#hate being indebted to people

[headlamprey]

After yesterday's sleep disaster I figured coffee was not enough so I got some energy drinks I've never seen before and convinced the papi at the OTHER papi store (my guys temporarily closed and let's me use food stamps for EVERYTHING) to front me a pack of cigarettes. Now I owe him actual cash but if it means I have a way to not pass out if my lawyer calls late, idek. Caffeine and cigarettes, save me!!!!!! No idea when I will actually have cash but dude knows me so he knows I will get him back EVENTUALLY

[annikuh]

I woke up with no inspiration for anything & no appetite for anything & too many people in the house & no space for myself & minuscule responsibilities that I can’t bring myself to do& got a weird vibe from my partner from the second he woke up & I’m so serious I feel like a cornered animal. I’m like almost shaking I’m so agitated.

[dutybcrne]

Okok but

Sigewinne & Wriothesley, but enemies to friends arc in their first meeting

[brandyschillace]

The Forgotten History of the World’s First Transgender Clinic

I finished the first round of edits on my nonfiction history of trans rights today. It will publish with Norton in 2025, but I decided, because I feel so much of my community is here, to provide a bit of the introduction.

[begin sample]

The Institute for Sexual Sciences had offered safe haven to homosexuals and those we today consider transgender for nearly two decades. It had been built on scientific and humanitarian principles established at the end of the 19th century and which blossomed into the sexology of the early 20th. Founded by Magnus Hirschfeld, a Jewish homosexual, the Institute supported tolerance, feminism, diversity, and science. As a result, it became a chief target for Nazi destruction: “It is our pride,” they declared, to strike a blow against the Institute. As for Magnus Hirschfeld, Hitler would label him the “most dangerous Jew in Germany.”6 It was his face Hitler put on his antisemitic propaganda; his likeness that became a target; his bust committed to the flames on the Opernplatz. You have seen the images. You have watched the towering inferno that roared into the night. The burning of Hirschfeld’s library has been immortalized on film reels and in photographs, representative of the Nazi imperative, symbolic of all they would destroy. Yet few remember what they were burning—or why.

Magnus Hirschfeld had built his Institute on powerful ideas, yet in their infancy: that sex and gender characteristics existed upon a vast spectrum, that people could be born this way, and that, as with any other diversity of nature, these identities should be accepted. He would call them Intermediaries.

Intermediaries carried no stigma and no shame; these sexual and Gender nonconformists had a right to live, a right to thrive. They also had a right to joy. Science would lead the way, but this history unfolds as an interwar thriller—patients and physicians risking their lives to be seen and heard even as Hitler began his rise to power. Many weren’t famous; their lives haven’t been celebrated in fiction or film. Born into a late-nineteenth-century world steeped in the “deep anxieties of men about the shifting work, social roles, and power of men over women,” they came into her own just as sexual science entered the crosshairs of prejudice and hate. The Institute’s own community faced abuse, blackmail, and political machinations; they responded with secret publishing campaigns, leaflet drops, pro-homosexual propaganda, and alignments with rebel factions of Berlin’s literati. They also developed groundbreaking gender affirmation surgeries and the first hormone cocktail for supportive gender therapy.

Nothing like the Institute for Sexual Sciences had ever existed before it opened its doors—and despite a hundred years of progress, there has been nothing like it since. Retrieving this tale has been an exercise in pursuing history at its edges and fringes, in ephemera and letters, in medal texts, in translations. Understanding why it became such a target for hatred tells us everything about our present moment, about a world that has not made peace with difference, that still refuses the light of scientific evidence most especially as it concerns sexual and reproductive rights.

[end sample]

I wanted to add a note here: so many people have come together to make this possible. Like Ralf Dose of the Magnus-Hirschfeld-Gesellschaft (Magnus Hirschfeld Archive), Berlin, and Erin Reed, American journalist and transgender rights activist—Katie Sutton, Heike Bauer. I am also deeply indebted to historian, filmmaker and formative theorist Susan Stryker for her feedback, scholarship, and encouragement all along the way. And Laura Helmuth, editor of Scientific American, whose enthusiasm for a short article helped bring the book into being. So many LGBTQ+ historians, archivists, librarians, and activists made the work possible, that its publication testifies to the power of the queer community and its dedication to preserving and celebrating history. But I ALSO want to mention you, folks here on tumblr who have watched and encouraged and supported over the 18 months it took to write it (among other books and projects). @neil-gaiman has been especially wonderful, and @always-coffee too: thank you.

The support of this community has been important as I’ve faced backlash in other quarters. Thank you, all.

NOTE: they are attempting to rebuild the lost library, and you can help: https://magnus-hirschfeld.de/archivzentrum/archive-center/

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

yall..im workin hard on the last part of fbrc rn....BUUUUUTTT--

i thought of childhood friend (im sorry i cant help it) bodyguard katsuki being hopelessly devoted to big boss' daughter reader.

let's say the environment he grew up in wasn't good at all. he lived in a horrible neighborhood that had a survival of the fittest mentality. he had to rob n steal and fight to survive. and them maybe he got recruited by some crime syndicate who saw his potential from a young age.

he feels indebted to them cus they got him out the streets, so he decides to devote his entire life to this syndicate and his boss, who just so happens to have a child : you.

you're the same age as him, maybe a year younger. his first thought is that you're a pushover. you hide behind your father the whole time he's introducing you to him and you barely even look at him, but he's been told he has a bit of a stink eye because he's just sorta used to glaring at people.

as your father keeps introducing you both your eyes widen at him saying katsuki will become your new best friend. yours out of joy cus you've always been sheltered and you've never really had friends your age before, and katsuki's out of shock. he thought he was here to kick people's asses, not babysit some random girl !

when your father pulls katsuki aside later that day he explains that since he's a very dangerous man other dangerous people will try to endanger not only him but his family and since he's strong he'd like him to watch over you. katsuki doesn't like it, but your dad did save him from his life on the street, so he can play nice for now.

he's never had friends either, so he doesn't know how to play like other kids do, and definetly not like you do.

you have him follow you around calling him your knight, you stick stupid clips in his hair and get all pouty when he won't let you put that pastey makeup shit on his face. you have him kiss your ouchies away when you trip over your own shadow and you whine and whine until he let's you jump on his back to give you a piggy back ride.

though, the more he spends time with you, the more there are fun moments. he hates to admit it but it's fun to be a kid with you. you play games that he likes to play and you share your cookies with him and he carries you around and plays dolls with you in exchange. he kisses your ouchies away and you put a cool bandage over his cheek when he's done training for the day and press a big get better kiss on it. you tell him it's to energize him and he huffs and puffs about it but he always looks forward to his kiss after training.

you've complained to him about how you can't spend much time with your dad since he's always out working, you don't have friends because everyone is a threat and you're always being surveyed and watched from a distance and you cry and say you hate it. you tell him that he's your fifth body guard and that he's your favorite one by far. you smile at him and the apples of his cheeks burn, he tries but can't supress the proud smile that grows on his face "of course i am, i'm the best !"

he's been your favorite and last body guard since that day because katsuki has made it his life's mission to devote himself to his clan, his boss and most of all, you.

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[raticalshoez]

I just feel the need to get this out there because this has been sitting in my Google Docs brainrot document:

I will always believe that Scar is the saddest, most tragic Life Series character.

I'm unsure whether this is an unpopular opinion or not, but I feel like if I were to ask people who they think the most tragic member is they might say Grian, or Martyn, or Jimmy simply because of #lore implications, but when I'm bored I like to reflect on the Life Series characters and...like...

3rd Life had Grian indebted to Scar, creating a narrative based around loyalty that inevitably had to end in tragedy when they were the last two standing, neither one of them wanting to be to one to lead to the dekise of the other. Everyone knows the origin story of Desert Duo, come on now. I'd argue this is one of Scar's less tragic seasons though because throughout the entire thing, he had the unfaltering loyalty of a person, and that loyalty didn't waver on his end either. One might be tempted to bring up the Bdubs friendship pass, but that was all part of a plan Scar formulated, and Grian just never happened to see the secret message sent to him. All in all, a story of companionship that's only tragic towards the end.

Then, Last Life comes, and he is lonely. People are really quick to point to Joel for being lonely this season, but if anything, I'd describe Joel as manic over just lonely. This whole season, Scar tries to make friends after losing his only one to the curse of a red life. Time and time again he's seen trying to help people, he acts as a life dispenser, and at every turn he us either dismissed and never truly seen as an ally, or he faces death, whether by natural causes or by the hand of another player. In fact, instead of making friends, he seems to make a sworn enemy out of Team BEST. This season is really what kickstarts Scar's progression into being one of the staples of Lonely Characters ™️ of the Life Series, for even his final death is practically alone, with no happy reunions with allies, and no boos from any sworn enemies either.

I could argue this is another case of Scar being faced with lonliness because his once closely knit ally in Grian, has now shown scorn for their new fated bond. Scar is left behind as Grian goes to be with BigB, and out of them two, BigB has the guilt to tell Ren the whole secret soulmate ordeal, but Grian keeps his mouth shut. Scar finds out about the whole situation on his own, bitterly offering gifts for Grian to give, and hanging out with Pearl, the girl who is quite literally the commonly accepted poster child for all aspects of loneliness depicted in the Life Series. In this series, I think Scar gets some sort of closure in Grian and him working together again towards the end of the season, but even so, the two of them die apart, in a way symbolizing the disconnect they had all season long.

Limited Life is quite possibly Scar's happiest season, and therefore I don't really have anything to say about it. I think to some degree, everyone in the Life Series has the ability to be an asshole, and I think every single character is morally grey, and with all that being said I think the person Scar needed most was Cleo. Sure, they enable him to be as chaotic as possible, and yeah, being around Ckeo thus season quite possibly made Scar the snarkiest he's been, but the connection he had with her, and just the Clockers overall was so strong. Yes, there's the whole Etho dad thing, and you could argue that's another tally for Scar's abandonment board, but really, that whole bit has always been more comedic to me than it has been entirely dramatic or angsty.

And everyone knows Secret Life. Once again, Scar finds himself in the role of the lonely merchant, running a shop solo, and constantly trying to make friends, but there is always something stopping him from doing so because something in this world HATES him. Scar doesn't make friends, no, in fact, the Secret Keeper screws him over so much that by the end of this season he is literally embracing the role of a villain. He goes on a killing spree, more successful than he's ever done before, and he finds himself face to face with Pearl, who wants him to take her life. He calls it lame, and not fair because if Pearl's good at the game, she should own it and between me and you personally, I think Scar's just got a soft spot for a fair fight between the last two standing. I think the saddest part of Secret Life is the lack of closure Scar gets because he is the only winner that doesn't get to die and meet in this sort of afterlife where everyone reunites and talks like friends again, as if they all hadn't caused each others' demise. Scar doesn't get that, and is instead stuck in, at least in Martyn's interpretation, an endless loop of pressing that succeed button over and over as he goes mad.

