#fucking hell this brought up so many old memories

[blackbackedjackal]

So to put this in perspective. I was about 5-7 when The Burned Furs was happening. I literally went to see Pokemon: The First Movie IN THEATERS, while this was going on.

By the time I was using the olde internet was about 10 or so. My family had a home computer system with Windows 98 and kept things upgraded over the years due to my dad needing access to "the internet" for work. I was left alone a lot as a kid (busy father/neglectful mother) and this was around the time of "CHECK OUT WWW.POKEMON.COM FOR MORE DETAILS" kind of time of the early internet + advertising. Like I was still using AOL dial-up for a lot of my original internet deep dives. Then, when things like Neopets took off, I was using the computer religiously. I stayed (mostly) on kid-safe spaces, but of course, the internet was, and is, the internet and I eventually branched out. I wanna say I was looking up pictures of Inuyasha to print out and use as art reference, as well as Digimon and Wolf's Rain. I know one of the earliest pieces of furry media was Renamon porn around 2002-2004, as well as a lot of art by Dark Natasha through her website.

At some point around 2005-2006 I stumbled onto VLC. I remember because I saw some furry art by an artist and really liked his style and was emulating it for a bit. At this time, furry art was still ruled by many people emulating Animalympics (which I only knew of because my family owned one of the first official releases of the VHS copies), as well as Osamu Tezuka's deep stylistic influence on the furry community in the 80-90s. The Disney influence from TLK hadn't fully seeped into the community at that point, and, being a little anime kid, I was genuinely fascinated with the art style. One of the first pieces of art I posted online was something I drew inspired by some furry fox art I saw on VLC, but then hyperfixated more into the general "I wanna draw a cool edgy anime wolf" kind of thing.

My first OC, Jade Shadowblood (lol) I made when I was about 9-10. I still own the sketchbook where I first drew her. This was sometime around 2001-2002. She was an Inuyasha self-insert character and intended to be "me" if I was in Inuyasha. I always refereed to her as "this is me if I was a wolf demon" to my friends at the time when I showed them my art in elementary school. I got the idea to make more "wolf demons" of my friends when they asked me if I could draw them as wolves at school. I took a lot of design inspo from Neopets/Neopets Adoptables at the time, and a lot of my original OCs were in fact, based off of kids who were my friends at the time (I have all of these original pieces still saved to this day).

Anyway, I joined DeviantArt in 2006 when I was 12-13 under the handle ShroudofShadows. I heard the name on Xiolin Showdown and thought it sounded cool for an internet username. This was my first real venture into social media. I scanned in and posted some of my old art, and continued making art inspired by Inuyasha, Wolf's Rain, Neopets, etc. It wasn't until about 2007 or so when I shared Jade on DA that one of my friends asked me "is this your fursona?" and I was like "what's a fursona?" and well, here we are I guess?

My first webcomic was started at this time, I found out about other people making wolf comics with their characters and I was like "I wanna do that too". The OG Wolf Song was heavily inspired by Inuyasha/Wolf's Rain, but because I also liked Don Bluth, an inspiration Kay Fedewa also used for her art, I got lumped in as "copying" Kay Fedewa because our styles were similar.

Kay got started with The Blackblood Alliance around the same time I did, and did influence about 5 or so of the original pages. Even though I knew my characters and plot were different and eventually would deviate from looking similar to her art, I just leaned into it since people were accusing me of copying her when we just happened to be posting around the same time. I had no idea who she was prior to people comparing me to her.

Wolf Song, ran for several years, but due to being bullies by TheRoguez/RayJ and her band fo merry fuckwads who made it their goal to "remove" wolf comics off of deviantart (the great sparkledog cleanse) and people like MirrorZan and BlueShineWolf having some very public drama in the wolf comic community, I eventually stopped working on my comic to do a big re-write. I wanted to FINALLY get out from under the "oh you're just copying these people" bullshit because I was like "I literally don't know who this is until you name dropped them". I stayed in my lane with Wolf Song and didn't branch out too much to other wolf comic artists since we were all getting harassed at this point. I didn't really know who to trust outside of the friends I had made in my early DA days.

By 17, I was applying for colleges and didn't have time to work on Wolf Song anymore. This was also around the time the other Wolf Song, the one on youtube, began taking off more and my comic was buried under the popularity. I figured "eh ok" and dropped the project while focusing on school.

I never felt like I really fit in with any one place/group. I had my own space and the fans of my comic which made me happy, so I avoided social media/fandom stuff for a few years. I was always on the fringes of the furry fandom, but due to coming across some really racist proboards forums about the furry fandom when I finally looked into it and saw "N*ggers can't be furry/therian/otherkin", I was like "ok fuck you too" and never wanted to participate in the fandom.

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her “love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @meechibee @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @marsmabe @ellaprime7

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Teaching Him A Lesson (Lucifer x Reader) (Cucked Alastor x reader)

CW: Drunk sex, Dub con due to drinking, cream pie, breakup rebound sex, noncon cucking, fem receiving oral, bondage for Alastor Rated: Adult Summary: After being dumped by Alastor, you soothe your heart at the hotel bar. Lucifer is more than willing to listen to your sorrows and even indulge you when you take Angel Dust's advice of fucking your way over Alastor. Unfortunately, when Alastor sees you slip into your room with someone else, he regrets his choice and Lucifer decides to teach him a lesson.

AN: We finished it! It's a week and a half late but we fuckin finished it!! Thank you everyone who's cheered me on as I've explored characters, pairings, kinks and situations I would otherwise never have written and stay tuned for what @redvexillum and I have planned for December!

Lucifer prided himself on being the bigger man, even when he wasn’t. He was weak to temptation, in reality, though he wasn’t fond of admitting it. That’s how he became the king of Hell, banished from his heavenly home for daring to think he knew better than his divine father. 

It was that same weakness to temptation that had him following you through the halls, hand tucked into his after spending a few hours and too many drinks listening to your sorrows at the hotel bar. Your hair moved with your eager pace, tear-stained face smiling back at him as you pulled him along. 

This wasn’t right. Lucifer knew that, but he had always had a soft spot for you and oh, you were so eager. 

Your heart lay shattered in your chest. What did you expect, falling for the Radio Demon? The two of you had given it a good run, all things considered. That was more than most people could ever dare to hope to get with him. For a short year, you had stood by his side and, oh, how you had loved it. 

You thought he loved you. 

That’s why it had come as such a surprise when he had sat you down and told you he was done, that it was over this morning. You were a distraction. The benefits you brought to his life weren’t worth the weakness you created. He didn’t want you anymore. 

Cast aside. 

It hurt and you begged. It did no good, though. 

Angel Dust was sure what you needed to move on was a good fuck. Maybe he was right? Probably not, it had only been a few hours, but the more drinks you had, the better of an idea it sounded. 

Who better than the King of Hell to fuck away the memory of Alastor’s touch? Lucifer had been so kind too, listening to you ramble and cry. He didn’t get on well with your ex, but that didn’t seem to impact his kindness at all. 

“This is my old room,” you said, stopping in front of a door you hadn’t opened in six months. 

“Are you going to open it?” Lucifer asked, hand still held in yours. “If you’ve changed your mind, that’s-” 

“Are you going to kiss me?” You asked, reaching behind you and turning the knob, letting the door click open. 

Red eyes shrouded in shadows watched from the end of the hall as Lucifer enveloped you in his arms. Anger rolled through the static that surrounded him as he watched your body melt in the King’s, lips moving against his. 

Until this morning, you had allowed Alastor to hold you like that. Until this morning, you allowed Alastor to slip his tongue between your parted lips, drinking up the sweet sounds of your pleasure.

Alastor had been at peace with his decision when you ran from your shared bedroom this morning. He had been at peace with it as he watched you drink your sorrows away. There was hardly more than a twinge of jealousy as you sat with Lucifer at the bar. 

But now, as Lucifer walked you into what had been your bedroom. 

Warm lips moved against yours, soft and longing as Lucifer’s kiss stole your breath away. Your mind swam, wrapped up in the idea of him and floating on a sea of apple-flavored drinks. 

His arms wrapped around you as he walked you into the room you had thought you would never be in again. His body was hard against yours as he struggled between wanting to hold you and let his coat fall down to the ground, urged off his shoulders by your hands. 

Nimble fingers worked at the buttons of his vest, working it open one button at a time as he kissed your neck. Soft sweet words were whispered, unclear and unable to be made out as they mixed into one soft sound spoken against your neck. 

Lucifer pulled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the side as you worked through the buttons of his shirt. His hands replaced yours, yanking at the fabric. Buttons went flying, ripped from the stitching. 

Hot skin was against skin in a matter of moments. Lucifer’s warm chest pressed into you. The warm skin of his chest pressed your breasts flat. There was an eagerness to feel you that you hadn’t realized you missed. 

When had Alastor last held you like this? Kissed you like this? It wasn’t that intimacy was lacking with him; it was just that he was sparing with it. There was a passion and need to Lucifer’s hands, unclasping your bra and sending it flying off into the room that you had missed. 

It felt good to feel wanted. It made you feel powerful to have a man wanting you, eager for you. There was no taking your time. He wasn’t taking his time with you. The way Lucifer’s hands moved over your curves, it felt like he would die if he couldn’t take in the feeling of your skin enough. 

“I want you,” Lucifer said, lips working over the swell of your breast as the backs of your knees hit the bed you hadn’t slept in in months. 

“I need you,” you moaned as Lucifer worked the fly of your pants open, sinking to his knees as he worked the pants down your legs. 

It was fine, Alastor told himself as the door clicked closed. This was what he had wanted, you to no longer be a distraction. Yet as he paced the hall, Alastor had found himself to be even more distracted. 

You were not supposed to move on so quick. He devastated you this morning. You shouldn’t have been taking another man to your bed the same night. There was something wrong. 

Lucifer had to be influencing you. 

Alastor needed to stop this. You belonged to him. 

“Troublesome woman,” Alastor said, walking to the door. The shadow moving along the wall next to him wore a bitter frown, anger clear in the spikes of his hair and clothes over the situation you had put them in. 

Lucifer knelt in front of your knees as you lounged back on the bed, hands supporting your weight as you lifted your hips for him. He peeled your soaked panties from your core as the door to your room opened. 

“Get away from her!” Alastor stormed into the room as if it was his. 

“Alastor!” You sat up, arms crossing to cover yourself. “Get out of here.” 

“You belong to me,” His voice rose as Alastor stepped closer, “Stop this nonsense and we’ll talk.” 

“She doesn’t,” Lucifer said, still kneeling with his cock straining against the front of his pants. “You left her.” 

“Leave, Alastor.” Your voice was thick with emotion, anger and sadness fighting for dominance. 

“You do not need a half sized king to satisfy you,” Alastor continued telling you what to do, what you needed. 

“Please,” you whimpered. 

“Angel, look at me?” Your eyes flickered down to Lucifer, thumbs rubbing soothing circlers of comfort on your thighs. “Do you want this still?” 

“I do,” you sounded less sure than he would have liked but that’s alright, Lucifer would work with it. 

“Then ignore him, pay attention to me.” Lucifer ignored Alastor, who was putting off waves of radio static behind him. 

“Get your hands off her,” Alastor snarled as your panties went lower and lower down your legs. He couldn’t see the core that rightfully belonged to him. Lucifer’s body was blocking his view. “I will rip you limb from fucking limb.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Lucifer said, licking his lips as he leaned in, kissing your thighs as he spread your legs wider. “Shall we help Alastor learn his place?” 

“What do you mean?” You trembled, struggling to hold your arms over your chest and not fall back as Lucifer’s tongue made a quick pass up your spread folds. 

“I mean, let me show him how powerless he is.” Lucifer placed a soft kiss on your clit. “Let me show him how well I can satisfy you.” 

“Oh,” your eyes flicked to Alastor, standing frozen in place with his smile straining. 

“Look at me.” Lucifer’s lips moved against your clit as he spoke. “Pay attention to me. Don’t worry about him.” 

Between the drinks still humming through your bloodstream and the allure of Lucifer, you failed to see the shimmering of golden chains wrapping around Alastor and rooting him in place. The way Lucifer wrapped his lips around your clit distracting you from Alastor’s struggles against the chains, or the way his voice seemed to be muffled by the air. 

“Oh, my.” Your back arched, arms falling from your breasts as the wet muscle of Lucifer’s tongue worked into you. 

He wasted no time in playing your body like an instrument. Fingers pressed inside your weeping core, sinking deeper and deeper as he pulled waves of pleasure from you. Lucifer was skilled with both his tongue and his hands, driving you closer to the edge with little effort at all. 

Your breasts were shamelessly on display as you gasped for air. Alastor pulled against the chains, bitter threats failing to travel far in the thick air of the room. He watched as your breasts rose and fell with each gasping breath. 

He watched as your body grew tighter and tighter. He knew your body like the back of his hand. You were close. 

Alastor had no choice but to watch as your first orgasm washed over you. Each moan was music to his ears, but he should have been the musician. 

Lucifer drank you your slick, eagerly taking in everything you had to offer as your body wracked through the waves of pleasure. Only once you stilled did he rise, tongue running over his lips as he freed his cock. 

You were spread out, shameless now as Lucifer looked over his shoulder. He made bold eye contact with the man restrained in the back of the room. The positioning wasn’t the best, he decided. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alastor snapped as chains pulled him around the room, letting him see the couple from the side. 

“Making sure you have the best seat in the house,” Lucifer said, stroking his cock as your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. If he waited much longer, the drinks and soft afterglow of your orgasm would have you asleep before he had really taught Alastor a lesson. 

“Stop me if you can,” he said, chuckling as he turned his attention back to you. “Ready baby?” 

“Please,” you spread your thighs for him, showing him your needy core and begging him to fill it. 

“Let’s show him how it’s done.” Lucifer pulled you to the edge of the bed by your thighs. Your ass hung slightly over now, supported by his clawed hands. The soft head of his cock lined up with your opening.

Alastor couldn’t look away as the King of Hell sank his cock slowly into the woman he realized he loved. You were so hurt that you’d let Lucifer use you for his petty game just to hurt him back. 

Chains dug into his body as he thrashed and fought, struggling for even a centimeter of progress toward the man he wanted to rip apart. He would bath himself and you in the man’s golden blood, then remind you who you really belonged to. 

“I just need to,” each word was a struggle to grind out against the tightening hold of the chains, “Get free.” 

He couldn’t. There was nothing Alastor could do against the power of Lucifer himself. All he could do was watch as another man’s cock slowly pushed inside the body that belonged to him. 

Alastor stilled, watching as your mouth fell open as the king filled you. Your fingers bunched into the bedding, dust floating up from where the fabric pulled. 

Lucifer pushed into you until his body nestled tightly against you. Each aftershock of your orgasm caressed his straining cock, urging him to hurry. For a moment, he simply bathed in the feeling of being inside a beautiful partner once again, after so many years without his wife. 

Ex wife. 

“Pay attention now,” Lucifer said, pulling out from you only to slide back into place. “And I’ll show you how it’s done.” 

Your body rocked with each thrust into you. Your breasts bounced and moved, nipples putting on a dance for just the three of you as he worked into you. The pace was slow and steady, giving and taking pleasure with each lazy thrust. 

“More,” you begged, reaching out for Lucifer. Fingers wrapped around his wrists as you struggled to meet his thrusts in the position. “Harder,” 

“Already?” Lucifer asked, chucking at the needy whine. “You’re so responsive and he sent you away?” 

“Please,” you begged, “Please, just fuck me.” 

“He really is missing out,” Lucifer said, pulling from your body. The cold air rushed around his wet cock as he motioned for you to roll over. “Hands and knees.” 

Alastor protested, voice a muffled buzz in your ears as the man you had loved for the last year was pulled in front of you. Your eyes ran up his red clad body, taking in the way his cock strained against his pants. 

The bed shifted as Lucifer climbed up on it, positioning himself behind you. You looked into Alastor’s eyes as Lucifer’s cock sank into you. 

The pace was as you had begged for, harder and faster. He gave you more and more, high moans falling from your lips serving to encourage him.

“Good girl,” Lucifer said, pulling your torso up to rest against his chest. The long, whip-like tail that extended out behind the devil wrapped around your thighs. The spade tip caressed your clit as he continued to thrust up into you. 

Alastor’s hand fell to his crotch, palm absently caressing the bulge even as he spewed words of anger. 

Lucifer palmed your breast as his horns extended up. Red and yellow eyes inverted, burning over your shoulder as he gave you the harsh fucking you had been begging for. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he pushed you closer and closer to your finish. The coil within you was quickly winding, tightening as the breath was knocked from your lungs with every brutal thrust in a moan that made him want to hear it again and again. 

