so forward with you before. You felt a wave of heat course through your body, spreading from your core to your extremities and settling in the pit of your stomach.

“What… why… how…” you tried three times to ask a question but each time, the words failed you. Seonghwa tilted his head with a mischievous smile. “Snake got your tongue?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I – uh…” you trailed off, cheeks burning under his gaze.

“Are you always this eloquent?” Seonghwa asked jokingly. “What prompted this?” you finally managed to choke out. Seonghwa shrugged, leaning back up. You could hear the coils of his snake body slide over the wooden floor, the boards creaking slightly under his weight.

“I’ve thought about it all day actually,” he said simply. “Thought about what?” you asked, your voice cracking again. “Fucking you when you got home.”

Coughing overtook you as you accidentally inhaled your own spit. Seonghwa was by your side in an instant, guiding you to sit down at the table and offering you your glass from the table. You took a couple sips while he rubbed your back soothingly. “Does the idea of fucking me gross you out that much?” he joked. You quickly shook your head.

“That's not it,” you replied quickly, voice raspy from the choking and coughing. “I'm not opposed at all actually.”

You stopped, turning to look at Seonghwa who was now smirking at you, a devilish grin on his face. “Oh really now?” he asked softly, tilting his head. “Thought about me in that way, have you?”

Your face burned again, cheeks growing warm as you nervously pulled at the collar of your shirt. “Is it warm in here?” you murmured, looking down at your bowl full of broth that was now definitely cold.

Seonghwa's smirk grew. “It's a little warm,” he answered, reaching up to brush your cheek before leaning in, lips inches from your ear. “But it's about to get a whole lot hotter.”

You stared at the naga as he continued to smirk at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “W-what do you mean?”

Seonghwa leaned his upper torso on the table, the bottom snake half of his body resting on the wooden floor, the boards creaking beneath his weight. He cocked his head, still smirking. “It means,” he started, eyes quickly scanning your frame before darting back up to meet your gaze. “That I'm bored.”

His answer was anticlimactic and that must have showed on your face because he quickly held up a finger, making you wait. “Let me elaborate,” he added. You nodded, motioning for him to continue speaking. He lowered his finger, again scanning you quickly.

“I've always found you insanely attractive for a human. Normally your kind grosses me out or maybe they just annoy me,” he said, bringing his hand up to tap his chin thoughtfully. “Regardless,” he continued. “You're the first human to treat me with kindness and aren't bothered by my… unconventional appearance.”

You opened your mouth to protest his word choice but he simply took your chin in his hand, halting your movements. "Don't deny it," he stated, giving you a stern look. “You know that other humans aren't so keen on my kind. I don't look human enough for them. It's why no one will hire me and why you've been covering my ass all this time.”

Again you tried to speak but he gave your head a gentle shake.

“I'm still talking, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave. Heat rushed between your thighs at the sound of his deep husky tone of his voice. You tried to discreetly squeeze your thighs together but Seonghwa had always been so perceptive.

“Back to what I was saying,” he said, a smirk returning to his lips as he rested his free hand on your thigh. “I find you exceptionally attractive. Everything about you is enticing. Your voice, your eyes, your smile…” he trailed off, eyes lowering to your thighs clenching together. “Even your scent,” he rasped.

You let out a tiny gasp as you felt the pointed tips of his nails dig slightly into the exposed flesh of your thigh. “And judging by your reactions and what you said moments ago, you clearly are attracted to me,” he continued, glancing back up.

You pulled your bottom lip gently between your teeth as he eyed you. “Isn't that right?” he asked, tilting his head. You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak. “And so let me rephrase my earlier statement,” Seonghwa said, moving his hand from your chin to grab the back of your neck.

“I'm bored. Let’s fuck.”

You had no chance to respond, only gasp before your voice was muffled, Seonghwa closing the short distance between your lips and taking you in a searing kiss.

The hand on your thigh held steady, fingers squeezing your thigh as Seonghwa parted your lips with his and his tongue slipped into your mouth. One of the more unsettling features was his forked tongue. You'd never felt it before but you were surprised it was soft, almost like a human tongue only forked and much longer.

Seonghwa pulled back much too quickly for your liking, chuckling when you attempted to pull him back in for another kiss. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I'm not going anywhere.”

You whined when he dodged another one of your attempts to kiss him. “Hwa!” you whined but he merely chuckled before pushing your centerpiece and other table decorations from the surface. They fell to the floor with a clatter while you stared wide eyed at your roommate.

“Are you ins-”

“Get on the table,” Seonghwa ordered, stopping you in your thoughts. You blinked incredulously at him. “O-on the table?” you stammered. He nodded, standing up straight. Looking at the now clear surface, you looked back at him. “Wh-why?”

“Because,” he said in a growl, the hand on your thigh sliding up under your loose shorts. “This is the dinner table and I'm hungry.”

You quickly scrambled up, ignoring the way the table creaked as you scooted into position. Seonghwa was quick to pull off the shirt he was wearing. He only wore it around you at your insistence. His naked, toned torso was distracting at times. 

“Take these off,” he ordered, tugging at the hem of your shorts. 

You moved at lightning speed, pursuing the material down and discarding it on the floor. “These too,” Seonghwa continued, running his thumb over the thin material of your panties. You were about to comply when an idea popped into your head. 

“You take them off,” you retorted. 

Seonghwa eyed you, squinting suspiciously before he leaned over, towering over your form. “If I take them off, I'll ruin them,” he replied. “You really want that?” You shook your head. “Control your strength,” you answered. “Tease me. Seduce me.” Seonghwa laughed out loud. “You're lying on your back all but presenting yourself to me on the table, sweetheart,” he stated. “I think I've already seduced you.” 

Wordlessly, you sat up, pushing him back. “Then I guess I'll get dressed again,” you replied, moving to drop to the floor but Seonghwa stopped you, fingers wrapping around your throat lightly. “Like hell you will. You want me?” he asked, eyes burning into yours. You swallowed thickly against his hand, nodding slowly.

“Then you're gonna lie back, spread your legs and let me tease you until you're begging me for my cock,” he continued. Almost as if his words were hypnotizing, you slowly laid back as his hand slid from your neck and down your chest to the hem of your shirt.

He pushed it up as he leaned over. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his lips leave light kisses down your stomach. “You want me to tease you?” he asked softly. “I'll tease you, alright?”

You let out a soft moan as his kisses moved further and further, skipping over your core and starting at your knee. You chanced a glance at him, moaning loudly as your gaze met his. His lips parted in a grin before he continued kissing down the inside of your thigh, stopping to nip at the sensitive skin, making you gasp.

“God, I can smell you,” he groaned, burying his nose into your core. “I can't wait anymore,” he growled, pulling back, grabbing the sides of your panties and pulling them down your legs, leaving a trail of arousal smeared down your inner thigh. “I need to taste you.”

Before you could respond, Seonghwa had your legs over his shoulders and face buried in between them, tongue easily slipping between your folds. You gasped out, hands moving to his hair and gripping tightly. “Holy fuck, Seonghwa!” you gasped.

He chuckled, the sound sending vibrations to his tongue. “I'm going to ruin oral for you,” he murmured, pulling back to look at your glistening sex. “From now on, only I will be able to eat you out. No one else will be able to compare.”

You moaned again as his tongue returned to your clit, the appendage wriggling and teasing the sensitive nub. "Hwa," you whined, chest heaving as you panted. His hands pushed your thighs further apart, opening more of you up to him. “Don't worry, sweetheart,” he replied. “You'll cum eventually.”

You felt his tongue prod at your hole and almost as soon as he found it, his tongue was slithering its way in, making you whimper, walls clenching as his tongue explored your pussy. “S-Seonghwa!” you cried out, back arching off the hardwood. He pulled back before your orgasm washed over you, making you whimper in protest. “Be patient,” he said simply as he gave you another devilish smirk.

His tongue was back on you in an instant, flicked your clit as his claws dug further into your skin but not enough to make you bleed. You knew you were going to bruise from his insane grip. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair as he ran his tongue up and down your clit, the forked, pointed tip a strange contrast to the oddly human feeling of the muscle.

Your hips started to buck, rolling against his face as your orgasm approached once more. Seonghwa groaned, letting you rut against his tongue, keeping his head still for a moment before he grabbed your hips, pinning them down against the wood as he went back in, lapping at your clit in rapid movements until the tension that had been building finally snapped like a rubber band and your climax washed over you.

You let out a moan that bordered on a whine as you tugged at Seonghwa’s hair, trying to pull him away from your sensitive nub as your body jerked in reaction to each drag of his tongue over your swollen clit. “Hwa,” you breathed. “Please. No more.” He obliged instantly, withdrawing from your cunt and kissing a wet path up your body. Stopping at the edge of your black bralette.

This needs to come off,” he murmured, taking the material in his teeth and tugging lightly. “D-don’t rip it,” you whispered, moving to sit up on the edge of the table, making him sit up straight and watch as you pulled your shirt off over your head, letting it fall to the floor with your panties. You held his gaze as you pulled your bralette off, letting it also drop to the floor. His eyes left yours, gaze wandering down to take in the sight of your bare chest.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he said softly, shifting to lean over you, his lips meeting yours in a much slower, more languid kiss as he laid you back against the table, the wood creaking under your combined weights. “What if it breaks?” you whispered against his lips.

“That would be impressive,” he murmured, lips ghosting over yours as he moved to kiss your neck. You could feel something rubbing against your cunt and glanced between your bodies to see the slit at the base of his torso. It was something you’d noticed plenty of times. The bump surrounding the slit wasn’t massive but it was still a decent size. It didn’t occur to you until then that was where his genitals were located.

Your head fell back against the table as he nipped at and sucked small love bites into the sensitive skin where your neck and shoulder met. “Hwa,” you breathed out, back arching slightly, pressing your chest against his. “Hmm?” he hummed in response, his tongue gliding over your pulse point and up to the base of your ear. “I need you,” you whispered.

“Needy little baby,” Seonghwa said as he let out a chuckle and shifted slightly, pressing that mound at the base of his torso against your wet core. “Does my little angel need me?” he cooed in your ear. “Wants me to fuck her?” You nodded, whining as he rutted against you, your arousal smearing over his skin. “Then who am I to deny her?”

He pulled back slightly and you let out a whine of protest but you quickly felt something hot and warm brush against your cunt and gasped. You tried lifting your head but Seonghwa made that impossible, taking you into a searing kiss. “Hwa,” you grumbled as his lips left yours. “I wanna see.”

Seonghwa snorted but pulled back slightly. “You wanna see what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I wanna see it,” you said, trying to look down between your bodies. Seonghwa let out a dry laugh but obliged you, pushing himself up. Your eyes traveled down his lean body until you were met with a sight you were not expecting.

The slit had been split open and not one but two cocks had emerged. They were a pale pink color, the tips slightly red. Whether that coloration was natural or because he was aroused, you had no idea and you weren’t sure if you wanted to ask. The general shape was relatively human-like except for the head. The tip of each cock was slightly pointed, the base of the head flaring out a small amount.

The shafts were both mostly smooth with a few prominent veins. White beads of precum oozing from the slits on both. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to get a better view, lips parting in awe. Seonghwa watched your expression, keeping an eye on your body language as you eyed him up. He knew he was quite different from a human in this regard and the look on your face was anything but disgust. There was an excited look in your eyes.

And that, in turn, excited him.

“You done staring?” he asked in an amused tone. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. “Sorry,” you whispered as he leaned over you, lips inches from yours. “It’s just so different.” Seonghwan hummed in response, lips brushing against yours as he leaned in closer. “You like what you see?” he asked softly. You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as his lips ghosted over yours before kissing you softly.

“You want both of them at the same time?” You let out a sound between a moan and a sob. “Yes,” you groaned as his lips kissed slowly along your jaw. “I want both of them in me.” Seonghwa held back the growl that rumbled in his chest. “Let’s start with just one,” he murmured in your ear. “On your stomach for me, baby.”

