#he fucks he fights he flings insults

[patroclusdefencesquad]

top five iconic Damen moments go. If there’s too many give me top ten. This is urgent scientific research.

oh my god you are so lucky i have a long train journey today so here we go, in no particular order because hell if that is possible :

when he threw a mf broadsword. a sword that is meant to be swung with two hands (!!). and he just casually yeeted it from the back of a horse. into a guy who was about to kill his enemy who wasn't even his lover yet

kingsmeet. kingsmeet was the Pinnacle of the man. he broke his country's most sacred rules without even fucking hesitating out of sheer rage and love at what had been done to laurent get this man fucking husband of the year

obviously it has to be "i speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart" no man has ever been so stupid and yet so sexy

every moment in book three where he's like "did i fucking stutter."

"damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. his garment dropped, and the crowd roared their approval" cock out and thriving. king

when he chose laurent he literally chose laurent over his kingdom he was prepared to sacrifice it all for him this MAN

when he was screaming crying throwing up at having to tell laurent who he was and laurent was just like "i know." sksjsks you dumb fucking bitch OF COURSE HE KNEW everything you now know about this man and you think he doesn't know the man who killed his brother god i love you how can a man be so smart and yet so. so

"i think if i gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly" sobbing. literally sobbing on a train. he's so sweet he's so gentle he loves laurent so much. he's so. so. also that scene where he tells laurent if auguste hadn't died he still would have courted him. once he starts loving laurent he literally cannot conceive of a world where he does not love him i'm crying

he's beefy. it's not an iconic moment it's just his natural state of being but it's iconic to ME. his arms could hold me so good. his tits are as big as his heart. his ass? bouncing. his thighs? could crush me and i'd welcome it

his dimple :')

there we go it started out as a list of iconic damen moments it ended as me rambling about everything i love about him what can i say he lives in my head rent free i'll never find a man like him

[tropes-and-tales]

Don't Gloat

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing, mild violence (a misunderstanding), smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count:  7289

AN:  Requested by an anonymous person, place, or thing!

AN2: Drabble? I don't know her, apparently.

Your first real fight is over chicken.

You squabble, pretty much from day one.  Carmy hires you to help in the kitchen, and Richie immediately takes an intense dislike to you.  Adding you upsets the delicate ecosystem of The Beef.  You are unnecessary.  Richie makes it known on your first day.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns an hour into service.  “Cousin doesn’t run things.”

“Seems like he does,” you shoot back.

“I’m the manager here.”

Here is where the dislike really starts.  Richie is rude and sarcastic, but you’re a chameleon.  You can shift and change your demeanor to match what someone is giving you, so when Richie is rude and sarcastic to you, you respond in kind.

You call him “Mister Manager” in a tone dripping with sarcasm, and by the end of that first shift, Richie completely hates you.

The feeling is mutual by the end of your second shift.

At first, you just squabble.  You trade barbs and insults.  When Richie throws a temper tantrum over Carmy’s organization of the spices, you pout and turn to Ibra and posit that Richie is grumpy because he needs a juice box and a nap.  Which makes Ibra cock his head at you.  He speaks English impeccably, but sometimes he misses the finer nuances of language like sarcasm. 

“I do not think we have juice boxes here,” Ibra says, and Tina swats him as she walks past.

“She’s being sarcastic, you old bitch,” she tells him.

The allusion to Richie being a toddler isn’t far off.  He acts childish all the time.  He flings cookware around when he’s having a tantrum.  He swears, he throws out middle fingers like an angry pre-teen. 

He hides your expensive Henckles knives.  He turns the heat up or down when your back is turned.  Once, he parks you in behind The Beef, and when you go to leave, he’s nowhere to be found—you end up doing a thirty-six point turn, a fraction at a time, before you can properly pull out and drive away.

But your first real fight is over chicken.

The meat delivery is wrong one day.  You’re short on beef, but there’s five whole chickens, and Carmy throws up his hands and tells you to come up with something.

So you do. 

You roast them low and slow so they stay tender, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the sauce—an adobo-based barbeque that’s the perfect blend of tangy and smoky—when Richie strolls in.  He’s in his stupid leather jacket and ridiculous blue track pants, and he announces himself with his usual grinning, “what’s up, you fucking lizards?”

Sweeps and Manny call out their hellos, but Richie ignores them.  He’s already super-focused on you…and the sauce you’re stirring over a low heat.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.  He stands too close to you, dips his head close to the pot, and takes a loud sniff of it.  Then rears back with a grimace, like you’re simmering a pot of shit and not a finely balanced sauce for your roasting chickens.

“It’s barbeque sauce.  For the chicken.”

“What fucking chicken?”

“Meat delivery was fucked up,” Carmy calls across the kitchen. 

Richie scoffs and turns to Carmy, and he gestures at you and your sauce.  “No offence, Cousin, but the place is called ‘The Beef.’”

“No offence, Cousin, but fuck off,” Carmy replies.

“Heaven forbid we try something new,” you add.  You snap the heat off and settle a lid over the pot to allow the flavors time to mellow together.  Once the chicken is done, you’ll shred it and mix it in.  You have a red cabbage slaw planned for it, and thin slices of sharp cheddar to round it out.  You turn towards the refrigerator, but Richie blocks your path.

“Nothing Italian about whatever the fuck that is.”  He glares down at you; he’s half a head taller than you, but he has a way of puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight.

Maybe other people are cowed by his posturing, but you’re unimpressed and not scared at all.

“It’s about as Italian as ‘Jerimovich.’”

His chest puffs out more, and he takes a half step closer to you.  This close, you can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to him, the old man cologne he splashes on with a heavy hand, the subtler scent of laundry detergent. 

“People come here every day and get the same thing,” he says.  “Same order every fuckin’ day.  No one is gonna order whatever fancy Noma bullshit you’re trying to pull out of your ass.”

You take a half step up to him and puff out your chest, and it makes Richie falter for a moment.  He leans back, just a fraction, but you note the movement and smirk up at him.  You reach out and poke him in the sternum with a forefinger, driving home each point.