You screamed as you came, the spade of your lover’s tail slapping your clit softly as you shook in his arms. The men in the room with you would never agree on if the name you screamed was the correct one, but that didn’t matter to you now. All that mattered was the way Lucifer’s cock felt pushing through your quivering walls.

As your body grew weak, he let you fall to the bed. Folding himself over you, Lucifer pounded into you as he chased his own release. It didn’t take long at all for him to shoot hot ropes of semen into you, painting your twitching walls with everything he had. The throbbing feeling of his release had you moaning again, slitted eyes on Alastor while you rode the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

You hated him. 

You loved him. 

Tears ran from your cheeks as the King of Hell’s cock twitched inside you, shooting the last spurts of his seed against your cervix. You struggled to breathe as a sea of emotions crashed over the shores of your heart. 

Your spent body sank into the mattress as Lucifer carefully lowered your hips down. The alcohol and post orgasmic bliss called to you, telling you stories of how you could deal with the aftermath of your actions in the morning. 

It would all be easier in the morning. It would all make sense in the morning. 

In the morning. 

You slipped off to sleep, Lucifer’s hand still on your hip as darkness claimed your relaxed mind. 

Lucifer walked, cock still in the process of softening and standing in front of him, to get a warm towel to run over sore skin. He had to compromise the quality of his clean up in favor of not waking you. 

Alastor screamed, voice unable to reach your ears as Lucifer scooped you up in his arms and nestled you into the bed. It was the wrong bed. You shouldn’t be sleeping in this bed. 

With a snap, the King was dressed again.

“Come along,” Lucifer said, pulling Alastor out of the room and down the hall by chains. 

“I will make you pay for this,” Alastor roared, voice hardly carrying down the dark hall. The surrounding chains slacked, but still prevented him from moving freely. 

“I won’t,” Lucifer said easily, eyes making a point of running down Alastor’s body, taking in the dark patch blooming at the end of the bulge in his lap. “But I do hope you’ve learned your lesson.” 

“Who are you to teach me-” Lucifer cut him off.

“Do not throw away people who love you,” Lucifer spoke simply, voice thick with emotion as he caught sight of the wedding ring he still wore on his finger. “And don’t put the people you love last. You never know when they’ll walk away and not come back.” 

“You know this from experience, your highness?” Alastor’s tone was mocking, a shallow attempt to make up for his lack of ability to generate volume at the moment. 

“I do,” Lucifer said simply. “Maybe you can fix things with her in the morning, if you want to. If you don’t, let her go.” 

Alastor stood, frozen in place even as the chains around him disappeared, watching Lucifer walk down the hall. His shadow split from him as he turned toward his door. As he entered his room, the part of him that expressed emotion far easier entered your room. 

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[spider-stark]

a cruel fate

Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Summary - Having been in love with Aegon your entire life, you always assumed that he never felt the same. Now set to wed his brother, Aemond, your frustration finally peaks and leads to you confessing your feelings.

Warnings - suggestive language/actions, light use of y/n (sorry), sad aegon lol, minors dni please

// send me your thoughts // friendly reminder that reblogs and comments are always appreciated //

Winter had fallen over King’s Landing, offering the air an undeniable chill. It nipped relentlessly at your skin, tinting your cheeks a deep shade of maroon.   

You weren’t dressed appropriately for the weather, still wearing the same black gown that you’d donned at supper. It was a sleek and simplistic thing, one of your favorites, though it left much of your neck and forearms exposed to the frigid elements.   

Gooseflesh began to form along the bare bits of skin, your body’s way of urging you to go back inside the castle and seek out some semblance of warmth.   

Despite knowing that it was the logical thing to do, you didn’t listen. Instead, you brought your knees up to your chest, pressing your forehead against them and further curling into yourself, trying to lock in as much of your body heat as possible.   

Eventually you would have to go back inside the Red Keep, even if only to prevent hypothermia from setting in. But returning inside meant returning to reality; one that you knew you weren’t quite ready to face again.   

So, for now at least, you were content to sit here beneath the weirwood tree and risk freezing to death.    

A strange part of you considered whether death was a more desirable fate than the one you would soon face—though the thought alone was enough to spawn a feeling of guilt deep within your stomach, creeping its way up your throat and making you feel nauseous.   

Prince Aemond Targaryen was a decent man.   

Or, at the very least, he was far more decent than some of the men that wanted your hand.   

There were countless women who would gladly kill for an opportunity to take your place, and you knew that of all the things you should be feeling right now, grateful should be farther up on the list. After all, King Viserys’s youngest son was highly sought after for countless reasons.   

Aemond was undoubtedly intelligent. He had been studying intricate works of philosophy for nearly two decades, and you knew him to be capable of reciting the great histories of Westeros from memory alone.   

He practiced diligently with members of the Kings Guard, having gripped steel in his palms since he was old enough to stand. This meant his talent with a blade was nearly unmatched, leaving him highly revered for his dedication and talent, desired for his capability to protect those around him.   

And, as much as you wished to deny it, Aemond was an incredibly handsome man; even with the leather patch covering his missing eye.   

You were lucky to have ended up betrothed to him, someone that you had known for most of your life and knew would treat you fairly. You were lucky to be granted such a position, one that so many wanted.   

But try as you might, whenever you find yourself thinking of your betrothed, you can’t make yourself feel lucky, knowing that it was a fate you did not want.   

You just felt sick.   

So, instead of celebrating your impending union within the comfort of the Red Keep, hand-in-hand with your future husband, you sat in the dirt beneath the weirwood.   

Hiding—from both the future that awaited you and what would soon be left in your past.   

Unfortunately, the latter was much harder to hide from, given that your past had a nasty habit of always knowing exactly where to find you.   

“Seven hells, y/n! It’s fucking freezing out here!”   

The sound of Aegon’s voice was unexpected, nearly making you jump from your own skin. You lifted your head to look in his direction so fast that you smacked it against the tree behind you. A pained gasp slipped your lips, followed by a hushed series of expletives as a throbbing spread throughout the base of your skull.   

If anyone else were around, they likely would have scolded you for your vulgar use of language, marking it unladylike and improper. But Aegon only laughed at it.   

“Careful now,” he warned playfully, taking another few lazy steps in your direction, “can’t say my brother would be too pleased to hear that his betrothed bashed her own skull in just days before their wedding.”   

You couldn’t understand how you hadn’t heard him approaching, knowing that stealth wasn’t exactly a quality the eldest prince possessed.   

Aegon was always careless and heavy footed, always quick to make his presence known; the opposite of his brother. But tonight, it seemed as if he’d borrowed upon Aemond’s skills–or, more likely, you had been too consumed in your own misery to pay any attention.   

“I’ve been looking for you, you know.” A boyish grin tugged at his pale lips, stopping at the base of your feet and looking down at you.   

For many it was an unusual sight to see Aegon smile, with most having grown used to the permanent scowl that seemed to grace his features. For you, though, it was a standard expression.    

Rubbing at the sore spot on the back of your head, you kept your chin low, refusing to look up as you spoke roughly, “My apologies, your grace. I wasn’t aware my presence was needed anywhere.”   

Aegon’s brow instantly cocked, forehead creasing as he took in both the bitterness and the formality of your statement.   

It was rare that you addressed him with proper terms and hearing them now made him feel uneasy. Your willingness to ignore the politics that threatened to consume his life was one of the many things Aegon adored about you, knowing that with you, he wasn’t the prince or even the King’s true heir—he was just Aegon.   

“Your presence is always needed.” He spoke without thinking, sharing the first thing that came to mind. When you stayed silent, he felt his face grow warm.  

Clearing his throat and trying to redirect, he impishly bumped his foot against yours to try and draw your attention. It didn’t work, your stare fixed to your lap. “Why are you hiding out here anyways?”  

“I’m not hiding.” You swiftly corrected him, finally lowering your hand as the pain in your head dissipated to a dull ache. “I just wanted some fresh air.”  

“You should have told me,” he said, once again failing to hold his tongue, “I would’ve joined you.”  

Restraint had never been a strong suit of his, yet it seemed to fail him further whenever you were around.  

Aegon had never quite gotten used to having someone who actually wanted him around. Growing up surrounded by those who only ever searched for ways to avoid him, he had grown familiar with loneliness.  

But then you came along one day, a scared little girl whose father had just secured a place in King Viserys’s council. Aegon remembered thinking that you seemed just as out-of-place as he did, trying to make a home of this unfamiliar land.  

Imagining that you were even half as lonely as he felt, he took pity on you, approaching you on a whim and cracking some awful joke to ease your mind. And, to his surprise, it worked. Laughter reverberated through your little body, spilling from your lips and urging him to laugh too.  

With one petty and uncharacteristic act of kindness, Aegon became your first friend in the Red Keep, and you became the first person to not just tolerate his presence, but to actually enjoy it.  

It became an addicting feeling for him, seeking out your company and using it to stave away decades loneliness. With you, he felt that he was always pining, always craving—always the opposite of himself.  

You smiled in response to his statement, though he was quick to realize that it wasn’t a kind one. It resembled more of a snarl, lips pressed tightly together, voice taut as you said, “I wasn’t in the mood for company.”  

Aegon’s body immediately went stiff, a pang of rejection coursing through him and making his face screw up. It was intentional, of course, as you knew him well enough to know he would take your comment personally. You hoped it would piss him off enough to make him leave entirely.  

Of course, though, things were never that easy with Aegon.  

“Alright, what did I do?” He asked gruffly, sounding an awful lot like a child waiting to be scolded.  

“What do you mean?”  

“To piss you off!” He all but whined, voice growing louder as his short temper began to rise. “What did I do to make you act like this?”  

You were stumped, left to purse your lips as you struggled to conjure an answer that didn’t involve you telling him the truth.  

Aegon had been on his best behavior as of late. It had been ages since you last heard of him visiting the Street of Silk and he hadn’t been allowing himself to fall too deeply into his cups.  

In many ways, it seemed that since your betrothal to his brother was announced, Aegon had been far more composed, happier, even—a fact that likely should have made you happy as well.  

But it didn’t.  

If anything, it made you miserable.  

With a deep sigh, agitated by your own complicated feelings and him, you answered with a half-truth, “You haven’t done anything, my prince.”  

The sound of that word, that fucking title, falling from your lips was enough to snap something within him, his quick temper getting the better of him.  

An annoyed growl ripped through his throat, stomping his foot against the dirt. Even without looking at him you could feel his lilac eyes burning into you, glaring down at you.  

“Stop that.”  

You played coy, repeating the phrase that had gotten a rise out of him. “Stop what, my prince?”  

In a selfish way, you wanted him to be angry, to feel even half as unhappy as you were right now.  

“Stop talking to me like my mother’s around!” He grumbled.  

Bold and fueled by your own misery, you pushed him further, “Is that a command, my pri-”  

Aegon cut you off before you had a chance to antagonize him further, shouting far louder than intended, “No! It’s not a fucking command!”  

You were instantly stunned, finally breaking as your gaze flicked up from your lap, staring at him with wide-eyes.  

This wasn’t the first time you had heard Aegon yell.  

After all, you’d grown up with him, having practically become the elder boy’s shadow. You had heard him yell at knights, at servants, and even his siblings—but this was the first time he had ever yelled at you.  

You expected to be scared, having found yourself the target of his short temper. But, in a strange way, you found that you liked it. For a moment, however brief, you were the target of his passion. Even if it wasn’t in the way you wanted, it was still something.  

Aegon clearly didn’t share those feelings though, regret swiftly washing over him. He took a deep breath, his head lowering as he attempted to calm himself.  

“You know that I would never command you to do anything.” He told you, much softer than before. A hand rose to his head, his fingers roughly tugging at his silvery locks. “I was only asking you to stop. As your friend.”  

You knew that his statement was meant as a kindness. A testament, even, that he would never use his position of power against you, viewing you as far more than one of his father's subjects. Knowing that, however, did not stop it from landing against your chest like a harsh blow, your lip curling in disgust at the sound.  

For years you had thought yourself happy to have Aegon as a friend. But, as much as you didn’t wish to admit it, you knew that you would be far happier to have him as more than that.  

As the two of you grew older, you found yourself tired of sitting on the sidelines, watching as Aegon lusted over every woman that crossed his path. You watched as he chased after servants and whores, throwing his attention and his cock at anyone who would pay him any attention.  

Except for you.  

Often it felt as if you were the only woman in the world that he didn’t want, even as you grew desperate for him. While Aegon seemingly craved your friendship, you craved him.  

Having become further vexed by your own thoughts, you let out a particularly loud huff, falling back against the weirwood tree and ignoring the way Aegon’s brows raised at your dramatic display. “Not for much longer.” You proclaimed, watching blankly as your breath turned to a cloudy mist amongst the cool air. “So you should get used to the formalities.”  

“Well what the fuck do you mean by that?” Aegon asked, sounding thoroughly exasperated.  

He found females to be entirely too difficult to communicate with. They were fickle creatures, prone to speaking in riddles and leaving him with a kind of headache that couldn’t be easily remedied. It was the reason he did his best to avoid them altogether, save for whenever one was crawling into his bed.  

You were an exception, however. The only woman he cared enough about to actually try and decode your cryptic speech.  

“I’ll be married soon,” you told him simply, shoulders lifting in a careless shrug, “it’ll change things.”  

 “Ah, yes!” Aegon commented caustically, laughing dryly, “My apologies! I forgot that as soon as you’re wed my brother plans to throw you in the Maidenvault, never to be seen again!”  

You cut your eyes at him, letting your head drop back against your knees. “So glad that you’re taking this seriously, Aeg.”  

The muffled remark made his laughter grow quiet, realizing that you clearly weren’t in the mood for his antics. For whatever reason, even if he didn’t understand it, you were serious about thinking that your marriage to Aemond would affect your friendship.  

Silence settled over the two of you, a suffocating and heavy sort of thing. The ground crunched beneath his boots, and you wondered if he had finally had enough of your temperamental behavior.  

It was a thought that should’ve brought you some relief, given that you had been purposely trying to piss him off enough that he’d leave you to wallow alone in your misery, but it didn’t. Instead, you only grew more agitated at the thought of Aegon running off to seek out the company of someone far more amenable than you.  

You went to lift your head, already considering pleading with him to stay, before you suddenly felt the warmth of his body pressing against your side as he sat on the ground with you.  

The close proximity quelled your building nerves, your muscles instinctively relaxing in his presence.  

“So you’re not angry at me,” he ventured, seemingly unaware of the fact that your heart was now in your throat, your mind too fixated on the way his forearm was pressed against yours, “you’re upset about your betrothal?”  

His tone took you by surprise, now lacking the humor it once held and sounding far more pensive. The newfound solemnity wasn’t enough to stop him from playfully jutting an elbow into your side though, silently urging you to lift your head.  

You obliged with his request, though you didn’t let yourself face him as you muttered out an answer. “I guess so.”  

“But why? This was what we wanted, was it not?”  

We—a simple phrase, inherently meaningless and yet still powerful enough to cause your chest to tighten.  

“We always agreed that when it came time for you to marry that it would be best for it to be someone here, right? That way you wouldn’t have to leave King’s Landing!”  

So you wouldn’t have to leave him.   

“Well, yes,” you huffed, cheeks beginning to heat as you struggled to find an easy explanation for your feelings, “but it’s just–I don’t know, this isn’t how I imagined things would go!”  

It was true enough.  

Perhaps Aegon’s only hope had been that you would be betrothed to someone nearby, unwilling to lose his best friend. But your hope had only ever been that you would be betrothed to him.  

“Is it Aemond?” He guessed, trying to think of any reason for your animosity. Without waiting for confirmation, he hastily started to form a defense for it. “I know he’s a bit of a twat, but it’s not like you’ll be expected to spend all your time with him! Dozens of women only ever see their husbands on special occasions, do they not? Like tourneys or fucking-”  

You threw your head back and grimaced, a repulsed sound coming from your lips at the reminder of the duty that would soon be placed upon you. Cursed as a woman, you would be expected to give Aemond an heir; a thought you’d been trying to avoid.  

“Seven hells, Aeg! It’s not about that!” You cried out, nose wrinkling.  

“Oh.”  

He sank back against the weirwood, his shoulders slumping forward as he did. Then, after a moment, he asked, “Does that mean you actually want to fuck my brother?” He cocked a brow at you, starting to motion to the left side of his face. “Even with the whole, ya know-”  

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh at the disgusted expression he wore. “You’re unbelievable.”  