This is a ridiculously long post, but I just NEEDED to get it out of my system. I feel like people could argue the curse of having allies is more tragic because you have to witness their deaths, or you can make the argument that maybe trying to fund the most tragic Life Series character is redundant because with how this game is, everyone is bound to be tragic either way, and to which I say true. I just feel like in a game where it's so natural for people to split up into groups of 3, 4, sometimes even 5, Scar's a character that has ended up alone so many times. It's honestly quite insane. I will always say that Pearl and Joel are the lonely dog girl and lonely dog boy of the series, but if there was ever just...the Lonliest, that title would probably go to Scar.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

okay i have THOUGHTS about this line

he didn’t have to say that to make his plan work. i mean yeah, being nice to the player definitely earns their favor and future assistance, but he could have just as easily gone the route of gaslighting them into feeling bad and like they caused the problem, eliciting a more shame-based and desperate and less uplifting and righteous kind of reliance. like if volo really hated the player, and was truly cruel, that’s what he would have done. the player would have still gotten the chain and felt indebted to him for the plate hunt, but they also would be miserable and feel lonely and hurt and confused. but volo doesn’t do that, he grounds the player and validates their feelings, which were hurt by the cruel townspeople more than the event volo caused to prompt that cruelty. like truly, it’s only volo’s fault that the player gets banished through the most like simple calculated logic—yes, if he hadn’t caused the rift, they wouldn’t have been banished, or brought here at all. but kamado CHOSE to banish them based on his own paranoia and disdain for outsiders, and the others enabled it by choice. volo didn’t make that happen, just how he didn’t make or even want arceus to get the player involved in the first place.

i don’t think volo hates the player, personally, at all. or at least, i think that he hates them and cares for them just as much as he hates and cares for himself. i know this isn’t groundbreaking volo theorizing material, but he’s absolutely projecting his disdain for society based on his vague past experiences here. he dislikes the outsider because his plan demands it, but he dislikes everyone else because he personally thinks they’re terrible. it’s kinda neat how he “fake” compliments the player’s loyalty to him as a merchant so often, bc i think loyalty is something he actually takes very seriously. and he probably saw how loyal the player was to the galaxy team, and then the way they kicked them out, and was genuinely pissed and hurt on the player’s behalf.

the things he says at the end of the game are said in extreme distress and defeat, and while they are not NOT reflective of his character and motives, i’m shocked by how many pokemon fans regard volo like he’s a nihilistic and amoral sociopath. passion and compassion are behind nearly everything volo does, for better or for worse. they’re behind moments like this, and moments like his ranting at spear pillar. he is a person who constantly grapples to align his personal moral code and lofty ideals, which live in this weird space between the manmade and divine, with the flawed reality of existence. his entire mentality is full of contradictions, because he is a man who thinks he should be god, but in reality could never be a good god, because he is still very much a man. it’s the emotion, idealism, and intellectual curiosity of humanity that drive him, not the impartiality, absolutism, and complacency of an omnipotent all-knowing deity.

so like, with this line. he specifically mentions that the galaxy team has treated the player poorly. not that the galaxy team’s choice was illogical, not that the player just needs to try harder to get them to accept him. he is emphatically rejecting the premise that the player did anything to deserve blame, even though he has no intention to actually explain why this really happened or volunteer himself to take the blame. because ultimately, volo is not the person to blame for the galaxy team’s cruelty, and he knows it. and he also knows that it’s the cruelty that has hurt the player, more than the sky problem itself, because he has been treated like an outsider too. and he can’t DO anything about that. even if he told the truth, the damage has already been done. the player knows how their supposed allies would react in this situation, regardless of the logic or truth. and volo can’t fix that. he does not believe he can make people kinder or the world a better place, which is exactly why he wants so badly to remake it. for himself, bc clearly he’s been through some shit too, for people like the outsider, and for anyone else whose loyalty and dedication have been met with rejection and apathy. which is so deeply tragic and ironic, because by being the only person to care for the player in this moment, he is making the world a better place for them.

volo is, at his core, a hypocrite. he’s like if you put the ingredients for a hero into a blender, but accidentally used the “tragic hypocrite” setting so he came out a janky villain instead. to volo, concepts like loyalty and self-righteousness are driving forces, much moreso than simple black and white morality or consequentialism. this makes him a hypocrite because he believes a perfect world is possible as long as his moral code is strictly followed, and his evil plan is to prove it. but in his efforts to do so, he proves over and over again that a perfect world isn’t possible, and certainly would not be possible under his control.

like, okay—if someone suggested that the means of pain and suffering in the world justified the ends (the world), volo would disagree and claim that arceus is responsible for the pain and suffering, and therefore does not deserve the power to create/rule worlds. but then, following that very same logic, if volo needed to get a random person banished and betrayed in order to create his better world, then those means wouldn’t justify his ends either. which is WHY we see him subconsciously draw a line here, between the things he’s not responsible for (other people being cruel, arceus transporting the player) and the things he is directly responsible for (the way he treats the player in these circumstances, either with derision or support). and wouldn’t you know, in this instance where it truly is up to him what the means are to his ends, he chooses kindness where he could have been cruel. because while arceus sending the hero and the town banishing them weren’t really Volo’s means to Volo’s ends, this conversation sure as hell could be. And he doesn’t want his better world built on a foundation of suffering and pain.

by saying this one line and treating the player as he does here, i think volo accidentally exposes something deeply true and good about himself. this man could say “i’m a villain and i don’t care about the player” and fully believe it, but at the same time demonstrably possess the morals and compassion of a hero, which he uses to actively care for the player. he is a delusional hypocrite, but he’s definitely not heartless. and i just think that’s neat.

alternatively, volo is completely heartless, knows that people are endeared to people who want to protect them, and methodically uses that knowledge here for his convenience. that very well could have been the intention, and it makes sense too—but i personally enjoy entertaining the notion of depth where i see potential for it. so yeah.

[osachiyo]

can we talk about sugar daddy fyodor too?

white lace ・ fedya ─── f!reader . sugar daddy!fedya hcs (?) approx 0.7k ᘎᘏ cw n/sfw mindbreak dark content naïve!reader manipulation use of the word daddy etc (mdni)

sugar daddy!fyodor who just wants a... distraction from everything. being a genius terrorist is hard, y'know? he's human after all, and as much as he hates to admit it− everyone has certain urges they desire to fulfill, no?

sugar daddy!fyodor who gets forced by nikolai to go to a bar, "have some fun!", the magician said− only to ditch the sickly russain man after having a few drinks, making out with a 'ditzy blonde bitch' as nikolai called her, in a secluded corner of the bar.

sugar daddy!fyodor who is annoyed, frustrated even. the place smelled like sweat and sex, people messily grinding onto each other and dancing provocatively− he hated it. but then you come by, and immediately catch his eye. you're a shy girl− but he manages to strike up a conversation with you smoothly. you're a college student, struggling to juggle two side jobs to pay for your tuition fees and study at the same time. it's pitiful, really. but as you were talking, voiced slurred from the drinks he bought you− fyodor couldn't help but notice how.. attractive you were. the way your tits bounced every time you moved, or the way he could see your cleavage from his point of view.your glossy lips parting as huffed breaths escaped you− you'd make a good toy for him, really.

sugar daddy!fyodor who decides, that he would take mercy upon you. he liked you. that's why he proposed that he'd pay for your tuition fully, even take care of your other needs− you just have to do something in return for him as well. and in the midst of your drunked haze, the proposal sounded heavenly. he made you sign a contract and everything− even getting your fingerprint on it. you thought the contract was only about him taking care of your needs and you doing something in return for him. but only if you weren't drunk− if you read the paper more clearly, if only you were so naïve− you'd see it officially labels you as "fyodor dostoyevsky's property".

sugar daddy!fyodor who only grins when you ask him what you had to do in return, combing a slender hand through your hair as he tells you not to worry about it for now.

sugar daddy!fyodor who actually keeps his word, paying off your student loans fully as well as buying you everything you desire. even though you had no idea where the money was coming from, and he'd refused to tell you multiple times− you couldn't bring yourself to really care as you practically glowed in happiness, seeing your wardrobe− the multiple designer bags, designer clothes and accessories he had gifted you. it was...addicting, much like the mysterious man himself.

sugar daddy!fyodor who finally, finally indulges himself after making you believe that you're indebted to him and you owe him your life, your career− you as a whole.

sugar daddy!fyodor who buys you the most beautiful, expensive set of lingerie− the white lace complimenting your complexion with utter perfection. "you look angelic, my dear," he'd say in a honeyed tone, caressing your sides in faux affection but you miss the way his voice holds an edge to it− the way his lavender eyes now darkened to a much, much darker tone as he relishes in the way the white lace hugs your curves perfectly− accentuating all parts of your body so nicely. it made him want to rip the clothing off of you− forcefully having his way with you and leaving you a crying, debauched mess and..but he figures that's a thought for later.

sugar daddy!fyodor who takes his time unraveling your intricate lingerie, peeling off the layers with delicate but chewed up fingers as you flush and giggle at receiving his attention. he'd kiss each and every part of your body; your face, neck, collarbones, chest, god those perky tits of yours, your stomach, thighs, calves then slowly make his way between your legs, head resting against the meat of your thigh as you twitch and flutter your eyes in need. he'd purposely miss the spot where you needed him the most, only smiling at the way you don't even ask him to, just patiently waiting until he wants to fuck that pretty cunt of yours.

sugar daddy!fyodor who feels...powerful at having you under his mercy like this− all sprawled out and cunt leaking, ruining the pretty lace but you don't dare tell him to touch you, patiently waiting for him even if it makes tiny tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. this is why he chose you− you know your place and don't dare go out of your lane. so he figures he might as well give into you now.

sugar daddy!fyodor who has you fully nude underneath him, your chest heaving as he traces a finger up and down your slit, your legs struggling to stay open from his feather light but teasing touches. his finger circling your sweet little clit in a clockwise motion before switching to the other way− watching as your brows furrow and lips part to let out noises that one would only describe as sinful. but he loved it− oh so loved it how you whimpered his name with utter neediness, hips bucking up into his hand only to get pushed back down, the older man's smooth but rich voice telling you to be patient, won't you be a good girl for daddy?

sugar daddy!fyodor who'd only prepare you half-heartedly. he, too, was growing impatient while torturing you with the slight touches that he couldn't help but press a soft kiss to your clit before pulling his fingers out and quickly replacing them with his cock.

sugar daddy!fyodor who'd watch the way your pussy sucked him in, bottoming out inside of you with a wet 'pop!' he'd pick you up in his lap and lean against the headboard, breath hitched as you clenched and unclenched around him.

sugar daddy!fyodor who'd only grin smugly when you look at him through your pretty lashes in confusion. he'd only sigh and mock you for being such a dumb little girl, "silly girl. I buy you all these luxuries and I have to put in work even in the bedroom? tsk, tsk."

sugar daddy!fyodor who watches you sputter and apologize, lips jutted out to a cute little pout as you try and lift your hips, only to slam back down on his throbbing cock. your eyes would be on him the entire time− god, was he beautiful. baby hairs sticking to sweaty his forehead as he sighed out uneven breaths, a flush covering his face to the base of his neck, brows furrowed as thin lips part to let out soft moans while he tips his head back− revealing his collarbones and neck for you to press sweet kisses on, your smudged lipstick leaving stains on his milky skin.

sugar daddy!fyodor who'd watch as you hop on his dick, breaths bouncing with each move and just begging him to twist and pull your perked nipples. and he did− shaky fingers gently caressing the soft fat of your tits, ever so softly circling around your buds before landing three swift smacks on each of them− making you cry out and halt your movements, only to have him thrust up into you from below, calling you a "pathetic slut who can't even do such a simple request".

sugar daddy!fyodor who tells you to rub that little clit of yours yourself. you want him to do it? no, why should he? you're lucky he even gave you the permission to cum in the first place− don't forget you're his property, nothing more, nothing less.

sugar daddy!fyodor who agrees to stay and cuddle for the night after you're finished, even reluctantly letting you apply your ridiculously expensive skincare products on him− that he spent a hefty amount of cash on.

sugar daddy!fyodor who leaves early in the morning− but not before leaving a fat stack of money on the bedside table; a silent order for you to buy some white lacey lingerie, and of course− treat yourself with the rest.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

a/n : THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A 400 WORD DRABBLE BUT THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I WRITE FOR FYODOR. anyway...I hoped y'all enjoyed <3

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[universaln0b0dy]

Hello I was wondering if there can be a part two to Monster where the boys confront the reader about their overblot? You can ignore this if you to.

here we go!