“One, this isn’t Noma bullshit.  It’s literally slow-roasted chicken.  Two, it’s a pretty simple sauce.  Maybe it seems fancy to you because it’s more challenging to your palate than chicken nuggets.  Three, some customers might appreciate a change in their usual lunch order.  Not everyone is so resistant to change, Cousin.”

Your use of the familiar nickname makes his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger.  “I’m not your fucking Cousin.”

“Sure you are, Cousin.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll save you a sandwich, Cousin.”  The thought occurs to you that you’re being childish now, that Richie has brought out some immature part of you, and you think it’s kinda fun, being a juvenile brat at work and leaning into the fight.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Stop what, Cousin?”

He turns away from you so quick, it makes you blink in surprise.  “Fucking bitch,” he mutters to himself, but he’s striding across the kitchen towards the office, and he’s calling for Carmy, so you follow at his heels and call for Carmy too.

“Yo, Cousin, can you fucking fire her already?  Jesus fucking Christ, I—” he starts, but you cut him off, mimic his growling voice and Chicago accent.

“Yo, Carmy, when are we gonna fire Richie already?  I mean, the place is changing—”

It makes Richie go fully nuclear.  The mention of change makes him apoplectic.  He turns and crowds you against the door jamb, and he gets right in your face:  so close that you can see his eyes aren’t completely blue—they are flecked with grey, like bits of mica in pavement.  You’re startled for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes are beautiful, but you obviously don’t say anything because he’s snarling in your face.

“Fuck you!” he spits out, and he points a finger inches from your face.  “Fuck you!  Nothin’ is changin’ here!  Nothin’ needs to change!”

And then he gives you his patented Richie double-chin flick, and he mutters some Italian insult you don’t know, and he’s marching through the kitchen to leave.

Not before he sweeps your mise en place off the counter, sending thin-sliced cabbage and vinegar flying.

Carmy stares at you with a look that is purely beleaguered.  He sighs, he scrubs his face with his hands, and he runs them through his hair before he sighs again.

“Whatever you and Richie have going on?  Squash that shit, Chef.”

You nod, embarrassed at rising—or sinking—to Richie’s childishness.  “Yes, Chef,” you reply.

-----

“Squashing it” mostly means that you and Richie only fight when Carmy isn’t within earshot.

Your fighting still entails getting in each other’s faces.  It still means you insult each other, albeit more quietly.  You hiss insults at him, he grumbles them back.  You part when Carmy shows up, and you each stew in your separate corners and wait for the next round.

You start to suss out where the limits are.  You insult him as a father one single time, and the flash of hurt on his face makes you hold up your hands in a truce and apologize. 

He insults you once as a woman with daddy issues, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.  You did grow up without a father—he died when you were six, and your only memories of him are full of pain from the stomach cancer that slowly killed him.  But you must show the hurt on your face too because Richie takes a step backwards away from you, stammers out an apology too.

All told, once you know each other’s hard limits, you actually fight pretty nicely, and if anyone notices it, no one says anything.

-----

Sunday nights are a good time to come in to The Beef and set yourself up for the week.  You work it out with Carmy because it gives him a break and gives you a few more hours.  You enjoy the time there with the restaurant being closed—you blast your music, you sing along at the top of your lungs as you rotate stock, make detailed shopping lists for Carmy, and make sure everything is clean.

If one thing infuriates you, it’s the way certain national media outlets focus on Chicago as a cesspool of violence.  But it is a large city, and violence does happen, so when you’re in the basement of The Beef and hear the beep of the alarm system as it is deactivated, you immediately feel ice cold all over.  The alarm system, Ibra told you once, is easily overcome, and The Beef has been robbed before.

You glance around and see that you’re trapped, unless you want to rush up the steps (not advisable) or shimmy out a tiny window at street level (also not advisable).  There’s nothing in the way of weapons in the basement either, so you arm yourself with a half-burnt cookie sheet and tremble as you listen to the heavy tread above you.

Maybe they’ll just trash the place and leave.  There’s nothing worth stealing, unless they want to wheel out the massive, ancient Hobart.  Maybe they’ll get into Marcus’s stash of good vanilla.  Maybe they’ll—

Maybe they’ll make their way to the top of the stairs.  Maybe they’ll pause there and start walking down to where you wait.  You try not to breathe too loud, but your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse is in your ears, and you’re flooded with adrenaline as the shoes of your would-be assailant come into view.

You don’t hear Richie’s voice when he calls out your name.  You’re too panicked.  You don’t hear him, and you don’t even register him when he rounds the corner—he’s in his usual track pants and leather jacket—because you’re fully in fight-or-flight mode…and independent of your will, your body chooses fight.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and you swing the cookie sheet directly at his head with all the force you can muster.  Your assailant stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, and you drop the pan and try to scramble past him, but you trip over his foot in your panic and fall hard, cracking your shinbone against the lowest step.

If you ever idly wondered how you’d react in a real life-or-death scenario, here is your answer:  you scream and scream, and you clutch one hand to your throbbing shin but flail your other hand at the person reaching for you, and it’s not until you smell him—the familiar cigarette/old man cologne smell—that your panic ebbs a little.

And then you see those blue eyes flecked with grey, and even if Richie is your enemy at work, he’s never really been an enemy in the true sense of the word.  The relief that you aren’t about to be raped or murdered floods you so suddenly that you burst into tears. 

And then you hug him, your arms so tight around his middle that he breathes out a sharp oof, but then he wraps one arm around your trembling form while the other clutches his bleeding nose in an attempt to staunch the blood.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks.  His voice is thick and nasally, but there’s a hint of amusement to it.

“Thought you were an intruder.”  You release him from your hold, and you will yourself to stop shaking. 

“Carmy.”  He shakes his head.  “Guess Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole didn’t tell you I was coming by.”

“He did not.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled napkin.  He presses it to his nose and winces, and your panic is replaced by shame.  You’ll never live this down, you realize.  Richie is going to tell everyone first thing tomorrow, and he’ll add his usual Richie flourishes to make your screams more shrill, your flailing more erratic in the retelling.