“I’m just wondering!” Aegon defended himself, lifting his hands to his chest, palms facing outwards.  

“Well not everything is about fucking, Aegon.” You said sternly.  

“Sooo,” he popped his lips, giving you a sheepish grin that let you know he wasn’t planning to drop the question, “you don’t want to fuck him then?”  

Scowling, you reached over to swat roughly at his forearm, unable to hold back your amusement as you watched him try to scramble back from the strike, chuckling at your weak attempt to hit him.  

“No, Aeg. I don’t want to fuck your brother.” You clarified, rolling your eyes at his juvenile behavior. “Not that it’s any of your business in the first place.”  

The answer seemed to satisfy the eldest prince, moving back to settle against the tree with a smug smirk. “Then aside from fucking Aemond,” he jeered, “what’s the problem? We should be celebrating!”  

He leaned closer, delicately grabbing hold of your wrist and lightly shaking you. Your smile abruptly fell, posture straightening. Aegon didn’t notice the changes in your body language, only continuing his spiel.  

“This marriage will solve everything! Your father is pleased that you’re marrying a prince, and being with Aemond means that you won’t even have to leave the Keep! It all works out perfectly.”  

“You’re right,” you heaved out a breath, snatching your wrist from his hand and rising to your feet, “it clearly solves everything!”  

“Yet you’re still not happy.” Aegon acknowledged, mild amusement twinkling in his lilac eyes as he watched you begin to frantically pace back and forth beside him.  

“How could I be?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up as you spun roughly on your heel. “Here I am, being forced to marry Aemond-”  

“Yes, being forced to marry a prince, how dreadful.” Aegon droned.  

“I am signing away my life, Aegon!” You glared at him, keeping your voice low as you jutted a finger against your chest. “I am aware that the cards I’ve been dealt are much kinder than some others, but that does not make them desirable!”  

It felt as if your frustration had reached its peak, your words beginning to spill out without a second thought.  

“As soon as I’m wed to your brother I will be locked away in that fucking castle, good for absolutely nothing but supplying him with heirs! And should I fail at that, then I’ll be as good as useless!”  

It pained you to speak your thoughts aloud, unable to fight back against the guilt suddenly gnawing at you. Growing up Aemond had never been anything less than respectful towards you; but even so, you knew his respect would only extend so far.  

Patient as he may be, there was little in this world that mattered more to him than duty, and you knew he would be expecting you to fulfill yours, regardless of your own wants.  

Ceasing your incessant assault against the ground you froze by Aegon’s feet, now rubbing at your temples. “So yes, this marriage most certainly solves everything.” You spat, voice full of bitter sadness. “I'll be subjected to a cruel fate, where my worth will become equated to that of a broodmare and I’ll be forced to live my life knowing that I will never wed the man I actually want!”  

The subtle admission nearly went over Aegon’s head, your words spilling out so fast that he could just barely register them—but he did.  

The half-way-confession caught him off-guard, the color draining from his face as he processed it. Of all the issues he expected you to have with your betrothal to Aemond, he hadn’t once expected it to be because someone else had already claimed your heart.  

Thinking of it now, knowing it to be a possibility, only succeeded in causing his short temper to flare once again. Aegon’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging deep into the heel of his palm.  

“Who?”  

His voice came out unusually low, his eyes darkening as they landed on you. You instantly felt trapped under his gaze, lips parting only to fall closed once again, trying to think of a way out of the corner you’d backed yourself into.  

When you stayed silent, Aegon pushed himself to his feet in a single swift motion, easily towering over your frame and leaving you to shrink further beneath him.  

“If not Aemond,” he practically snarled, his lip curling as his brother’s name rolled from his tongue like a curse, “then who do you wish to wed?”  

You wanted to disappear.  

You wished that the ground would open up under your feet and swallow you whole.  

But you knew that there was no true escape from him, stumbling a half step back and tilting your head to the ground, doing everything in your power to evade his piercing stare until you could work up a lie that made sense.  

It nearly worked too, until a hand came to rest under your chin, firmly grasping it and shoving it upwards, forcing you to meet his stare.  

Aegon’s jaw was unbelievably tense, clenched tight as a barely contained rage swirled to life in his eyes, impatiently awaiting an answer.  

Now, unable to look away from him, you noticed how much he couldn’t stand this—the idea of you being the one to pine and crave for someone, for you feel anything for another. For some reason, one that no doubt left you perplexed, it was apparent now that Aegon had only accepted your betrothal with ease because he knew it to be out of duty—not love.  

“It doesn’t matter.” You whispered, biting your tongue to hold back the desperate admission building in your throat.  

You tried to hold onto the last few scrapes of your sanity, reminding yourself that confessing now would gain you nothing.  

If Aegon cared for you—if he loved you—then he’d had over a decade to admit it, or to even just show it in a way you could understand.  

“Of course it does.” He rebutted firmly, unwavering in his demand for an answer.  

His touch began to drift, fingers softly sliding along your jawline before the warmth of his palm came to cradle your cheek. It was an unusual feeling, having him so close, but you let yourself savor it, greedily lapping up every bit of intimacy he’d offer you.   

“Please,” he urged you, the scent of wine on his breath piercing your senses, “tell me who.”  

You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him sound like this before, his tone a near whine. It was the closest Aegon had ever come to begging you for something, and as you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, you found yourself losing all sense of reason, unable to hold back any longer.  

“You.”  

A breathless admission, one that held no expectations as to what he might say or do in response. A cynical part of you sought to brace yourself, half-expecting him to take it as a joke and laugh in your face at the thought of being with you.  

But Aegon didn’t laugh, even as his hand fell from your face, allowing the cold to kiss your cheek once again.  

Your eyes shot open at the loss of contact, stunned as you saw Aegon stumbling back from you, nearly tripping over his own feet. There was no look of amusement like you’d expected, nor one of disdain. Instead, to your surprise, he appeared to be hurt by the confession.  

Staring at him, too dumbfounded to speak, you watched the way his bottom lip trembled, lilac eyes turning glossy with unshed tears. Then he shook his head, strands of silver hair falling in his face.  

“No.” He all but choked on the word, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re lying.”  

Your brows snapped together, offended as you just barely stuttered out an answer. “What? Why would I–what would I gain from lying about this?”  

“I don’t know!” Aegon cried out, a few tears beginning to slide freely down his cheeks. He was quick to wipe them away with the backs of his hands, embarrassed by his own emotions. “But I refuse to accept that it’s the truth!”  

“Refusing to accept it will not make it any less true, Aeg!” You countered, stepping towards him and tried to close the distance he had created. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me to say it, especially now, but I swear to you that I mean what I say!”  

It felt foolish to do this, to stand before your best friend and declare him as the man you wished to wed, just days before you were to be given to his brother. You felt ignorant to place yourself in this position, to have set yourself up for rejection after all these years.  

But none of that mattered now, you supposed. You could not take back what you said, having already handed him your still-beating heart. All that was left to do was wait—praying he would be kind enough to not crush it in his hands.  

And so, knowing that you couldn’t back out of this, you swallowed what remained of your pride and said the words that had been living in your head for a decade now.  

“I love you, Aegon. I denied it for so many years and spent several more trying to bury it, but I love you.” 

Aegon remained motionless, his glistening eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. He found none, only seeing that despite any logic or reason, it was the truth.  

As flawed as he may be and as much as he didn’t want to believe it, you were in love with him.  

Wetness gathered on your cheeks, making you realize that you were crying now too. Aegon stayed silent, each passing second causing your heart to grow heavier, an emptiness cleaving its way through your chest.  

He’s had over a decade to admit any feelings he might have–you reminded yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and letting more tears fall free. You had expected this—assumed that Aegon would never see you as anything more than his friend—but that didn’t make it hurt any less.  

“I told you that things would change-” you tried to speak, wanting to get this over with. It was best for him to break your heart quickly, you thought, so that you could at least escape this moment.  

But Aegon didn’t let you finish your sentence, hands suddenly grabbing at your waist, pulling you into his chest. You gasped at the movement, eyes opening as both of your palms moved to press flat against his tunic, trying to steady yourself.  

Disoriented, you blinked at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. He didn’t offer one, at least not immediately. You couldn’t read his expression, quietly watching as his tear-stained face began to soften.  

Then, gently, he spoke—”Say it again.”  

A flush crept up your neck. “I love you.”  

“You shouldn’t.” He said, his thumb pressing into your abdomen as he gripped you tighter.  

“But I do,” you assured him, breathless as you repeated it again, “I have loved you my entire life, Aegon–even if you don’t feel the same.”  

Lilac eyes narrowed at your insecure claim. “Have I ever said that I don’t?” He tilted his head, hands sliding down to your hips and shoving you back against the smooth bark of the weirwood. “I have been madly in love with you from the very first moment I saw you.”  

A mixture of doubt and relief flooded your mind, grappling with the authenticity of his promise. “But you never said anything-”  

“Because I’m not worthy of someone like you.” Aegon winced at the sound of his own words. “You’ve seen it yourself throughout the years. Heard it from the mouths of my own family. I am a coward and an imbecile, but you-” his nails dug through the fabric of your gown, his body pressing against yours and further caging you against the tree, “are the only good in my life. The only one who gives me a reason to be good.”  

Pain etched across his features as he talked of the way others thought of him, of the way his own family thought of him. The sight nearly made you crumble against him.  

You brought a hand to his cheek, softly caressing his skin. “You should’ve told me.”  

“No,” he asserted, nuzzling into your touch, “I knew that if I told you how I felt and you didn’t return my feelings that it would change things between us. I wasn’t willing to risk losing you.” Aegon paused, his gaze flickering to your lips, “I don’t think I can live without you in my life.”  

Disbelief clouded your mind. This wasn’t real, you wanted to tell yourself, feeling delirious, this can’t be real.  

But you could feel him; his fingers pressing into your flesh, the steady rise-and-fall of his chest against yours. You could smell him; sweet notes of red wine lacing his breath, engulfing your senses. And you could see him; watching as his lilac stare got hung up on your mouth, your throat, your collarbones, swirling with a dangerous blend of lust and adoration.  

You didn’t want to think of tomorrow or the next day. You didn’t want to think of your betrothal to Aemond and what would become of your life.  

Because tonight, right now, this is your new reality.  

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, you began to weave your fingers into the hair covering the base of his neck. “You could never lose me.” You swore, melting as a soft whine fell from his lips at the declaration.  

Then, before you even had time to think, his lips were pressed against yours.  

There was nothing gentle about Aegon’s kiss.  

It was a fervent act, hard and desperate, filled with a passion so intense that it made your legs tremble. Aegon’s grip turned near-bruising, steadying you as he pushed further into you.  

Heat rushed through your body, pooling within your stomach as a strangled moan parted your lips, giving way for Aegon to slip his tongue into your mouth, filling it with the bitter taste of wine. One of his hands drifted to your back, traveling up your spine before burying itself in your hair and trying to pull you even closer.  

Breaking the kiss, he chuckled as he heard you groan in protest, swollen lips ghosting over your cheek before hovering against your ear. “I have loved you for so long,” he purred, the warmth of his breath causing your back to arch, “I have wanted you for so long-”  

The hand that remained on your hip trailed down to your thigh, hurriedly hiking up the fabric of your skirts until he was touching bare skin. His fingers prodded into your flesh, pulling your leg upwards to his waist and wedging himself further between your hips.  

“Then take me,” you gasped, your fingers still laced in his hair, making him groan as you tugged at the silver locks, “I’m already yours.”  

A guttural sound wracked through his body, a hardness pressing against your core as his hips moved against yours. His mouth quickly moved to find yours again, and as his teeth snared on your bottom lip, nibbling at it, you prayed that this would last forever.  

But the Gods tend to be cruel, however.  

“Apologies, my prince-” a squeal erupted from your throat, both of you snapping away from each other to see a red-faced Ser Erryk standing a few feet away. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but the Queen requires your presence.”  

Panic began to flood your veins, your heart beating wildly in your chest. Aegon, however, seemed entirely unphased by being caught like this, his hand still gripping your thigh. “Tell her I’m busy.”  

You felt as if you couldn’t breathe, your mind racing. If Erryk told the Queen of the position he had found the two of you in…  

“I’m afraid she won’t accept that, my prince.” He spoke awkwardly, doing his best to keep his stare from drifting to your exposed skin. “It seemed quite urgent. She requested that I deliver you to her at once.”  

“Fine.” Aegon grumbled, rolling his eyes at the guard.  

He took a half-step back from you, allowing you to lower your leg from his waist before helping you to smooth the fabric of your gown, looking entirely unbothered by the situation.  

You, on the other hand, looked as if you were about to pass out.  

Aegon only chuckled at your blanched expression, leaving you to glare at him as you questioned whether he understood this situation's true gravity.  

“Aegon,” you whispered harshly, gaze flicking towards Erryk, “if he tells your mother about this-”  

“Let him.” He said, a certain arrogance filling his voice. “If he doesn’t, then I’ll do it myself.”  

Your brows furrowed. “But Aemond-”  

“Fuck Aemond.” Aegon told you harshly, unwilling to listen to your protests. “You are mine to claim, not his.”  

You bit down on your lower lip, his declaration only worsening your wish that Erryk hadn’t interrupted the two of you. “Your mother won’t like that.”  

“She doesn’t have to.” He started, “My mother wishes for me to sit the Iron Throne, and I wish for you,” he gave you a devious smirk, reaching for your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, “I imagine the two of us can come to an agreement that will relieve you of your commitment to my brother.”  

In spite of your nerves, only building at the thought of Aegon being forced to sit upon the throne, you couldn't help but allow yourself to smile, finally imagining a future that you wouldn't need to hide from.

Perhaps your fate wouldn’t be so cruel after all.  

I wrote the majority of this well past midnight while feeling as if I were dying from an insane migraine. So, basically, I have no clue what this is but it kept me occupied and I'm gonna go ahead and post it anyways lmao.

Planning on writing some angsty!Aegon and some smut soon cause apparently I'm stuck on him rn. If anyone wants to be added to a HOTD taglist lmk, also feel free to message me any ideas you might wanna see or just to talk about how insanely attractive aegon and aemond are lol

[maddyguru]

Hello, Again (geto s.)

Synopsis: after leaving you for 10 years, you met your older brother, Suguru again. But it wasn't the happy reunion that you were hoping for. In fact, this is the beginning of your hell.

Tw: dark content, public humiliation, r word in front of public, sibling incest, non con, loss of virginity, brief mentions of ptsd, brief mentions of killing, geto is crazy (everybody knows this), SPOILER, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, breeding kink (not detailed), hate speech bc geto hates monkeys, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You woke up to the sound of chatters and whispers. What baffled you was the pitch-black sight. As if you're in the basement with no source of lights as your guides. Another thing you noticed was that your hands were behind your small back, tied together with ropes.

Ropes? are you abducted?

"Hello, everyone. Today we welcome the arrival of this young girl."

Your eyes, behind the cloth of the blindfolds, were wide open as the realization hit you. That voice- you know whom it belongs to;

It was Suguru Getou's. Your older brother. Your long-lost, older brother.

Your lips are trembling at the sound of his voice. It's been ten years. Ten fucking years since you last saw him. You were just eight years old when he left you. You're just a little kid growing up in the neighborhood of Tokyo. Just a girl with ordinary life, loved by her parents and brother. Brother,

You cackled softly. Does the man really love you? Considering how he was the one who made you suffer, the one who destroyed your life. The one who made you an orphan?

You never thought listening to the sound of his voice could make you feel this way. After all that was said and done, you still couldn't hate him. You and your all kindness couldn't say ''I hate you'' to him. And all because you cherished the memories you had of him.

It made you wonder, what about him? does he hate you? The last time he saw you, he said he does;

The sudden yanking of the blindfold made you gasp. And there, you were faced with so many people in front of you. All of them vary from men to women bowing down at you as if you're their God. You're still in your outfit- you were supposed to be heading to college. Jesus, how many days has it been?

You look around. You're surrounded by these people, and you can't run to the door; without a doubt, all of these people will catch you and bring you back to him.

Your chin was softly tapped, and he brought your face to him, making you face him.

Your eyes were wide. You couldn't help but blush when you were face to face with Suguru again.

He changed. His eyes were a heavy glint of despair and evil, and his hair was longer. Even though your brother still ties his locks, the strands of his growing hair were behind his back. You almost smiled when you saw his piercings- it surprised you, to say the least. How he doesn't get rid of them.

"Nii-chan, you'd look so handsome with piercings!"