(Aftermath of this: Monster

Summary: They saw what you're capable of and now you fear that they might hate you....

Note: angst n fluff (Leona, Floyd and Rook), very ooc- also I apologise if this isn't what you imagined or if it's too cringe. I finished writing this at three a.m.-

Leona:

You had tried your best to ignore the lion after the Overblot, the way he had fixated you while you were in your overblot form scared you. You decided to yeet your feelings for him in the trash and ignore him, so he wouldn't ask questions.

After a week of successfully avoiding the lion your lucky strike comes to an end and you found yourself in a kinda funny position. Trapped between his arms.

"Herbivore, why are you ignoring me?" Leonas tail flkvjed from one side to the other, hid green eyes staring into yours. Your poor heart was shattering into a thousand pieces as you realised he would question you about your monster form.

"Because I don't want to be questioned about my Overblot form. I can't explain it either." You mumble coldly, trying to free yourself out of his grasp, but Leona seems disappointed, like he wanted to hear something else. But the fleeting gaze was soon replaced by his usual grumpy frown.

"I don't care about that Overblot form of yours, I would just don't like being indebted to people." He snarles, moving both of his hands away from you. You could just make a fun for it, but you don't, so you decide to play abit obvious.

"What debt, there is no debt." You mutter, avoiding Leonas eyes. The male sighs. "You saved my life there, of course I am indebted to you." Something about the way he said that made you confused. Leona wasn't the type to admit he owed someone something, or come to that person to talk about said debt.

"How about I let you stay in my dorm over the winter. As far as I know Ramshackle can get very cold." You were about to slap yourself in order to check if you were dreaming or not.

"Are you sure? I don't think you would like a monster like me staying in your dorm." You mumble looking to the side, only to hear him chuckle.

"I have seen your Overblot form and let me tell you, your not a monster.... if I am honest you looked kinda hot."

"WHAT?"

Floyd:

"SHRIIIMPY~"

You had barely finished fighting Jamil and you most definitely weren't in the mood for explaining about your Overblot form. It made you uncomfortable how Azul and Jade looked at you, keeping their distance. You were exhausted and their judging gaze didn't help your case.

Floyd on the other hand had other plans. You should have expected this, he would be mad you kept such a big thing from him after all. You lean against a wall, breathing heavily. The eel stops right in front of you, looking at you with curiosity, but also a sour mood in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me you could willingly Overblot shrimpy?" Just as expected he sounded disappointed. You shrugged slightly, trying to keep your eyes open.

"I thought it would be better if I didn't tell anyone I was a monster." You mutter, leaning to the side. Floyd isn't content with that answer, as if he could sniff out the fact you were lying.

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me shrimpy, I thought we had something special!" Hearing that takes you of guard and you look at him with tears. You were trying to fight them, but that didn't stop them from flowing.

"I'm sorry Floyd, you're right, I should have told you.... it was wrong of me to keep it just because.... I.... you.... stay.." you couldn't complete the sentence and your voice breaks in between. You were selfish, yes, Floyd was a moody eel and many people considered him a monster, but why should he be forced to continue to like one, just because you couldn't get your sorry ass to tell him about everything.

"I should have told you I was a monster, than you wouldn't have wasted your time on me." Floyds expression softens for a second and he pulls you into a hug.

"Dawww! Shrimpy! I still like you! You're still my shrimp, even once you are covered in ink!"

The only thing you can do is squeeze him back.

Rook:

Rook was eccentric and that was why he still liked you. There was a subtle shift in his behaviour after you had helped fight Vil, he stopped being overly entranced with Vil, going over to shower you in compliments. You didn't know how long that shift would last, but you enjoyed every second of it.

"Trickster! That was un suprise! You looked manifique!" You lean your head towards the side, cheecks burning with embarrassment. Vil eyed you both, smiling softly.

"I hope this will finally stop Rook from barging into my room just to talk about the fact that the prefect developed a new habit."

You heard Vil, luckily. If you hadn't you might would have expected Rook to just revert back to his old self, but this gave you hope, hope that you would be more than just his current intrest. You looked around, everyone seemed chill with the fact you just overblotted and turned back like it was nothing. It didn't matter that Rook was eccentric, you could always trust his gut feeling.

"Rook, are you sure that a monster like me looked... manifique?" You ask jokingly, Rook grasps his heart in an over dramatic motion. "Oui, oui! Mon dieu, If I ever hear you say something like that again I will make sure to cut you off before that sentence can get to your head!"

You chuckle a bit, before going back to serios. "No Rook, I really want you to know that it's okay if-"

You blink a few seconds trying to comprehend what just happened. Did Rook really just kiss you, or did you just imagine that? Your knees get wobbly, maybe because you were exhausted or because you were embarrassed, you didn't know.

"OMGWHYDIDYOUDOTHAT?" You manage to squeal and Rook chuckles. "I warned you trickster and mark my words I will do it again."

Vil, please get your hunter under control, the prefekts heart might explode if it has to endure this any longer.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 7

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: I think a lot of you have been waiting on this one…and stick around after the end for something special!

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Can’t Wait” by Foreigner (if you listen to it, you’ll see why).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and feels. That is all.

Part 7: Until Midnight

Two weeks later, you could admit that Ben was frustrating you in a different way than usual. 

You didn’t want to like him, or be indebted to him. But he was different lately whenever the two of you were alone. Especially at night, when the two of you often met in the kitchen. 

It was the one time where he truly seemed to relax, without his men around him. Without the Soldier Boy persona he wore like a fine tailored suit. 

One night, the two of you were once again sitting together in the kitchen after a marathon of all three Hangover movies. Now you each had a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, of which you’d convinced him to try the “Chunky Monkey” so you could have your “Half Baked” brownie pieces and cookie dough to yourself. 

Ben had all but inhaled his, while you were still chipping away at half the pint.

“You still hate me?” he asked.

You paused in delving into a thick piece of brownie to look up at his bearded face, which was deceptively nonchalant. If he was asking you that, then he really did want to know.

Yet it was a harder question to answer than you would’ve thought a couple of weeks ago. You decided to level him with the truth this time.

“Like I said before, I don’t have a personal vendetta against you or anything,” you admitted. 

Ben rose a brow at you. “But you hate me.” 

You sighed. He could be so childish sometimes.

“Have you forgotten that you’re still holding me against my will?” you pointed out. “Presumably until my team can find me, and you can pick them off one by one.”

“You fuckers came at me first,” he countered. “And I haven’t touched you. Hell, I saved you.”

Yes, he had. You couldn’t ignore that fact.

But there were other reasons that he needed to be put in check.

“You’ve killed a lot of fucking people, Ben,” you said. “I can’t imagine how many of them didn’t deserve it. And before you start, collateral damage is not an excuse. It’s murder. You haven’t seemed to care about that, or much of anyone other than yourself and your own amusement.” 

There. Cards on the table.

Ben set down his ice cream on the counter with enough force to rattle his spoon. He crossed his arms at you.

“You’re pretty fucking high and mighty for someone who probably spent the last few years up Vought’s shithole,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “Doing their dirty work. Whatever I did back then, it didn’t end with me. You were part of it too.”

You frowned in annoyance. A hot retort was poised on your tongue.

Whatever he did back then? He’d crashed a skyscraper and killed nineteen people last year! He’d taken out nearly the entire cast of Payback, his old team. However justified he felt about the latter, taking a life was taking a goddamn life!

You wanted to say all that and more…but you paused.

Because he wasn’t exactly wrong, about you at least. You knew you’d done your fair share of shit. And you had taken people out, when you’d needed to.

For self-defense, to stop a criminal, to protect someone…and yes, sometimes, you’d been part of the cleanup crew. Disposing bodies and extracting supes from “unfortunate situations.”

Those times made you feel less than human for being a part of it. And it was the main reason why you’d gotten the courage to quit Vought and join Supe Affairs in the first place…

You frowned at the trail of your thoughts, but his voice soon jolted you out of them.

“Ain’t this a bitch,” said Ben. “If you could, you’d want me dead. Even though I saved you.” 

Your lips pursed. “Dead is a strong word.” 

His angry gaze on you was unrelenting.

“Asleep is as good as dead for me.”

You stared back at him in resignation. Fair enough.

You couldn’t refute that, but you also didn’t know what he wanted from you. He was implying that he wanted you not to hate him, but he wasn’t willing to let you go either.

You got up to put your spoon in the sink, mostly so you wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.

Ben rose from his seat. You felt him approach from behind. You still tensed up as his arm reached around your form to drop in his own spoon. His arm withdrew, but he stood just behind you, at your side. His hand curled around the edge of the counter.

Letting out a discreet, steadying breath, you turned towards him and met his assessing gaze…but you soon looked away.

It was too much. He was too much. Even his musky cologne was invading your senses, threatening to cloud your judgment.  

Before you could back away, Ben grasped your chin, tilting your face up to him so you couldn’t hide. He heard your pulse picking up with his sensitive ears.

“Well, well. Your heart’s just racing away, baby doll,” he said.

He smirked at the blush rising in your cheeks, despite your defiant gaze. You might’ve said you wanted to put him to sleep, but you definitely didn’t seem to hate him. 

“You know, that offer’s still on the table,” he said. Your brow quirked, and you crossed your arms.

“What offer?”

Ben’s hand slid along to frame your jawline, his thumb sweeping across your reddened cheek.

“I can help you end that little dry spell of yours,” he drawled. “Calm that pretty head and have you sleeping soundly tonight.”

Oh, he’d help you fucking sleep, he thought.