His nose stops bleeding, and he checks it tentatively.  He prods at the swollen skin, red that is going to bruise by morning.  He fixes you with a curious look.

“You hit harder than I would have thought.”

“I play softball.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park.  At the North Avenue fields.”

He huffs at that.  Clears his throat.  “Yeah, my daughter has t-ball there.”

Your panic is gone now, and you feel more like yourself.  Your leg throbs at where you banged it, and it will be bruised by morning like Richie’s face.  You limp over to the big table and gather up your coat and purse.

“Don’t do that,” you tell Richie.

“Do what?”

“Don’t…whatever.  Talk to me nice.  Tell me about your daughter.  Don’t do that.”

He snorts and says, “why the fuck not?”

“Because we’re not friends, and you scared the shit out of me, and now I’m all keyed up and just want to get home instead of having an impromptu bonding session with the one guy at The Beef who truly, honesty hates me.”

“Alright, fine.  You’re a fucking head-case to freak out the way you did, and I think you broke my fucking nose.  Better?”

It startles a laugh out of you, and your laughter makes Richie grin.  It’s shy, and he ducks his head, but you catch it all the same.

He clears his throat again, then asks if you drove there.  You tell him no—you had a premium parking spot on your street, so you took the L.  He nods at that, and he seems to be thinking through something, so you pull on your coat and sling your bag over your shoulder and wait for him to say something.

“Let me drive you home, at least, “he finally offers.  “You’re all sorts of fucked up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.  Someone looks at you wrong on the train, gonna catch an assault charge.”

“You’d love to see me in prison,” you reply.  “Out of your way.  No one left to defiantly make a delicious chicken sandwich special and destroy the system here.”

“Asshole.”  He shakes his head, then gestures for you to take the stairs ahead of him.  “I’m driving you home.  Let’s go.”

You can’t admit that a ride sounds fantastic.  You do feel keyed up, anxious and twitchy, and even if it’s Richie, you’re grateful for the offer.

Even so, as you limp upstairs, the pain in your leg makes it easier to admit to him.  You turn as he resets the alarm, and you thank him, softly.

“Yeah, fine.  Whatever.”  He points at his car, then grumbles, “c’mon already.”

-----

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Sunday evenings become yours and Richie’s thing.  The work should go twice as fast, but Richie doesn’t work so much as… not work.  He leans in the doorway of the walk-in as you take inventory, he perches on the counter as you make giardiniera for the next day.  He sits in the office as you write out the order list for Carmy, and he gripes about how long you’re taking, how he has better things to do.

If that were true, why does he spend every Sunday with you?  You doubt Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole told him to, yet he shows up every week and complains the entire time.  He complains the entire drive to your place, and when you thank him for the ride, he either flips you off or makes a jacking-off motion with his hand before he peels away from your curb.

“You almost done?” he asks now.  “Got shit to do.”

“You don’t have shit to do.”  You check the takings from last week, do a quick calculation in the margin of the print-out.  “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Why, you afraid I might introduce a dish that isn’t entirely Italian-American approved?”

He grumbles, “nothin’ needs to change.  Menu’s fine the way it is.”

“You really don’t have to stay, Richie.  I can handle myself.”

“Bullshit you can.”  He leans forward, taps the side of his nose.  “You handle yourself so well, you dislocated my fucking nose.”

“And it gave your face some character,” you retort.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

You glance at him, roll your eyes.  “Aside from the fact it’s always in my face, glaring or stirring up shit?  Nothing.”

He leans back in his chair again and sighs.  “I don’t stir up shit.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“You talk way too much, Richard.”

“Don’t call me fucking Richard.  You sound like my asshole mother-in-law.”  He pauses, then amends it to, “my former asshole mother-in-law.”

A long beat of silence passes.  You calculate the meat order, the vegetables, the shelf stable stuff.  You balance out the order against where there’s already overdue bills—Carmy is juggling the vendors as best he can, and you try to give him relief where you can—

“Done yet?”

“Nope.”  You cross out the one line for the produce vendor, split it between two vendors.  “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Told you.  I got stuff to do.”

You glance over at him.  He does seem more keyed up.  His leg bounces up and down, and he wrings his hands in his lap. 

“What sort of stuff?” you ask.

He mumbles his answer, and you miss it at first.  When you arch an eyebrow at him, he repeats it.  An embarrassed, “got a date.”

You pause in your writing and turn to face him.  Fak told you once about Richie’s imploded marriage, and he had heavily implied that Richie was still pining for his ex-wife.  “A date?” 

He shrugs.  “Kind of a date.”

“What’s kind of a date?”

Another shrug, and he fixes his gaze to the dirty tile floor.  “We went out last week, and we talked about grabbing a drink tonight.  I was gonna text her after I drop you off.”

“Sounds like a regular date to me.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then lets them fall again.  “I dunno.  Wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

You turn completely to face him, your list forgotten.  “Then why agree to a second date?”

Another shrug, a sheepish lift and fall of his shoulders.  The two of you are toeing the line of near-friendship, your usual squabbling turning into an honest-to-god friendly chat, but maybe Richie doesn’t have any confidants in his life, because he sighs, then mutters about how she seemed cold, how she wasn’t charmed by his Bill Murray voicemail greeting story, but how he thought he should try anyway—

“Richie, I’m not your gal pal in a rom-com, but if you aren’t feeling it, don’t do it.  Jesus, that’s just common sense.”

He fixes you with a glare.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize you were a goddamned relationship expert.”

“It’s common sense.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

You bristle at the question.  Your love life is about as dead as The Beef’s commercial credit, but Richie doesn’t need to know that.  But you hesitate long enough that he can guess, and he laughs at you, and you bristle more.

“I knew it!”  He points at you, and you swat at his hand until he lowers it.  “You give off this whole ‘hasn’t been laid in a long time’ vibe.”

You turn away from him and bend your head back to your ordering list.  “Shut up,” you mumble.

“All those prissy little dishes you add to the menu.  You’re all wound up.  It makes sense.”