You quickly got up, turning to face the table. Before you could actually climb onto it, Seonghwa bent you over the edge, pressing your chest against the wooden surface. “I’ll go slow,” he said softly as he leaned over your back, the tip of one of his cocks pressing against your cunt. “I promise.” You nodded in response. “I trust you,” you whispered as you felt the very tip of his cock part your folds.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” he asked softly. You nodded wordlessly, folding your arms in front of you as he grabbed your hips, stilling behind you as he looked down at where one of his cocks was about to disappear into you. He wasn’t lying earlier, he had thought about this moment for a while now.

“Oohh shiiiit,” you groaned, burying your face into your forearm as you felt Seonghwa ease the tip of his cock into your cunt. You heard him hiss from behind you. F-fuuuuuuck,” he grunted as he bottomed out, burying all of his length into your walls.

“You feel so warm,” he muttered, one hand moving to rest against the table, the other keeping a firm grip on your hip. “S’full,” you whimpered, your walls fluttering around and gripping Seonghwa’s cock as your body tried to adjust and accommodate him.

“Yeah?” he asked with a slight chuckle. “You like that? You like feeling full, baby?”

You responded with a whimper as he pulled back and gave you a gentle and shallow thrust, a deep rumble sounding from his chest. Almost like a purr. “Fucking hell, so warm and tight,” he said again, marveling at how strong of a grip you had on him.

“It’s like you’ve never been fucked.”

You groaned as he picked up the pace, his hips hitting your ass with each thrust with a slap. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Seonghwa hissed, slowing his hips. “I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he growled.

That being the constricting of your walls around his cock. “I c-can’t control that,” you gasped as he gave you a deep thrust. “Well try, damnit,” he huffed. “I don’t want this to end before it’s really even started.” You cried out as he gave you another deep thrust. “Ooh, that’s new,” he said cheekily, repeating the same action. “Your neighbors might not enjoy all the sound though.”

You had no chance or urge to respond as he picked up the pace again, pounding into you from behind. “What? No snarky comeback this time?” he asked, chuckled as you shook your head, unable to speak. The wood under you creaked as he leaned over, placing his other hand on the table for leverage.

“You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you,” he whispered in your ear. As if to drive his point home, he shoved all of his cock into your cunt and held it there, enjoying the way you struggled against him and whimpered. “Feels that good, huh?” he whispered as you started to relax under him.

You felt the tip of his tail curl around your ankle. “I can feel your heart pounding,” he murmured, lips tailing along your shoulder as his chest dressed against your back. “I can hear it. I can smell you,” he continued. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

You nodded, shuddering as he started to pull back and resume thrusting. “I never would have pegged you to be a monster fucker,” he chuckled. You let out a groan as you felt the pad of his thumb press against your asshole. “What’re you -ah!” you gasped as he slowly pushed the tip of his thumb into you. “If you want to take both, I should probably prepare you,” he said softly.

Your walls clenched around his cock and he groaned, movements halting momentarily as he tried to regain his composure. “I told you to stop doing that,” he said in a low voice as he pushed his thumb further into you. You moaned against the wood of the table. Seonghwa quickly withdrew his thumb, letting a drop of spit fall onto your asshole before pushing two fingers into you, making you gasp, your hands balling into fists. “You okay?” he asked softly as he stilled.

You nodded. The intrusion, while welcome, still stung slightly. Seonghwa gave you a moment to adjust, slowly working your hole open, stretching slightly as he moved his fingers in and out of you. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stretch you fully,” he murmured as he felt his cock inside your walls twitch. “It’s fine.” you said in a breathless voice. “Just put them both in.”

Seonghwa grimaced at the thought of roughly shoving his cock into you, knowing it would hurt you greatly. “No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “We’ll just have to be patient.”

Your body had started to relax as he moved his fingers in and out of you slowly. After what felt like hours but was definitely only a few hours, he finally pulled his fingers out of you, resuming his thrusting. His pace was slow but the thrusts were powerful, rocking you into the table with each snap. Your hands tried to find purchase on the table as he continued to fuck you against the wooden surface.

“Oh fuck this,” Seonghwa suddenly growled, pulling out of you completely. You whined in protest but when he easily flipped you over onto your back you stopped whining. He lined both cocks up with your holes, the first sliding into your cunt easy but the second needed some guidance and coaxing. He managed to ease the tip into your ass, making you gasp as you felt the head of his cock slowly start to stretch you further.

“Hey, hey,” he said suddenly, noticing your body tense up. “Relax,” he whispered. “It’s gonna hurt but only for a bit,” he added. You nodded up at him, taking a deep breath and letting out. As you exhaled, he pushed more of the head into you, the flared base of his cockhead stretching you more before it finally slipped snugly inside. Seonghwa paused, letting your body adjust, gently stroking your thighs and whispering words of praise and encouragement in your ear.

When you had relaxed even more, Seonghwa continued to push into you, both cocks filling your holes simultaneously. It was an entirely different experience, looking up into his green eyes as he pushed back into you slowly. You tried to maintain eye contact but your eyes betrayed you, rolling back as both cocks bottomed out. 

“Oh I like this more,” he chuckled, stilling as he let you adjust once more. After a few minutes, he started to move, setting a steady pace, pumping into you as he watched your face contort in pleasure. “I like being able to see your face. See the expressions you make as I fuck you,” he said as his pace increased, starting to pound into you. 

The feeling was foreign but you enjoyed it. Both holes being filled at the same time provided a new type of pleasure, one you’d never even considered before. You knew after this, there would be no going back to normal men or normal sex. Not when you had Seonghwa in your apartment. As if he read your mind, Seonghwa spoke up, repeating the same sentiments you’d thought to yourself.

“I don’t think I could give this up,” he groaned, hips hitting the back of your thighs and ass with each powerful thrust he gave you, the sound of skin hitting skin and the wet lewd sounds of his cocks slamming into you filling the apartment. “Now that I’ve had a taste,” he added.

“Gonna wanna fill you every night.” You moaned in agreement, knowing that your nightly routines were about to change forever. “Would you let me?” Seonghwa asked breathlessly as his hips stuttered. “You gonna let me fuck you every night now?” You nodded, moans raising in pitch as he continued to snap his hips, driving his cocks into you.

Your lips parted, a moan falling past them which was soon swallowed by Seonghwa as he leaned down, taking your lips in a messy kiss. His hips never faltered, his thrusts growing erratic as he drove both of you to orgasm. His tail was still curled around your ankle as he gave you a couple more thrusts, throwing you over the edge. Your walls tightened around his cock as you came, pushing him to his own climax.

Each moan you let out he swallowed eagerly as he fucked you both through your respective highs, emptying a ridiculous amount of cum into your abused holes until he finally stopped moving, his thick sticky cum dripping out of you and onto the floor. Neither of you spoke, only panting against each other as you tried to catch your breath and process what just happened.

Seonghwa finally pushed himself up, using the table for support as he looked down at you. “I think…” he started, speaking between each labored breath. “We should get cleaned up.” You nodded, your chest rising and falling with each pant. “I think that’s a good idea,” you croaked. Seonghwa smirked down at you as you licked your lips and tried to sit up. “What?” you asked, noticing the hungry look in his eyes.

“Round two in the shower?” he asked eagerly. You scoffed. “You just came! And a lot I might add,” you protested, feeling even more of his cum spill out of you. Seonghwa leaned in, pressing another kiss to your lips. “You forget I’m not human,” he murmured against your lips. “So?” you asked in between kisses.

“I have a lot more stamina than anyone you’ve ever fucked,” he continued, pulling back and giving you another smirk before kissing you once more. You felt heat settle in the pit of your stomach as you remembered the two cocks that had emerged from the slit, both pink with pointed reddened tips. A fresh wave of excitement and arousal coursed through you at the prospect of being filled with both of them, something you had begged for earlier. Seonghwa, sensing your excitement, gave you another couple of kisses.

“And besides,” he added. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ cellophane.

dance instructor!ambessa x muscular!f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: you are an athlete forced into retirement by an unforeseen injury. ambessa is the dance instructor who rehabilitates you through ballet. could it be any more obvious?

cw: mentions of injury, tall!reader, muscular!reader, angst, implied mental health issues, age difference because it's me, non-sexual intimacy, rehabilitation from an injury, ballerina!reader, soft!ambessa, emotional hurt/comfort, making out, getting together, implied praise kink, body dysmorphia.

notes: written completely for @for-sappho based on their post about ambessa's canon type. this is a drabble.

“begin.” 

without opening your eyes, you began to let your body break down. surrendering was the only way forward. it had been years since you’d danced professionally, but the memory was still a deep instinct. you felt the ripple of your back, flexing under the easy weight of your instructor’s hand, and let it guide you, pressure you.

you’d started taking classes again, not for ambition but survival—something to give your defeated body a purpose. after the accident, the world felt permanently off-kilter, as if it had spun wildly and refused to settle. your days blurred into repetition: waking with the sun, curling into yourself to relearn how to move, then collapsing into bed again. sometimes, you’d coax your dog to lay on you, his solid weight anchoring you to the grave of your bed.

the classes were private. shame dictated that much. it wasn’t that the other dancers weren’t kind; they were. but you didn’t fit in, and you couldn’t bring yourself to try. bitterness clung to you like a second skin, a self-inflicted punishment for ruining the athletic future you’d worked so hard to build. and then there was your body—tall, muscular, powerful in ways that made you feel both monstrous and vulnerable.

you always thought you looked misshapen in a leotard, like a tree gnarled by time and trauma. yet the world, in its stubbornness, disagreed. magazines, headlines, strangers—they described you in words you never allowed to belong to you: graceful, elegant, divine. it only felt like another cruelty. but maybe if the world insisted on that truth, you owed it to yourself to try and believe it.

when you found the studio—medarda—you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t just the glowing reviews or the name that caught your eye; it was her. ambessa.

she was your instructor now, a thickly muscled woman with a commanding presence, her skin traced with scars that spoke of combat. there was no warmth in her gaze when she first met you; it was only a firm assessment as she took in the way you folded into yourself, trying to shrink in a body that refused to be small.

the first day, she scoffed when you requested to dance. instead, she stretched you.

that summer day still burned in your memory, slurred with heat and the bite of her hands cooled from a bowl of ice water she kept beside her. you’d been unprepared for the emotions that spilled out of you. 

tears slipped down your face as her hands worked along your body, massaging, lengthening, coaxing. when she pressed on your hips, one hand steadying your back as she bent you forward, the fire that licked through your thighs wasn’t just physical. it felt like grief unraveling. a gasp had shuddered from your throat as she bent you, wet and small. 

your head bowed, neck surrendering as you let go of something you hadn’t even realized you were holding. she said nothing, only pulled you upright and held you straight. her thumbs pressed deep into the curve of your lower back. and then she trapped you there, steady, until you stopped shaking.

you’d never felt so exposed. you hated her, desperately. the next day, you returned.

“are you here, or are you somewhere else?”

her voice brought you back, cutting through the haze as you spun into stillness. her sharp eyes followed your every movement; her hair was braided tightly away from her face. you let out a slow breath, fingers brushing over the loose strands of your own undone bun. your toes flexed against the floor, grounding you.

“i’m with you,” you murmured.

it was a bizarre thing, your deference toward her. the words in themselves were an odd thing to say, but she didn’t comment. she only nodded, choosing to save her sharper critiques for moments when she knew you could bear them. today wasn’t one of those days. 

she could tell from the way you moved—raw and sluggish—that you were caught in one of those moods where you turned on yourself, uselessly cruel.

“good,” she said. “that’s where you should always be.”

“yes, ambessa.”

“again.”

you spun out, arms lifting as you rose to pointe. your calves screamed, your ankles throbbed, but you didn’t stop. you wouldn’t. ambessa stepped toward you, silent and deliberate, her hand pressing firmly against your stomach. she guided you, her touch steady, pushing until your back curved deeper, the stretch pulling at your muscles with a delicious ache.

a sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, as you exhaled shakily. your lips parted in silent anguish.