He’d help you not be able to sit on that perfect ass for a week. He’d gladly work you up with fingers, lips, and tongue until you threatened to fucking drown him. Until you were writhing at his touch and singing just for him. Until you begged him to fuck you.

But you just rolled your eyes at his offer with a huff. Maybe you didn’t believe he was serious. Oh, but he fucking was.

Overall, you were a pain in his ass. And you had been from the beginning.

You had a dangerously smart mouth for a woman. Along with a stubborn streak to rival his, and a strangely self-righteous attitude for someone who’d mucked through the bowels of Vought and played a part in that world, just like him. You weren’t so fucking innocent either.

But he could also see that you were trying to be different. You had a conscience. A family and friends and a lot of other things that Ben didn’t have anymore. And maybe never had to begin with…

You claimed to want to bring him down, but you cooked for him, hung out with him, and he could start to believe that you actually enjoyed his company, rather than pretended for self-preservation’s sake.

You were a fucking conundrum that he couldn’t totally figure out. And all the while, you didn’t seem to realize how much of a temptation you were. 

It didn’t matter if it was that sexy red dress at the club or these plain-ass jeans you were wearing. His hands itched to mold to your curves, squeeze and tease and familiarize himself until he could find out how glorious it would be to damn near suffocate between your thighs.

Your pretty blush, however, was spreading down your neck. Ben wondered how far he could make it go as he glanced down your V-neck top. His smile edged into a grin.

“I’ll admit, maybe I haven’t been the best host,” he said, injecting some charm. “You gotta be bored as all hell by now.”

You swallowed as his hand moved down the side of your neck. His fingers slid into your hair, but he kept the smooth pad of his thumb brushing across your cheek. You didn’t want to admit that it felt nice—and electrifying at the same time.

His touch was raising goosebumps down the back of your neck, tingling down your spine.

“You might be projecting,” you managed to quip. “Is the conveyor belt of prostitutes and drugs finally losing its appeal?”

You studied his face, his smirk, and you had a feeling you had deduced correctly: he was bored too. But now you knew why he didn’t want you to hate him.

He just wanted to fuck you.

That thought wasn’t so surprising. It seemed this man could jump into bed with just about anything with a pulse. But it still made a tendril of heat lick up your spine and your face flush.

You should’ve just pushed him away already…but his nearness was mucking up your good sense.

The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him. Not anymore. And maybe you didn’t hate him.

Maybe…

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” he asked you.

Your lips parted, halting on a reply.

Ben smirked. His hand tightened in your hair, and he finally began to lean down.

But your breath hitched. You instinctively pressed your hands against his chest before he could kiss you, a firm push.

“Ben,” you uttered.

He stopped, looking down at you with knitted brows. He just thought you were being stubborn now, a fucking tease even…

Until he saw the frisson of fear in your eyes.

He quirked a resigned smile. Stroking your cheek one last time, he let you go.

“All right,” he said. “Maybe next time.”

Your heart was hammering like a Phil Collins drum solo inside your chest as you made your way back to your room.

What the hell, what the hell.

He’d teased and flirted with you before, but not like this. It wasn’t totally obnoxious or disgusting, like he’d genuinely been trying to persuade you. He’d even looked disappointed when you stopped him. And he’d allowed you to stop him.

(And you resisted a shudder at the contrasting memory of Antonio.)

When you were back in your room, you released a relieved sigh. Your hands trembled on the doorknob.

But it wasn’t fear that’d made you nervous with Ben. Not exactly. It was the insane part of you that actually wanted to take him up on his offer.

Fuck, you thought, raising a palm to your still-warm forehead. I really must be crazy. Or sick. Sick in the head.

Or it had been a stupidly long time since you’d gotten laid.

“Seriously, tell me,” he’d said once, still with a deceptively light grip on your chin. The pad of his thumb brushed your full lower lip, making your breath hitch. He glanced down at your mouth, then back into your eyes.

“How fucking long’s it been since that pretty pussy’s been touched? ‘Cause in my opinion, that’s a damn shame.”

The memory caused a delicate tingle in your lower belly, pulsing between your legs. You took in a deep, calming breath through your nose.

That’s it, you thought. I’m done with this.

So you tried for a cold shower first. For the record, you locked the bathroom door before you undressed and hopped into the shower. As the water beat against your back and you dutifully lathered soap on your skin, you couldn’t help imagining his heavy hands running over your body.

Fuck. You frowned and quickly dragged yourself out of the shower.

For a few minutes, you were too antsy to get dressed. You paced your small room wearing only a towel, not even thinking really. Just frustrated beyond belief (sexually or otherwise). The truth was, you needed something, or you were going to implode. 

With a heavy sigh, you laid in bed on your side, still wrapped in your towel. You wrapped your hair up in a loose bun and closed your eyes, just taking a few moments to breathe evenly.

Your knees were folded up, almost to your chest. But you relaxed and let your thighs fall open. With a tentative hand, you decided to slide up between your thighs, just teasing the seam of your pussy.

Then with a sigh, you delved between your folds and teased yourself, to start with. Warmth grew in your lower belly, and you sighed louder when you slid a finger inside. You were wet already just with this, and your sighs turned to shallow breaths, and even a moan once heat flooded through your core, and you were getting close…

But a knock at the door just had to startle you.

“Hey, sweetheart. You there?”

Your eyes widened with a gasp, and you moved your hand back to your thigh. Oh shit.

It was Ben. Of course it was fucking Ben.

“Ah, w-wait a minute,” you replied. You scrambled out of bed to lock the door before he tried to come in.

But just your luck, he cracked it open just as you got there. You were met with his handsome face.

His brows rose, his lips then curving when he looked down at you. Or more specifically, you clad in only a towel. You tightened it up on reflex, with a hand on the twisted part at your chest.

“Excuse me,” you said in annoyance. “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

His mouth twitched at a deeper grin.

“It’s nothing major. I just had to ask you something,” he said, with an air of nonchalance that only made you suspicious.

Your lips pressed together as you rose an expectant brow.

“Okay, ask,” you said.

Ben reached for your hand, the one holding your towel together.

“Can I see this hand?”

You yelped and secured the towel with your other hand while he examined the one he held.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, with real irritation now. Ben ignored you in favor of staring at your hand, specifically the pads of your fingers. Then his gaze cut to you slyly.

He held your middle and index finger up to his nose, with an obscene inhale.

Your eyes grew wide as your heart stuttered. He did not just…

And Ben smirked.

“I think you’re the one with the fucking problem,” he said knowingly. He took a step forward, but you stepped back. Unfortunately, that just brought your back against the doorframe. Your mouth went dry when you again looked up at him.

“I don’t know what—”

He stopped you before you could deny it further.

“You think I couldn’t fucking hear you?” he asked.

You bit your lip. Oh God.

His brows ran even higher, his smirk ever deeper. His lust-ridden eyes raked over you, but they soon met yours again. His thumb ran down the inside of your wrist, over your quickening pulse point.

“I know you’re frustrated. It’s been a while, huh?” he said. “Believe me, I know the fucking feeling. But I can take care of that little problem for you. Take care of you.”

You took in a tremulous breath. His heady voice was a curse, reverberating through your chest and running straight down between your legs, warm and pulsing. He raised your chin to make you look up at him.

“You don’t have to like me for that, do you?” he asked.

It was as honest an offer as you were ever going to get. You had to give it to him though, in this, he was a good goddamn actor. He seemed to have figured out exactly what it would take to soften your resolve.

In fact, he fucking crumbled it.

You released a shuddering breath, and tugged him into your room by his shirt. With a hand behind his neck, you pulled him down into your hungry lips.

That kiss was warm and heady, fueled with a passion that only waiting and wanting could create.

Ben took the invitation to heart, grabbing your hips and already bunching the fabric of your towel. It was thin, and he felt the soft give of your curves underneath. He hoisted you up into his arms.

While a normal man might’ve struggled, you knew it was effortless for him. You willingly wrapped your legs around his waist and held his face with both hands. You broke the kiss for a second so you could brush his hair back and made sure he looked into your eyes this time.

“I don’t hate you,” you told him between panting breaths. “I should, but I don’t.”

And that was the God’s honest truth.

Ben paused at that. He roamed your face, maybe judging if he believed you or not.

Then, his mouth curved, and with one hand he reached back to slam your bedroom door shut. It shook on its hinges, but he didn’t wait for it to settle as he walked you to the bed and laid you there beneath him. Your hair fell out of its messy bun and fanned out on the pillow.

Ben gazed down at you, enjoying the sight of you all laid out for him. You were already breathing shallowly, your beautiful eyes bright with anticipation and wild desire. They were honest, and he liked that he finally knew what you were thinking.

He claimed a tight grip on your smooth thighs, parting them so he could find his way in between. He moved his way up to claim your lips next. They were plush and pliant under his.

You sighed against his mouth, diving a hand into his soft hair and running a hand down to the buttons of his shirt. He stopped you and all but tore it off himself.

You blinked in surprise, and then giggled a little at his impatience. But it allowed you to explore the new expanse of golden tan skin, down his neck, over his firm chest and muscular arms.

He relished in it for a moment—your touch. Your hands were soft and warm, and you looked to be genuinely enjoying yourself.

He smirked at that, but he grabbed your wrists before they could venture too much farther than the trail of hair leading below his belt. He trapped them against the bed on either side of your head, and you raised your brows at him with an annoyed little frown. Ben had to chuckle.

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” he said. You met him with a challenging tilt of your chin.

“Who says you get to make all the rules?” you asked. Your calf slid up between his legs, brushing insistently against his already rock-hard length. Ben let out something between a grunt and a moan, and didn’t realize that his grip on your arms was starting to get more than bruising.

You winced, with a pained sound caught in your throat. “Ben, you’re gonna break me.”

He amended his grip immediately, frowning at himself. He knew how to control his goddamn strength, even in moments like this (usually). Maybe he was too fucking excited to finally have you beneath him.

But he soothed his thumbs over your wrists and heeded the tug of your hands down to your waiting kiss. He braced an arm above your head and all but devoured you, slipping his tongue past your lips.

He kissed you like a man starving. Like you’d never been kissed in your life, and it was all you could to keep up with his demands.

Eventually he burned a wet trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck. He inhaled your floral soap, a scent that had been driving him crazy for days.

He sucked hard behind your ear, and you gasped, thought you were going to see stars.

Unconsciously you gripped at his hair, tugging more harshly than you meant to. But by the pleased sound he made against your skin, you figured he didn’t mind.

Ben soothed a heavy hand up your side and reached between you to untie your flimsy towel. And you let out a slightly shaky breath when he took in your fully naked form for the first time.

“Hmm,” his lips slipped into a grin. “I knew it. Fucking beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but blush, but you didn’t quite know what to say. Ben noticed; it wasn’t too often that he had you speechless.

Amused, he thumbed at your lower lip once more, making you smile almost shyly. (He kind of liked that too.)

And he finally touched you, brushing a hand between the valley of your breasts before palming at one of them. You sighed in appreciation, then moaned as his lips found the other one, his tongue swirling languidly around your nipple.