“My culinary excellence has nothing to do with my love life or lack thereof.”  You hope your tone is even and nonchalant, but you fear it comes out as defensive.  Which it must, because Richie holds up his hands again.

“No judgement.  It’s tough out there.  I get it.”

You groan and turn away from him, twisting yourself to get his smirking face out of your peripheral.  “You should leave.  Go get ready for your kind-of date.”

“Nah.”

“Seriously, you can go.”

“Nah.”  You hear his deep breath, then a beat later, he continues.

“If you ever want to blow off some steam, we could…”  He trails off, but his intent is clear, and you feel a prickly heat break out across your skin. 

“…shut up, Richie.”

You turn a little and he reappears in your peripherals.  He presses his hands together in a prayer position, then presses his fingertips near his mouth in an expression of thoughtfulness. 

“Shut up, Richie isn’t no, Richie.”

“It’s most certainly no, Richie.”

“Look at me.”

“I gotta finish this list and send it to Carmy—”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You can’t.  You stare at your handwriting—the 50 pounds of cake flour Marcus needs—and you feel yourself heating up at the sudden image of you and Richie—no, you shove the mental image away, shake your head to clear it, and the man notices all of it.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asks, and his voice is soft, low.  A graveled rumble, roughened by the cigarettes he chain-smokes when he’s not inside, and you don’t know if it really has been that long, but it’s a step-progression of reactions in your body.  The prickle of heat along your skin, the way your skin feels too tight.  The way your mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

The strong, traitorous pulse of desire between your legs.  Fuck.

“Wouldn’t have to mean anything,” he continues with that low voice.  “No one would have to know.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Still not hearing a no, sweetheart.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, then turn to face him squarely.  You look him right in his eyes—those bright blue eyes, flecked with grey, beautiful—and say, “No, Richie.”

He stares back at you, and a smile slowly unfurls across his face.  A real smile, not his usual shit-eating grin or smarmy smirk.  A real smile that, paired with his gorgeous eyes, makes his face transform into something beautiful.  It’s like he’s lifted his mask for a moment and is showing you who he really is.

“You’re tempted.”  He sounds in awe of the revelation, and he leans back against the wall.  “Holy shit, you’re really tempted by it.”

“No, I’m—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off.  “You are.”  His smile stays fixed on his face, and he shakes his head.  “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

You grumble out the weakest rebuttal, but he only laughs and shakes his head again, and the last half hour is passed in uncomfortable silence:  you as you email the shopping list to Carmy with hands you will into steadiness, and Richie as he grins at you and chuckles to himself.

Of course he drives you home, just as he always does.

And of course he parks his car and comes up to your apartment when you invite him up, which is a first.

*****

A therapist would have a lifetime of secure business if Richie ever decided to pursue therapy for himself.  Not that he would—feelings are bullshit, and life is tough all over—but if he did…there’d be a lot of deep shit to mine.

At the core of him, Richie is desperately insecure.  He had a dicey childhood, and he glommed on the Berzatto family to make up for his own family’s shortcomings.  He had Tiff, for a glorious while, then lost her.  He has his daughter, but only part-time.  He lost Mikey, the nearest thing to a brother, and now he’s slowly losing The Beef as it becomes something more than a sandwich shop.

No wonder he feels lost all the time.  No wonder he lashes out and hurts those closest to him.

No wonder he’s been riding your ass for months, trying to get you to quit even as his initial dislike has mellowed out to acceptance and then to…something else he won’t name.

He can’t lie to himself:  that night in the basement shifted things.  Maybe you concussed him along with the dislocated nose.  Maybe he has slight brain damage.  He can’t account for it any other way, how seeing you so terrified caused a sea-change in him.  How feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He won’t name it.  He won’t even think it.  The most he’ll admit is, “maybe I don’t completely hate her.”

Which somehow turns into this moment.  The two of you awkwardly standing in your entryway, unsure if the other is bluffing, unsure if the other is serious.  There’s too much bad blood in your shared past, and you each are expecting the other to say “sike!,” to turn it into a humiliating story to share in the morning with the crew.

You’re both wrong. 

“So, uh, nice place.”  He looks around your apartment and rubs the back of his neck.  “You got a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“Yeah.  Nice.”  He takes a few steps deeper into your place, and he studies the titles on the nearest bookshelf.  “Stephen King.  Clive Barker.  You like the spooky shit, huh?”

“Nothing as scary as being ambushed in the basement at night by you.”

He snorts, shakes his head.  As he’s softened towards you, your teasing has gotten gentler too.  You’ve always rose to meet his energy, and now that he’s not actively despising you (he won’t name it, he will not), you aren’t actively despising him.

“Nothing as scary as seeing a giant fucking sheet pan flying at your face—”

You cut him off.  “Okay, Richie.  Enough.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Enough words.  More action.”  You face him and lift your eyebrows challengingly.  “Unless this was all a ruse.”

He shakes his head.

“Unless this is just a prank to embarrass me later.”

He shakes his head again, and he flexes his hands along his sides.  He’s itching to reach out and touch you—he remembers the feel of you in his arms, the way you tucked so perfectly against him when you were scared.  You had been relieved to see it had been him; you had felt safe enough to reach for him, and he’s been chasing that high ever since.  A therapist would make short work of this moment, but Richie wants to feel important to you again.  He wants to feel like you need him to protect you, to shelter you.  He wants to feel like a man, needed, necessary—

You’re talking but he doesn’t register the words.  Instead, he reaches for you, pulls you to him, and when you look up at him in surprise, he dips his head and kisses you.

It’s brutal at first.  He’s out of practice.  He’s certainly never kissed someone like you—someone so infuriatingly challenging—and he mashes his lips too hard against yours, can feel your wince as you struggle to kiss him back.  So he breaks the kiss and tries again, much more carefully, and it’s so much better:  the softness of your lips, the quiet moan you give as you kiss him back.

Maybe you need it bad, but he needs it just as bad, and when he considers why he does, he pushes the thought away completely.  Because if he thinks on it too much in this moment, if he thinks on how good it feels, the way you tug at his clothes—eager but shy, your hands steady but your eyes unable to meet his—he’d have to face an uncomfortable truth.