"Really? well, since my little sister says I'll look handsome with them, I'll get it done."

You thought about how happy you were when he was your brother.

"Hello, again." He greeted you, smiling so wickedly it made your stomach churn.

The Suguru that resides in your memory wasn't the Suguru you're facing now. He wore a Buddhist-style kimono, the silk faintly brushing against your skin. It was nice. It must be expensive, you thought to yourself the more he stared at you. The Suguru you used to know had a loving aura whenever you were with him. The Suguru you remembered wouldn't abduct you and tie your hands together like this. Your innocence made you blind- you failed to realize that he's no longer your brother.

"O-oniichan...''

"Ah, ah, ah, it's Geto- sama for you, lovely."

You blinked, seemingly confused.

He finds it amusing as he mockingly laughs at you. "Honestly, (y/n) who is oniichan? I'm Suguru Geto. Do you know that?"

You didn't realize that you have tears on your cheeks. Suguru's words to an onlooker may be just words. But to you, his blood sister, it is a declaration of your bonds being severed. The memory of 10 years ago, the night he murdered his parents came to mind. The day he left you all alone with nightmares and sorrows as your company failed to bore a hatred fruit.

How can you hate him? He's your brother. The blood pumping in your veins is the same as his. The memory of eating ice creams together and cuddling with each other was too precious, too evergreen for you to throw it away.

"Say it for me. Say, "yes, Geto- sama," he whispered, smirking at you.

You were hesitant, your eyes looking at him and then peeking at the many people bowing in front of you and him. "Yes,, Geto- sama..." you replied meekly.

"Good! very good. You're still as obedient as I remember, little sister," he smiled as you felt the palm of his hands cupping your cheeks together like he used to do when you were sulking.

Why are you here? You find yourself asking. What was the reason for your abduction to this place? You looked at him again, pleading with your eyes for answers.

"Ah, you must be wondering why you're here, right sister?" he pauses, clicking his tongue at your obviousness.

"Why don't I show you?" he sweetly smiled, later tearing open your dress and prompting you to scream. Your eyes were wide open as you screamed for him to get away from you. God knows how much you struggled, backing away from his as much as your body allows you to with tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Please," you plead, disgusted with his hands on the strap of your bra as he removed it from you, "please, let go! please, oniichan-"

Your skin stung from the brute force of Geto's slap. Your head was turning to the right when he slapped you.

It managed to keep your mouth shut. But you're still crying. And it's not just from the slap, but because all your life, Suguru never laid his hands on you. He was always so gentle and loving, smiles adorning his handsome features, and he would press kisses whenever you cried.

But this Suguru Geto has abducted and assaulted you, far from the brother you used to know.

"Didn't I fucking tell you? It's Geto- sama. Not oniichan."

He glared at you, and later his lips were moving into the shape of a smirk.

"A monkey like you doesn't deserve to be my sister.''

By the time you were sobbing, he was in between your trembling legs, and in front of this many people, he tore away your skirt and later grabbed the hem of your panties and,

As pathetic as your miserable life could be, he slides them away, not even bothering to pull them down and toss them aside. Like a common whore, he only did that much.

"Please,, don't..."

"Now, now, you know I only want this,'' you screamed when he cupped your pussy, "right here, don't you baby?" he asked, his tone was sickeningly sweet.

No, no, please...Geto- sama... I don't want to, don't want this..."

Was he really doing this to you? Was he really going to rape you in front of this many people? Was he really going to commit incest with...you? His little sister?

"Didn't he care about you? love you?" His voice was low, whispering into your ears so closely, "Was what you're asking yourself, right, (y/n)?" He beamed at you- a smile that doesn't resemble him from the past. The ones you engraved in your brain were different from what he showed you now.

Dumbly, you nodded at his question, afraid he'd get mad at you for not answering.

Laughing, he cooed, "Times have changed. The old me that you once knew is not the present me. I've already told you that night after I killed your parents, remember?"

You shut your eyes tightly from the painful memories. Splashes of blood, two lifeless bodies lying on the ground before your eyes, and eight-year-old you crying for oniichan to save you. Even though it was obvious, that he was the one who executed them.

That night continues to haunt your every waking and sleep hour. Because of Suguru, you have nightmares. Because of him, you're getting therapy sessions every once a week. Because of that night, you're afraid of blood.

"Please,,,'' begging like an idiot, you try to search for his sympathy.

He laughed in your face, reaching out behind you and easily tugging the ropes that bound you. It falls on the tatami floor underneath you.

You realize that you're half-naked, with your panties slid to the side of your thighs. Embarrassed at the eyes prying on your naked figure, you try covering yourself with your now freed hands.

But he's quick to catch them and gripped your bones so tightly you squealed from the new pain.

"Don't you fucking dare try covering yourself, pathetic slave."

You're trembling from the fear that you never thought you'd feel again.

"Your body and soul are all mine. They're worshipping me, and you will, too. This is why you are here for."

Suguru thought about how pathetic you are when you're shaking your head from side to side. Your face says you don't want this, along with your tears. They speak for themselves.

It's not bad of him to think that he doesn't give a shit about what you want, right?

His cock was already hard from the minute he slid your dress away, and his eyes were met with your beautiful breasts. What's even more precious is when he slid your panties away and was met with your flushing folds, the clit hidden away slightly.

He bit his lips, and your crying face heightened his arousal even more.

"Come on, worship me, Your God!" he caught your legs and spread them apart, which caused you to cry out even more from fear and disgust.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, he's going to!

"No, please!" You screamed, your cries ringing in the cramped room. Everyone is looking at you and him. You look away, shutting your eyes with those beautiful blushing cheeks Suguru loved.

"Please, Geto- sama... please..." You tried pleading again, but he ignored you and spread your legs wider (if possible), making your cunt visible for everyone in this room to see. You felt your cheeks reddening even more. He was behind you, pressed so closely you froze when your butt felt the hardness of his cock.

He slid his hands down your shoulders, causing you to flinch, and later, it found its way to your pretty flower folds.

You're shaking your head with tears yet again.

"Look at them!" he hissed at you, gripping your chin to face straight ahead, in front of his worshippers. Your tears were gathering in the palm of his hand, wetting them more. Your lips were trembling more and more, as he spoke to his audience.

"Today, all of you will get to see me breed this girl, and create a world of sorcerers. Soon, she will birth my future kins, and I will rebuild my world."

What the fuck is he saying? is he... is he serious?

"Listen, (y/n), nii-san may not be there on time when you need me, but I want you to know, nii-san loves you, ok?"

"nii-san! why are you telling me this?"

"nii-san just want you to know, nii-san will never hurt you. And nii-san will always love you, no matter what he does, ok?"

It's ok, it's ok. It's nii-san. He will always love me, always, always...

You heard the shuffling of clothes, and you saw him undoing his obi, the nagajuban part of his kimono was already away from his shoulders, revealing his torso.

Bile rose in your throat, and tears won't stop painting your skin.

Nii-san will never hate me. He lied, he lied... he will always love me, right?

You thought to yourself, even when Suguru was sliding away the rest of his robes from his body, his fingers spreading apart your folds and teasing you in front of his followers.

"You will give yourself to me like a good slave. You will let me squeeze myself inside you and pump my cum into your womb until you're fat with my babies. You hear me?" He grabbed your chin, making you face him slightly.

You're crying, yet again with your pathetic blubbers.

"Look at the inside of her pussy. It's all pink and untouched, don't you think so?" he says, and you hid your face into his chest, crying even more when he spreads your folds even farther, making you uncomfortable and slightly in pain from the stretch.

"Please, don't..."

Your face is buried on his chest, shutting your eyes when he continues to spread your folds and tease you with two of his fingers. You tried moving away. The plan is to crawl from his body. You didn't care anymore if his followers caught you. You would rather die trying.

"Please, no. Please,," God was apparently a sadist because He only allows you a few seconds to be freed from Suguru's hold before you're in his arms again. This time, you're underneath him.

When he dragged you and trapped you with his body, he slammed your head roughly against the tatami floor, and you let out a pained cry. You swore your vision went black for a second from the impact. You lay there, with tears continuously flowing from your eyes.

"How dare you try to run away from me, you low-life monkey." He speaks enough for the people in the room to hear him. As if he wanted everyone to listen to what he says, even though it's clear that the one he's humiliating is you.

He smirked, his hands suddenly grabbing your throat and clenching hard, almost breaking your windpipe. You coughed, little hands desperately grabbing his much bigger arms.

"How dare you, trying to escape from me like that," he grabbed his cock, aligning the muscle to probe directly against your hole. His laughter resonated yet again when he realized...

"You're not even wet? How rude of you to come unprepared before your God. I guess I'll have to improvise," he spits into his palm before smearing the liquid all over his length. You don't even want to look at it, too afraid and disgusted.

For someone who swore they won't hurt you, this fucking hurts.

"No, please... I don't want this..." You whispered in tears when you felt the head of his cock probing your hole, trying to get inside you.

"Shut up, you're annoying me." He barked, pushing the head finally inside you, passing the tight rim first.

"Ah!" You screamed, the foreign feeling of having something (even if it's just the head) inside you too overwhelming for you. Your hands move on their own- you clutched his arms so tightly he swore it'll leave a mark with your nails.

He pushed into you, tearing open your hymen. His chest was pushed against yours. Your screams resonated in the room when Suguru kept pushing into your bleeding pussy. You could see his head was thrown back and his eyes closed from the pleasure of having a virgin.

"Well, at least you're a good girl,'' he chuckled, ramming his cock inside you to test the water with your hands still gripping his.

"Please, don't...move!" You cried out, tears pooling in your eyes when he stopped for a while, observing you.

His eye caught sight of the crystal blue hairpin that you wore. He gifted them to you when you were 3 years old. He has asked for Shoko's advice on what to get for your birthday, and hairpin it was. His heart sank a little, a frown on his face.

You still wear them? Even after all these times?

He ignored you, pushing away that sympathy he felt for you, and fucked you despite your cries of pain.

"No... no, oniichan, it hurts!"

The moment you screamed, his hands were gripping your throat once again, tightening as hard as he could in an attempt to kill you. Your eyes were staring at him from pain- and he loved how you panicked. The soft hands that were on the floor are now gripping his arms.

"How.many.fucking.times," he squeezed harder, listening to your choked moans.

"Do I have to fucking tell you, bitch? It's Geto- sama, for you."

He found pleasure when you choked, crying, and the way your insides clenched with every hard thrust he gave you. The only thing his mind yearned for was to breed your pussy full of potent cum and see you get pregnant before his eyes. And have as many children as he wants with you and,

Finally killing you, just like he killed his parents 10 years ago.

''P-p- please..." your choked whispers were heard amidst the sound of his worshippers and his thrusts, and he thought briefly, that he loves you all flushed and humiliated in front of his followers. Your eyes were staring at his, crying out for him to stop.

"Please, what?" he taunted you, fucking you even harder and you let out a squeak from the new pain.

"Plea- please, stop... it hurts, Geto- sa- sama..."

He ignored you, and you didn't know which hurts more- the fact that your brother raped you, or it's because he treated you like a stranger?

"You can take it. Women's hole is to be used for this and for giving birth. If you can't handle a cock, how can you give birth to healthy babies?"

A tear trickles on your skin at his words, hurt by the lack of empathy he provided for you.

You shake your head, sobbing. "I can't... it really... really hurts..."

He lets go of your throat, pounding you harder now that he held your waist in place. But you're still fucking crying, much to his dismay.

"It hurts, please...!" You glanced down to see where he plunged himself into you, raping you. Your widened eyes were entertaining his sadistic tendencies.

"Geto-sama, I'm bleeding..." you almost passed out when you saw the trickle of blood in between your thighs- you hate it, you hate it, it reminded you of that night.

Your whimpers are music to his ears. He knows you must've been afraid of blood after the night he slaughtered his parents. You're shaking even more when you saw the crimson liquid, sobbing like a fucking kid.

He loves it, hurting you.

His hands gripped your chin, turning your face to the right so you could look at all these people, the men hard. You were fucked by their God, and he loves the way you clenched harder at the humiliation, a reminder, that you belonged to him. That he's your Geto-sama.

"You stupid bitch, you think I care about you?"

"(y/n), careful! or else you'll trip!"

''I don't care if you're my blood sister. I don't even care when I killed my parents."

"(y/n), -chan, you need to wait for oniichan before you could cross the road on your own. I don't want you to get hurt, baby."

"You're only a pussy to fuck, to birth my children."

"Here, hold my hand so you won't get lost, ok?"

"You know what I'm gonna do to you once you've done your role?"

"(y/n), do you hate me for leaving you every week?"

"I'm gonna kill you, and send you to hell."

"niisan will come back, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"Make sure you take all of my cum, you stupid monkey. Take all, or else you're going to get a beating from me, alright?"

He fucked you so hard, that when he shoot his seeds into your womb, it felt so painful and you screamed so hard from the pain.

.

.

.

.

.

It's been a month since that day. The day you were taken away and raped in front of many people. You gently sobbed when you saw the pregnancy test that Suguru and his secretary forced you to take said positive.

"Great! you're pregnant!'' This was the first time Suguru felt so happy, the first time in 10 years. And it was sadly not because he met you again, but there's a baby inside you, one that he's been crazy about for the past month. So crazy that he raped you every day, every hour, not even bothering to tend to your wounds and left you alone the minute he pumped his seeds into you.

He cupped your flat stomach, happy that his seeds created a fetus that would later be born as his child. And before long, he'd put another one into you.

"You're so perfect, my love. A perfect bitch to use for fucking babies." His voice hung in the air, sank into every fiber in your being. He didn't even have the decency to not degrade you like that in front of his secretary, his family.

"Listen, now that you're pregnant with my child, I want to remind you." He grabbed your chin, squeezed your cheeks together, and cursed you.

"You mean nothing to me. You're not my family member, and never will be. This baby is the only family I regard from you. You're just a host for my children."

He lets you go, pushing you away so hard, that you let out a sob.

"And if the baby is useless monkey just like you are, I'll kill it, until you give birth to the ones I want," he grinned at you, so eerily.

You're afraid. Afraid of this monster. You slowly cup your stomach, and the thought of Suguru killing your baby frightens you.

Not only does he has and will ruin your life, but also this baby will be crushed too if it doesn't turn out the way he desires.

And it's all your fault. For having this baby, for birthing it, and powerless to stop his cruel way.

[frenziedfireworks]

Scribner's Desk

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary : You and your boyfriend wait for Scribner to leave. Sebastian has other ideas to get back at the old woman.

CW : SMUT, f!reader, 18+ Characters, daddy kink/princess, degrading/praising, oral/fingering (f!receiving), orgasm denial, fucking in the library, breeding kink & creampie

A/N : I swear I write more than just smut for Seb.. I have so many things in the works. T-T

Sebastian and you had a habit of sneaking into the library at night for as long as you could remember. Hell, your first memory of him was the day he took the blow for you against Scribner. Now, Scribner was not as fond of these memories or said escapades.. She had even stayed later than usual in attempts to catch the two of you. Not that it worked. 

“I think she’s given up.” Sebastian whispered to you from the bottom of the stairs, grinning as Scribner walked off. You were surprised the old woman could even stay up till one am. 

“She’s dedicated, if anything. I’ll give her that.” You murmured. Sebastian hummed as his arm reached around your waist and turned you to face him. His hand brushed against your cheek and he leaned in for a kiss. 

“You look so good right now.” The freckled man said between breaths, his lips sucking at any flesh he could find. Your body heated at the compliment and your hands buried in his hair. His tongue rolled over the spots he left along your neck, soothing the small pain.

“Look at you. Letting me mark you up in the library. Such a naughty girl.” Your moan only seemed to egg him on, the palm of his hand wrapping around your throat.

“I wanna fuck you on Scribner’s desk.” He grunted and you swore your eyes popped out of your head.

A small ‘ok’ left your mouth before you knew and he yanked you into his hold. His footsteps were harsh as he slammed you against the desk and waved the door to lock.

“Don’t worry darling, I won’t let Scribner watch as I demolish you.” Sebastian’s crude laugh filled your core with desire and you bucked back into him. His groans were delicious and the friction of his erection was even better.

“Seb-” A harsh scream left your mouth without warning as his hand smacked against your ass.

“Don’t you get hasty. I want to enjoy my time.” His arm rubbed your core against him and his head fell against your shoulder.

“I bet you’re fucking soaked. Let’s see.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as his hands undid your trousers and ghosted towards your cunt. Your body shook as his fingers finally made way to where you needed him the most.