“i understand,” she said, her voice softer now, her thumb brushing against your side like an unspoken promise. “just breathe.”

this body was a monster to you. 

it had betrayed you, defied you, broken you in ways that were undeserved. you had loved it, used it, but still there were days it felt foreign—like an unwelcome thing you had to drag through the hours, an intruder you could never escape. even now, as ambessa’s hands pressed against your trembling core, your knees chose to abandon you and buckled.

the ache surged too fast, too sharp, and you stumbled forward, your body instinctively seeking refuge. you fell into her.  

her arms caught you easily, steady and sure, and for a moment, you stayed there, leaning into the solidity of her frame. her body, like yours, was carved with power—muscle over bone, skin stretched taut from years of wear. it struck you, suddenly, how similar you were to one another.

“see?” she murmured, her voice low but unyielding, a vibration that traveled through you. “see how we are the same? this body you hate—this body you think of as destroyed—is no different from mine. you are not alone, and you are far from weak.”  

her hands didn’t let you go. instead, they held you tall, forcing you to bear the weight of her words.  

“i’m not a child,” you hissed, your voice trembling with frustration, but not at her. at yourself. at the world. “this was my life. once. i was strong. i was capable. and now…”  

you trailed off, the silence heavier than anything else.  

“it isn’t anymore,” ambessa said firmly, her words like a blade. “and you must make peace with that.”  

your head snapped up at her, anger flashing in your eyes. “make peace with it? how? how would you make peace with losing everything you worked for? everything you were?”  

her gaze softened—not with pity, but understanding. she tilted her head, her scarred hands moving to rest on your shoulders.  

“you rebuild,” she said simply. “you take what remains, and you shape it into something new. you let go of the life you had, not because it wasn’t worth something, but because clinging to it will destroy you. you are strong. you are still capable. but the strength isn’t what it was. it’s what it is now. and now, you are learning.”  

you closed your eyes against the sting of tears, your chest heaving brutishly.

“i don’t want to start over,” you whispered, voice cracking. “i want it back. i want to go back.”  

ambessa exhaled, a sound heavy with both patience and exhaustion. her hand slid to your jaw, tipping your face up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes.  

“you can’t,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “what you had is gone. but what you are becoming—what you can become—is something greater. and you will not do it alone.”  

her words settled into the silence between you. you didn’t have it in you to argue. instead, you continued to let her hold you, her strength bracing yours. 

then you pulled away. 

you sat on the studio floor, your legs stretched out awkwardly as you packed your ballet bag. your fingers fumbled over the soft fabric of your cardigan, the worn ribbons of your pointe shoes. the quiet felt heavy, pressing against your chest like a dead animal. your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, distant and tired.  

ambessa’s presence was impossible to ignore. she moved silently, a relentless force of nature, and before you realized it, she was there—lowering herself to the floor beside you. her broad frame folded gracefully as she settled next to you, close enough that her knee brushed against yours.  

you looked at her through the mirror first. her sharp, regal features were softened by the dim light, her expression unreadable. your chest ached at the sight of her, and you turned toward her fully, unable to stop yourself.  

your hands reached for her face before you could think better of it, cupping her cheeks with a gentleness that surprised even you. her skin was warm beneath your palms, scarred and beautiful, and you felt her gaze settle on you, an invisible blanket.  

“you,” you whispered, the word trembling as it left your lips.  

then you kissed her.  

it was tentative at first, a soft press of your mouth against hers, but when she didn’t pull away, you deepened it. your lips moved against hers, searching, desperate. your hands trembled as they slid from her face to her neck, to her shoulders, tracing the strong lines of her body.  

you kissed her neck, her hands, each touch more tender than the last, until the emotions bubbling beneath your skin finally escaped you. tears streamed down your face, silent and thick, as you pressed your forehead against hers, your breath hitching with the force of it.  

ambessa let you cry. her hands, steady and sure, came to rest on your shoulders, grounding you as she always did. when she spoke, her voice was low and steady, each word deliberate.  

“life,” she murmured, “is like a hive. at its center, there is both the bee sting and the honey. you sting yourself constantly, over and over, until you swell with pain. you must allow that to die off. only then can you taste the sweetness.”  

you shook your head, your tears falling faster now, but there was something in her tone, in her words, that stilled you. she studied your face for a moment, her thumb brushing lightly over your jaw, and her next words came softer.

“i will still want you,” she said, as if your desire had been sitting quietly between the two of you, open and magnanimous.

you pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, your hands still trembling as they rested on her shoulders. your voice was low, but the words came with a bruising force.

“there is no honey at the center,” you said, your voice breaking. “only you.”  

her lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through the seriousness of her expression. 

“then i will be the honey,” she said, her tone steady and sure. “let me remind you of what you’ve forgotten—of who you are, and who you can still become. let me into your mouth,  let me drip across your teeth.”

your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your hands falling to your lap as you searched her face. the words tumbled out before you could stop them, raw and vulnerable:  

“will you—can i be your favorite?”  

the question hung in the air, fragile and desperate, a callback to the days when being the judges’ favorite was everything. when it meant proof of your worth.  

ambessa’s expression softened, and she dipped her head.

“you already are,” she said, the words unyielding. “it is only natural.”  

her hand came to rest on your cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. “there is no need to compete. not for this. you are enough as you are.”  

her words freed something within you, a bird whose wings had been bound tightly for years. your breath hitched again, but this time, it was laden with relief.  

slowly, she picked up the cardigan you’d cast beside you, wrapping it carefully around your shoulders and tying it snugly over your chest into a perfect bow. then, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.  

“you will always be my favorite,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure. 

you bent forward, listened to her heart. it didn’t skip a beat. she was honest and strong. you, for the time being, were weaker but wanting. 

© hcneymooners.

[incognitopolls]

For the purposes of this poll, research is defined as reading multiple non-opinion articles from different credible sources, a class on the matter, etc.– do not include reading social media or pure opinion pieces.

Fun topics to research:

Can AI images be copyrighted in your country? If yes, what criteria does it need to meet?

Which companies are using AI in your country? In what kinds of projects? How big are the companies?

What is considered fair use of copyrighted images in your country? What is considered a transformative work? (Important for fandom blogs!)

What legislation is being proposed to ‘combat AI’ in your country? Who does it benefit? How does it affect non-AI art, if at all?

How much data do generators store? Divide by the number of images in the data set. How much information is each image, proportionally? How many pixels is that?

What ways are there to remove yourself from AI datasets if you want to opt out? Which of these are effective (ie, are there workarounds in AI communities to circumvent dataset poisoning, are the test sample sizes realistic, which generators allow opting out or respect the no-ai tag, etc)

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Could I get Storm, Magneto, and Nightcrawler with a reader who’s mutation isn’t for combat? It makes them feel weak compared to the others

Here are some headcanons for how Storm, Magneto, and Nightcrawler would react to an S/O whose mutation isn’t combat-oriented and who feels insecure or weak compared to the others:

Storm (Ororo Munroe)

1. Ororo would immediately recognize the importance of your mutation, regardless of its combat capabilities. She’s wise and empathetic, and she’d reassure you that every mutation has its place and purpose. She would remind you that her own powers, though formidable, have many uses beyond combat—like nurturing the earth or bringing rain to parched lands.

2.Storm would encourage you to explore the full potential of your abilities. She’d work with you to find ways your mutation could be used to benefit the team in non-combat scenarios, whether it’s healing, providing support, or something entirely unique. She’d help you see that strength isn’t just about fighting; it’s about contributing in meaningful ways.

3.Ororo is incredibly compassionate and would take time to listen to your feelings of inadequacy. She would share stories of times she felt out of place or unsure of her own powers, helping you understand that everyone, even the most powerful mutants, has moments of doubt.

4. Storm would ensure that the team recognizes and values your contributions. She might organize team exercises or missions where your specific skills are crucial, showing everyone—including yourself—how essential you are to their success.

5. Ororo has a deep appreciation for individuality. She would often compliment you on your unique abilities and encourage you to embrace what makes you different. She’d remind you that being unique is a strength in itself, not a weakness.

Magneto (Erik Lehnsherr)

1.Magneto has seen the wide range of mutant abilities and knows that not all of them are combat-oriented. He’d likely take a pragmatic approach, reminding you that every power has its utility and value. He’d encourage you to think strategically about how your mutation can be leveraged in different situations.

2. Erik would challenge you to rethink what it means to be “strong.” He’d point out that many of the most important and influential individuals in history didn’t rely on physical strength or combat prowess but on intellect, influence, or unique talents. He’d push you to see that your mutation might offer strengths others lack.

3.Magneto might take a personal interest in helping you develop your abilities. He’d offer guidance on how to maximize your potential, perhaps even suggesting ways to combine your mutation with other skills or technologies to increase its effectiveness in different contexts.

4. Erik is a big-picture thinker, and he’d help you see how your mutation fits into a larger context. Whether it’s through aiding in strategic planning, gathering intelligence, or supporting the team in ways that go beyond combat, he’d make it clear that every role is vital to the cause.

5. Magneto wouldn’t sugarcoat things; he’d be honest about the challenges you face. But his honesty would come with a strong message: you are part of something greater, and your value isn’t diminished because your abilities aren’t combat-related. He’d emphasize that everyone has a part to play and that your role is just as crucial as anyone else’s.

Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner)

1. Kurt would be incredibly empathetic towards your feelings of insecurity. He understands what it’s like to feel different or less capable, and he’d be the first to reassure you that your worth isn’t determined by how well you can fight. He’d remind you that the X-Men are a team, and every team member’s contribution is important, no matter what form it takes.

2. Kurt would make a point to highlight the ways your mutation has helped the team, no matter how small or behind-the-scenes those contributions might seem. He’d constantly remind you that your abilities bring something special to the group, whether it’s in the form of support, creativity, or another non-combat strength.

3. Nightcrawler would gently encourage you to explore your powers further, finding new ways to use them that you might not have considered. He’d offer to help you experiment in a safe, supportive environment, emphasizing that your powers are valuable and that there’s no need to compare yourself to others.

4.Kurt is deeply compassionate, and he’d be your biggest cheerleader when you’re feeling down. He’d remind you that being kind, empathetic, and supportive are strengths in themselves, and that those qualities are just as important to the team as any combat ability.

5. Kurt might share his own experiences of feeling out of place or inadequate, using his faith and personal philosophy to help you see that everyone has a purpose. He’d remind you that your worth isn’t defined by others’ expectations but by your own unique gifts and how you choose to use them.

[level2janitor]

tactiquest structure

so i've posted a lot about tactiquest's classes and monsters and everything on here but i haven't really talked about the non-combat subsystems much yet and i wanted to go into detail about them, bc tactiquest has very different goals from most heroic fantasy systems.

tracking inventory, travel time, worrying about actually running out of your adventuring budget, are things a lot of big-damn-heroes fantasy systems throw out because they're just paperwork that gets in the way of your cool fights. that's not the case in Tactiquest! these systems are so core to the experience that removing them will make a lot of classes unusable. the game is built around them.

travel & exploration

tactiquest explicitly assumes you're running an open-sandbox hexcrawl and is designed to support that, including the fact the game is designed around random encounters. this is the sort of thing D&D 3e expected you to do, but people ditched random encounters because they thought they were boring and tedious. so classes balanced around that attrition of resources ended up with a huge spike in power other classes couldn't match.

the boring-and-tedious problem is mostly addressed by trying to make combat really good and resolve really fast. if i fucked that up the whole thing falls apart, but so far people are liking it

the second thing that helps with random encounters is your resources don't fully restore immediately at the end of each day like they do in 3e. resting is less effective in the wilderness and resources expended are a tomorrow problem, not just a today problem. so you don't have to have 3+ fights every single day just to maintain parity - 0-2 fights per day still adds up to difficult resource management.

because the game has such a focus on it, you can have classes like the ranger actually be good at travel and exploration instead of just giving them vaguely-naturey combat abilities.

economy

in most D&D-likes, even usually OSR ones, you accrue so much gold. just as a side effect of adventuring. to the point money no longer actually matters because you can throw piles of it at any problem. this is bad. it's a system that defeats its own purpose; there are no interesting choices involving money when you have so much the only real expense is like, 50,000-gold-piece magic items.

i don't just want players to care about money, i want them to worry about money, like a normal person. you're not batman who's a billionaire as a side hobby, you're spiderman who has to deliver pizzas in between superhero work because he's got bills to pay like everyone else. so a whole lot of effort has been put into actually designing prices and treasure amounts around this dynamic.

i also hate how games will usually go "oh adventuring gives you 900,000 gold for existing but a normal person's living wage is 2 gold a month". i don't want to be fantasy jeff bezos, thanks

inventory

this is something i just lifted from OSR games outright. you can carry ten things (and tiny things don't take up an item slot). that's the whole rule.

tracking inventory can add a lot of interesting decisions to a game and adds a new lever for abilities from classes and magic items. having a character play the merchant class which gets a bunch of extra inventory slots feels really impactful. finding a bag of holding that doubles your carry capacity feels so good when you actually have to watch your inventory.

supply

the only thing i felt was really unenjoyable when running games with strict inventory limits was tracking rations for each character that you eat every night; it felt too much like busywork with not enough payoff. so in Tactiquest rations are abstracted into a single Supply stat that's tied to the party rather than any individual character.

you can only restock Supply in towns, and it drops by 1 each time you rest. you can sleep without resting and this won't cost supply, but you won't regain any HP or other resources. this gives you the impactful decision-making of tracking rations without the annoyance of "okay it's been a day of travel, everyone make sure you dock a ration from your sheet" like twice per session

Supply is one of the things that slowly drains your funds and gives you a reason to keep seeking out treasure, tying back into the economy. it also gives merchants and rangers some extra mechanical levers for their class abilities to pull on.