Still, he needs to see you.  Needs to look you in the eye.  He grasps your chin and tilts your face until you’re looking at him.

“You okay with this?”  He says it softly.  He says it as kindly as he can.

“Yeah.”  You nod, then add, “no one needs to know, right?”

“Right.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Exactly.”

You offer him a smile, and it’s genuine.  It’s not your normal smart-ass smirk, the way one corner of your mouth lifts higher than the other.  It’s a real smile, and he has to push that uncomfortable truth away again because if you’re cute when you smirk, you’re beautiful when you smile, and Richie can’t dwell on the fact.

“C’mon then, Richard.  Bedroom’s this way.”

“Asshole,” he huffs out, but you push his jacket off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and you tug him down your hallway. 

You alternate and he lets you strip him and yourself—a piece of his clothing, a piece of yours.  You leave a trail so that you’re both nearly naked once you’re in the bedroom.  He stands in front of you, his boxers tented, and he takes in the sight of you.  In standard, everyday lingerie—dark grey bra and panties—but the everyday shit makes his mouth run dry.  Elaborate lingerie is not really his thing, but seeing a woman in her everyday shit, the comfortable cotton shit…that feels more special, somehow.  Like you woke up that morning and put on the functional stuff, but now here you are, nearly naked for him.

You always rise to meet his energy.  He’s openly ogling you now, and you gaze back at him, openly staring back.  He has a moment of doubt—maybe he should lift more, cut back on beers after work—but your eyes are blown dark with desire, and it makes his cock twitch to see it.

You seem to want him as much as he wants you. 

“C’mere, you fucking pain in the ass,” he growls, and you roll your eyes but bridge the distance between you.  You press the length of your near-naked body against his, and the sudden touch makes him bite back a groan.  He puts his hands on your waist, and you lay your palms against his chest, and you kiss again.

The kiss grows and grows.  He bullies his way into your mouth, sweeps his tongue and licks against your mouth, and you answer in kind.  You kiss him back, and your hands stroke his chest, his shoulders, his arms.  One snakes lower and grasps him through his boxers, and he swears against your lips at the feel of your palm stoking him.

He pushes you backwards towards the bed.  He pushes you until you hit the bed, and then he pushes you down, but you reach out and grasp him golden chain and tug him down to join you. 

You always rise to meet him.  He takes charge and slots himself between your legs, but you move eagerly.  When he lowers himself onto you, still partially dressed, you lift yourself up and press against him.  Your clothed breasts against his chest, and he dips his head and tugs the cups of your bra down until you’re exposed to him.  He lowers his head and kisses you, works his mouth against you.  He sucks a mark on each curve of your breast, right where your bra will cover.  He wants you to see them and think of him, a pair of mementos to this moment.

“Fuck, Richie.”  You breathe it out, and your hand cups the back of his head.  You hold him against you, and he’s too happy to stay here for a while:  sucking against your nipples, biting lightly until you squirm.  Laving your tender buds with the flat of his tongue, pinching and tugging until you shove him away with a groan.

“Too much,” you whine, but you tangle in his chain again and tug his mouth to yours.  He kisses you, relishes how flushed your skin feels under his lips as he kisses his way across your face, down your neck, across your bare shoulders.  He pauses long enough to undo your bra in earnest, tosses it aside.  Then he kisses his way down your chest again, traces his tongue further down to your soft belly until his chin is perched right on the waistband of your panties.

“Can I?” he asks.  He traces a finger under the lace edging, and he watches your face.  You gaze back at him, your eyes still dark and pupils blown.  Your lips are swollen, and your chest rises and falls with how hard you’re breathing.

You nod.  “You can take them off.”

“Is that it?  Nothing else?”

You laugh, breathless.  “Some other time.  Really want you to fuck me instead.”

Some other time.  The thought makes Richie’s dick twitch at the idea of doing this another time.

You feel him twitch against you.  You laugh again to feel it, and you lift a leg to hook it clumsily along the waistband of his boxers.  You try to push them down, and then you’re chanting “come on, come on, come on” as he scrambles to shuck off the rest of his clothing, scrambles to hook his fingers under your panties as he draws them down your legs. 

“Condoms in the bedside stand,” you tell him, and he opens the drawer, snags one.  He notes the bright pink vibrator there but doesn’t remark on it.  He’ll tuck the image away and revisit it days later in the shower:  a rich bit of fantasy where he pictures you masturbating to the thought of him.

He tears the foil with his teeth, and he watches you as he rolls the condom on himself.  You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, better than he ever imagined, and a galling little voice in the back of his head asks, “so you’ve been imagining her, huh, asshole?”

He ignores the voice and what it might say next.  He stands over you and asks instead, “how do you want me, sweetheart?”

Another smile.  A genuine one.  “However you want it.”

“Anal, then.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and Richie thinks he might love that—the way he surprises you into laughing.  You prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him.  You kick out a bare foot and press your toes low against his belly, centimeters away from touching the tip of his cock where it stands at attention.

“Not that,” you chide.  “That requires prep.”

“Not a no, sweetheart.”

“It’s a no for this moment.”

“Hmm.  Interesting.”  He grips your ankle and circles it with his hand, and he bends your leg.  Pushes it away from him, pushes it closer to you, and it reveals your gorgeous pussy to him:  the neat-trimmed curls, the slick arousal, the swollen bud of your clit.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he groans to see you.  “Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.”

“Missionary works for me,” you reply.  “Old reliable.”

So he climbs onto you.  He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide.  You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

“You haven’t done much,” you point out. 

“Smart-ass.”  He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and he drags the tip of himself through your folds.  He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance.  He looks down and pushes just the tip in, and the sight of it—barely inside you, the promise of burying himself inside you—makes his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

“Richie.”  You reach up with one hand to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.  “Fuck me, please.”

Your other hand finds the small of his back.  You can’t quite reach his ass, so you lay your palm against the small of his back and urge him forward, and he pushes into you.  He goes slow but steady, and he hears your small gasp as your tight cunt makes room for him.  He feels the stretch of it, the smooth muscles twitching at him, and he studies your face for any pain but finds none.