You arched into his touch, gripped into every groove and dip of muscle in his arms, especially when his fingers rolled and pinched just hard enough on the other nipple.

Your thighs pressed together between the cage of his legs, trying to find friction.

Ben noticed. He let one hand sooth down your belly, half pinning you down as he continued his relentless exploration. You wanted to touch him too, but right now he wasn’t letting up. Everywhere he touched and kissed and sucked set your skin on fire, and enhanced the flood between your legs.

“Ben,” you panted into his ear. If you weren’t allowed to find out what he liked yet (though you had several ideas), then you wanted him to touch you. 

“Be fucking patient,” he said with a chuckle. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

You had no doubt of that. But you were becoming impatient.

“Yeah? Am I gonna be as old as you before we get to it?” you teased. Ben glanced up at you, but seeing your smirk, his own grew.

“All right you little shit,” he muttered. He moved up to claim your smart-ass lips, swallowing your giggle as he took a firm grip of your hair.

His other hand, meanwhile, slid up the back of your thigh to grip a nice handful of your ass. He ground his clothed dick into your core and made you both moan.

He slipped a hand up the inside of your thigh and brushed between your legs, making you quiver with anticipation.

He smiled and glanced down.

“Finally, something I recognize in this century,” he remarked. “A nice bush.”

Your brows raised high, both in surprise and slight embarrassment. No one had ever given you that particular compliment before. But you did pride yourself on being neatly trimmed.

“What?” you still uttered.

“Women are so damn waxed nowadays. Feels like I’m fucking a mannequin,” he said.

“Oh, yeah.” You giggled as something occurred to you. “I’m assuming you encountered some bare landing strips on your tour of Brazil.”

He snorted in response. “One girl actually tried to get me on the waxing table. Something about a ‘manzilian.’”

You couldn’t help it. You pictured how confused he must’ve been at that particular offer. How damn near offended (and possibly intrigued).

And you laughed genuinely so hard that you covered your eyes as they teared up.

It made Ben smirk on reflex, feeling pleased that he achieved that kind of reaction out of you. 

“You tapped out on that one, huh?” you asked, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

Ben shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad, actually.”

At that, you laughed even harder. Oh, how you wished you could’ve seen that. 

Ben quirked an amused brow at you.

“You laughin’ at me, sweetheart?” he warned. He reached between your legs while you were distracted, and thick fingers slipped between your wet folds. You yelped in surprise, but then moaned in pleasure as his thumb found your already sensitive clit.

But he, in fact, knew how to take care of you. His thick digits explored your channel and rubbed persistently against that spongey part near the back, slipping in and out with ease, and circling deliberately around your clit until your inner walls squeezed around his hand.

All the while, you held on tight to his shoulders and shuddered at the warmth cresting deep inside you.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, with a clenching hand in your hair. “Squeeze the shit out of me. Come all over my fucking hand, and then I’ll consider filling you up to the fucking brim.”

With a long and keening moan, you came apart, hot and wet over his fingers. 

“Shit. That’s a good girl,” he praised with a nod. He stroked inside you a couple more times before he withdrew his glistening hand.

You held onto his other one as you panted for breath. “Fuck.”

“Fucking right,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but you still smiled as you sat up and went for his belt. You were surprised he hadn’t fully undressed himself sooner, but he sat up and let you do it.

The two of you knelt on the bed as the belt came free, followed by his pants and underwear and socks (he’d long ago kicked off the shoes). His smug smirk came back now that he was in his full glory, so to speak.

Another blush heated your face. You’d seen him like this once before, but there had been…a lot going on that time.

This time you had him all to yourself. Your canvas to explore. You started with kisses down his neck, like he’d done to you, biting and sucking though you couldn’t leave any marks on his skin.

Not fair, you thought in disappointment, but at least you were eliciting some pleased and guttural sounds the further down you went. And then you took his hard, velvety cock in your hands.

He was big enough that you were maybe a little concerned, but not enough to deter you as you teased him with your soft hands, then squeezed and caressed experimentally. He gripped your hips tight.

“Now who’s taking a fucking eternity,” he gritted out. He encouraged you to lie back and raised your hips. You found purchase on his shoulders as your eyes met with his, and after a beat, you smiled and gave a short nod.

Ben aligned himself at your entrance and, slowly as he could manage, pushed inside you. You cried out as he stretched you, filled you deep and bottoming out with mangled moans from both of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so fucking good already.”

You managed to smile and run a hand down his chest. “Uh, you didn’t ask, but I am on birth control.”

His brows furrowed in realization. “What, the fucking pill?”

His team certainly hadn’t supplied you with that for the past month.

You shook your head. “No. An IUD. It’s fine.”

You couldn’t believe you two were having this conversation when he was literally inside you already.

“What? Thought those died out in the 70s,” he said.

“Well, they came back,” you said impatiently. “Just fuck me, Ben!”

Not one to be told twice, Ben continued by slowly pulling out of you, nearly the entire length of his cock, before pushing back in. It was torturous for him, but he knew you needed the time to adjust. By the third stroke, however, he snapped back into you more forcefully.

It elicited a gasp and pleased shudder out of you. Grinning, he picked up the pace from there and pounded into you at a relentless clip. You held onto his arms for dear life, your nails clawing fruitlessly into his skin. You grabbed his hand when he reached a particularly good angle, moaning his name.

“That’s right, crooner. Soon enough I’ll have you singing my fucking name,” he growled. “Knew I was gonna have you just like this, fucking you raw.”

You moaned in response. His words, his voice, his touch, it was all breaking you down and taking you apart, piece by piece.

Meanwhile, your voice only spurred him on. Letting go of your hand, his reached for your cheek. Then it slid down to your neck.

“You got a safe word, baby girl?” he asked, closing a firm, but playful hand around your throat.

But before he could put much pressure, your eyes flew open. Not in arousal, but in panic. Your hands flew to grasp at his wrist.

“Don’t! Please, don’t.” 

Ben looked down at you, surprised enough to pause in all his movements. He released his hand.

He’d very rarely seen wide-eyed panic in your eyes and in your voice. And you’d never said please. 

But then, even more strange, you got embarrassed.

You looked away from him as you caught your breath. Ben called to you uncertainly, perhaps for the first time using your actual name.

You took in a deep breath and sat up. But instead of pushing him away, like he half-expected, you moved so that you were both on your knees and you were straddling his lap.

Using his shoulders as leverage, you resumed the pace of dipping his still hard cock inside you, making you both groan in relief.

Ben helped you, gripping your hips to bounce you on top of him.

Soon enough, he grunted as that familiar tightening and heat of pleasure started to make his upward thrusts wild. He knew he was close…

And he snaked a hand between you to roll over your clit, making sure you were going to get there with him.

A deep tremble went through your lower belly, tightening your inner walls around him impossibly tight as you started to come. Then he followed, finally spilling up and into you.

His arms came around your waist like steel bands as you relaxed on top of him, panting for breath and holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

You gazed down into his eyes, and then his growing, triumphant smirk. It triggered your own wry smile.

And you had to wonder, What the hell did I just do?

AN: Was it as good for you as it was for me? 😏

But ok, seriously, I'm a bit self-conscious when it comes to writing smut, so I genuinely hope you enjoyed the ride lol.

(@waynes-multiverse You probably won't see this for a while, but our convo about the Brazilian wax made it into this chapter. 🤣)

Special Feature:

Check out this lovely moodboard created by @chernayawidow — specifically for this story!

I am obsessed:

She also takes requests, so just message her!

Next time:

You called his name again and took his face with both hands.

“Wherever you are in your mind right now, you’re here with me. Stay with me!” you raised your voice. His skin was getting really hot.

You gasped and had to let go of him when it threatened to burn you. His chest started to glow and hum. Your eyes widened, and finally, so did his.

Keep Reading: PART 8

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[nickel156]

New theory incoming:

What if Rhysand is actually Valg? Okay, not a new new theory, but I come with new receipts!!

Bear with me, because once you start connecting the dots, it starts to look real suspicious. Let’s talk about how the Inner Circle seems to mirror the Cadre in Throne of Glass—because let’s be real, they’re all miserable.

Look at how Rhysand doles out responsibilities: Azriel, the shadowsinger with a traumatic past, is tasked with torturing people as a spymaster. And guess what? He hates it. It’s literally the last thing he wants to do. Then we have Cassian, who’s put in charge of keeping the Illyrians in line—an entire group of people who don’t respect him, who he’s constantly battling, and a job that leaves him emotionally drained. And then there’s Mor, who’s forced to keep the Hewn City in check—the place that brings her so much pain and trauma, the place she despises. And let’s not forget that Rhysand gave her the “opportunity” to kill her parents, knowing full well that Mor would never be able to go through with it, leaving her trapped in this endless cycle of pretending and unresolved pain.

And let’s not forget about Amren. Rhysand touts her as this second-in-command powerhouse who has all this freedom, yet he binds her to Velaris and to his Inner Circle. She’s trapped in a body she hates, pretending to be something she’s not. Remember, Amren is ancient, powerful, and she longs for a sense of freedom and the ability to return to her true form. But what does Rhysand do? He ties her to Velaris, makes her part of his court, and essentially uses her powers as a failsafe whenever things get dire. And when Amren finally has the chance to become her true self again, to escape, she’s roped back in. It’s almost like he needs to keep her close, keep her feeling indebted to him, so she never truly finds her own way out. Another parallel to the Cadre, who were always indebted and beholden to Maeve.

So why would Rhysand, who supposedly loves his family, give them jobs that do nothing but torment them? It feels a lot like the Valg in Throne of Glass and how the Cadre was bound to Maeve—stuck in miserable positions, tied to a leader who claimed to be doing everything for the “greater good” but really just kept them all under control. It’s almost like Rhysand is purposely keeping his Inner Circle in roles they despise to maintain a sense of power over them. He creates this narrative of being the savior and protector, while they’re the “necessary” pawns who have to suffer for the “greater good.”

It’s a consistent theme: Rhysand presents himself as the caring, understanding leader, but his actions suggest he has no problem keeping his closest friends in tormenting roles for the sake of his control over the Night Court. They’re constantly doing things they hate, locked into positions that make them miserable, all while Rhysand stands above it all with this narrative of being the “most powerful High Lord” with the “perfect court.”

Sounds a lot like how Maeve ruled over her Cadre, doesn’t it? And if you squint, you start seeing the parallels between how the Valg control their pawns and how Rhysand manipulates his Inner Circle. Just a theory, but the more you think about it, the more the pieces start to fall into place…

[abigailywrites]

bargain. [din djarin x reader]

part two of indebted.

ao3 / ko-fi rating: t word count: 2.8k warnings: none

Karga gives you a break from secretary work the next day, apparently realizing that yesterday’s workload was too much for a beginner. He sends you to pick up groceries instead, shoving a handful of credits into your hand and telling you to “buy whatever you know how to cook.” Then he returns to work which seems as bad as it did yesterday.