“Oh princess, you are. Is this all for me?” He teased as his digit pressed further against your ruined bloomers. 

“Y-Yes. All for you.”

Sebastian seemed to like that answer as his finger slipped through your folds and probed at your hole. Your hands gripped at the wood of the desk, desperate for anything to hold onto. You felt Sebastian shuffle behind you and almost screamed as you felt his hands yank your panties down. His breath tickled at your core and it was taking everything in you not to buck into his face. 

“What a good girl. I can see your hips twitching. You need daddy’s help?” Sebastian cooed and leaned even closer. His fingers teased at your nub a few times, getting a few mewls out of you before he moved in. His tongue swept over your folds and teased at your pulse. He was always like this at first - a big fat tease before he drove himself up the wall. You didn’t mind it though, you would take anything he was willing to give. 

“Oh baby you taste so good. Making a mess on my face.” Sebastian groaned as he pulled your legs even further apart and speared his tongue into you. Your moans only picked up as continued his brutal pace and brought you closer and closer. 

“I’m so close Seb-” Your words stopped as he slowly pulled back and licked his lips. That bastard.

“Why did you stop?!” Your eyes flared at the loss of an orgasm and he just cackled.

“Oh princess.. You didn’t think I was going to let you come on my tongue, right? You’re only made to take my cock.” His hand slammed against your ass and you squealed. You were impatient and rutted your ass against him. You received another slap to the ass in retaliation. 

“Would you give me one second? I can’t even zip my pants down because you’re such a cock hungry whore.” 

The words made your body ache, watching from over your shoulder as his cock slapped out of his briefs. The sight alone made your mouth drool. His tip was red and weeping. Precum dripped down across the shaft, enhancing your view of a thick vein.  Part of you wanted to get on your knees and let him face fuck you but you were too desperate. You needed him.

“You like the view sweetheart?” Sebastian grinned as he lined himself up and tapped his cock against your folds. His teases continued as he humped the outside of your cunt.

“So fucking wet. Tell me what you want.” His hand yanked at your hair and forced you to look at him.

“I need you to fuck me.” 

“You need who to fuck you?” He questioned and you whimpered.

“I need you to fuck me daddy.” You batted your eyelashes, doing your best to be his pretty and obedient girl.

“That’s what I fucking thought. Only daddy can fill you up like this.” Sebastian’s cock sank into you and it felt like bliss. The stretch of his girthy member was always painfully satisfying. 

“Mmmh~” You moaned out and Sebastian took the hint. His grip on your hips was almost as rough as his thrusts and his mouth never truly stopped.

“Fucking take it. Look at your pussy get ruined.” Your head was pushed down to where the two of you connected and you clenched. Your eyes took in the fast pace of his cock ramming in and out, covered in slick. 

It wasn’t long before you were a ragdoll in his hold, his hands yanking at your scalp to pull you into him. His cock pistoned violently and you could feel the stutters in his form. He was as close as you were.

“So close.” You howled as you felt a rather harsh tug to your hair. Your body clenched around his cock in anticipation.

“Fucking cum. Cum with me while I fill you full.” Sebastian’s voice and pace faltered as your eyes rolled back and you gripped him like a vice. Your body jolted as white ribbons of cum filled you and Sebastian’s profanities flew past his lips. The two of you laid against the desk for quite a while, catching your breath.

“So much for Scribner’s plan to ruin our fun. If anything I think I have to thank her.” Sebastian laughed as he pulled out and winked at you. You only groaned at the snarky response and began to redress. 

“You’re so full of it.” 

“And you’re so full of me.” Sebastian retorted and your jaw dropped. You weren’t surprised but you had to admit that it was a good one.

“Wow. Nice one.” You guffawed and the boy leaned in to place a kiss on your lips.

“Thanks babe. I’ll be here all night.”

[ladykailitha]

You pardon me, I'm getting a little foamy at the mouth about this and if I don't rant about it, I may explode.

Lucas and the Game.

Which game? Both of them. Basketball and D&D. Because honestly I am a little lot weary of Eddie getting the lion share of the blame for what happened that Friday. Like I legit saw someone suggest that the school move the basketball game. Like what now?

Did Eddie make some CHOICEStm? Yes, yes he did. Lucas did not go to the dark side for playing a sport.

HOWEVER!

Lucas made some choices of his own.

Now, my information is 20 years old and I'm doing this based on memory, so if I get things wrong, also know I am from a different state than Indiana.

The play offs and championship games are announced ahead of time. There is no way Lucas was told THAT day that Hawkins was playing in the championship game. He had three days on the inside and a week on the outside of knowing when the game was.

Also take into consideration that the likelihood of Lucas PLAYING in said championship game is astronomical. Like the starting lineup and all the second string players would have to injured or fouled out before he could play. Because he's a freshman. He would have to wait out all the sophomores, juniors, and seniors(grades 10-12 respectively) before the coach would put him in. As opposed to a game that not only would he be playing in, he would be considered a valued member.

But as a club, Hellfire probably had set days they could meet. (Also, also, who the teaching advisor for that club and where the hell were they at any point during that season?)

So for most of the school year, the Hellfire club met on Fridays. Lucas would have known that.

So he had a few days to tell Eddie that he wouldn't be able to make it to the finale of their campaign, and he didn't. Then he didn't have to courage to tell Eddie himself and made Dustin and Mike do it.

So here's Eddie, president of the club (though, I can only imagine he was because no else wanted it, as something tells me I don't think they would have a let a double super senior president of anything), being told he's going to be down a player or be forced to move it. Something the other members of the club didn't want to do.

So why does Lucas's choice matter, but Gareth, Jeff, and the Unnamed Freak's choices don't?

So Eddie has to make a decision. Move it, find a replacement, or cancel it all together.

But since it was Dustin and Mike who brought to his attention THEY can find a replacement.

Because here's the thing about D&D and especially about being a DM. You build the fight based around the characters' abilities, classes, and magical items. And there is a lovely thing called CR or challenge rating. It's based on a party of four but can be adjusted for how many players you have. So a CR 10 would be a monster or fight that would take FOUR level 10 characters to beat. So six players, he would probably throw a CR 12 or 13 because of the extra players.

And if they are down a player it can really fuck things up, because what do you scale back and how?

We don't know what level all the characters were or what their classes were. We know that Lucas HAD played a ranger in the past so lets go with that. And since we know EXACTLY what Erica's character was: a level 14 half-elf rogue, so Lucas was probably of a similar level. And let me tell you TWO complete different skill sets.

Which is probably why the group is decimated at the end. Rangers are long range (heh) and rogues are better up close and personal. If Erica hadn't rolled a natural 20 both her and Dustin would have been dead when Vecna took his turn.

Sorry, I got off track a bit with the D&D stuff. But the purpose of that was to show that Lucas bailing last minute would have fucked things up for Eddie.

So TL;DR is that Lucas chose a game that he would likely be on the bench for for all of the game over a game he was an active participant in, didn't tell Eddie for DAYS and made his friends do it last minute, and then demanded the campaign get moved at the cost of the other members of the club's wants, and all because he wanted to be popular.

So, no. Eddie should NOT apologize for not catering to the wants of one member of his club over the needs of everyone else in said club. Maybe a bit on the traitor thing, but not moving the finale because Lucas thought basketball was more important? Nah...

[sepublic]

            I’ve already brought up how the loss of glyphs is deeply tragic for Luz on an interpersonal level, given her relationship with the Titan as being kinda found family in a spiritual successor to Manny sorta way…

            But on a larger, cultural level? It’s straight-up genocide. Because glyphs were an ancient practice; They were a tradition at one point, as Eda explains. The earliest witches used to learn glyphs from the Titan on her knee, and eventually stopped when that became redundant with the more convenient source of their bile sacs.

            But it was still an important part of their history; It was how witches and demons first communicated and interacted with the land and nature, and their ‘god’ in a mutualistic way. It was how they respected their world.

            So even if glyphs were evidently forgotten by the Deadwardian Era, they were still available for those who needed them… And in comes fucking Philip, the racist colonizer, and because of his possession of the Titan’s heart, she finally dies and glyphs can no longer work. They’re obsolete now.

            They still happened, but now that part of magic, of history and this world, is gone forever. It’s cultural erasure, it’s what Luz alludes to when she mentions how scars from Belos’ reign still remain, like the left arm being permanently shifted upwards; Who knows how many were displaced, how much the local flora and fauna and ecosystems were devastated, with the desert of Palm Stings now colder than even the knee itself?!?

            It’s just so deeply painful because Luz really helped to bring back an ancient, lost tradition and unlike Philip, breathed new life into it; Glyphs could be used to help people without bile sacs, who didn’t utilize spell circles as well. We actually saw Luz experiment with using individual glyphs, and figure out the combos; Things she did on her own. She shared knowledge of glyphs with her loved ones, like Eda, King, Lilith, Gus, Amity, etc.

            There really was going to be a return of something lost, but now it’s gone forever because of a bigoted old white man who was too bitter about things that are different and needed to feel big and important by standing on the shoulders of others. It’s cultural genocide. That memory where Belos' destructive lies about wild magic drive witches away from the knee that they still had the potential to learn from, leaving behind only ruins in the present-day? With some murdered via the coven sigils that cut them even further off from their own magic they forgot glyphs for? It's truly symbolic of the final nails in the coffin.

            And it’s also desecration of the dead, too; Caleb is not the only one to have had his corpse bastardized by Belos, misused against everything he stood for. Belos also misused that corpse, first by stealing the Titan’s name, then misusing her magic, her resources such as Palistrom wood… And finally possessing that body literally, which is what murders the Titan. It’s like colonizers bastardizing and salting the land that locals carefully maintained a proper relationship with, and keep in mind this fucker is a literal Puritan colonist. There’s no respect, not for the dead and/or past. Compare that to Luz, who lives on in Manny’s memory and makes him proud.

            I’m just imagining Caleb and the Titan watching, in agony, as their bodies are used to create a vicious mockery towards their actual kin, who remain totally unaware, and in the case of the Grimwalkers, it’s another lineage that is also abused. Meanwhile the Clawthornes remain unknowing of their past because colonialism erases history, hence Belos hiring Flora, and hell even getting Lilith to participate in her own historical erasure, as both Clawthorne and witch!

            Meanwhile, King remains oblivious and unconnected to his own heritage. And most of that can also be attributed to the Titan Trappers and Archivists, themselves perpretrators of genocide. So King and Eda go without knowing their heritage for so long, in Eda’s case she may never find out entirely, because it’s part of the many voices who are lost and silenced due to genocide, buried in the past to be forgotten.

            And you know one thing more that fucks me up? It’s that I genuinely suspect that Philip initially had it easier with glyphs than Luz, and that he made them more difficult for her. Because based on his dialogue by finding the Ice glyph in a snowflake, and his diary and memory portraits showing him arriving in the isles via Eclipse Lake, at the Knee…

            Philip was probably shown his first spell on his first day in the Demon Realm. And it makes sense; The first human, the precedent that the Titan would’ve known by this point, was Caleb; Himself Philip’s brother, who was also raised to be a witch hunter, yet learned better. We know people can view both worlds from that in-between realm, but the Titan still isn’t omnipotent and can only watch through a limited number of cubes at a time, while having to know what and who to look for.

            But even so; With Caleb’s precedent, there could’ve been hope that Philip would follow in his footsteps, that he would learn and be more, and actually choose to be better instead of defaulting to Puritan predestination and the like as an excuse to stay the same and absolve him of responsiability. But we know what happened; Philip started off easy, but then made things difficult by rejecting the Titan’s compassion, by misusing her magic for evil and murder and genocide. The Titan showed Philip compassion first and this was how he responded.

            I really feel as if there’s an implicit reluctance with how Luz is taught glyphs, one at a time, in separate scenarios, usually as a result of character development and/or engaging with the world around her, which are things the Titan would really need to see to start trusting another human again (and if he knew Luz gave Philip the last glyph, that would also add to the wariness that Belos caused by manipulating her). Luz didn’t learn her first spell until a few days into her journey, and Luz had already had a few perilous encounters by that point! But she continued to brave her way through everything, continued to accept the isles and its messier side.

            And so the Titan showed Luz her first spell, and only that, in response to Luz needing it, wanting to learn magic, and most of all humbling herself to be kind to the Titan’s own son, and listen to him; Because neglecting King was what low-key led to Eda’s transformation placing everyone in danger, since he only told Luz about the elixir and agreed to steal it for the sake of getting her attention.

            So that makes Luz listening to the Titan for the first time, intentionally, with her second spell –Ice, Philip’s first- so much more hard-hitting. The way she wanted to live out her dream so she went for the wand behind people’s backs, but then recognized and owned up to her mistakes. And she really was just a lonely kid in need of guidance, and not a stubborn adult committed to his cruelty; Luz always had an open mind! She always wanted to learn!

            And she got to! She learned each glyph at a time… And that’s all the Titan could do for her, something the Titan had already done for so many others, long ago, before they realized they had bile sacs and didn’t need to rely on the land around them as much. Luz still experimented even when she just had one glyph; She understood how intent mattered. She and Lilith built off of each other’s knowledge to collaborate and create combos. Meanwhile Belos, he agonized because he made things pointlessly difficult by refusing to adapt to the ways of another land, and only got his first and last glyphs by taking the compassion of someone who knew them and betraying it.

            Plus there’s what I said about Lilith, her whole thing as Caleb’s descendant, directly abused by Belos and belittled by him, made to participate in her own erasure loss of past, separated from that… Really, one could argue the Clawthornes are like the Boiling Isles equivalent to the Irish; Yeah they're white but that doesn't mean they aren't victims of British colonialism that sought to 'conquer the land' and all that.

The Clawthornes are generally known for big orange hair, with Lilith's curly hair being straightened and dyed dark-blue in an attempt to assimilate within the Emperor's Coven's (AKA Philip's) standards of conformity. They worked with the land via the Palistrom carving and began to lose that because of the trees being endangered by Belos' gluttony, as well as the curse disabling Dell; The very curse created by the Archivists, who also invaded this world, the very curse cast by Lilith because the coven system influenced her to feel shame over wild magic and embrace hierarchy instead.

The curse leads to Eda's loss of bile magic, something very important to her and witches in general, and Lilith loses her own trying to mitigate her own mistakes. So not just glyphs are taken from witches, but even their own bile magic they initially replaced them with, and the other resources of the land. And Lilith is cut off from her family, her real family, as she's taken in by an ancestor who has deliberately distanced himself and loathes her on multiple levels as something to be 'fixed'.

But Lilith gets her hair back and re-embraces it, she gets her family back. She still manages to somewhat retain her past; After all, Lilith gets to go to the Deadwardian Era herself! And she meets, as much as it loathes anyone to acknowledge it, an ancestor, and influences history in a subtle yet personally meaningful way. And Lilith helps re-establish contact with the lost practice of glyphs by figuring out how to combine them, which goes hand in hand with her passion of being a historian, and her additional function as both parallel and especially foil to Philip.

             Just… Luz and the Titan. And Caleb. And Lilith. There’s dead people and there’s history and there’s land, there’s bodies and respect. There’s compassion and actually working with people and finding no shame in that, instead of stealing and taking credit. And in the end, even though they manage to regain some things, a lot was still inevitably lost to genocide, and possibly gone forever.

            But the effects and legacy still linger, Luz still remembers and holds dear what the glyphs did; And she honors not just Manny’s legacy, but Caleb’s, by bridging the gap between humanity and witches, and showing both can co-exist in harmony. She helped his descendants, and even the last Grimwalker, find happiness and reconnect with their heritage, even if they don’t know just how close it is to them in particular. Luz honored the Titan by clearing his name, finding his son, and ensuring the last of the Titans is no longer alone and in understanding of his heritage. Luz even made amends with the Titan’s other greatest regret, harming the Collector, by making peace; And she proved glyphs were still useful, they were still kind, and that compassion wasn’t wasted.

            So even if the Titan’s glyphs are gone now, Luz still honored their memory by sharing them freely and helping, teaching, cultivating. The Clawthornes are rebuilding the Palistrom forests, among them is Hunter who as a Grimwalker was one of the purposes for which Belos devastated those natural resources for. And King… King is beginning to develop his own glyphs! And Luz is learning her first one, Light, from a Titan all over again, because she showed King kindness.

            That honors the Titan’s memory by keeping it alive through her son; Who keeps the memory of glyphs alive through the ones he’ll sustain and share with everyone else, and those glyphs will spread to those without and even with bile sacs. And a lost art is brought back, irreversibly different but still intact in the important ways. People are relearning old practices to apply to a new world, because the past is gone but it still lingers and is simply… reborn. Despite the scars and changes it survives and is still itself.