“Pussy’s gripping at me,” he grits out once he’s seated in you.  “Guess you needed it bad after all.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You bear down on him, squeeze him like a fist, and it makes him choke out a curse.  “You needed it bad too, I think.”

“Not complaining here, sweetheart.”

You take his chain in your hand and tug him down to you again.  You kiss him, then mumble against his mouth, “so fuck me then, Richard.  Move.”

He does as you ask.  You’re a pain in the ass, and you’re a representative of all the change occurring in his life without his permission, but he wants to make it good for you.  He remembers the way you clung to him that night in the basement, and he wants to capture that feeling again…even as he shoves the memory aside and begins to fuck you in earnest.

He doesn’t thrust in and out so much as up and down; he learned this move a long time ago and knows it feels better for his partner.  His thrusts hit every part—each reseating brushes the tip of him against the end of you, and it makes you whine each time.  The slide in and out, at this angle, draws along the firm bud of your clit.  And each time he pushes himself home, the base of him grinds along your clit too, and it makes him feel like a million bucks when you gasp out his name, warn him that you’re close—

“Fuck, fuck.  God, Richie, I’m c-close.  Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—"

And then it tears out of you:  the hard snap of your hips as you lift them to meet his most punishing thrust, the way you tremble under him, your legs shaking, your eyes rolled back in your head.  The way your cunt grips him, ripples against him until it feels like he’s being pulled into your body, and the thought takes hold of him.  He wants to crawl inside you, wants to fill you with himself, wants to merge with you, and the thoughts are so rapid-fire he feels insane for a moment before he settles.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, surprised.  “Holy shit.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You lift your head and kiss the side of his neck, and he adjusts himself and keeps fucking you.

He’s hit his rhythm now; he deals you hard thrusts and you take them.  You beg for more.  His arms burn as he arches over you.  His calves burn as he drives his cock into you, and sweat beads along his hairline.  He’s covered in a sheen of it, but he doesn’t stop.  He fucks you hard, and his gold necklace swings in time to his thrusts.  It hits you in your face until you hook it with a finger and put the fucking thing in your mouth, and he doesn’t know why it's so hot—maybe it makes him think of your mouth on parts of him instead of just his necklace. 

He makes you come a second time, and it breaks around you again, leaves you trembling and incoherent, but after you recover, you push him over.  It’s easy for you to do—he’s winded as fuck from all his smoking—and Richie finds himself underneath you as you ride him.

He’s happy for the break, but he’s happy to see this side of you.  Any shyness from earlier is long gone.  You sit astride him and bounce on his cock, and it makes your tits bounce too, and he can look down at where he disappears into your tight, wet pussy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he tells you so.

“S’fine,” you pant out.  “Want you to come too, Richie.”

Then you reach down and take his hands in yours, you place his hands on your tits, and he sort of loves how you take charge at the end.  You push your chest into his hands and ride him, and once he’s touching you there—pinching at your nipples until you arch your back—you reach down and touch yourself.  He watches, transfixed, as you rub a tight circle against your clit, and he can feel you getting close now.  Two orgasms down, he can feel the warning signs.

“Try to come with me,” you order him.  “Want to feel it.”

He’s close.  He’s been close for a while, has been forestalling his own pleasure by listing out White Sox statistics in his head.  But now he wants to come with you as you’ve asked (he wants to do everything for you, anything you ask, he wants all of it, and he struggles to push the thoughts away this time).  He breathes in time with your riding, and he feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches.

“I’m close,” he warns.  “Fuck, sweetheart, are you close?”

“Y-y-yes.”  You close your eyes and drop your head, focusing on whatever you’re feeling.

“Gonna come with me?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You take a sharp breath, then moan as you come a third time, and if he doesn’t quite come with you at exactly the same time, it’s close enough:  the way your pussy grasps at him, draws him in deeper is enough to push him over the edge, and he shifts his hands to your waist.  He pulls you down onto him and stills, feels the pulse of his orgasm as he spills in the condom.

It takes him a long while to recover.  He feels weightless.  Boneless.  He feels like he’s melting into the covers of your bed.  Like he could sleep for a hundred years.  Like he could give up cigarettes and Xanax if he could just stay here and fuck  you whenever his anxiety or insomnia are too much….

You dismount on shaky legs, and you disappear.  When you return, you’re in an oversized t-shirt that skims the top of your thighs, and you hand him a warm washcloth.

“You can take your time,” you tell him.  “No rush.”

Richie reaches down and pulls the condom off.  He ties it off and looks around until he sees a waste bin.  He tosses it, then flops back down on your bed.

“Just need a minute,” he says, but his voice is already thick with sleep, and he doesn’t remember anything else until morning when he wakes up to the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon.

He doesn’t remember you standing over him, bemused as you watch him snore.  He doesn’t remember you lying down beside him, covering both of you with a blanket.

And he certainly doesn’t remember reaching for you in his sleep.  He doesn’t remember how you wrap your arms around him, just like that night in the basement of The Beef, and how he sighs at the feeling of you tucked against him again.

[writingoddess1125]

Fight for Pleasure

Mihawk x FemReader

Now this is some true Kinky shit- 👍🏽 Enjoy 😉

Sorry it's late!

MUST BE 18+ TO READ!

⚠️Warnings:⚠️ Hard Sex, Unprotected sex, Biting, Blood drawn, Fighting.

Day 3. Hate Fuck

"Good Evening Ma'am" the handsome Marine bowed respectfully to you holding a arm out to you which you ignored and stepped off the dock of the ship and passing him. They constantly tried to do this, bringing the prettiest of their Marines in order to woo you into cooperation.

Being one of the Warlords on occasions you were summoned to nice places like this as a 'Show of Good Faith' in this case it being a resort which was emptied for the Warlords and paid in full. The World Goverment finding it cheaper to just let the Warlords indulge in whores, food and drink then letting them roam at times.