There’s something about the liberty that the Nevarro marketplace affords you that puts a spring in your step. It’s hot and crowded and people are shouting from every direction for every reason. It’s loud, and you hate the noise. But you’re effectively by yourself. No one is lording over you. You’ve got a handful of credits to spend on whatever you like. If this was your job every day, you could get used to it. Twenty years wouldn’t be so bad.

But it would still be twenty years.

Maker, you need to figure out how to convince Mando to take another puck. Just one more. If he’s as good a hunter as Karga makes him out to be, how much would it hurt? But you sincerely doubt you’ll be able to convince him by asking “why not.” There’s little else you can use to convince him, as the man at the bar made abundantly clear yesterday. Not that you would necessarily offer that. You’re going to have to pray that, when the moment comes, you’ll know what to do.

It’s little more than a half-hour later when that prayer is put to the test. At an intersection of streets, the glint of the sun off a beskar helmet catches your eye, and you see Mando march across the marketplace with a satchel slung over his shoulder. You’re chasing after him before you know what you’re doing. Your head is swimming again, this time with the idea of a year of freedom you wouldn’t otherwise have. 

You can’t run; the streets are too crowded for that, and Mando wouldn’t respond well to that, anyway. Besides, the idea of approaching him and immediately engaging in a conversation is making your step falter as you get closer and closer. 

He’s bartering with a vendor in a language you don’t understand, and you just hover in the background, trying to map out your plan, pretending to be involved in your surroundings. Every step you take closer to him is more time you have to remind your heart to keep beating. Maker, you've never been so disoriented before, and it scares you to death. 

Still, you persist. When he moves to a different stall, you move too, giving him space to get ahead first. You're still racking your brain for what the hell you say to whatever the hell a Mandalorian is. If you knew anything about him at all, this might be easier. Maybe you should just observe for now.

He goes under a tent that takes up three stall spaces, and you follow him there a few moments later. It’s an artisan’s tent; shards of stained glass in every shape you can think of hang from the posts of the tent, shining in the sunlight and casting rainbows of color onto the dusty ground below. It’s the most color you’ve seen in years, and it nearly distracts you from your task. 

There’s a mobile with shards of deep blues and purples in abstract shapes lined with silver along the edges that catches your eye. You haven’t seen anything quite so vivid in years. Almost without thinking about it, you reach for it. Your fingertips barely brush against the smooth surface— 

“Are you done following me?” a voice from behind you asks.

Mando’s sudden attention hits you like a punch in the stomach, and you drop your hand to the side. He’s no more than a couple of feet behind you, and you hadn’t even noticed he moved at all. You suppose you should’ve known better than to try following a bounty hunter without being noticed. “I—” you start, as you spin around.  “I wanted to apologize. For yesterday, I mean…”

Mando doesn’t shift an inch. “It was Karga’s fault. He should know better.”

Great start. "He wasn’t trying to be rude,” you tell him. You’re still aiming for an apologetic tone, but it comes out defensive. You need to rethink your strategy. What you need is a lie. Well, no, not a lie exactly. Just a different way to frame the truth.  “I wasn’t even supposed to meet you at all, but I pestered him about it. It was all my fault. If there’s any way I can make it up to you…?”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he says. “Tell Karga that if he thinks sending his errand girl to—” 

“Karga didn’t send me,” you interrupt him without thinking, and in the silence that follows, you realize that may have been a mistake. He’s staring at you, helmet tilted to the side. All you can do is take the fact that he hasn’t turned to walk the other way as a prompt to elaborate. “That is, he didn't tell me to talk to you. Opposite, in fact.”

“If Karga didn’t send you,” he starts, “why are you here defending him?”

“Well, I— I’m trying to be a good employee,” you stammer. “I just want to do my job.”

“Never met someone so invested in working for Karga. It’s always something else. I’m not interested,” he points out, and that seems to be the end of the conversation for him. He brushes past you out of the tent without another word, leaving you standing dumbstruck.

By the time you turn to follow him, he’s so far ahead of you that you have to jog to catch up, and he’s certainly not slowing down at all. “Well, isn’t there anything I could do to make you interested?” you insist. You're not even going to attempt feigning pure intentions.

“Are you gonna follow me around all day?”

“If it comes to it,” you answer. “Would you hear me out?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes but keep following. "You don't even know what I'm asking!"

"Don't need to."

“It would help us both,” you promise.

“I said no.”

That's three times he's said no, now. It won't help to become even more of a nuisance, but you can't give up. “You don’t understand. I’m talking about a year of my lif—”

Mando’s arm shoots out suddenly and grips the arm on your far side, stopping you in your tracks just as a heavy-duty transport drives a little too close on the path in front of you. If he hadn’t done anything, you absolutely would’ve walked right out in front of it.

He doesn’t release your arm until the transport is well out of the way of your path. When he does, he turns to look at you. “Go back to Karga. You’re gonna get hurt out here.”

“I can’t—”

He grabs both of your shoulders and turns you around back in the direction of the cantina. “Go,” he tells you, and his hands leave your shoulders.

It’s not worth another shot, you decide. As far as Mando is concerned, the conversation ended before it even started. By the time you turn back around, he’s disappeared into the crowds.

That evening, you cook dinner for yourself and Karga with the groceries you picked up. The usually relaxing process of cutting and steaming does nothing to ease your disappointment in your colossal failure. Maker, you were so stupid just approaching Mando like that. You know nothing about him at all. If you had waited, you could’ve figured out things about him and his culture that could have helped you influence his mind. But you had to take the mudhorn by the horn. Had to do things your way as soon as you got the chance. Had to get drunk on the little bit of freedom you were given and abuse it. You want to kick yourself. 

When Karga returns to the house, he’s even more tired than he was yesterday. “I can’t give you a break tomorrow,” he tells you. “I need to keep training you to take over the records. It’s getting to be too much for me to handle by myself.”

You nod your understanding and have dinner in silence. Sleep comes to you in hazy, broken patches that night.

Once again, it’s an early morning at the cantina, and most of it is spent training. Record-keeping is an even more harrowing job than Karga prepared you for in the weeks before he brought you to Nevarro. Even making entries in the transaction ledger makes your head spin.

Karga lets you practice it a few times, but you think he gets some kind of sick amusement out of watching you struggle with all the fucking numbers. Just when you think you’re about to rain curses on the sick freak that invented math, Karga takes the holopad out of your hands.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s take a break.”

You slam your head down on the table. “Thank you,” you mutter. “Today is a bitch.”

“It’s only ten o’clock,” Karga tells you.

“She’s a bitch,” you insist.

“You’re just being irritable,” Karga counters. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You lift your head and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You would be too. First the whole thing with the expired bounty a couple of days ago, then the thing with Mando yesterday, now this—”

Karga holds up his hand. “Hold on, hold on,” he says. “What about Mando? What happened?”

You hesitate, unsure how much you’re willing to say. More and more, you’re realizing that you have tested the limits of what Karga said you could do. “Nothing, I just…”

When you’re silent for too long, Karga leans in. “You just what? What did you do?”

It’s at that moment that the door slides open, and the Mandalorian walks in as he did a couple of days ago.

Karga sits up straight. “Mando!” he says as the Mandalorian approaches. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. I assume this means you’ve made up your mind?”

He doesn’t answer, but he takes the seat across from the booth. 

Karga turns to you. “Go wait outside—”

“No,” Mando interrupts. “She stays.” 

He doesn’t elaborate on this sudden change of attitude, but Karga glances at you and seems to come to a realization. What that realization is, you have no idea, but there’s a definite new, conniving spark behind his eyes. 

“Right,” Karga agrees, his voice noticeably controlled. He rises slowly. “Give me a moment. I need a drink. Open up Mando’s profile and the available bounties on the holopad while I’m gone.”

No, wait, what? All you’ve been trained to do is take transaction notes. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to follow all of these new instructions. Especially when the Mandalorian is sitting across from you, staring you down. Nevertheless, you swallow your objections and nod while Karga walks away.

Deep breath. “Okay,” you mutter to yourself, getting only as far as you know how to. You come to a roadblock way sooner than you hoped.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

After the long silence, the question catches you off-guard so much so that you wouldn’t even dream of being dishonest. “Not really,” you admit. “But I can manage until Karga comes back.”

Mando lets go of a deep sigh and reaches his hand out across the table. After a moment’s hesitation, you give him the holopad. He accesses his profile in less than a minute and hands it back to you.

“How do you know how to do that?” you ask him.

“I’m observant,” he answers.

You look down at his profile. Most of his personal information is redacted. There’s no given name. No physical description beyond “beskar helmet.” What little information is available to you is mostly transactions and statistics about his performance as a hunter. No wonder Karga agreed to five percent. There was no way in hell you were gonna be able to find anything out, to begin with. 

“Well,” you say after clearing your throat. “I guess I’m not as observant as that.”

“Apparently,” Mando says. Is that irony in his voice? “You almost got yourself killed crossing the street.” Okay… irony.

Something like dread swirls in your stomach. “Right,” you say, looking up at him. “If you could keep that between you and me, I would appreciate it. Karga doesn’t have to know about that… that whole encounter.”

“How many favors do you want from me?”

He’s playing with you, now. You might not be able to see his face, but you can sense that much. “Please?” you ask him, your voice somewhere between desperate and irritated. 

“Karga doesn’t have to know,” Mando agrees. “As long as you tell me what you meant when you said it’s a year of your life.”

Is that it? Is that the entire reason you’re here now instead of waiting outside while he and Karga talk business? You furrow your brows and shrug. “I had a deal with Karga, that’s all,” you answer him. “If I could convince you to take more than two pucks, he’d take five percent off of the debt I owe him. It would usually take a year to pay back five percent.”

“That’s a twenty-year debt. What did you do to owe Karga so much?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you answer. “I inherited my debt from my grandfather, and Karga bought it a couple of weeks ago from my former employer. I’m honor-bound to pay it back no matter who I owe it to.”

“So, you’re a slave.”

Your jaw clenches at the statement. “I’m an indentured servant,” you correct him. “There’s a difference.”

“What’s your job again?”

“To do what Karga tells me.”

“And you get paid for that?”

“Well… no.”

Mando goes quiet again and tilts his helmet to the side as if he’s trying to make a point.

You let out a huff. “That’s not the point,” you say. “The point is that I was supposed to get you to take another puck. Just one more.”

“I don’t take more than two.”

You blink once. “Hence… the challenge.”

“What was your strategy?”

You take a deep breath and let it out on a hiss. “Didn’t have one, really. I figured I’d try a bunch of different angles until something stuck. Unfortunately, you didn’t let me try any of the angles.”

He just stares at you. If he’s taken aback by your honesty, he doesn’t say so. You, however, are shocked by the sound of your own voice saying nothing but the truth. It’s not really as much a choice as it is something that he seems to draw out of you.

It’s as you open your mouth to say something (anything to fill the silence) that Karga calls your name. You rip your eyes away from Mando as he approaches the table, drink in hand. “Go back to the house and get lunch started, would you? I’ve had enough of cantina food for a week.”