Edit: in the time since writing this post, tactiquest's been released as a public playtest. if this sounds interesting to you, play it here!

[aabluedragon]

The changing of sides on Sancho’s Armadura is deliberate.*

*This is an ID that does not supplant any existing character in the Canto like Spicebush Yi Sang or Captain Ishmael did. As Sancho likely existed in this mirror world as she did in ours before the construction of La Manchaland, I will make the assumption that her Armadura had sat on her left shoulder during that time for the purpose of this discussion.

In previous posts, I became mentally ill over which hand Don Quixote/Sancho holds her weapon in and how her costuming reflects her current priorities, held desires, and mental state. There, I examined her Armadura being on her left shoulder despite her apparent left-hand dominance as Don Quixote as a matter of knight imagery and style over visual field. After all, many suits of plate armor feature a larger, more thickly armored pauldron upon the shield (or non-dominant) arm, allowing the sword arm to swing unimpeded. Given the explanation of Captain Ishmael’s harpoon leg being on the opposite side of Ahab’s as a quirk of being mirrored, I was willing to set my initial theory until more footage was released of Manager Sancho.

That time is now.

Why would Sancho decide to move her Armadura from her left shoulder to her right? Seeing that she is gripping her spear in a left-hand dominant two-handed grip, I believe she’s made this change for two main reasons.

To fight at her absolute best while facing her Father Don Quixote in mortal combat. Against humans and other Kindred, Sancho has confidence enough in her martial superiority to have her vision blocked by her Armadura when fencing one-handed or to use her right hand for visual clarity instead. In other words, nobody else warrants Sancho bothering to prepare for a battle to her death.

To shield herself from the sight of the cardinal sin she is about to commit. Sancho is holding her lance in the left hand, allowing it to cross over her body so that her right hand grips higher on the shaft. This position puts the Armadura on her right shoulder directly across her line of sight, as if she were raising her shield to charge an enemy. Sancho, in all her devotion, was — is — the First Kindred Don Quixote’s most loyal Kindred. Despite her misgivings about the longevity of La Manchaland and the capability of a Bloodfiend to surpass bloodthirst, she placed all her attention and efforts on accomplishing this dream. So much so, that in a different world, she was willing to believe that her work would hold as she left on a journey with Don Quixote. Not here. Not when the distance between her and her Family, not just Don Quixote, has become so small. Where she failed to show her love to Dulcinea, Nicolina, and Curiambro in another world, her mirror self remains at their sides with unblinking devotion, forced to watch as her Family withers and starves. Love is the hand that guides her weapon towards Don Quixote’s enemies. Love is the final straw that raises her lance against Don Quixote’s festering dream. Allow her this one mercy, to shield her from the betrayal in her Father’s eyes.

In our world, Sancho was not allowed to stay by her Father’s side and potentially sacrifice her life to defend his dream. That dream that eventually became her own as she lived amongst humans on their travels. Instead, she chose to sacrifice her self and her memories to Oblivion to pursue his dream in his stead. That is her duty as his Second Kindred.

Here, despite staying in La Manchaland to fight for her Family, Sancho is once again sacrificing herself in the name of duty. She is Sancho, Don Quixote’s most loyal and illustrious Kindred. She is the Second Kindred, responsible for the life and happiness of all Kindred of La Manchaland. She will face their Father Don Quixote’s wrath in their stead.

[filurig]

some stuff involving non sapient creatures in pareidolia, first image is some animals that tomtar have domesticated, second is a remake of gloson, which is a vätte but is, contrary to most other ones ive made, not a sophont and is instead domesticated by trolls. more info below the cut...

ive already talked about the tomteget in another post, so i wont go into detail about them here, but the one shown in the picture is gullmar's goat (and he is there as well as ucan see). tomtar also keep a domesticated breed of wolverine and ermine, used for some different purposes - wolverines more as guarding/herding animals and ermines to hunt. tomtar don't actually tend to hunt a lot of large prey at all, and what they do hunt is sort of limited as a lot of game birds are sacred to them due to folklore (basically ptarmigans, corvids, grouses, capercailles and things in those veins..). therefore despite how small ermines are they can hunt most of the quarry they prefer such as hares, ducks etc - especially bcs the tomte variety of ermine is bred to be a bit larger and more robust. they can also just be kept as companion animals for many tomtar. wolverines meanwhile serve well as guarding and herding animals due to their size and strength. there is a notable regiment of wolverine fighters in the midlands front - where interested tomtar are trained for combat utilizing the power of the wolverine - the one pictured though is a regular herding/guarding animal though. there are probably some smaller tomte hunting groups that try to go for bigger game with them such as wolves etc. but its definitely pretty unusual. tomteget goats are basically universal across tomte cultures, but the tomte wolverines and ermines are a bit more limited, more occuring in northern cultures historically. although as time goes on they have been spread further south, especially as the midlands front was established and increased the communicative network between different disparate tomte societies. 2. this is just a remake of the gloson from that older post bcs i wasnt really happy with the design - its a laaaaarge animal but didnt really feel like it proportionally bcs i stuck too closely to the normal eu swine proportions... things are mostly the same about them though. the orange parts of the horns glow!

[witchhaven]

Self

As I've observed before, not all dolls are the same. Heart, is a cute little service doll, who cleans, and sometimes cooks, making sure I'm in lovely working order. Apple is a companion doll, who's there for the other dolls, growing even close enough to Heart to form a relationship. Thread is a wind-up doll, which I'm not sure about the purpose of, but it does seem to brighten the life of the next one in question. Soul is an example of a combat doll, who's grown past its purpose, living with the others in companionship of them all, much like Apple does.

Today, a new doll approaches me. I feel its steps lift it up to my patio before it even knocks on my door. This doll certainly didn't start as a doll, as I can feel from the implication of experience on its careful footsteps. It wears a button-up shirt, tucked into a black flowing skirt, with a pair of black floral tights underneath, and a pair of glossy black shoes. Enveloping the outfit is a loose fitting flowy black jacket with a dark purple silky lining. Framed by its porcelain-white skin are a pair of similarly dark purple eyes, magnified by a pair of round glasses. In its inky black hair is a white and purple hairpin detailing a luna moth.

Its ball-jointed right hand extends as it gently and politely reaches to knock on the door, stopping as it does this. The extended hand opens as it places its palm gingerly on my front door. It stands there, feeling the wooden surface as its eyes close.

"Ah, you're much like this one, aren't you, house?" The doll smiles as a warm feeling begins to permeate my door, emanating from the doll's hand.

I allow my door to open for Self, knowing exactly the reason why it came to me. It's exactly the same as all the other dolls' reasons, the only difference being the strange nature of its existence, the perception immediately felt in its presence as it carefully continues inside. Once Self has fully entered, it crouches down to remove its shoes and leave them by my door.

It claps its hands together, bowing slightly, "Thank you for allowing its presence."

I could feel the nature of the other dolls as they entered, but Self is a mystery to me. Its presence seems to be engineered to not leave an impact behind, as it carefully and gently steps, and it seems that its mind is much the same. I expect it to make its way to the kitchen much like the other dolls, and eventually find itself in another room for it, which I've already manifested, but it actively heads in the opposite direction, opening a door into a set of bare wooden stares leading into an underground room the other dolls have left yet unopened.

The room is concrete, and once a cord is pulled at the bottom of the stairs, a lightbulb illuminates the space laid bare and empty, with nothing but a closed door on the far corner. Self approaches, gently grasping the door's handle and turning. There's little resistance aside from that of the springs in a typical doorknob, but as Self pushes, the door doesn't seem to budge. Self backs up after some pushing, and retrieves a non-distinct leather-bound black book from its jacket pocket, thumbing through the pages until it lands on a particular one, extending its right hand to the door, and chanting something under its breath.

The nature of this chant, I do not know, but I feel some energy imbue itself into the door, emanating from Self. The energy seems to attempt to rotate the door open under its own impulse, but still the door doesn't budge. Self closes the book and returns it to its jacket pocket. Its brow furrows as it still has yet to find an answer to its unasked question. Perhaps I could find said answer if it would ask, but alas, for now, I must simply wait for it to sleep, where I'll undoubtedly come to its aid, as I have all the dolls who have slept in my embrace.

For now, Self seems to resign, as it backtracks back up the steps, and paces down the hall into the kitchen. In there, it meets the other dolls, who have been sharing tea with idle conversation.

"Ah, hello. This one is Self, sorry for-" Self is interrupted by Apple.

Apple excitedly approaches Self, "A new doll! It's lovely to meet you!"

Introductions go as they tend to, as Self is served tea and properly converses with the dolls present. The conversation continues late into the night, before the new doll is guided by Cream and Sugar to its new bedroom, where it lays down on the soft bed and allows the unconscious to lead it into my embrace. I do my best to envelop it as I share a view into its emotions.

I see a witch, inexperienced, but confident in her ability. She regularly experiments with rituals involving incense and candles, recording her results into a non-distinct black leather-bound journal. In addition, she records the results of many a divination, be it from tarot cards, or a pendulum. I see her detailed drawings depicting her own processes and her notes detailing results and conditions of the rituals themselves. The occasion arrives that the witch feels the need to perform rituals for protection in a living situation she's found herself in. It of course records the conditions, the incantation, and the process, but the result seems to be ineffective. The witch's living situation only becomes more trepidatious before it ends. I watch a world come crumbling down around this witch, leaving a figure kneeling in the middle of the ruins, which I can only assume at first to be her. It's not her though, not really. The witch has gone through a transformation, whether willing or not. What's left in her place is a ball-jointed porcelain doll which once upon a time used to be a witch. Self cries amidst the wreckage of once was, forgetting about recording the result of a ritual, simply weeping and allowing itself to break, in the middle of nothing.

I envelop Self, as I do my best to reach arms around it, and pick it up into a cradle position. I manifest my mouth near its left ear and attempt to whisper to it.

My attempt is met with success, "It's okay... You don't need to hurt anymore..."

[cinnamonest]

With this whole 'rape fantasies are a result of misogyny as they allow women a guilt free sexuality cos they have no autonomy'

Surely that means your writing and fantasies are contributing to misogyny? Adding to it and normalising it?

Like isnt the answer to write and encourage fantasies of empowerment? Not abuse and rape?

Just seems crazy to me like 'we do this because of misogyny. And we'll keep doing it'

Obviously some behaviour come from misogyny and exist to combat it. This... really doesn't

I just don't think it's a feminist win when your writing is indistinguishable from that of a misogynistic man's.

This isnt an attack on you it just really seems like common sense that if something exists because of misogyny the last thing we should do is feed into those ideas

(I assume this is coming from this post, so I might reference that a bit here)

No worries, I fully understand how this can come across negative to those who do not have the same experiences and I appreciate you approaching the matter in a non-attacking way with genuine desire to have dialogue on the subject. I'll do my best to address these points individually.