That and this was usually what they did in order to ask for some sort of favor which you imagined would be arriving by tommorow morning. Walking into the Resort you could already hear the Chaos- Mainly one source of it being the newest member Buggy the Clown.

Chaos which was the drunk floating clown having a field day with some booze and laughing with someone that was obscured- truthfully not wanting to bother checking.

You made a B-Line right for the bar. Seeing the other Warlords there already having their fill of paid for delights. Even passing by Boa who seemed just as unamused as you and you two gave a brief nod at each other.

Stepping into the bar you saw the lone Bartender, clearly not as heavily used since the bottles of ale, rum, and other strong liquors were out in the main resort area were most of your fellow Lords were gathered.

"A Daiquiri please" You asked, putting some berries in the tip jar. The Bartender smiling at this and quick to start making the order.

"Another bother of Tarapacá" You heard from the voice you loathed the most- Sending a glare up to your left to see non other then Dracule 'Hawkeye' Mihawk. Aka the stuck up asshole you were forced the share air with.

"You know a please to him wouldn't kill you-" You hissed in annoyance, Typically not caring for impolitness from your peers but Mihawk was an exception to this rule.

He sneered down at you, waiting for the bottle as he rolled his eyes not even bothering with you.

"Ah isn't it the tramp- Don't concern yourself with how I speak to others" He growled at you, But your own temper flaring at his insult.

"Tramp!? Oh you're one to talk- Everyone knows you probably have more spawns then Big Mom" You snapped back which made him glare hard at you, His yellow eyes staring hard at you as his face twisted up- The Bartender gently setting down the bottle for Mihawk then the Daiquiri for you.

"Let's not forget that little girl you keep on your island" You chime in a sing song voice, His hand clenching as you stood up with a smirk- You were one of the few who knew of Perona and while you were aware he most likely hadn't been intimate with her didn't mean you wouldn't throw it back in his face.

"How are you aware of that child?- Let alone got the incorrect idea of my relationship with her. Or My Island" He said hissing at you, You turned back with a sarcastic smile sipping your drink.

"I have my ways Hawkeye" You say sweetly, which made him grab the bottle and fling it in your direction which you dodged.

"You spied on me and went to my home?-" He guessed correctly which made you smile. Downing your drink you kicked one of the chairs in his direction which he snatched and tossed away, Marching towards you pissed. His eyes practically glowing at this imformation you toss the glass at his feet and glare at him- This making him stop.

"So tell me...What keeps me from killing you" He hissed out, rage and hatred pouring from his lips like venom.

"Cause you like me too much~" Hou chimed, walking from the bar completely- Warmth blooming in your stomach at how his eyes stared at you the sour taste of remembering it was Mihawk snapped you from those thoughts.

Walking down the hall to were your suite was, you tried to push away the small argument from Mihawk, whistling a mindless tune before the world spun- Feeling yourself slammed against a near by wall you glared hard as you saw it was Mihawk again- The smell of wine on his breath made you sneer.

"What do you think you're doing you drunk asshole" You hissed, reaching forward and roughly grabbing the collar of his shirt. After a moment of silence he crashed his lips into yours, Biting them roughly as he did so- Growling you pull him closer as the taste of blood and wine filled you senses. You pulled back to get air in your aching lungs and bit down on his neck earning a pained hiss from the fellow Warlord. "Perverted Bastard"

"Vile whore" Mihawk hissed at you- your hand shooting up and grabbing a handful of hair and yanked his head back which earned him growling moan. Quickly he yanked you towards the suite pulling at his coat as you practically tore open the hotel room door.

"F- Fuck!!" You screamed out, feeling him slam you into the nearest wall hard. Picking your legs up and wrapping them around his waist he glared hard at you in what could only be described as disgust, before taking his free hand and ripping your top open to see your exposed breast and attacking them with his mouth.

You moaned out as his hands ripped away at your bottoms, his teeth pulling and Biting your nipples as his hands dug into the flesh of your ass. Your own hands ripping away the wide brim hat and tossing it to the side which earned a glare from the Man. Smirking at this you take the opportunity and lean down, Running your tongue up his neck earning a rumbling moan from him, Until you bit down hard, feeling blood touch your tongue and him grab your hair to yank you away glaring hard as blood dribbled down the side of his neck.

"Fucking animal-"

Hawkeye mutter before harshly tossing you onto the large bed, earning a surprised yelp from you as you bounce on the bed- Glaring at his smug face as he followed after you and crawled towards you quickly moving to pin you but you slipped from his grasp. In a flash you grabbed at his pants and ripped them from the side with a smirk on your face and a scowl from him.

"These were expensive-" He growled as he tosses his ruined clothes to the side, his throbbing cock now on full display.

"Aww can't take what you dish out~" You tease gesturing to your shredded clothes on the floor. The two of you glared at each other at a stand still to see who would attach first- Mihawk suddently springing I to action as he dove for you once more, this time grabbing your leg and trying to pull you to him.

You laugh at this and instead scoot yourself close to him throwing him off completely as you pounce on him- knocking him to his back hard enough that the bed snapped and tilted in the directed of the force, You Sitting on his chest with a evil smirk.

"Not fast en- EEP!" You yell as he sits up suddently and grabs your waist keeping your upper body high as you fall against his stomach. He smirked down at you, seeing your face red before dived his mouth inbetween your legs.

Arching your back in pleasure as you felt him aggressively eat you out, trying to pull yourself up from the position but he only tightened his grip- The feeling of his hardened member pressed against your upper back from the upside position, as well as the head rush from the blood rushing from your head.

Moaning loudly as your legs tightened around his head. His fingers digging hard into the flesh of your hips as you came into his awaiting mouth and cut air from him. Feeling how he lapped at every drop you gave as your body shuttered and spasmed from pleasure. He then tried to pull away till you locked your legs keeping him from pulling back, a evil smirk on your face. He struggled for a few seconds, until you felt his mouth open again and his teeth brush far too close to your clit like he was going to-

"YOU BETTER NOT!" You yelped and released him quickly, moving yourself away from the cackling man as he ran his tongue over his teeth and lips like he savored the taste.