            And with how all of this loops back to Luz’s relationship with her father Manny, who passed away, and how all that was based on Dana’s own relationship with her deceased father, who left her a final gift in Pokemon Red that she chose to cherish to this day, and embrace her own creativity and keep it alive. It’s a story about things dying but still managing to live anyway.

[kadytimberfox]

okay first of all I think that was one of the best fucking cutscenes I've ever seen in destiny. this is easily the best that the post-TFS Episodes cutscene style has ever looked to me -- the sort of stone statuesque Fikrul raising the Echo like a war banner on the prow of his ketch is just...seared into my brain now, I can't get it out.

I had a suspicion but I'm absolutely certain now that the Echo is searching specifically for the Kell of Kells. that's fairly surface-level textual at this point. the prophecy has been brought up far too many times now for it to not mean anything. "it seeks an old strength. strength to guide the scattered through a time of doubt and wrath." I mean come on!! it CAN'T be anything else!!

I love that the Echo has become this Excalibur-like narrative macguffin for the Eliksni, that this thing is going to choose their future leader just by virtue of the sheer power it bestows.

and the twist -- that it's decided that Fikrul, its first stab at crowning King Arthur, was a mistake, that it's rejected him and is seeking someone more worthy -- I mean that's just good writing.

Also the fact that Fikrul singlehandedly threw the entire Vanguard, House Light, and House Salvation into a crisis and THEN the Echo decided "nah, this guy ain't shit, I'm over him, let's try someone else"? like if you get this into the hands of someone actually capable of wielding it, that person is going to be REALLY scary! it's Raising The Narrative Stakes 101 in a way that's made the story instantly more engaging.

at this point I can't see this episode wrapping up any other way than the Echo chooses Mithrax, who is completely corrupted by the combination of the Echo and Nezarec, Eido and Eramis have to work together to save him, Eramis earns enough goodwill that she's allowed to go free, Mithrax becomes a good benevolent Kell of Kells, everyone is happy, the end.

which would be a pretty good way for this to go honestly! I'd be satisfied with that story.

my last little bit here, just for fun, is What Is The Name Of This Echo? if Maya's was the Echo of Command, my personal submission is the Echo of Memory, just because it seems really hell-bent on the whole Eliksni Messiah "Reaching Across Ten Thousand Stars With Ten Thousand Arms" thing.

also it sang an old song and brought up bad memories for basically everyone who encountered it. Crow remembering Uldren, Variks remembering the Reef Wars and the person he used to be as the Warden of the Prison of Elders (literally arguing with his past self!! apologizing to the Guardian for how sadistic and self-centered the Warden AI is!!).

so many fun little narrative crumbs for me to pick over in this act!! I'm very excited to see more.

[thingsidrawgohere]

I just finished my first run of DA4 and let me say- I probably got my money's worth. If one wants to view the experience via a purely mercantile lens. I found many bits of cheese and touched the insides of many angry creatures. But if one wishes to frame the thing as Art- Hell, if one wants to solely discuss it as the Fourth in a series of lore-dense, narrative RPGs, then, Cousin, We've Got Problems. Three interconnected niggling ideas that kinda all lead to the conclusion- for me, at least- that modern design practices simply do not trust the player. News flash, right?

Anyways, I think I'm going to have some thoughts on this subject to avoid other thoughts, thank you.

Full-Throated Spoilers Beyond. And a lot of them. It's long.

Idea 1: DA2 is my favorite of the series. That's not the problem; it's the setup. I know what I'm about and it's interesting characters interacting over time. Flawed characters. Abrasive, opinionated, STUPID ASS ANDERS characters. The story was scaled well for a handful of total losers and it was political. The most humanly political of all the games, I think. That's a very low bar, particularly for AAA, but it felt better to stand in a street, to be personally effected by events, than to look at a literal map of icons and notes and distant decisions as in DA3. It's important, I think, for DA to be about Being, Getting Dirty. You aren't a king. You shouldn't be.

Side Note 1: DA2 is a fucking miracle. The old gag that FO New Vegas, blessed be, was made in 18 months is trotted out to display Can-Do Attitude and DEEPLY unethical labor practices. DA2 got less time, fewer reusable assets (due to a different art style), and had to rebuild most of the engine. A. Miracle.

DA4, on the other hand, has a series of supportive, well-adapted people who have all worked very hard on themselves in therapy and know all the fucking right words to say. They chat with one another with kindness and sober fondness. In the One Instance of interpersonal friction, it is resolved with grace and speed. I find this Horrid. They fucking forgot to give these people negative traits. It's likability slurry. They experience no hard growth, hold no horseshit ideas, suffer no lingering doubts. It's not only unnatural but it's lifeless. It becomes Written. I can see the fucking author waving at me. I've got a note from my run that reads 'Rook told the man who is forcibly living inside his head "Thank you sharing that" and I want to scream.'

And that would be bad enough except the ideas are there. You've got a reluctant father story. Someone trapped between two cultures. A older man, already terrified of aging, of death, taking a Much Younger lover. That's Fucking Meat. I can see the writers straining against something but what they deliver is still person-shaped missed opportunities that repeat, that repeat, that repeat. It's So Frustrating. There's flashes of Good Writing. Of good character beats. But Also- from my notes, a character had just held her brother as he died, inexplicably for a second time, and Rook gives her a little pep talk that ends with him asking "You good?"

And the fucking woman says "I'm good" in response. She seemed to mean it.

How does one- react to that as a viewer? I told a man who wanted to be a lich more than anything to Not and he was cool with it. He never brought up being a lich again. He wasn't even upset. I let a man's city die and he's like I Get It, Bro. No Harsh Vibes. It rings hollow.

Talking over Solas' memories, collectively pulling out the meaning behind them- that was some of the best characters-interacting writing in the whole thing. And it's HOURS into the game. A shame.

Side Note 2: A lot of a loved-one death as motivation in this old refrigerator. If you get a name and one line, Oh Boy Brother, you are prolly gonna die bad. Lazy.

If I'm going to talk about Emmrich, let's talk about his romance. I honestly thought it was bugged. I Am playing through another run as a comparative but Wow. Larian and BG3 absolutely reconfigured what's acceptable in these types of story beats. This particular romance felt regressive, in a sense. Like a last minute addition. The very definition of love coins. No charisma or honest affection between the characters. Nothing allowed to percolate (more on that in a second). Just- now you are ROMANCED. Which means on the Blue Moon instance he has anything to say regarding being in a relationship, the best you can get is a 'dearest' at the end of a sentence. I was Excited by the idea of Emmrich really struggling with a May/December situation but he Doesn't. He has a few lines implying that he Could but it leads nowhere.

And they fuck in a coffin (???) and it's not even hot (!!!). Unforgivable. Double Unforgivable. I heard there was spice in this game? This is baking soda.

Related, a few lines awkwardly dodged the question of Emmrich's previous relationships and I have an inkling, without experiencing the other romances, that this is the world's largest case of gun-shy after the backlash with DA3's non-playersexual romances. This man can not be confirmed to be Anything but Into Rook, whatever they might be. There was also a throwaway line with Taash how she prefers women and that's as much as I saw of explicit preferences. I don't envy anyone trying to address the rabidity of fandom but it feels like unnecessary acrobatics.

Side Oh No: It's so bad that I'm honestly thinking of doing a fixit fic regarding the romance/character writing. And God, I can't right now. I have to finish my other project first.

Idea 2: The pacing. That's what ruins so much. There was a scene of a gnarled, fucked-up gate, torn from its hinges. And my guy says "Something Big must have torn apart that gate" all ominous, building a sense of- Nope. The very big darkspawn is standing ten feet away on the other side. I hadn't even swung the camera around the hall to see it before my guy goes "That big darkspawn must have torn apart the gate!"

Yes, I know there's an issue in open world games these days wherein devs are allergic to a player's millisecond of not knowing where to go but this feels applicable across the whole game. A problem isn't allowed to fester. It is brought to attention and then swiftly dealt with. If there's a locked door, a difficult decision, a feeling beyond Protestant determination, it will be dealt with, Post Fucking Haste. It's like the game doesn't trust the player to hold tension.

This happens not just in barks or small set pieces. Whole arcs work this way. Like Harding's longterm personal quest. She gets a handful of lines about feeling vaguely angry or perhaps thinking she Should be More angry about Lore Dump Retcon and then at her culmination, she's fighting her own anger. A vicious, hot, searing thing- and it wasn't earned. At all. There was room to telegraph this theme, bury it in the dirt to let grow roots. They didn't. One Line was given about her people pleasing tendencies And she's not really shown to be people pleasing to her own detriment. This is Chekhov's Gun in running shoes. It doesn't work. It feels like it comes out of left field.

Hell, there was a mission that was like SURVIVE IF YOU CAN and it was like- literally a long hallway. The Pacing is all Off.

Idea 3: I don't like that I must do this but DA4 doesn't understand its own flavor. The One Thing you Cannot Do is have Minrathous, the city of slaves and blood mages, seem nice. Particularly in the poor parts of town. You Cannot have the Crows be a lovely dovey band of scamps. You Cannot have the Blight be reversible. You Cannot CANNOT say "elves have it pretty good" as my Elvish Rook said with his face flaps. No. NO. You Cannot side-step the politics of this setting. These are the bones on which these characters are hung. To lessen the world is to lessen, to decomplexify them.

You know what my elf didn't hear in the town that canonically trades in bodies that look his? Knife ear. Eh to fantasy slurs but my point is no one said a cross word to my guy. The Qunari living in the town that had been warring with the Qunari for Centuries seemed totes fine. There were no alienages. There were no proper templars- even from other regions. No Mage Circles. No mage issues at all. Hardly anything whatsoever regarding the Chantry or Andrastianism, even as the game takes place in the Super Anti-Pope town. I had a literal demon-possessed man in my party and the world did not react.

I had a friend describe this Thedas as feeling smoothed out and Yeah. It feels like all the nasty bumps have been deemed undesirable. I don't know what to make of it. Is this simply taking the world in a different direction? Is it a mandate to tone down the unpleasantness, for sales? A shift in design ethos? Is this a sign of a very troubled project as it was with Andromeda?

I don't know. Is this still a Dragon Age game without its politics? There's enough here for me to wonder if Bioware is even Bioware anymore. There's a TREMENDOUS amount of work, of skill in DA4. Just Absurd. The environments are thick, Thicc. But work alone is not a virtue. Have we ship of Theseus'd so far that the people- the real people, not the logos- who have interests aligned with what made DA1 special are no longer there? Something went wrong with this project, narratively. Something I don't know how to fix without addressing basement level assumptions I'm clearly not privy to. I hope they can.

Final Thoughts: Game development is a fucking hole into which one pours one's relationships, time, and health, physical, mental both. It gives satisfaction very rarely. They shipped. In that way, huge success. It's not even, fundamentally, a 'bad game'. But it is a victim of a modern philosophy of pre-chewed ideas and player distrust. VGs are ultimately a business and, in these last few years, there's been a unimaginable devastation to the workers in the industry- even as the money flows ever upward. The desire to sell well has morphed into a NEED to sell well, even among the 'kept' studios. Big studios, Grand Dame Studios sitting on top of past critical and financial successes, been killed by their overlords recently. No one is safe. It's suddenly quite dangerous for large studios to make anything remotely niche, remotely unclear and Bioware has both Andromeda And Anthem under its belt. They're probably feeling the pinch. They needed a hit and hits, these days, are increasingly smooth. And DA4 is very smooth.

That's just my feeling on the matter. I'll see what a second run yields.

Smaller thoughts:

I don't care about the combat but that was- odd. The illusion of depth with all the skill trees and types of damage and subsystems of attack- all boiling down to a one button push. It's odd. I played rogue on PC so perhaps it's different for other classes, on console. But I pressed the button at the man and when I got a halo, I pressed another button and then pressed the first button again. No matter where I was on the skill tree, it never changed, never felt different. I don't know. It felt. Odd?

There was a Honest To God "It's quiet- Too quiet" and it just Happened. I would have pulled out every one of my teeth to avoid that. I get the jokey-okey but fuck, man.

Where's the chest hair? WHERE? Body hair? ANYTHING? Davrin has plastic chest. It's freaky.

Gloom Howler Gloom Howler Gloom Howler. Frankly, that whole storyline had a large gulg of the farcical. I laughed my ass entirely off when, upon her defeat, the Gloom Howler said "I'm sorry" and took a nap so hard that the scene wiped to 'some time later'. That was insane editing. PACING. And- naming. Gloom Howler. Gloom. Howler.

Teeth. Dear God, the teeth.

The devs were in a real pickle here, no doubt. My great sympathies. There's an Overwhelming abundance of world states that DA3 could have left on the board and I understand the balancing act between acknowledging the events of older games and staying generic enough DA4 could apply to All of them. Is Cassandra the White Divine? Or is Leliana? It's a nightmare of choices. Any of the people that Could be Divine can not be mentioned without lore issues. Who's on the throne in Orlais? Ferelden? Where's beloved so-and-so? Dorian canonically did return to Minrathous so he can 'safely' appear in game- but he fucking can't talk about Iron Bull, who may or may not be alive. Isabela canonically goes back to piracy but she can't talk about events in Kirkwall because she may not have been there for them. Oof. That's not a lot you are Allowed to acknowledge. The Poor Bastards.

Watched a braid slip off a person's shoulder, organically, as they were talking. Started at the bottom and look where we're at, technologically. And speaking on the technical, a lot of textures didn't load right. For the entire game, my guy's left shoulder armour thing had a much lower rez texture than the rest. Three hard crashes, which isn't the worst. One Wonderful mission wherein Lucanis' hair and his knives were the only bits of him to render.

I'm not touching the non-binary storyline. It was clunky, for sure, but the greatest sin was using Our words. There is canonical words for NGC/NB people in fiction and to not use them shows a fundamental distrust towards the source material and the players both. It's the linguistic version of the quest marker or the barks telling you where to go.

I still don't know how I feel about the dead Varric twist. Feels goofball but he got to hang out in his little pajamas. I wish I was in little pajamas.

Solas was pretty fucking tight but I think a lot of that was due to his VA. Something about the voice direction, in general, felt- flat? But old Solas was doing it good.

Ending. God, I get it. People are tired and satisfying endings are hard. And DLC exists, more cynically. But Hells Bells, I'm getting to the point wherein even the slideshow is annoying. Give me a fucking Ending to the Choice Game. Don't you fucking 'Spider-Man Will Return' at me, you bastard. I'm a child of fucking god.

Yes, I got the secret ending. I know. That was Also bullshit.

I feel better getting that all out of my system. Thank you for sharing that.

[razorblade180]

Feast of Pursuit pt2

[Day 5]

It was a massacre. There had been abyss domains throughout the adventures of Aether and his friends that had brought them all to their knees outside the portal. This however, might be the first time an event brought such hopeless.

Countless pyro, hell, numerous support and multiple captains of teams laid along the ground utterly battered and bruised. Even Aether himself got a glimpse of what terror was on day 5.

Aether:That turtle has to fucking die.

Tighnari:HOW!? We can have the power but lack the defense! We can gain the defense but lack the power!

Yanfei:Can anyone explain to me how hydro is completely ineffective against an electric shield, but not the other way around!? It’s limiting so much options!

Klee:I don’t wanna play anymore…

Emilie:It struck me from across the field.

Dehya:It tore through my defenses.

Kokomi:It tore through my health! My health! I don’t want to brag but I’m pretty sturdy.

Zhongli:It broke my shield in seconds. Aether, I don’t this one is possible.

Yoimiya:I can’t feel my fingers. Hehe, training with the Raiden Shogun doesn’t feel this electrifying.

Lyney:I don’t want to be that person, but I can think of one person who probably would’ve made this a little easier.

Hu Tao:*sits up*….Aether, I have permission to go ask anyone for help, right?

Aether:Yep. If it’s possible.

Hu Tao:Time to go back to older days.

xxxxx

Hu Tao:*opens door* Hello my old partner in crime. I require your assistance!

Jean:…*closes book* You must be desperate. Is it an Electro Lector?

Hu Tao:It’s much worse. You have to keep everyone alive this time. It might take multiple attempts and you might even want to give up halfway through but-

Jean:Let’s go. You never ask for a healer, so I know this means a lot to you. *walks off* How out of the box is the plan?