>Surely that means your writing and fantasies are contributing to misogyny? Adding to it and normalising it?

In the past few years fandom culture has become a bit obsessed with the idea of "normalization" to the point that the definition of the term has been a bit skewed, which creates issues with these discussions.

There is no concept of which existence of content containing it alone constitutes normalization, by the actual definition of the word. Normalization is the process by which it is distributed and way in which it is presented, and intent of its creation.

Normalization via fiction is a process in which a creator, generally intentionally, creates content that presents a concept as, well, normal. That is, not reprehensible or problematic to replicate, and presents this to a population with the intent of them accepting the idea as something acceptable in reality. Generally it also necessitates that the creator will try to ensure the media is viewed by mainstream general audiences who would not normally seek the content out, since the purpose of normalization is to make an idea acceptable amongst a population.

That is the opposite of what I am doing, which is creating a private space filled with warnings. I am going out of my way to ensure that people who do not want to see this content, have the foreknowledge to opt to avoid it.

By definition, if you’re creating content and ensuring that it is heavily warned, and marketing it as such that only a niche group who likes such content seeks it out, that’s not normalization by any reasonable metric.

>Like isnt the answer to write and encourage fantasies of empowerment? Not abuse and rape?

For some people, I’m sure that would help them, and in that case, that is a great solution for them.

But people are different, and certain things that help some, don’t help others. The types of fantasies that would probably be called “empowering,” personally do nothing for me but make me uncomfortable, in the same way that the sort of content I write makes some people uncomfortable. It does not have the same positive effects on my mental health that this form of content does.

>Obviously some behaviour come from misogyny and exist to combat it. This... really doesn't

That's fair — but it doesn't have to.

It is not intended to directly combat misogyny in any way, there are other ways to do that, and this does not have to be one. It's primary purpose is catharsis and the ways in which it benefits me and, as is my hope, those who choose to consume it.

>I just don't think it's a feminist win when your writing is indistinguishable from that of a misogynistic man's.

Again, I never had any intention for it to be a "win" — misogyny is the reason for why I have these desires, but in making what I make, my purpose is to provide catharsis for myself and others.

But also, I would heavily contest that it is indistinguishable from male fantasies. As someone who has seen actual men's misogynist fetishization fantasies, they are very different.

Female disposability and the complete worthlessness of women’s very being — that is, women being non-human objects that are interchangeable, and made to be used temporarily and replaced — is the core defining characteristic of male fantasy/sexuality. Male fantasies almost always involve multiple women to one man, largely because he does not have any actual bond with women, they are items to be collected, no interpersonal relationship actually exists.

The lack of interpersonal connection and lack of personableness itself is fetishized by men, what men get off to is the power they feel from completely disregarding the woman as a person in any way. The very act of the woman being thrown away after being used is fetishized.

In male fantasy, there is no interpersonal connection or affection of any kind, whereas that is one of the defining themes of content like mine.

Tl;dr — while misogyny impacts all women, the severity and form of it in different upbringings, environments and cultures can create misunderstandings and strong reactions when different people react so differently to the same content and thus form misconceptions about each other's perceptions and intentions, but I believe both sides of this argument are usually coming from a place of good intent.

While I fully understand how it would be difficult for those who do not have the same experience to grasp mine, I just ask for mutual understanding that some forms of content help some people, in the same way entirely different forms of content help other people.

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 8: Stitches

AO3 Link  |  Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: sexual themes/content; angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; hurt/comfort; tending to injuries; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); blood and injury; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)

Note: I’m excited for this chapter!!

If you’ve read my first fic “You’re My People,” you might recognize parts of the second half of this chapter. I was going to rewrite the scene entirely, but then I reread YMP for the first time since I wrote it and thought “wait, i actually like this.” So I edited it to be a more accurate depiction of the current vibe/dynamic between our Prophet and our beloved Wolf, switched up the povs, and fixed any plot changes. And it has an entirely different ending!

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

When Abby had asked you to stay behind, to wait for her back at the aquarium, you just shook your head, picked up your bow, and motioned for her to lead the way. 

Something was off with you. You had been silent for the entire trek from the aquarium to the theater, not asking a single question. 

You didn’t ask who had done that to Owen, Mel, and Yara. You didn’t ask what Abby was planning on doing once you got there. You didn’t ask why this was happening, why someone was tracking her down, how your own friend could’ve gotten caught in the crosshairs and ended up dead.

Which was good, because Abby wasn’t prepared to answer any of those questions right now. 

But you hadn’t even reacted to seeing Yara dead. Abby doesn’t think you even looked at her body, and you treated the huge pools of blood on the floor like they were puddles of rainwater on the street after a storm. Inconvenient but inconsequential.

She knew what this was. She’d seen it before in her friends and fellow soldiers. Hell, she’d done it herself plenty of times. When the hurt gets too big, you shut it down entirely just to make it through. It’s fine in the middle of combat – helpful, even. It becomes a problem when you can’t pull yourself out of it, when you close yourself off indefinitely.

If you didn’t snap out of it on your own once all of this was over, Abby would do it for you.

The two of you had been able to navigate the Seattle streets pretty quickly and without interference. The Wolves and the Seraphites must’ve still been busy killing each other on the island.

“Pinnacle Theater Presents: Cassandra, September 26” was plastered across the front of the building.

And now, staring at the entrance to the theater, Abby realized that she actually had no idea what she was up against. The lights were on inside, so someone was here.

She had seen Tommy Miller earlier at the marina, so she knew he would be inside, but Manny hadn’t said there was a trespasser; he’d said trespassers, plural. She could be in way over her head here, totally outnumbered. Jackson had been huge. They obviously had numbers and resources. But would they really risk those numbers and waste those resources just to avenge one guy? She didn’t know.

Did they leave the map behind on purpose?

Abby could be walking right into a trap. 

She could be leading you into one.

She was about to turn back, about to tell you it wasn’t worth the risk, when her eyes caught on the blood. It was on her hands, under her nails, staining her skin and her clothes. Mixed with the caked-on mud on her shoes. 

Lev’s blood. Yara’s and Mel’s. And Owen’s.

Owen, who had been Abby’s best friend. Who had loved her dad so much. Who cared for her, even when she’d done nothing but push him away. Who never abandoned her, even when he should have. Who continued to be there, to look out for her and support her, even after she broke his heart. 

Owen, who might’ve been the only person left in the world who loved her.

The person who killed him was inside this building.

“Let’s find a way in,” she said.

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

On the side of the building, there was a metal ladder that was too high up for either of you to reach it on your own, but it led to a fire escape.

“Okay,” Abby said, “Grab that ladder.” She stood beneath it and intertwined her fingers over a bent knee, ready to boost you up.

Realistically, you didn’t think you would be able to reach it even if you grew a full foot taller and stood on top of her head, but you weren’t in the mood to argue. With your right foot, you stepped into her upturned palms and pushed up. Planting your left foot on her shoulder, you stood at your full height, one hand against the wall, and – as you suspected – still couldn’t reach. 

She said your name, clipped and strained, and then, through clenched teeth, “Jump.”

You did, but you wouldn’t have made it if she hadn’t pushed you up, practically throwing you at the ladder.

Holy shit, she was strong.

You grabbed hold of the lowest rung and had to use upper-body strength you honestly didn’t know you had to pull yourself up with your arms until your feet could reach that bottom step.

“Good. You’ve got it,” you heard Abby say from below as you made your way up, the hard part done now. Once you were standing on the fire escape, you quickly found the latch that released the ladder to its full length. Even then, it still didn’t come close to reaching the ground, but it was manageable.

You watched as Abby jumped to grab on and had to go through the same process of pulling herself up with her arms for the first few rungs. Once you were sure she would make it up okay, you turned away and started looking around. There was a window next to you that led into the building, cracked open and letting in the rain. You could hear voices coming from inside, crackling and speaking in code. 

A radio.

“Units Alpha, Bravo, Echo, come in.”

The metal shook as Abby finally landed on the fire escape, and she quickly moved away from the edge.

“Units Alpha, Bravo, Echo, please respond, over.”

Abby pushed the window further open and jumped into a small room with brick walls and faded wooden floors. You followed behind.

She shot you a quick look, putting a finger to her lips as if to warn you to stay quiet as she moved forward through the building, closer to the radio.

“What the hell is going on over there?”

Sounds like things aren’t going so great for the Wolves, you thought as you stepped quietly behind Abby.

She walked up to the work table where the radio sat and stopped in her tracks. You came around to her side to see what she was looking at. On the wall behind the radio, there was a larger map of the area, marked with WLF zone numbers, unit movements, names, and even Seraphite territories. Whoever was staying here had been tracking everyone, and they’d probably been using this radio to do it. 

But why? Who were they and why did they want Abby?

You glanced over to her, but she wasn’t looking at the map. She was staring down at the table at a collection of little photographs.

“These are Leah’s,” she said quietly. You didn’t know who Leah was, but you studied the pictures anyway. Each of them had names written at the bottom.

Abby and Owen. Mel and Owen. Nick and Nora. Manny. Leah and Jordan. (And one of just Leah with her shirt lifted enough to show off one of her breasts… You wondered who that was for.)

You recognized most of the names from the maps. Were all of them dead now?

Abby turned away from the pictures, leaving them there on the table as she moved over to study the map. 

Over the radio, a new voice said, “Site Two! This is Briggs from Unit Echo. Fuck!”

“This is Site Two. Echo, what’s the situation?”

Abby pushed off from the table and headed back out into the hallway, gun at the ready. You took another look at the pictures before grabbing them and shoving them into your pants pocket beside the things you’d taken from the island earlier. Whoever these people were, they didn’t deserve to keep these pictures of Abby and her friends. And maybe later, Abby would want them. 

“Isaac’s dead. It’s a fucking massacre!”

You smiled, despite everything. Your people were fighting back against those fuckers. 

Since when did you use – or even think – words like fucker?

And could you really call the Seraphites your people anymore?

You turned and sped down the hall behind Abby.

“Careful. Stay close,” she whispered once she heard you behind her.

The hallway opened up into a much bigger, wider space. You’d never seen an Old World building like this one before. Carpets covered the floor, some red and some with fancy patterns on them. The walls had colors and designs, the ceilings were so tall, and there was furniture everywhere. You wondered what this place had been used for. Maybe you could ask later.

Abby led the way down a winding flight of stairs, stopping just before going around the corner, holding a hand back behind her to signal you to stop. You lifted your bow and let out a quiet breath. 

A man’s voice came from around the corner, speaking with an accent that was unfamiliar to you.

“Fuckin’ Jesse,” he said. “He thinks I don’t know what real gold looks like.” Abby stepped around the corner, gun pointed at the man who had his back to you. You followed hesitantly, staying close. “Well wait’ll you see this, you son of a bitch. She’s gonna love it,” he went on, clearly talking to himself, completely unaware of the threat directly behind him.

“Hands up,” Abby said, voice cold and hard. He froze. “Back away from your shit.” When he didn’t move, she spoke more forcefully. “I said back up!” 

Slowly, he did, hands empty and out where you both could see them. “You’re making a big mistake–”

“Don’t fucking turn around,” she spit out, stepping forward. 

Her eyes darted to you for a split second, voice lowering as she told you to keep your bow on him. You did, moving around to his side, weapon raised and aimed and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. 

“Get on the ground,” she said, speaking to him again.

“You gonna kill me like a coward?” he asked, unmoving.

Abby didn’t answer. Instead, she kicked in the back of his knee and knocked him on the floor with one swing of her pistol. With the muzzle pressed into the back of his neck, her voice cracked as she mumbled, “You fucking people…”

The giant red doors across from you swung open, and before you had even registered that a young man was rushing through them, Abby had already shot him in the head. Someone else had come in right behind him, but they managed to duck behind the counter before either of Abby’s two shots in their direction could take them out. 

“Jesse!” the other voice gasped from their hiding spot, just as Abby said, “Stand up! Hands in the air or I shoot this one, too!” She trained her gun back on the first man. You kept your bow aimed at the person behind the counter. 

“Don’t you do it, Ellie! Get out of here!” the man said, rolling onto his stomach, holding himself up on his elbows.