The last thing you expected was for Karga to say something so contrary to Mando’s instructions. But Mando doesn’t say anything, and you can tell that Karga has some kind of purpose he’s not telling you about. So with an obedient nod, you stand and leave the cantina. Once again, the Mandalorian’s gaze follows you out.  

When Karga returns to the house that evening, he calls you to the main living room. “What did you say to Mando while I was gone?”

The question takes you aback. “Um, I don’t know,” you say. “I just answered his questions.”

Karga raises his brows. “Oh, is that all?” he asks. “What questions?”

You shake your head and shrug. “Just about who I am and why I’m working for you. It was like a job interview. Nothing happened.”

Karga lets out a sound somewhere between a sputter and a laugh. “Well, whatever arrangement you’ve got going on, keep it up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell Karga. “There’s no arrangement. As far as I know, as soon as I left, he took his two pucks, and left.”

Karga stares at you a moment. “He didn’t take two pucks,” he says finally “He took four.”

Four? Where the hell did that come from? What did you say to convince him to take double his usual count?

“You really didn’t know, did you?” Karga questions, seeming to finally come to the realization.

“No, I didn’t...” you answer. When you can finally clear your head of white noise for a moment, you look up to see Karga looking at you thoughtfully. “What?”

“Nothing,” Karga says. “I’m just thinking you might be even better for business than I thought.”

[jamimix]

Lipstick # 3 💄

Imagine your genshin S/O making you try on lipsticks of different colors and shades and then making you kiss them on their face to see if it suits them too.

Aether (For @proper-fox):

Sorry it took so long. I was in physical pain while trying to write this. I hate period cramps (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

Aether has many many friends (and enemies), and most are indebted to him (Yes, even some of his enemies). So it's not unusual for his mailbox to be filled with gifts of many kinds. In fact, he had to have a separate mail box for close friends just so he wouldn't lose those.

And as thankful as he is for the gifts, he doesn't exactly use nor need most of it. But of course, he couldn't just tell them off. (Well, he can, but he still wants free stuff now and again.)

As he's pacing around your shared bedroom in his abode, he notices your lipstick collection... or rather, the lack of it. A lone lipstick stood proudly on your vanity table, with a color that's just a bit too... common for him to see on you.

After some thinking, he came up with a solution to his mailbox problem. Why not tell people that he'll only be accepting lipsticks?

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

"Aether, why the hell do you have so many lipstick?" You asked, once you saw him carrying a box full of lipstick with a rainbow of selection, picking up one that's a really neon green.

"It's for a... project." Aether says, smiling innocently at you. He then brought in another box, one that's empty this time. There's a shine in his eyes that you couldn't understand.

"Can you do something for me?"

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

You then found yourself sitting on the bed, a box full of lipstick on your side, while the empty one on the other.

In front of you is Aether, sleeping soundly. After a tiring day of doing commissions, he grabbed you towards the bed with the energy he had left, and told you what to do before passing out.

"Give me lots of kisses. I want you to try each and every one of these."

You couldn't help but quirk your lips at his words from earlier, before picking a random lipstick from the pile.

Upon applying it, you then leave soft kiss on his soft cheek.

When you pulled away, you couldn't help but feel delighted at how the lipstick color suit him. Maybe he does have a point in making you do this.

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

The next morning, Aether woke up with a yawn, stretching his arms. He drowsily got up from the bed, making sure not to disturb your sleep, before heading to the bathroom.

The moment he faced the bathroom mirror, he feel his whole being wake up, fully energized, a huge grin quickly growing on his face.

Aether's body is littered with kiss marks with colors and shades that suited him. From his face, to his arms, and even to his stomach. There are even some stray ones on his thighs.

Leaning back out of the bathroom door, he spots the two boxes on the feet of your shared bed, one labelled 'keep', and the other, 'give away', both seemed half filled.

Focusing back on his reflection in the mirror, he's quite happy but... he's not satisfied.

With a huff, he quickly runs out of the bathroom, and headed towards you still sleeping on the bed. He jumped on the bed, straddling your hips, before shaking you awake.

He glared at you with determined eyes, watching as you drowsily opened yours that are filled with sleepy confusion.

"You have to try again. Let me feel the kisses this time!"

Next up is our dear Kazuha!

Also, I probably almost died with my dog earlier ಥ‿ಥ

(@neigesprincess heya! You wanted to be tagged, right?)

[biggie-chcese]

Why I think Yomi Hellsmile should've died in Chapter 4

(this essay isnt what you think it is. spoilers for the whole game btw)

Alright so let me preface this by saying that this is not a Yomi Hellsmile hate essay. I like Yomi. He's my favorite peacekeeper. He's funny, he's entertaining, and he makes for a very effective antagonist. So why have him die? Well, for the same reason I wouldn't have Yakou live: I think it makes for a better story.

So here's the true title of my essay: A Critique of how Rain Code's Narrative Handles the Peacekeepers (and by Extension, Yomi) and their Downfall

Let's start with Yomi's downfall in canon. Yuma and Vivia find out his role in Huesca's murder and, ultimately, Yakou's death, and are angry beyond belief. But they're also helpless to do anything as they escape the labyrinth with vengeance on their minds. Of course, this gets shut down immediately, and then Makoto ex machina comes in with Martina in tow to arrest Yomi for his money laundering and bribery. And right then and there, in one fell swoop, the peacekeepers are completely eliminated as a threat in the story to be replaced by Makoto.

But okay... isn't that super underwhelming? The peacekeepers and Amaterasu corp have been the main driving force of the game's primary conflict, and yet somehow they are completely eliminated as a threat because Makoto grabbed a few files off screen. And also, this brings me to my first major issue I have with this ending:

Part 1: Why the fuck do they care?

No I'm serious. Why do the peacekeepers care? So what if Yomi bribed his way to the top? You mean to tell me that the cops who spent the entire game assaulting and antagonizing civilians give a shit? They're never shown to have any sort of problem with their corruption. They send people to be executed on whims and knowingly, regularly falsify evidence on murder cases. At best the peacekeepers are indifferent to the suffering they cause, and at worst they are gleefully complicit in it. So, again, why do they care about Yomi's money schemes? In fact, they only benefit from Yomi's rule because he gives them the power to freely instill fear in Kanai Ward's citizens. The game never, at any point, has an "are we the baddies?" moment from them nor does it ever even try to have at least one peacekeeper question Yomi's authority, even when he's throwing them under the bus. Throughout the whole game, they stand as a completely one-note, cartoonishly evil representation of police corruption.

So why the sudden heel turn? The resolution of chapter 4 feels so jarring to me because the game has zero buildup to it. This also applies to Martina's return. Actually let's also talk about her.

Part 2: So... Martina's return lowkey is kinda lame

Don't get me wrong, I was pretty hype when she came back. But also, the magic wore off pretty quickly for me because I didn't understand why she was suddenly a whole different character. I suppose her brush with death gave her some time to contemplate her actions, or perhaps she felt indebted to Makoto and asked him what she should do, or maybe Makoto held her life over her head and told her to change her act or he's letting her get cubed. Who knows? We get nothing expanding on this so it could be anything.

I feel like people kinda forget that Martina was just as corrupt as Yomi? Like, she is not his helpless victim. I'd even argue that their relationship isn't abusive. Martina is in it with her own interests in mind in addition to just being a massive sadomasochist. I cannot stress this enough: whatever tf she and Yomi had going on, she was completely into it. Even at the end of chapter 2, she was drooling over him and the idea of punishment... until Yomi crossed a line.

Y'see, Martina thought she was special. She thought that whatever punishment Yomi had for her Aetheria Academy blunder, she'd come out of it alive, because she's his beloved right hand. Yomi then showed her that she's just as disposable as the rest of his underlings by ordering her to be brutally executed. That is when she becomes a victim.

Anyway, I'm saying all this to make a point that Martina hasn't shown any interest in being an honest cop until chapter 4. It's completely out of nowhere, just like with the other peacekeepers.

"But Biggie," you may be thinking, "why would Yomi dying fix these issues?" Well I'm so glad you hypothetically asked!

Part 3: We love missed potential, baby!

Kodaka sometimes does this thing where he introduces an interesting concept that plays with the rules of the game... and then doesn't commit to it. Think like the double murder clause in Danganronpa V3 chapter 3, where they mention that if two separate murderers act in the same day then only one of those murders counts. Then they do nothing with this, and instead create a very weak chapter.

This is a similar problem I have with the tail end of chapter 4's mystery labyrinth, which is a really amazing labyrinth that introduces a really amazing concept: taking down a secret mastermind. After reaping the culprit's soul, they have this cool, brand new secret area that... does nothing. No, I'm serious. Nothing happens. All it does is piss Yuma and Vivia off and waste everyone's time. They find out Yomi's involvement in the case, but they still don't do anything with that. Sure it brings a whole new feeling of hopelessness, but doesn't that make Yomi's downfall literally five minutes later through the mundane actions of someone else off screen seem all the more underwhelming? From a gameplay and storytelling standpoint, I think this is just... a cop-out. I think it'd be cool if he was involved enough in Huesca's murder to count as an accomplice, then with Vivia and Shinigami at his side, Yuma reaps Yomi's soul. It's a decent payoff for the NDA and the player while supporting the game's message about the importance of finding the truth. And god does the game need support in that regard, because the Mystery Labyrinth almost never helps and Yuma instead gets saved by someone else (which would've been nice to expand on if we go this route bc there's something interesting about Yuma calling for the labyrinth to kill people for ultimately no reason, but they don't do anything with that and that is a WHOLE other essay lol).

But this is not my main reason that Yomi should've died here. I wouldn't feel so strongly if that was the case. No, my problem lies with a character that isn't Yomi, and what is part of the entire reason Rain Code's plot exists.

Part 4: Is Makoto fucking stupid?

"/lh" by the way. Makoto is my second favorite character in this game behind Yuma, and I adore him. His story, his motivations, his undying will to be a protector of a people that no one else will protect, by any means necessary... he is such an incredible character and antagonist and I genuinely adore him. But I have one eensy weensy, teeny weeny little issue with him:

Why did he need the detectives to oust Yomi?

Makoto claims in the ch 5 labyrinth that the reason the detectives were brought over was to oust Yomi, which leads me to believe the command for the detectives to come to Kanai Ward was his work, not Number One's, then Number One simply caught onto this and took advantage of the situation to sneak in. Though, that's just a guess on my part, mind you. So I suppose he was just desperately hoping at least one of them would take care of Yomi, but isn't that weird?

The detectives don't ever find the evidence of Yomi's money laundering and bribery. Makoto does. The detectives don't ever bring Yomi's corruption to light. Yomi... already does that without their help. Actually, why didn't he secretly team up with the Resistance for that? Too busy ignoring Dohya District's glaring issues, Makoto? Too busy turning a blind eye to your people's suffering?