Hu Tao:You’re familiar with the setup.

xxxxx

As a funeral director with sacred rites passed down, the essence of death was more familiar to Hu Tao than most people. Even so, rarely was it ever pushed to the limit for too long.

What attempt was this? Five? Fifteen? She lost track. In fact, she wasn’t really keeping track of anything anymore. Movements had become second nature, a torturous yet necessary muscle memory. Lightning called for her demise, but wind pushed away from the brink. Flames ate het vitality while granting her strength and renewing vigor to be eaten away yet again for the sake of power. Again and again, her body was guided by butterflies through the numbing chaos until…

Jean:HU TAO!

A strong shake jolted her out of the flow state she found. The funeral director looked over her shoulder to see Jean gripping Homa to prevent another swing. She was utterly exhausted to the point her hair was undone. The arms of Bennet and Furina held her body tightly in place; both of them were drenched in sweat and elemental energy just like she was from the attacks. Hu Tao finally looked ahead to see the turtle completely limp.

Hu Tao:Oh…it’s dead.*drops to knees* Thank goodness.

Time- 2 minutes and 28 seconds.

xxxxxx

Hu Tao:*face down* Lyney? My humble magician?

Lyney:Yes?

Hu Tao:I say this with respect; you never need to wish your Father was around when you can rely on me.

Lyney:You did this to prove a point!?

Hu Tao: I tend not to take these things too seriously, but Aether and so many others put their time into making me feel strong and dependable. I’m never going to betray those acts of kindness. Crowns aren’t just for show.

Chongyun:And every day you earn yours. *pats head* Good hustle.

Hu Tao:It was a team effort. When in doubt, Sunfire it out. Not to mention a very dedicated actress who knows how to fill a role.

Furina:I want a vacation!! I could sleep forever!

[Day 6]

Aether:Hey. How’s-

Ei:I can kill it.

Aether:….

Ei:We’ve had our ups and downs in the past, but Aether, I can kill this fungal beast. The Terrashroom barely hangs on but I know my strikes will find its mark. My chosen companions have no flaws that k can’t cover; all we need is a bit more power. I am not one to beg or plead, but I am asking you to put your faith in my blade. Let me strike down our enemies.

Aether:…It’s been a long time coming. I believe you. *pulls out crown* Give them hell.

xxxxx

Perfection is impossible, yet if there’s anyone who could get close, it’s the Raiden Shogun. Before fanfare could die, luck could run out, or music could end, Ei’s blade called for another seamless rotation to prolong the battles’s perfomance until it was the enemy that could no longer go on. Ei, feeling the mental fatigue, sighed as she put away her blade.

Time- 2 minutes and 28 seconds

Ei:Well done everyone. A flawless show of our abilities.

Yelan:I think I might hate this event.

Furina:*on her hands and knees* You and I both. There’s such thing as being too popular!

Xilonen:The three of us make a pretty decent core apparently. *sits down* Can’t say I don’t like it, but yeah, this attention sure is demanding.

Ei:I apologize. This formation was easily the most efficient to deal with this enemy.

Xilonen:Oh don’t apologize. Happy to help. *lays down* Ugh, I need a nap.

xxxxx

Aether:Good job everyone. The Teapot has freshly prepared food and the hot springs are in full effect. You should all feel proud. May we continue to get stronger as a team and individuals! *pumps fist*

Everyone:*pumps fist* To progress!

[Day 4, revisited]

Time- 2 minutes and 29 seconds

Xilonen:How did I let you talk me back into this?

Furina:Navia was really bummed out. I can’t say no to her requests. Even if she herself isn’t quite up for the challenge, she at least wanted to see it was achievable. Isn’t helping friends part of the job?

Yelan:Just admit you have a crush. It’s more admirable. It’s settled, I’m requesting time off. I don’t our ambitious leader has a problem with that.

Hu Tao:Zzzzz

Xilonen:This girl is kinda nuts. Not the strongest person I’ve met, but she comes out swinging faster and harder than most.

Yelan:Yep. Raw power is kinda her thing. It’s consistent and consistently reckless. You get used to it.

Xilonen:…So who’s Arlecchino.

Hu Tao:*sits up* Don’t worry about it. *lays back down* Zzzzz

Yelan:She woke up just for that!?

Furina:I respect it deeply.

[leftsomescratches]

I gotta thank ya Mod. For the headcanon of his birthday year and why he doesn’t really remember cause it made me have to think why the hell does my guy remember cause he’s old as fuck.

So thanks for making me think <3

Turns out I did this research once before, so I apologize for the inconsistent answers. Here's something I previously wrote for this blog:

So first off there are two different versions of Creed’s childhood floating around out there. The first I came across was a 2009 one-shot publication: X-men Origins: Sabretooth, written by Kieron Gillen. It features Victor’s first manifestation of his mutation through an altercation with his older brother which resulted in the kids death and Victor’s imprisonment in the cellar of their house by his father.

According to Gillien, Victor was only prisoner in that cellar for a year (if you read the comic it goes from ‘that spring’ to ‘next spring’.) However Marvel files have put Creed in that particular predicament for years. Routinely throughout those years, Creed’s father would remove Victor’s ‘Satan teeth’ believing that if he pulled out enough of them that he would Cure Victor of the devil.

An abusive and sick S.O.B. to be sure, Creed’s father has been theorized to have been abusive to his mother as well. It gives credit to the whole ‘you are the environment in which you are raised’ vibe.

HERE IS A SEGMENT FROM THE MARVEL WIKI FILES

Early Life

When Victor Creed’s mutation first manifested, he accidentally killed his brother over a piece of pie. His father confined him to a cellar and would systemically pull out Victor’s “devil teeth” in an attempt to purge the boy of his “demons”. Victor was chained like an animal in the family cellar for years until one day he chewed off his own hand in order to break free, subsequently murdering his father. Although he would later claim to have killed his mother as well, he actually spared her, and made sure she lived a comfortable life, until she was diagnosed with cancer and confined to a hospital, where she was killed by a member of the Red Right Hand.

Freed from his parents, Victor was unleashed upon society. At age thirteen, he reportedly rampaged across three Canadian provinces and killed at least three police officers. According to Creed, he remained in Canada and, at about fifteen, worked for the railroad, laying down rail from Calgary up to the Yukon. (The Canadian Pacific Railway reached Calgary in 1883 and the route up to the Yukon was completed around 1900. (If Victor Creed was 15 while laying rails that would place his birth between 1868 and 1885.) Among the workers on the line was a belligerent older man who delighted in picking on the teenage Creed. Though the man “had a hundred pounds on him”, Creed gutted him from crotch to Adam’s apple with his claws.

The other common image/ dictation of Creed’s torture in his younger years was presented in Deadpool Vol 4 issues #9 (which is part two of a three issue segment featuring Sabrethooth versus Deadpool) written by Gerry Duggan.

Mind you this publication happened AFTER the inversion event which left Creed actually on the good side of the spectrum. No longer under the control of his feral dark side, Victor teams up with Magneto in hopes to save mutant kind from the devastation that the Terrigenisis Mists, released by Black Bolt when combating Thanos, brought upon them.

Anyways, during the fight with Deadpool, Deadpool accuses Victor of killing his parents, when in reality Wade’s memory was wiped and the ultimate way to test the process was the order for Creed to take Wade to his parents house to ice them. Hey, given how many times people like Wade, Logan, and Victor got their memory wiped, exactly how much of this is truth and how much is a fabrication of their own minds to fill gaps that otherwise can’t be restored. But here’s a picture I’d wish to share:

This picture is before the oh so infamous one that has helped paste the word REDEMPTION on Creed’s forehead e.g. this one

Now for those of us who have been following the comics its clear as to why this particular scene had to happen. Creed was on the ‘road to redemption’, or as least traveling down it as best he can. The Inversion event freed him from the darkness in his mind, in his nature, that held him captive. That’s not to say Victor hasn’t been seen MANY TIMES being or helping the good guys. He’s not all evil, he just has less of a will power to push through the dark suggestions his feral nature forces him into.

So this particular segment of his past was written as it is to give Creed that redeeming sort of feel to him. So people can start empathizing because more and more has this guy started to become a very common face now that Wolverine (Logan) is pretty much dead.. then wasn’t dead and is now an old man.

What Creed has to deal with on the daily can be found in the 1995 release Sabretooth Special “Sabretooth in the Red Zone” Written by Fabian Nicieza

In conclusion.

If the consistencies of the story line remain true, Creed manifested his mutation I want to say around 7 or so.

Also in another conclusion I found this little tib bit under Creed’s father’s Marvel file labeled as Unusual Features: Amber eyes appear to “glow” (i.e. tapetum lucidum), a trait his son, would be noted by the Foreigner, to possess as well.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us - Part 2

A/N: read part 1 here!

Warnings: hints of sexual violence (no descriptions); dark themes; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 2650 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

----

“You look like hell, Joel.”

“K.”

Tessa looked Joel up and down, making a point to grimace as she did. 

“What, am I too ugly to do business with or something?” Joel’s tone was biting, his patience running thin. The restlessness in his bones was gnawing something awful today.

“Where’d your pet go?”

Joel’s stare was flat, but Tessa knew him well enough to see the slight jump in his jaw muscle as he clenched his teeth momentarily.

“My pet?”

“Yeah, that sad sack with the dead kid.” 

Joel’s knuckles turned white on the back of the chair he was leaning on. 

“What are you talk-”

“Oh come on, Joel. Don’t act like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like every other stupid fuck around here.” Tessa gestured around the dimly lit basement where she’d met Joel for the swap. They were alone, but Joel knew who she was referring to. Her crew. Good at stealing, running, and turning profits, but not amusing to her the way he was. Joel didn’t react, he just kept staring at her.

“It’s my job to know what my guys are up to,” Tessa pointed out as if she were explaining something to a young child. 

“I’m not one of your guys,” Joel countered through gritted teeth. “The only thing we need to know about each other is what I have and what you’ll pay for it.” He looked pointedly at the half-smoked pack of cigarettes, sawed off shotgun, and car battery on the table between them. 

Tessa chewed on the inside of her lip as she looked up at him. The bare lightbulb overhead cast harsh shadows on her face. 

“That wasn’t always true, though.” Her voice was softer now, a hint of playfulness in her tone. An invitation. She smirked up at him coquettishly. Joel shook his head, trying to shake out the memories that expression brought to mind. 

“That was a mistake, Tessa.” 

“A good one, though. Sometimes good mistakes are worth making a few times.” 

Joel shook his head, exhaling softly. He should have known better. Never put your prick where you put your money. 

“No, Tessa.”

“Come on, Joel. Just for old time’s sake.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Tessa’s eyes turned from flirtatious to bitter as the smile melted from her lips. 

“So she was your pet.”

Joel felt himself tense up. This was a game that he really didn’t want to play. Tessa was a dangerous woman. He’d done well to stay on her good side for so many years, but this had been a serious miscalculation. He shouldn’t have plucked at her jealousy by bringing you into the mix. 

“She wasn’t anything,” he insisted. He kept his tone even, forced himself to hold Tessa’s accusing gaze. Tessa had a good bullshit meter, but she was blind when it came to Joel. He’d used that a few times before, but this was a moment when it really mattered. He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk you. 

A heavy tension settled between them as Tessa took a drag of her cigarette. Joel swallowed down a surge of anger at the oblique threat to your safety. 

“Fine.” Tessa stood up quickly, tamping out the end of her cigarette on the table and surveying its contents. “I’ll give you eight for the lot.” 

Joel ran a hand through his graying hair in exasperation. 

“That’s less than half of what we agreed on.”

“Yeah, it is.” Tessa knocked on the metal door behind her. It swung open, two of her lackeys swooping in to scoop up the contraband that Joel had brought her. Tessa grabbed a duffel bag from one of them, unzipping a side pocket and rifling through a dirty, wrinkled stack of meal cards. She pulled out eight pink slips and thrust them towards Joel. He knew better than to argue, and took them begrudgingly. 

“You’re screwing me on this, Tessa.” 

“And you’re screwing her.” Tessa’s voice was low. Joel didn’t miss the pain in her words. “In your dreams or in reality. Either way, you’re screwing her.” 

Joel opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. His mouth snapped close. Tessa nodded in confirmation. She zipped up the duffel bag and swung it over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

“So this is about me not picking you?” Joel couldn’t stop the question from slipping out. He could have kicked himself for the fucking stupidity. 

Tessa froze halfway up the first step of the stairwell behind the door. She half-turned back to him. On the other side of the doorframe, her entire face was cast in shadow. 

“Partially. But partially because I can’t trust you anymore.”

“How do you figure that?” Joel stuffed the eight cards into the back pocket of his jeans, sensing that their conversation was coming to an end. He didn’t want to linger any longer than he needed. 

“Because. You’re not a free agent anymore, Joel. You’ve got something to lose. Which means people can get to you. And if they can get to you, they can get to me.” 

Tessa didn’t wait for him to reply before she started up the stairs. The door behind her swung shut, leaving Joel alone with the bare lightbulb and a jolt of fear in his gut that confirmed one thing:

Tessa was right. 

*****

The frozen ground crunched under your knees as you knelt down in front of the lopsided piece of wood that marked Gabriel’s grave. He wasn’t buried there, of course; FDRA confiscated all the corpses. What they did with them from there, you couldn’t let yourself think about. But you’d buried his favorite pair of sneakers and the tattered Captain America comic book he loved so much in this spot. It had been weeks since you’d visited. 

“Hi, baby.” You patted the cold, hard soil in front of his grave marker with a trembling hand. The frigid January air had gnawed your fingertips numb.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long.” 

In the distance, a raven cawed. 

“Things have been… well, they’ve been bad since you left.”

The abandoned lot you’d buried Gabriel in was overgrown with vines. It had been a playground once. A rusted swing set lay overturned on its side a few feet from where you knelt. Behind it, a monkey bar and slide combo emerged from the weeds. Gabriel used to like to play here when he was little. Eddie would take him on the rare days he had off. 

“I miss you.” You choked on the words, feeling your resolve beginning to fracture as tears burned the corners of your eyes. You swiped them away as your nose started to run. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m trying to do better. I’m trying, baby.” 

Next to the wooden stake with Gabriel’s name roughly carved into it, a second stake stuck out from the ground. It was more worn and weathered after years of sun and rain. Eddie’s name was barely visible anymore. Like Gabriel, Eddie also wasn’t buried here, but this was where you chose to remember him. 

“I love you both.” Two hands on the ground this time. One in front of each of your boys. A tear slid free from your cheek and slapped onto the frosted ground between your knees. 

“I’ll visit more, I promise.” You rose from your knees, tucking your frozen hands under your armpits with a shiver.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

Your body went still, icy dread shooting through your veins. You knew that voice. 

“Just paying my respects, Dirk.” 

You turned to face Dirk Reynolds, keeping your face in a mask of calm. He was the last person you wanted to run into out here so far from the rest of the QZ. 

“Sorry to hear about your boy.” Dirk sounded anything but sorry. He was walking towards you slowly, eyeing you like prey. You fought the urge to run, but the sight of the FDRA-issued semi-automatic in his hands made you think twice. 

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Actually, it meant dog shit to you, but Dirk Reynolds wasn’t a man to play with. Even Eddie had been afraid of him, and Eddie was as fearless as they came. You swallowed, suddenly feeling very aware of how alone the two of you were.

“You’re all alone now, aren’t you?” You couldn’t help but take a half step back. He was still a good fifteen paces from you, but too close for comfort. His words set your teeth on edge. 

“I like to come out here by myself. Get some peace and quiet.” You knew that wasn’t the kind of alone Dirk was getting at, but you were desperate to change the subject. His brown, bloodshot eyes raked you up one side and down the other. Despite the layers of clothing you’d piled on to try and fight off the Boston winter, his gaze made you feel woefully underdressed. 

“That ain’t what I meant, y/n.” His voice dropped an octave, practically turning into a growl. He kept moving closer to you, taking his time, his eyes never leaving you.

“I’m getting by,” you stammered back. “Mrs. Hughes and her girls are good to me. They look out for me.” You wondered if Dirk would back down knowing that there were people who might miss you if you stayed out too long. Mrs. Hughes and her daughters were good to you, but you doubted that they’d notice your absence until well past curfew. God knows what shape Dirk would have you in by then. Your throat went dry and you felt your lip start to tremble.

“You look scared, y/n. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He was close enough that you could hear the frost-stiff ground crunch under his feet.

“I- I know.” Your reply wasn’t convincing in the least. Because you knew one thing: Dirk Reynolds would hurt you. You’d heard plenty of stories from the other women who lived near you in the QZ. 