“Stand up! Now!” Abby commanded. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Abby seethed, kicking him in the stomach. He let out a cry as she brought the gun closer to his head.

“Stop!” came the voice behind the counter. The girl stood up, hands raised, fingers extended away from the trigger of the pistol in her right hand. “Stop.”

You and Abby both took her in. 

She was probably around your age, with shoulder-length brown hair pulled half up. A bruise went across her freckled cheek, and a tattoo covered her entire right forearm. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly with her gasping breaths. Her eyes were panicked. And sad. And scared.

She looked… nice? Harmless?

This was the girl who helped kill all of Abby’s friends? Who killed Yara?

Instantly, there came a stinging pain in your chest so strong that it took your breath away. You’d been trying not to think about that.

You refocused and re-aimed.

“Toss your weapon,” Abby said. The girl hesitated. “Toss your weapon!” Abby shouted.

“Fuck!” Ellie breathed out as she flung her gun on the other side of the counter.

“No… no,” the older man muttered.

“I know why you killed Joel,” Ellie said, voice desperate. “He did what he did to save me. There’s no cure because of me. I’m the one you want.”

If you weren’t confused before, you definitely were now. Who was Joel? What did he do?

And what cure? A cure for the Infection?

You were really starting to wish you’d asked Abby more questions before you came here. 

“Just let him go,” Ellie went on, quickly gesturing to the man on the other end of Abby’s gun.

Abby seemed surprised by the girl’s words, taking a second to process and consider before her eyes hardened again. 

“You killed my friends,” she said, speaking quieter now. “We let you both live…” her voice quavered as she lifted her gun to aim at Ellie, “and you wasted it.”

Before she could pull the trigger, the man jumped up and pushed her arm to the side. The gun went off twice as they struggled for control of the weapon.

“Wait!” Ellie cried out.

“Get off of her!” you shouted, firing an arrow through the man’s leg. He fell back to the ground as Abby pointed her gun at his head and shot.

“Tommy!” Ellie had grabbed her gun again during the struggle, and you screamed as she fired a shot at Abby. 

It missed and Abby shot back, also missing.

The girl took off through the doors in the same direction she’d come from.

“Come on!” Abby said to you, running after Ellie.

On the other side of the doors was an even bigger room, filled with rows and rows and plush red seats, leading up to a giant stage. Ellie, already nearly to the stage, continued to fire in your direction, barely missing every time. 

You and Abby ducked down behind the back row of chairs, and her eyes met yours, both of you breathing heavily.

“Stay here,” she said, peeking over the chairs to locate the other girl. “Watch the exits. Don’t let her leave.”

You nodded, hanging back as gunshots continued to go off from the far end of the room.

Abby paused for just a beat longer before starting down the aisle, staying low but moving quickly. 

“Don’t you fucking run!” she shouted to Ellie, who you could now see on the stage. She had the advantage of higher ground and a familiarity with the building.

Please don’t die Please don’t die Please don’t fucking die, you pleaded over and over and over, as Abby made her way to the stage and out of sight behind the big red curtains that Ellie had disappeared into.

They were far away now, but you could still hear the struggle, followed by more gunshots and then more struggling. 

You held your breath.

But for once you did what Abby asked you to do. You stayed put.

Until several minutes later, when another woman – one you hadn’t seen before – ran out onto the stage, looking around frantically before dashing back behind the curtains, not seeing you from where you still crouched behind the last row of seats.

And now Abby was outnumbered back there.

A split second decision and you were up, running down the aisle after them. 

Behind the stage was a darker space, cluttered with junk from floor to ceiling. You moved carefully and quietly, heading towards the commotion.

When you came to a hole in the ground, you realized that the fight was now down below.

God, did they fall through the floor?

You quickly climbed down and dropped into the basement.

Just as your feet touched the floor, you heard someone scream. You ran, finding Abby down with the unknown girl above her swinging a knife.

You fired an arrow through her shoulder, and she fell to the side. And then Abby was on her, bashing the girl’s head into the floor.

You looked away, your eyes landing on Ellie, flat on her back on the ground nearby, conscious but unmoving, her face covered in blood. 

“Stop,” Ellie forced through dripping red lips as the other girl’s head hit the floor a second and third time. “Stop!” Ellie couldn’t even turn her head to properly look at what was happening to her friend. “She had nothing to do with this.”

Abby grabbed the girl’s knife from where she’d dropped it on the floor, grabbed her by the hair, and flipped her onto her back, holding the knife against her throat.

“She’s pregnant,” Ellie choked out.

Abby let out a few heaving breaths before pressing the knife closer. “Good,” she seethed.

“Abby!” you called out. 

She stopped, eyes softening as they met yours across the room. She watched you, read the plea in your eyes, and the fight seemed to seep out of her in an instant. 

She dropped the knife, pushed the girl to the side, and slowly got to her feet.

Ellie coughed, choking on her own blood as Abby stood over her, their gazes locked.

“Don’t ever let me see you again,” Abby said. A firm command. A sincere warning.

And then she walked away, passing you without making eye contact.

“Come on,” she muttered. 

You followed her out of the theater.

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

Abby didn’t know where the hell she was going.

She had been walking through empty streets, blinking past the pouring rain, for who knows how long before it even occurred to her that she didn’t have a destination.

The thought of going back to the aquarium right now, of facing what was waiting for her there, made her sick.

Her body felt heavy. Everything hurt. It had been a long time since she’d gotten anywhere close to as fucked up as she was now.

That girl – Ellie – bit her. Hard. Like a fuckin’ rabid dog. And then Abby had hit her lower back on the corner of something hard when she fell through the floor and into the basement. She took some punches, got a knife buried in her left thigh, and that other girl got a few cuts in with her own blade before you shot her with an arrow.

And that didn’t even take into consideration everything else she’d been through today. The marina and the island and the aquarium.

It was… a lot.

She couldn’t really take stock of the total physical damage while she was busy trudging along down dark streets, but she knew that everything hurt. And she was definitely bleeding. And her body felt too hot but also too cold. And she was so tired. 

Shit, this wasn’t good.

Abby was aware of your presence behind her. She could hear you. But you hadn’t spoken at all, and she hadn’t looked at you once since you left the theater.

She needed to put some more distance between you and that place (and what happened there) before she could bear to do that, hoping that the further it was behind you, the further it would be from your mind.

But that’s not realistic. There was no way you would forget what you just saw.

She needed to know if you were scared of her now, if you didn’t trust her anymore. She saw the look in your eyes when you stopped her from killing that girl. You were horrified. 

You must think she’s a monster. 

She stumbled, her bleeding left leg becoming harder and harder to maneuver.

Here you were – this perfect, beautiful thing that came out of nowhere – and she had to ruin it with another revenge plot that ultimately accomplished nothing except to make the people close to her look at her differently, regard her more cautiously, whisper about her when she’s not around.

Did you see the look in her eyes when she beat Joel to death with that golf club? Brutal. What’s wrong with her? What kind of person could even do that? 

God, her life was turning into one sick, cyclical joke.

But you were literally the only person she had left, so she refused to turn around. Because if you still had that same look in your eyes the next time she saw you, it might break her. And she wasn’t ready to face that.

Abby stumbled again, this time more noticeably. She was able to right herself, but it took her longer to recover this time.

She was losing steam.

“Abby?” Your voice was as soft as the steadying fingers she felt on her shoulder as you walked around to face her. She kept her head down, still not wanting to meet your eyes. “Abby,” you said again when she didn’t acknowledge you, and then you were holding her face with both hands, cold fingers against her warm cheeks. You gently lifted her face until she had no choice but to look at you. 

She thought she might be crying, but she wasn’t sure for how long. 

Your eyes were wide, but not with fear or apprehension like she’d feared, not like you looked in the basement of the theater. You were worried about her. 

“We can’t keep going on like this,” you said. One of your thumbs was lightly, soothingly, grazing her cheek as you carefully studied her face. “You’re hurt.”

Her whole body shook with a sob, but you didn’t shy away. If anything, you pressed closer. 

Despite everything, she felt stupid for crying. She wanted to argue with you, wanted to be strong. She could keep going.

But you were looking at her like you cared, like maybe she hadn’t ruined everything like she thought. And she wanted you to stay close. To keep touching her.

“Come on,” you said, tilting your head towards the nearest building. A house. “Let’s at least get out of the rain.”

Abby nodded as your hands fell away from her face to pull your bow from where it rested over your shoulder and notch an arrow, and she was glad at least one of you had the wherewithal to be cautious of an abandoned building. If she had an ounce more energy, she’d be horrified to realize that neither of you had a weapon out until now. 

The front door was mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approached carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you stepped inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that posed a threat. Abby followed behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg.

“You need to sit down,” you said over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. Under any other circumstances, she’d insist on making sure the building was clear first herself, but she wasn’t confident in her current ability to even make it all the way inside, much less up and down the stairs. 

With your bow still drawn, you led the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room was filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.

You pointed to it. “Sit,” you instructed. She moved toward the couch without protest and sat in the left-most corner, albeit very slowly. You set your bow down, leaning it up against the wall by the couch, and shrugged off a backpack you brought from the aquarium, digging around in the main compartment until you found what you were looking for.

You pulled out a small battery-powered lantern and your dagger. “I’m going to check the rest of the house, okay? I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

Abby let out a scoff, immediately followed by a pained hiss. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to,” she said. It would’ve sounded more cool and casual if she hadn’t had to say it through gritted teeth. And if she hadn’t been crying in the rain in the middle of the street two minutes ago. 

Just the thought of it made her cringe. It felt weird being the one who needed help, the one being taken care of. She really didn’t like feeling weak. But she was glad to be sitting down, glad to be near you, and glad you still seemed to want to be near her. 

Your face held that same hesitant, worried look long enough that she forced a small smile and attempted to reassure you with, “I’m fine. Go.”

She was lying and she could tell that you knew that, but you didn’t have much of a choice. You turned to go quickly search the house.

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

The second floor was clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummaged through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty closets in the hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.

You found nothing there and moved on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room was even more ransacked than the rest of the house, so it wasn’t a surprise when you didn’t find what you were looking for.

You groaned loudly and dramatically, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Abby quickly asked from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It made you smile, just a little, until you remembered that this was no time to be smiling.

“It’s nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.”

“Who needs medical supplies?” she asked, surprising you with an attempt at a joke. Either that or she was so out of it that she was starting to lose touch with reality.

“You do, Abby,” you said. “You need medical supplies. Urgently.” 

You were still staring up like the answer would be written up there somewhere if you just looked hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling caught your eye. If you weren’t mistaken, it looked like the corner of a first aid kit, similar to the one Abby brought back from the hospital for Yara.

It was too high for you to reach standing, and there was nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops were broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets was rickety and unstable at best.

You were grumbling under your breath about high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reentered the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still planted on the floor. Both of her hands were hovering over the gash in her thigh like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to touch it or not, her face tense. She was in a lot of pain.

You pulled your eyes away and looked for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slightly wobbly small metal table. You dropped the lantern on top and started pulling it toward the kitchen.

“Do you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, princess?” Abby asked, glancing at you in her periphery. She was joking again, and you knew that, but you couldn’t help the warmth that pooled in your cheeks at her use of that pet-name. But maybe humor and casual flirtation were just how she coped with pain. 

“I–” You cleared your throat, “I need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.”

“Aww, can’t reach the top shelf by yourself?” Abby asked, amused. She turned her attention from her leg to watch as you struggled to drag the table out of the room. It squeaked along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.

The fact that she was being playful with you started to ease your lingering panic about the state of her health. If she was cracking jokes, she couldn’t be that close to dying, right? A little rest and she’d probably be just fine.

“Crazy how you’ve lost like half your blood supply and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,” you said, your own teeth gritted now. The table was much heavier than you anticipated. “And for your information, the thing that I’m trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.”

“Uh huh. Sure… Take your time. I’m just over here casually bleeding out.”

You liked this. 

Was it weird to like this? 

It was nice when you just got to talk, when the world wasn’t actively burning to the ground around you, when things felt easy and wonderful and comfortable between you two. You’d seen glimpses of it over the last few days, had fallen into pockets of space where time seemed to stop and you got to feel happy. And hopeful. But those moments were few and far between and always over too soon. Selfishly, you wanted more of it. You wanted more time. More of Abby.