Uh. Anyway, the only detective that actually does something beneficial for Makoto and kills Huesca is Yakou, who was already in Kanai Ward. And don't tell me that Makoto accounted for Fubuki and Desuhiko's fortes here because that part of the plan was all Yakou's idea. If Makoto could've predicted this, he would've just called the detectives necessary to this plan instead of luring in a bunch of them at once to get slaughtered.

Tons of detectives died coming to Kanai Ward to do... what? Distract Yomi? Could the World's Greatest Mind truly never come up with a better distraction for a guy who didn't even realize his Martina Cube™ order never came in? Yomi isn't shown to be some sort of hypervigilant supergenius nor is he nearly on Makoto's level. Could he truly not have outsmarted Yomi and led him astray long enough to grab a little binder of paper?

So, once again, you may be wondering how Yomi's death would fix this. Well, Yuma, a detective, is the one who kills Yomi.

Makoto is well aware of Yuma using the Book of Death at this point. So what better way to get rid of Yomi than to carefully manipulate the detective who has the Perfect Criminal Murder Tool™? Makoto can't just assassinate Yomi himself- that would make him the main suspect and he'd have to do a lot of PR maintenance to get the rest of Amaterasu Corp off his back. But Yomi mysteriously dying of a heart attack while Makoto isn't anywhere around... well, that's different.

"But wait," you may be thinking, "doesn't Makoto want to keep Yomi alive because he's a Kanai Ward citizen, and he loves Kanai Ward?"

Good point! But doesn't that also apply to Yakou, whom he also had a hand in manipulating into that crazy sui-homocide of Dr. Huesca? Or, what about Fink? Remember him? Makoto killed him for "knowing too much." I know that information is missable, but it's there. And don't tell me it's just because he's a hitman and has killed other Kanai Ward residents, because Yomi has sent many residents to their deaths without trial... not a huge difference. So a body count isn't really on Makoto's "should I kill them" conditions, it seems.

If Fink gets killed for "knowing too much," then Yomi shouldn't be exempt from this, especially when he was leaking homunculus information to the outside world. That goes far beyond "knowing too much." It just doesn't make sense.

But you know what does? Makoto actually using the detectives to wipe his hands clean of Yomi's mess. Yakou is used to take care of Huesca, Yuma is used to take care of Yomi, and Makoto gets to sit back, relax, and watch everything play out just as planned.

And later, in the next chapter, when Yuma learns about Makoto using him like this, he realizes that he's truly been had.

Part 5: How I think it should play out

I'm not being a hater. In fact, I deeply love this game and have a lot of respect for Kodaka and the writing team, so please don't take my little rant as some sort of effort to bash on my favorite video game because that's not what this is. I'm not gonna prop myself up as a better writer than anyone on the team because I'm not, but I'll still try my hand at rewriting this scene to fit my personal taste. So I would like for you to imagine with me, the end of chapter 4...

Yuma and Vivia find the secret area of the labyrinth and find out that Yomi has been masterminding Huesca's murder. Shinigami points out that, hey, that's why the labyrinth is falling so slowly: we haven't finished it off! Vivia stands by Yuma's side, and all of them, driven by their rage and desire to see justice be done, reap the soul of the true mastermind through one final strike of the solution blade. Labyrinth collapses, snap back to reality, oop there goes gravity, oop there goes Yomi, who collapses on the ground.

The peacekeepers are surprised and approach the body. They find that Yomi is dead. They're shocked, and as this is happening, Yuma isn't sure what to feel. Is he glad that he managed to avenge Yakou? Not quite, because Yakou is still gone, the hitman is still out there, and everything still hurts. But a part of him feels... vindicated. Vivia seems to have equally complicated feelings about this. For once, it was... kind of worth it to find the truth, even if a bit messy.

Well now the peacekeepers confirmed Yomi is dead, but now they're accusing the detectives of this. And they're honestly kinda right. Yuma and Vivia realize that they're in kind of deep shit, but the sound of Martina's voice comes from off screen asking what on earth is going on here, making everyone freeze.

Enter her, Makoto, and Seth (I'll say why he's here too in a moment). They're surprised at the sight before them, but Makoto only pretends to be. Then you see it... Martina and Seth go from visibly suprised... to relieved. And there's something oddly triumphant, yet a bit chilling about Makoto and the two people we've witnessed Yomi throw under the bus standing over his corpse. It feels thematic now, as if righteous judgement has come. And... it also solves the "what happened to Seth" question, lol.

Makoto shakes his head and sighs, stepping over the corpse and approaching Yuma and Vivia as he comes up with an excuse: "I always told him that those temper tantrums weren't good for his blood pressure. I guess his heart couldn't take it anymore."

He then nods to the others. Seth instructs the peacekeepers to clean up the body, as they rot quickly in this city. There's this foreboding feeling in the peacekeepers' obedience and efficiency, and Yuma begins to wonder if he did a good thing. Did his actions change the peacekeepers for the better, he asks himself, or did he simply shift the power over to someone worse? Shinigami tells him she doesn't know.

Makoto approaches them with good news: they found and arrested the hitman! Yuma, frightened, does not address that and instead asks him why the other high ranking peacekeepers are here. Makoto says that they... owe him a favor. Martina expresses her gratefulness for him stopping her execution order and asks if they can do anything else, to which Makoto replies telling her no, they're doing an excellent job. After some more conversation, Seth, Martina, and the peacekeepers then leave with Yomi's body to let Makoto talk privately to Yuma and Vivia. Makoto apologizes for their loss of Yakou and offers some faux sympathy. They're both... still conflicted about this conclusion, but Makoto tells them they're free to go, so they'll think about it later. Oh, but before they leave, he gives Yuma a little gift: a suspicious black box. Of course, Yuma can't open it just yet- it's a surprise!

Then the rest could play out pretty much normally (though an encounter with zombie Yomi chapter 5 seems inevitable and also awesome).

I think this alone would solve every issue I addressed before. The peacekeepers do not change out of nowhere. They simply reallocate power and there's still this feeling of them being a threat as they're now directly connected to the game's true antagonist. There's now a theme to Martina's return with Seth's presence as well. There's now a narrative purpose to that final section of the mystery labyrinth with proper payoff. And, most importantly, Makoto's motivations to use the detectives make more sense.

By the way, if any Yomi lovers think that he should stay alive for a potential return in the sequel... isn't it such a blessing that Yakou's DLC introduced this pretty neat little pill that could still make that possible? Just saying.

So yeah. Yuma, for the sake of narrative payoff and character writing consistency, please kill this clown. Thanks for reading <3

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

*trying to understand WHY i feel like Vaggie would love having Susan around despite ppl hating her*

no see it's like this- there's a DIFFERENCE between someone like Susan and someone like Adam!!!

Susan, she's grumpy, stubborn, rude, insulting, BUT!!! If you give her a reason to think her criticisms weren't accurate or convince her she didn't have the full picture while making them, then she WILL change her mind!

She goes from booing Charlie's stammering speech to the Cannibals (and being all fuck you blue blood eat the rich which XD love it) pointing out how Charlie is NOT making anyone feel confident in her... but then once Charlie comes back with a rousing song, Susan listens. She chimes in just to clarify some things (if she fights for the hotel will she get to EAT PEOPLE) and once Charlie really gets into the whole fuck heaven it's time to fight back (lining up with Susan's eat the rich frame of mind) Susan switches around and NODS along with it! She changes her mind about Charlie! She follows Charlie back to the hotel and into war!

This old lady might be a piece of work but she's not an arrogant self-entitled one who won't give people a chance. She will let people try to convince her. She'll hear them out. She does change course once she feels she was wrong.

Compare THAT to an angel like Adam, who only listens so he can interrupt and laugh at Charlie. He's so convinced he CAN'T be wrong he'll scribble divine rules of getting into heaven on a sheet of paper on the fly and then act like they really ARE rules even though he clearly made them up on the spot- he submits them to court as EVIDENCE while IGNORING every other piece of contradicting evidence shown to him!

Adam isn't an asshole bc he's rude or mean, he's an ass bc he never thinks he might be wrong or should maybe change what he thinks or does. If it doesn't build him up then he won't listen to it. Arguing with him was useless- he wasn't ready to be convinced of anything he didn't already believe in.

So when Vaggie cheers for HIM dying, I think of Susan and how- to Vaggie- this old snarling cannibal lady would be like, the anti-Adam.

And the anti-Alastor too bc Susan glares and rudely lays out the truth as she knows it damn the consequences, instead of smiling while slipping lies by omission to ppl to get what she wants from them.

(a la Alastor in ep one trying turn helping out with the hotel advertisement into a favor, first by making a shitty one and then pressing Vaggie about not having anything better, until Vaggie points out that she KNOWs he'll get nothing out of the hotel if it fails anyway, meaning him helping it isn't some big gesture of trustworthiness it's literally just Alastor helping himself, dressed up to make Charlie and Vaggie feel grateful and indebted to him, which Vaggie at least has no patience for)

(add him not mentioning the dead angel thing until after he's gotten a deal with Charlie out of it, and of course miss hates-herself-Vaggie, who held back on her angel past for years to protect herself from more trauma would see too many similarities there)

(even tho one case was- as far as Vaggie can tell- a shameless power grab from Alastor taking advantage of Charlie being at her lowest, and the other was Vaggie being so ashamed of her past she couldn't stomach admitting to it)

Susan is NOT like that.

Sharp teeth is where her similarities with someone like Alastor ends. Surface level bluntness is also where her similarity with Vaggie might end too, for now

I look at Susan and see someone I think Vaggie wishes she could be.

Susan is someone who is honest. Someone who gives no fucks and isn't scared of being tossed aside (again) or being powerless

(like Vaggie and Alastor are scared)

Everyone in Cannibal town CRINGES when Susan shows up, no one looks or sounds HAPPY to see her or hear her speak up and does she seem to care? No. Do they all seem to also respect her and what she says...?

Yeah. They do. Susan is not talking out of her ass or being an ass. She's just sounding like one.

Vaggie miss "cut the crap" and "formerly an exorcist until she saw signs of how that might be wrong actually" would like having someone like that around, I think

(especially if it pissed off Alastor)

(Carmilla, who only keeps secrets to protect her family and seems to listen to advice even when she doesn't take it, would probably NOT like being challenged by a rude Susan either.... but Susan mainly just didn't want to blindly follow someone she didn't have confidence in, or fight without seeing what the reward for the risk would be. Carmilla would respect that, I think. Carmilla doesn't have time for bullshit either and also likes to cut right to the facts of a thing, as seen in her and Vaggie's meet up, so a Susan would be.... tolerable... in small doses. And worth having around. Occasionally)

(but only OCCASIONALLY, vaggie)

(charlie would probably also have to draw the line on ONLY inviting Susan over once a week or month or bi annually or so)

(it's a mental health issue and and a safety issue of Charlie not strangling Susan with her own dead fox boa when she gives an honest bad opinion of Vaggie's new wings or something)

(vaggie thinks it's hilarious)

(then again vaggie hates herself soooooo)

I headcanon Vaggie would love a Susan in her life but would need a Charlie around to balance it out~

GRANNY SUSAN! GRANNY SUSAN!!!!