“I look out for my friends. And I’ve got plenty of friends around here. I could treat you real good. Keep you warm, comfortable. Keep you safe.” Dirk lingered on the last word, a thinly veiled threat. 

“I’m sure. And we all appreciate everything you do for us. Truly.” 

Dirk was FDRA, but he was also something of a self-styled neighborhood mafioso. He took bribes from all the drug dealers, smugglers, and pimps in the four block radius where you lived, and in exchange Dirk turned a blind eye to their goings and comings. You remembered him from when you’d first gotten to the QZ. He’d been a fat, boastful lecher back then. The twenty years since had seen him shed the beer gut and hone a real violent streak. He wasn’t the brightest man you’d met by half, but you couldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him. You hoped your appeal to his ego would work. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you showed me some of that appreciation.” 

You fell back another half step, your hands still raised in the air like it was a stick up. The fact that he hadn’t told you to put them down told you enough about his intentions. 

“What… Dirk, I- uh, I’m not ready… For all that. Still grie-grieving.” You could barely speak, the sheer panic ringing in your ears like bells. He was close enough to reach out and touch you now. You started calculating the chances of making it if you took off in a run. That gun he held in his hands gave you pause. You’d seen what Dirk did to some of the women who’d turned down his advances. And you’d known a few women - by face only - who’d mysteriously disappeared. There were rumors, of course, that Dirk had something to do with it; but up until now, you’d been able to wave those rumors off. You had other worries to pay attention to. But now, all you could think about was getting away. You didn’t think you’d make it very far before he shot you. And despite everything you’d lost, the terror pulsing in your blood told you that you weren’t ready to die. Not yet. 

“Y/N! There you are!” A vaguely familiar voice called out to you from over Dirk’s shoulder. You kept yourself completely still as Dirk’s face darkened in irritation, grunting angrily as he spun around to face the source of the sound. 

Joel Miller was striding across the frozen carpet of vines at the northeast corner of the empty playground, waving at you like you were an old friend. Your knees almost buckled in relief at the sight. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I wish you’d told me you’d come out here to see Gabriel.” Your heart twitched at the sound of your son’s name. An idle corner of your thoughts wondered how Joel knew that’s why you were here, but that was a question for later. With Dirk distracted, you made your move. You scurried around Dirk, careful not to get close enough to let him grab you, and made a beeline for Joel. You had to consciously fight the urge to run.

“Sir, I appreciate you looking after her.” Joel’s tone was sunny and friendly. A little too obsequious, you thought, but maybe that was because you knew Joel was putting on a show for Dirk’s benefit. 

You closed the distance between you and Joel quickly, the skin on your back prickling in a frenzy to get away from Dirk. 

“Get behind me,” Joel whispered to you through gritted teeth when you were in earshot. His voice was low and urgent, but the smile he wore for show never faltered.

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Dirk’s reply was casual, but his tone was threatening and coarse. “Pretty little thing like that shouldn’t be alone in these parts. Can’t be too careful. All kinds of things slipping through the wall these days.” You knew Dirk was referring to the infected that occasionally broke into the QZ through the maze of dilapidated buildings, subway tunnels, and sewers. For your part, you’d have gladly traded the open city to get as far away from Dirk’s leering stare as possible. 

“That’s what I tell her, once a day if it’s twelve times. Isn’t it?” Joel turned to you, obscuring his face from Dirk’s view. There was a question in his eyes: did he hurt you. You shook your head quickly, letting your eyes fall to the ground. You sidled closer to Joel’s shoulder. He noted the movement and casually shifted his weight to step squarely between you and Dirk.

“We’ll go on and head back then. Don’t want to miss curfew. Thanks for your help, again. I won’t let her out of my sight, that’s a promise.” Joel turned away from Dirk, gesturing with his eyes for you to walk towards the boarded up building at the far end of the playground. He kept himself behind you, between you and Dirk. 

“Make sure you do that,” Dirk called out after the two of you. His voice was bitter and dark.

“Keep walking. Don’t look back,” Joel urged. He hovered a hand on your lower back, his touch so light you thought you imagined it. Despite the remnants of fear crackling in your nerves, his touch sent a gentle wave of warmth up your spine. You felt the terror subside slightly. 

You let Joel lead you silently back to his apartment. The two of you never shared a word, but there was a clear understanding that you wouldn’t be going home. It wasn’t until you stepped through the familiar doorway that you let out the faintest smile at the promise Joel had made: I won’t let her out of my sight. You knew the promise had been made under duress, but you sincerely hoped he was serious.

read part 3 here! **let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

[personasintro]

ITS ME AGAIN.

2/2

I would like to express my genuine and serious opinion about MH and the relationship between Y/N and JK. Let's start with the fact that this book needs to be reread few times, to understand better the dynamics between the main protagonists. I'm convinced that reading it one time it's NOT enough to understand what's actually happening. MANY and MANY people comment on it about JK seeing Y/N as a fuck buddy at this point, and nothing more. That he will never see her as a potential girlfriend. The first time I have read it, I got really annoyed and frustrated about this slow burn, like many others who write you these annoying asks. I thought that after so many chapters, basically nothing really happened, that he wants her for sex only. HOWEVER, when I started ready it for the second and third time then + read MH JUNGKOOK'S POV, my jaw dropped, because I began seeing and understanding things I never noticed before. My perspective of the situation COMPLETELY CHANGED . Now, I don't know if you study psychology/are interested in it, or if all of this is just a coincidence made up me and my analysing everything habit, but rereading it carefully, we can notice how well, subtle but clear you're trying to portrait the feelings of both of them towards each other. Let me explain it better.

(THIS MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS) Correct me if I'm wrong, but now that my perspective changed, I see MH JK as a guy who basically craves for reciprocated love, cuddles, attention and mostly important, who can't stay single or alone for too long. Not because he's desperate, but because he's a hopeless romantic who likes to give and receive love. The thing is, if in the very beginning I found very annoying his obsession with Kiko, now I think I understand what actually happened. He is attached to her for the good, old memories she brought him. He wants to bring the nice feelings he had back. In which he truly felt loved and understood by someone. But this doesn't mean he needs specifically Kiko. He loves her, is attached to her, but it's not the same as before. Sometimes we want our ex back because we want the good memories with them back and not specifically them now. More specifically, we want their old selves with us because we romanticise the memories a lot, but in reality we don't want to be with the person they are now. Does it make sense?

Why am I so convinced about this? Because of the fuck buddies deal thing. If he truly still loves Kiko and wants nobody else, in his mind NEVER EVER would have blown up the idea of having sex, and more over, REALLY ENJOYING it with his best friend. If someone is THE ONE for you and you're 100% serious about them, you don't act like a freaking husband with your bff. You made very clear his feelings by his actions. His actions and words speak for himself. He's attracted to Y/N right now, mentally and physically. He doesn't have romanticised old memories with her, so this means he's living the moment NOW and the feelings towards her are new. I can't say he's in love yet, because again, if you're in love you don't go to your ex. However, I'm truly convinced that in the last chapters we can absolutely tell he likes her now. Seriously likes her, but still denies it to himself, because he deeply knows that Y/N is his dearest best friend. It would be messy to date her, because this implies ruining the friendship in case something goes wrong and also she is in his main group of friends. Can you imagine breaking up with her and seeing her in your homies circle? And not having her as your beloved best friend anymore ? Hell no. And mostly important, she NEVER explicitly said to him anything about even the slightest possibility to want him a boyfriend. The dude basically automatically suppresses the thoughts about dating her, because unconsciously he knows it's not worthy and that he still receives the love he craves for from Kiko. She's basically the "comfort zone". Why risking to lose it to try dating someone who doesn't guarantee you anything (for now at least) . But objectively speaking, his words and body already behave like they are almost in love. I'm 100% sure that if Y/N confesses now, he would accept right away to date her. He's too whipped for her. Can't say the same about Y/N, who is the less considerate about her own feelings. No, SHE IS, because she overthinks it A LOT, more than him, but she's worse than him in suppressing the feelings for the same reasons. She tries to gaslight herself even when she perfectly knows it , and she literally goes to tue swimming pool.

that's it for now. I have more things, but let's stop here.

-July

HI you again!

This will be nothing new for some readers, especially to those who have been here from the beginning and has read my responses for quite sometime now (you guys can skip this response because you probably know it all by now hehe) ; you're right. I think too that for some people, it might take more reads to understand the little things that are not so obvious. Again, I'm gonna repeat myself but MH is a story where you should read between the lines. Not everything is clear and obvious. There are little easter eggs throughout the story. It causes people trying to get answers directly from me, since they haven't gotten it in the story. But I do not want to spoil anything, I prefer readers knowing the real stuff from the story. Until the story is not finished, I'll keep my mouth shut and enjoy the chaos 😁

I actually did study psychology, had it as a subject in my school and it was my favorite one. I think my writing mirrors me. I do tend to get very deep and analyze certain situations and people. I think that's what's happening in this story as well (and in my other ones too). That's a very good guess you made here!

It is a very interesting take that you have of him and the situations in the story! I cannot confirm nor deny. All I can say is that Jk really did love Kiko. I've seen in my life people that started hooking up with someone else after their break-up. That's how some people cope with it. Or even if they're fine after break-up, mostly men, think of sex a lot. It's a part most of them do not let go. So in this case, I wouldn't exactly say he didn't love her because he came up with the idea of them hooking up. We all know it was way deeper and complicated than this. It's also fine to enjoy the sex with someone that isn't your partner + when you're still heartbroken and love with someone else. He was surprised himself that he truly enjoyed it. But then again, he didn't exactly tell her to have sex. It's something that happened naturally and overtime. It showed off the beginning of their chemistry.

You've made some good points! I truly liked this analyzation (it's one of the best things about writing, to receive long messages/ask with analyzation!!) and I enjoyed reading it very much! I do have to stay neutral though and I hope you understand that 😁 Thank you again for this message/feedback. It was truly fun to read (I did read it the first time when I was on a walk with my dog and I tried not to trip 🫠). I had some cool responses prepared but I forgot them lolol but I think I covered everything I wanted!

Thank you, sending you lots of love and a huge hug, July! 🩵🫶

[sapphic-agent]

As a POC I could not handle any longer the way they excused Lea's actions on the Glee subreddit. I left permanently because of it. It angered me the day someone on the sub said that Lea apologised. Lea did not apologise. More than enough times, I've seen Lea be defended on that sub and people get upvoted for it and I couldn't stand it any longer.

The tipping point for me was that people started to say that Santana fans can't keep their feelings about Naya separate but at the same time they're known strong Rachel fans and Rachel defenders and have shown support to Lea multiples all the while being overly-critical about Santana. It was just brewing into hypocritical territory for me.

As a teen, Naya helped me in ways that's hard to explain. Her passing affected me deeply. To see that a few people, going off of the multiple upvotes, were agreeing with comments made accusing Santana fans of mixing their feelings about Naya with Santana in an unhealthy manner was hurtful. Lea fans also double down on putting Rachel on a pedstal to not talk about Lea's past actions on the glee sub but it's not spoken about.

So grateful that you spoke up about this major issue when it comes to Lea on the Glee sub. Your willingness to speak up about the issues on the Glee sub makes me feel less alone.

Omg thank you! That's so nice of you to say. I really do try to steer away from real people on this blog because I want to be primarily media-based. But the Glee sub makes me so fucking mad. They're the definition of performative activism and double standards. Supporting and/or forgiving Lea is just shitty, no matter how many times they try to justify it.

Naya- and Heather- helped me a lot too. They brought to life one of the healthiest, most important sapphic couple of the 2010s (my username was inspired by them lol, that's why they were my old pfp). They made me feel okay to be myself and comfortable in my sexuality. Her passing affected me for a long time too, it was like I couldn't process it.

I know exactly what you're talking about, when people would accuse Santana fans of conflating Santana because of Naya's passing. Like, right after it happened. It was really an awful thing to say because a woman was dead. Her life and memory were more important than their favorite character getting shit. They're vile.

If anyone can't separate the actor from the character it's Finn fans. Cory was a great guy- people always said him and Dianna were the nicest of the cast- and he also passed while the show was still running. A lot of Finn's "likability" came from Cory's charisma and comedic timing. If Cory was still alive I really don't think as many people would defend Finn.

(Tbh, I think Cory himself would shit on Finn. His mom once said that Santana slapping Finn was his favorite scene)

I also feel like people (including other POCs) don't actually understand why Lea was (is?) racist. Racism isn't just "I hate minorities and don't think they deserve rights." It's way more complicated than that. Lea might not have been throwing the n-word around (though, she was derogatory at least towards Samantha with that "shit in her wig" comment), but she absolutely viewed her being white as being superior to her WOC coworkers.

It's a pretty common thing for Black girls. Hell, I even experienced it from girls I called my friends. They're so "down✊🏾" but will be quick to remind you how more cultured and better than you they are.

If you haven't been taught about or experienced these things, you won't know that. But attempting to shut down WOC who have experienced it is shitty. Lea fans trip over themselves to defend someone who went out of her way to bully a younger Black coworker just because she could.

(Also, she was outwardly transphobic. Not letting anyone forget that either. If she was so willing to be transphobic, what makes you think she wasn't racist?)

Lea fans have no excuse. I liked and looked up to JKR too, but the people she hurt (and continues to hurt) are more important than how much I admired her or how much I enjoyed Harry Potter. I was disgusted by her and had no issues condemning her. Lea fans are hypocritical, self-righteous performative activists

[randomfanner]

Karlach SFW Headcanons

WHY DOES SHE NOT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING BEYOND BECOMING A MINDFLAYER MAN

I just want my girl to be able to live on the material plane, as a tiefling and with her friends. is that such a thing to ask for?

Now, this is a no shit Sherlock but Karlach is a cuddler, a pretty constant cuddler once she actually can. Your bedroll/bed is no longer yours. You are sharing with with Karlach. Though sometimes, when she can get the others permission, she does go and crawl into their bed.

Wyll is the most common one for obvious reasons, however Shadowheart and Halsin do often get snuggled with and both of them appreciate it. Astarion, Minsc, Gale and Lae'zel do also get snuggles don't you worry.

She asks very nice. Also she brings Yenna to cuddle with her once Yenna gets more adjusted. Karlach is happy to keep the kid safe and this is the best way to do it with her engine under control.

Hands. Are. On. You. CONSTANTLY. Hips, waist, shoulders, boobs, ass- anywhere she can touch she is all the time. She loves to come up behind you and rest her head onto of yours if she can. And if you are taller than her well, she will just wait till you sit down.

Is also happy if you start doing the same. Hand holding is her favorite thing in the world.

Also loves to bring you to small alcoves to make you see stars whenever she feels the need too but that is for the NSFW headcanons~

Karlach eats a lot. Her engine burns so many calories she has to. In the hells she was given pretty shitty rations but they were filling and she got a lot of them... but actually food- oh gods she loves actual food.

Karlach does actually enjoy fancy rich food a lot. She didn't get to have it for long but when she was working under Gortash she got really good food. One of the untainted memories of working for that son of a bitch was when she was supposed to watch him at some fancy party and found the buffet. Karlach almost got kicked out of the party from how much she was enjoying it.

But Karlach loves when Gale cooks all his fancy wizard food and dishes from Waterdeep.... however if you cook she is always going to favor your food. Even if you are a terrible cook her sense of taste is pretty warped anyway.

Well Karlach does like fancy food, she is not one for fancy boozes. Always much preferred her good ole fashion ale to the expensive wines that Gortash would guzzle down. Though due to her time under fuck face she does actually know a great deal about fancy wines.

Before you got her engine repaired Karlach tried to bring you flowers once but they burned to a crisp in her hand. She was honestly so sad... but then she found a nice rock.

Karlach brings you all sorts of trinkets she finds, for awhile it was rocks, stones and treasure she could pick up... but as soon as she got her engine repaired she began to look around the shadow cursed lands.

When you were near Oliver she found the flowers Halsin mentioned and brought you one of them. Karlach is always happy when she brings you stuff but she was so, so happy when she could actually bring you flowers.

When you go to Baldur's Gate take this girl shopping. Astarion, Karlach and you on a shopping date to find some new clothing for the two of them. It makes Karlach so happy to be dressed in normal clothing again!

Karlach wants to dance with you. She loves to dance and well dancing with a partner has been a long time coming! Dhe will drag you into one of her silly little jigs, swaying her hips and giggling with you.

Pulling you close and swaying with you humming an old tune, perhaps grinding on you just a little bit but again, NSFW headcanons. Be warned she does step on your feet but can you really be mad?