You were scared to hope for it, scared to want something so strongly. Your wishes had never come true before.

“Well,” you responded, finding your words, “I’m no doctor. But I’m pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you would’ve bled out a long time ago. So you’ll be fine for another minute. Probably.” With one final shove, you managed to get the table where you needed it.

You carefully stepped up on it, hoping that some sadistic asshole hadn’t thrown an empty first aid kit all the way up here just to waste the time and energy of some poor desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)

After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grabbed the handle. The kit was full.

“Yes!” you shouted, nearly tumbling off the table in your excitement. With the medical supplies and the lantern in hand, you rushed back to the living room.

Abby could tease you all she wanted and try to make light of the situation, but she couldn’t hide the look of relief that washed over her features when she saw what you were carrying.

And if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldn’t have been able to hide the way her eyes went wide and her cheeks got visibly pink when you got on your knees on the floor in front of her.

“Uhhh hey, you can—you can sit on the couch.”

You raised your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. “No, the angle will be better this way,” you insisted. “Just bring your leg over here. That’s the worst of your injuries, right?” 

“I don’t know. Probably,” she conceded, avoiding eye contact as you helped her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot was back on the floor, practically between your knees.

There was already a tear in her pant leg where the gash was. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opted to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear, making it just wide enough to clean and stitch if necessary.

But it didn’t occur to you to fill Abby in on this plan before you did it. You took the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tore. And when she gasped in response, there was twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby. You chose to ignore it in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.

“Sorry!” Your eyes darted up to her face. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, just… wasn’t expecting that.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you dug around in the first aid kit and started cleaning the wound. Abby was quiet as you worked, wincing slightly but remaining still.

The cut was deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.

You moved even closer to her. Abby’s shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.

She brought her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tensed, arms engaged. You allowed yourself one glance before tearing your eyes away, feeling guilty for ogling. 

Focus. 

You looked back down at her thigh and began.

As you worked, a strand of your hair fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you could attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abby’s fingers gently brushed it back behind your ear. You felt yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.

When the last stitch was done and you’d carefully wrapped the wound, you felt Abby’s fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.

“Come up here,” she said, her voice low. You stood, bringing the first aid kit with you, and felt the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sat on the couch, facing her and closer than was probably necessary. 

You felt jittery, and it suddenly occurred to you that you’d never been this alone with Abby before. There had always been someone else close by, somewhere in the same building or around the next corner. But now it really was just the two of you. It was scary in an incredible, thrilling way that you weren’t accustomed to.

But Abby was injured and you were both tired and today had easily been the longest – and the worst – day of your life, even if you still weren’t letting yourself think about what happened.

No. You’d rather focus on Abby. On what she needed. 

You started searching her body, analyzing the rest of her wounds. Abby sat still under your careful ministrations, watching your face with a soft look in her eyes as you took stock of the damage. You found several cuts of varying depths across her arms along with the one under her eye. And there was something else on her right arm, below the elbow. You took her wrist in your hand, turning that arm towards the soft glow of the lantern.

“Did she bite you?” you asked, nose scrunching up in distaste.

“Oh,” Abby winced. “Yeah.”

“Ouch,” you said simply, and she laughed a little as you grabbed some more supplies from the kit. You began gently wiping away the blood surrounding her remaining injuries, cleaning all of the wounds and stitching up the deeper of the cuts. You saved the cut on her cheek for last.

It was clear to you now that things weren’t quite as detrimental as you had feared. With everything else taken care of, her face was the last thing that required your attention. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seemed that much less of that blood had come from Abby than you had anticipated anyway.

“I can do that,” she said in a whisper when you went to clean her face.

“I know,” you replied, just as quiet. “I want to.”

A few moments went by in silence as you worked gently but diligently, eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” she said suddenly, quickly clarifying, “Not sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to… see me that way.” Her eyes were downcast, and you wanted to hold her face and make her look at you again the same way you did in the street, but you refrained. You put your hands in your lap and drew back a bit, giving her space.

If you were being honest, the Abby you saw in the theater scared you. That Abby beat a person so thoroughly that they couldn’t move, couldn’t even turn their head to stop from choking on their own blood. That Abby would knowingly slit the throat of an unconscious pregnant woman without batting an eye.

Of course, you had known that she was physically strong. You saw her kill swiftly and without hesitation to protect herself and those close to her. But this was different, right? It was excessive violence. 

There was a lot you didn’t know about those people in the theater; that much was clear. They had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in their path.

They killed Owen and Mel and… and everyone else in those little pictures still tucked in your pocket.

You weren’t sure of the exact history between Owen and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen her reaction when she found him dead.

Who’s to say Ellie would’ve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Who’s to say she would even stop now?

So could you really judge Abby for her actions, given how much you didn’t know?

This world is great at breeding darkness, planting it in you from the moment you’re born, growing and spreading both inside your being and out. Everyone has darkness. Tonight you caught your first glimpse of Abby’s. 

She had gotten scary, but that didn’t make her a monster.

And she pulled back. She stopped. That meant a lot. 

You trusted her. And you trusted yourself. You were sheltered, but you weren’t stupid.

Abby was a good person, and she was in your life for a reason, so you weren’t going anywhere.

You knew it was weighing on her, though. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing between the two of you.

So you shook your head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was there. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” She nodded, but seemed unconvinced that you didn’t have anything else to say on the matter.

Part of you wanted to ask for the history now. How she knew Ellie. Why she wanted her dead. But you didn’t need that from her right now. 

Instead, you took another swipe at her face, wiping away the last of the blood. When you were finished, you pulled your hand away. The cut there might form a scar, but you weren’t brave enough to attempt stitches. Not on her lovely face, so close to her eye.

Now that Abby was about as fixed up as she was going to get, you turned your attention to the blood on your own hands. 

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

Abby watched as you meticulously scrubbed at your fingers.

When you finished with that, you put everything back into the first aid kit and put the kit in your backpack. Then you made a pile of all the trash that had accumulated. Then you sat back down and immediately stood back up. You shrugged off your jacket – Well, her jacket. (You hadn’t taken it off since Abby gave it to you on the boat, and she didn’t want you to. It looked better on you anyway.) You draped it over the other end of the couch, and then you sat down again. 

You were so restless it almost made her wish she had sustained more injuries, just to give you something productive to do with your hands.

When you started to stand again moments later, saying something about needing to move that little table back where you found it, Abby stopped you with a hand encircling your wrist.

“Hey. Stop. Just sit. You need to rest,” she said, pulling you back down on the couch.

“I’m fine,” you insisted but stayed put. “You’re the one who needs rest after everything you’ve been through today. You should try to get some sleep.”

“Everything I’ve been through?” she asked. “What about you?” When you didn’t react, she said your name. You cut her off before she could say anything else.

“You got hurt,” you said, almost exasperated, motioning to her entire body as evidence.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Abby said.

“I’m fine,” you said again, colder this time.

“No, you’re not.”

“Abby��”

“You’re not fine! You’re just pretending like it didn’t happen.” 

“Don’t,” you said, looking away now.

She knew she was pushing, maybe even too far, but she promised herself she’d snap you out of this if you didn’t do it yourself.

“You didn’t even look at her body. You haven’t reacted at all–”

“Abby, stop,” you begged in a breathy exhale. 

And she did, but only because at that moment you closed the short distance between you and pressed your lips to hers. 

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

You were hesitant at first.

You’d never kissed anyone before.

You hadn’t even meant to kiss Abby. 

You wanted to – had been wanting to for some time – but it wasn’t a conscious decision you made in that moment.

You just needed her to stop talking. 

So you kissed her, surprising both of you.

Just a soft brush of your lips against hers, a hand on one side of her face, holding her still, keeping her where you wanted her. By the time she responded to your touch, you were already pulling away. 

A thrill shot down your spine and spread throughout your body. You wanted more, but you didn’t know if it was yours to take. 

You weren’t sure Abby wanted you the way you wanted her.

You studied her face, watched as her eyes went from being wide-blown and shocked to something that looked like hunger. A neediness that matched your own.

She was looking at your lips, so you grabbed her face with both hands this time and pulled her in, kissing her again.

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

Abby’s heart beat against her chest as her hand found your waist. She gripped you there, pulling you even closer.

If the first kiss had been testing the waters, this was diving in head first.

It had never felt like this for her before. Touches that she had only ever pulled away from in the past, she heavily leaned into now, seeking more, needing it in a way she wasn’t used to. 

She knew you were just distracting her, that you only wanted to get her to stop talking about Lev and Yara, the island and the aquarium. She knew that you probably wouldn’t even be doing this if she hadn’t pushed you to talk.

But then you deepened the kiss and suddenly she didn’t know much of anything. Except that she didn’t ever want you to stop.

God, you still. weren’t. close enough.

She pulled you towards her, and you went willingly where her hands guided you until she had you on her lap, your knees straddling her legs on either side.

You stopped, pulling away from the kiss and whispering through heaving breaths, “Abby, your leg-”

“ ‘M fine,” she mumbled, already pulling your face back down to meet hers. The soft moan you let out as your lips met made her crazy. Her hands moved from your face, tracing their way down before landing on your hips.

She wanted to slow down, take her time with you. She wanted to strip off all of your clothes, push you on your back, pin you beneath her, and explore. She wanted to hear every sound you could make and learn exactly where to touch – how to touch – to make you come undone. 

Abby pushed her hands up under your shirt, fingers sliding along your lower back and up your sides. You gasped, leaning into the touch.

But then you pulled away entirely.

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

You promised. The thought cut through the fevered haze in your mind, sending a shock through your system. 

You promised Yara that you would bring Lev back safe. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

You told Lev that everything would be okay. You told him you’d get off that island together.

The full weight of it hit you like a tidal wave, so hard you thought it might’ve actually bruised your body and broken your bones. It knocked the air from your lungs.

Your friends were gone. It was your job to take care of them, and now they were dead. You did everything wrong today, made every mistake, and it cost them their lives. 

Somehow, you had gone from Abby’s lap to the other end of the couch, pressing yourself as deep into the corner as you could as you pulled your knees up. Your trembling hands pressed against your chest as you shook with the first of the sobs.

Abby moved and then she was on her knees on the floor right in front of you.

You thought she might be talking to you, but you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the ringing in your ears.

It felt like something was pressing down on your chest. You couldn’t breathe. You kept trying but your lungs wouldn’t fill. 

Lev. Yara.

Images of one on the dirty ground and one on the hard floor. Both of them laying in a puddle of their own blood. And both of them left there by you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to make them go away. But they were still there behind your eyelids. 

Still dead. 

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You were having a panic attack, the worst one she’d ever seen, and nothing Abby did was helping.

She kept trying to get you to look at her, to breathe, but it was like you couldn’t hear her. Your chest continued to rise and fall jaggedly. 

She wasn’t sure if she should touch you – Were you supposed to touch people who were in the middle of a panic attack? – But she did anyway. With a gentle hand, she pushed your hair out of your eyes and held your chin, turning your face to look at her.

Your eyes widened like you hadn’t realized she was there, like you were seeing her for the first time.

Good. Now that you could see her, maybe you could hear her too.

She held your gazes as she spoke softly. “Baby, you need to breathe. Copy me.” She modeled a deep, slow inhale, followed by a slow exhale. It was shaky and not nearly as strong, but you tried. “Good girl. Again.”

You continued like that for several minutes until you were able to follow Abby’s breathing patterns exactly. The tears didn’t stop, but the heaving sobs had calmed to occasion hiccupping whimpers. 

Abby’s fingers ran through your hair, pushing it behind your ear. You still hadn’t said anything, and she didn’t think you would tonight. 

“Can you lay down for me?” she asked, voice low. You nodded  and began to shift out of your curled position, slowly stretching out your legs. Abby stood to grab the jacket from behind you on the couch and waited for you to lay down before she spread it out over you, covering you up as much as possible. Then she sat on the floor in front of you, turned so that her side was pressed up against the couch.

You were blinking more slowly now, exhausted from… everything. 

When you started crying again, she put her hand back on your head, letting her fingers run through your hair and scratch at your scalp in a way that she hoped was soothing. (At least she knew it would’ve been for her.)

“I know,” she said, leaning her head against the arm of the couch. “I’m so sorry.”

She stayed like that for a while, even after your breathing slowed and evened out and she was sure you had fallen asleep. She felt a tightness in her chest every time you sniffled. 

Abby had already decided to stay awake and keep watch. 

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on your backpack. She got up, grabbed the pistol from inside the bag, and returned to her spot in front of the couch.

She watched the doors and windows, listened closely for any sounds of danger, but her eyes kept drifting back to you.

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Taglist: @h0meb0dyi @strawbeffys @sapphicontherun @lmaoo-spiderman @stickynachomaker @4-atsu @00ops1e @absoluteshitshow

[joelhappyhil]

DAWN Beta 1.9 is now released!

After three months of development since the last beta release and six months since its first beta release, this is planned to be the last major update before the final release and print. I'll be detailing some of the major changes below.

300 new community copies have been added so that you can check out this release at your leisure. I encourage purchases for those who can afford it, but that isn’t the case for everyone, https://joel-happyhil.itch.io/dawn.

Though it wasn’t the main purpose of the update (as DAWN is already content packed), a handful of new Techniques and enemy customization options have been added to this version.

The three worlds have been finished, with an equal amount of detail given to each. You’ll also find that all the art in the book is now finished, with all placeholders removed.

Many Techniques and enemies have been retouched with balance changes and reworks to less interesting effects. These changes, plus the additional Techniques, should hopefully create less “best in slot” combinations for different builds.

Clashing and Dueling have been totally reworked. Both are now more simple and quick to resolve, hopefully better communicating the drama built into their mechanics. Duels are now also possible outside combat.

Awakening has been reworked to let characters “bank” features from their level ups to use as power ups mid-scene. Many Boons and Techniques have been altered to create opportunities for drama through awakening.

A small icon has been added to all mechanics that generate or spend influence to clue readers into the mechanic's importance and how they can best interact with it.

Abilities have been reworked; making every player character start with a single formative ability they can evolve over the course of a game, rather than abilities that can be freely gained in the same way Skills can.

Character creation now gives four examples for narrative characters rather than just builds for combat.

The Bond Actions have been changed, with a new subcategory added for use against non player characters, containing the old “Abandon” action and the new “Hate” action.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it! If you’re interested in playing, feel free to join the discord (https://discord.gg/tabrf3DR6u) and hop on the playtest one-shots I’ll be running weekly.

[notaplaceofhonour]

Never mind that the numbers he’s using come from a ministry of Hamas’s government (Gaza Health Ministry) and that Hamas has been caught falsifying data & polls to suit their narrative before.

Never mind that those numbers conflate combatants & noncombatants.

Never mind that many of those deaths can be attributed to Hamas & affiliated groups recruiting fighters at 16.

Never mind that he bait-and-switches from the idea that Israel “murders” children to an entirely different statistic that allows him to inflate the number to “over half” of casualties (when even by GHM numbers, children make up roughly a third of casualties—well under half—again, still conflating combatants & non-combatants).

Never mind that, in a country where nearly half of the population is underage & fighters are recruited at 16, the fact (even by GHM numbers) well under half of fatalities are underage is an anomaly that means children are disproportionately less likely to be killed than men per capita, and this speaks to Israel *avoiding* killing children rather than an intent to murder them.

But never mind all that. How could he possibly pass up an opportunity to accuse the largest Jewish institution on the planet of trying to kill gentile children for religious purposes (to “build a Holy Land”)?

[nattikay]

All Known Minor Omatikaya Characters

for the purposes of this list, "minor character" is defined as either a.) a character who exists in the comics but is not mentioned in the movies, and/or b.) a character who is named in the movies but does not have a speaking role.

SYLWANIN* Neytiri's older sister. We don't know exactly how much older she was, but based on the art in the Adapt or Die comics it appears to be at least 3-4 years. The RDA pursued her to Grace's schoolhouse and killed her after she and a few friends set a bulldozer on fire to protest the clearcutting, which event caused the school to get shut down. She was the original tsakarem (tsahìk-in-training) as well as Tsu'tey's true love and his original betrothed. Neytiri inherited both her position as tsakarem and engagement to Tsu'tey after her death.

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NEYTEP and ANUK Sylwanin's friends, who were also killed in the schoolhouse incident. Their names are mentioned briefly in the Tsutey's Path comics, but we don't know much else about them, nor have any known images of them.

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TAKUK One of the group of young warriors Tsu'tey is training throughout the Tsu'tey's Path comics, which I will refer to from here on out as "Tsu'tey's apprentices" for brevity's sake. He appears to be the top student among the group, as Tsu'tey is often asking him to take the lead.

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KA'ANI Initially introduced as one of Tsu'tey's apprentices in Tsu'tey's Path, and one of the two who completes his Iknimaya alongside Jake. He's seen again in The Next Shadow comics and seems to be a good friend of Jake's (cheers him on during their Iknimaya in A1; defends him against Ateyo and Artsut in The Next Shadow).

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SAEYLA One of Tsu'tey's apprentices, and one of the two who completes her Iknimaya alongside Jake. Has a crush on Tsu'tey, but he rejects her. (her hairstyle is different between the comic and the movie scene, but Tsu'tey specifically names her and Ka'ani as the two who are doing Iknimaya with Jake).

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MARU One of Tsu'tey's apprentices. Talks Saeyla out of trying to pursue Tsu'tey further; refers to her as "child" which might imply that she's a bit older than the others, though it could've also just been her making a jab at Saeyla's behavior.

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ATAN One of Tsu'tey's apprentices. Died in the attack on Hometree. (I know the hairstyles do not match between the two panels (based on the stripes I'm actually wondering if the left one was a mislabeled Takuk/the designs got mixed up), but the character is directly addressed as "Atan" in both panels so...let's say he just got a haircut ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

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NEKAWN A child from the clan during the events of A1, who Grace addresses briefly by name during Tsu'tey's Path. Would be an adult by the main timeline of A2.

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ATEYO and ARTSUT Tsu'tey's parents. After the events of A1, they attempt to assassinate Jake by convincing their other son, Arvok, to challenge him to ritualistic combat, and then secretly poisoning Arvok's blade. When Jake survives the attempt, they are exiled from the Omatikaya as punishment, after which they seek to join the Mangkwan** clan. Artsut in particular also apparently has some sort of long-standing beef with Mo'at, though we don't get the details on what caused it.

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ARVOK Tsu'tey's younger brother. He is first briefly mentioned in the Tsu'tey's Path comics, then plays a much larger role in The Next Shadow. He looks like an adult in The Next Shadow (which takes place two weeks after the end of A1) but is referred to by Tsu'tey as "a child" in Tsu'tey's Path (which is concurrent with A1), so he is probably actually a teenager. His parents manipulated him into challenging Jake to non-lethal ritualistic combat to contest his claim to the olo'eyktan title, but Ateyo and Artsut secretly poisoned his knife (Arvok himself had no intention of killing Jake and his parents knew he wouldn't go through with the plot if he'd known). Ateyo and Artsut go on to frame a confused and startled Arvok for the attempted murder when the blade nicks Jake and he faints. The truth is brought to light in the end, but Arvok feels complicit anyways, and wants to be included in the punishment--in fact, he is the one who suggests exile. The three of them leave the clan together, but later that night Arvok abandons his parents to forge his own path (good for him honestly they're toxic as heck). His current whereabouts are unknown.

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YEYONGO A mother who reluctantly allows her injured child to be treated by the human scientists in The Next Shadow.

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NINAT A woman from the clan, who Neytiri briefly describes as being a good singer.

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PEYRAL A woman from the clan, who Neytiri briefly describes as being a good hunter. We don't have any images of her as far as I know.

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TARSEM Jake's successor as olo'eyktan when the Sully family flees the clan.

. ENTU and RALU Lived thousands of years before A1. Entu was the first Toruk Makto; Ralu was his best friend and adoptive brother after Entu's parents were killed by a thanator. Their story is told in the Cirque du Soleil show Toruk: The First Flight.

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*this spelling actually breaks Na'vi language rules as y is not supposed to act like a vowel; presumably it was decided on before language was fully developed. That said, "Sylwanin" is technically still the "official" spelling and likely will never be "corrected" in canon material...but if we're going by the language rules it should really be "Sìlwanìn" ("Sìlwanin" would also be a valid spelling but the way they pronounce that last syllable in the movie sounds more like nìn than nin to me).

**the name of this clan also breaks currently-known Na'vi syllable rules, as "kw" is an invalid consonant cluster; it should be something like Mangkìwan. I suppose it's possible that the "Mangkwan" have their own dialect where kw is allowed, but I think it's more likely just an error on the writer's part (wouldn't be the only time the comics have made a little slip with the language--The High Ground spells "skxawng" as "skwang" 🙃)

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

History is often written by the rich and the powerful, how we see culture is often dictated by those on top and while that’s all interesting and such, what I’m interested in is: What’s it like to be poor/equivalent to lower class in Gallifreys society?

What's it like to be lower class on Gallifrey?

When you think of Gallifrey, you probably imagine the shining halls of the Time Lords, the great Capitol, and those iconic flowing robes with their weird peacock collars, but like many societies, Gallifrey also has its lesser-known layers ...

👽 The "Shobogan" Legacy

The term "Shobogan" originally referred to the Gallifreyans before they discovered the ability to regenerate. But over time, the word took on a very different meaning, becoming a slang term for any Gallifreyan who rejected the high society of the Time Lords. These people live in areas called Low Towns and have their own distinctive culture and even a form of writing. They're often blamed for vandalism and other rebellious acts. Over time, the term 'Shobogan' has expanded even more to apply more broadly to Gallifreyans who lived outside the Time Lord's pristine society, or socially rejected, or a general reference to the working classes (aka plebians).

🏙️ The Plebian Class

Plebians are the artisans, technicians, cleaners, engineers, and everyday folks who keep Gallifrey running while the Time Lords sit at the top of the social pyramid. Most of the population lives in smaller city complexes scattered across the planet.

These non-Time Lord Gallifreyans are generally prevented by circumstance from attending the Time Academy, which means they can never become Time Lords themselves. This separation keeps power in the hands of a select few, as non-Time Lords cannot hold significant positions of power.

🌌 Outsiders: The Rejected Ones

Now, for some Gallifreyans, rejection from society isn't enough. A small but notable group, known as Outsiders, choose to completely reject Gallifreyan technology and live off the land. They retreat to the wildlands of Outer Gallifrey, surviving at a stone-age or bronze-age level of technology. These Outsiders, often former Time Lords or those disillusioned by the system, live in yurts, hunt their food, and grow crops. It's a very hard life when you consider Gallifrey is quite a hostile environment.

👮 Watch Out It's The Watch

Worth mentioning here - when it comes to law and order on Gallifrey, the Watch is the enforcement arm. But most of the Watch comes from the plebeian classes—at least, from Gallifreyan families that can afford a commission.

Their duties include guarding the Capitol, escorting Time Lords, investigating crimes, and even dealing with labour disputes between the Time Lords and Shobogans. However, while they do carry weapons (strictly for ceremonial or defensive purposes), they're often untrained in actual combat. And since hardly any crime happens on Gallifrey (apparently), the Watch are perpetually bored, and tend to be quick to anger and aggressive when dealing with any violations, even if those violations are extremely minor.

🏫 So ...

So, here's the reality: unless you're born into one of the higher-ranking Gallifreyan families, the chances of becoming a Time Lord are slim to none. The divide between the Time Lords and the non-Time Lords is pretty well-established. Hmm, this all sounds very familiar ...

Related:

💬|⏰👽What does the Gallifreyan political and social environment look like?: Overview of the general structure of Gallifreyan society and politics.

💬|🧬👽What are the differences between Time Lords and Gallifreyans?: The biological differences between Time Lords and Gallifreyans, general overview

💬|🏺🧙What do Shobogans look like, and how are they different from modern Gallifreyans?: Various biological difference between Gallifreyans and their ancestors.

Hope that helped! 😃

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