"Aw can't take what you dish out Darling?~" He growled out smiling at your defensiveness and suspicion. Glaring hard at him your hand shoots out and grabs his cock.

He grunted as your grabbed him roughly, your sharp nails gently running up the side of his shaft like a pleasurable and silent threat. Leaning down you place a long slow lick over the length of his shaft, earning a hissing moan at the sight and feeling.

"Aww you got quiet quick~"

You smile at his reddened face as you made him come undone your fingers squeezing on the swollen head of his cock earning a angry growl from him at your teasing.

"Don't tease me women" He hissed, grabbing your wrist and yanking you so you were on him your bare chest pressed onto his as he went to bite your neck once again pushing forward you headbutt him which knocked him back off the bed but he pulled you with him as you both landed and crushed the nightstand.

Taking advantage of your dazed state he rolled the two of you over on the rubble and pinned your hands next to your head, A dark gleam in his eyes at this.

Tossing your head back as you gave out a forced moan as he entered you quickly and hard. Still sensitive from the brutally forced orgasms of before as Mihawk snapped his hips to fill you body and soul, setting a brutal pace he began to fuck you like an animal. Your body sliding across the carpet as he fucked you as far as possible, your moans of bliss ripping through your throat at the speed. His fingers releasing your hands which fly to wrap around his back.

Mihawk grunted hard as he slammed into your hips again, ignoring your cry in bliss from the multiple orgasms at this point and his own hips losing its rhythm from his own coming undone, his fingers digging into the carpet around your head as he gave a few more powerful thrust- Your nails slicing into his back and drawing blood as you screamed to another hard orgasm drew him in finally. A howl in pleasure ripping through his throat as he stuffed you as deeply as possible, he fell onto you from the force as the two of you laid there a panting mess.

You foggy to the brain feel him run his tongue over the cut on your lips, parting your lips at the request you kiss him deeply in the after glow of it all. You two pulled back only when Mihawk finally gets the strength to pull out of you and roll onto his side with a tired sigh.

"Must we always fight in order to fuck?"

You question still exhausted and laying there on the carpet fairly sure you had some level of carpet burn on your back. You hear a questioning hum from Mihawk, Clearly not wishing to think of that question further as he laid there relaxing.

You sit up from the floor a familiar ache between your legs, seeing the destroyed furniture, the ripped up sheets and clear dent in the wall from were Hawkeye slammed you. In short it looked two beast had destroyed this room in either battle or fucking- in this case both.

"You're paying for the damages for this room" You point out, Mihawk opening one eye from his lounging position on the floor hands behind his head and comforbly dozing.

"Hmph.... fine-"

[quill-beetlewing]

I've just re-read the short lived duel that Aeneas and Achilles have in Book 20 of the Iliad and it's actually the most hilarious fucking thing.

So it starts out with Apollo disguising himself as Lycaon, one of Priam's many sons, and telling to have a go at Achilles. Keep in mind that this is post-Patroclus Achilles. Aka: berserk Achilles. Aka: so fucking mad he would fight a literal river Achilles.

Aeneas, who is capable of critical thinking, says he doubts he can actually take him on. He also references a time when he was herding cattle on Mount Ida and Achilles ambushed him, adding that the only reason he survived then was because Zeus gave him enough strength to book it (cracking up the official times that he's been saved by a god from certain death to 3, you go dude!).

However, after a bit of back and forth and a ton of hyping up on Apollo's part, Aeneas decides to try anyway.

Like, what could possibly go wrong?

Achilles notices Aeneas charging at him and he begins to taunt him. It's something among the lines of: "I'm sorry, are you, background trojan character #61, actually gonna try and beat me? And then what? Do you think that Priam will reward you in some way? Maybe making you king after him? Well it's BULLSHIT, because Priam fucked so much that your chances of succeeding him are basically 0. Ahah. Loser."

Now, you'd think that maybe Aeneas got enraged at the comment and attacked him, or maybe he even got scared and backed down, but NOPE. What does Aeneas do?

Well, first of all, he insults Achilles' insults, comparing his bickering to that of a child. Literally, "I heard third graders do better than that." And then he decides to list his and Hector's entire fucking family tree.

You know that part of the Bible that's like "this guy sired this other guy, and this other guy sired yet another guy" and so on? It's basically that.

So after he's done with all that, Aeneas states that while he'd love to have a battle of insults with Achilles, because according to him he's actually very good at insulting people (his words, not mine), they should probably throw hands now. Achilles agrees.

The duel is shortlived and Aeneas gets his ass handed to him. Badly. As expected. And he's about die when ✨️POV shift✨️ we're not on Olympus where Poseidon, Hera and Athena are watching this absolute train wreck go down.

Poseidon, pitying Aeneas, suddenly goes on a rant. It's something among the lines of: "come on guys, look at him, he's just a little guy! He literally has no stakes in this war, he doesn't deserve to die here! He even gives us lots of gifts and sacrifices, he's literally such a nice guy. How can we do this to him!?

...oh and also he's part of some prophecy, Zeus would get mad if he died."

The fact that the way it's worded makes it sound like Aeneas being part of a literal prophecy is an afterthought to him absolutely floors me, Poseidon is literally just attached to a random dude that's fighting on the opposite side to his because he thinks he's nice.

After all that Hera is pretty unimpressed and states that she really doesn't care if our man lives or dies as neither her or Athena have ever saved a Trojan from death, she however adds that Poseidon is free to do whatever he wants.

The literal moment Hera stops talking, Poseidon lunges down from Olympus and onto the battlefield to look for the two combatants. When he does, he saves Aeneas like only he can do.

You know how when Diomedes first tries to kill Aeneas, Aphrodite gently folds her hands around him to shield him? There's none of that here. Poseidon just runs up to him and literally flings the motherfucker.

It literally says that he flies "high in the air". It's like a Looney Toons sketch.

So Aeneas lands and, while he's obviously a bit dazed, Poseidon proceeds to call him a madman and essentially tells him to never do something stupid like that again and just wait until Achilles is dead, then he'll be able to murder Achaeans to his heart's content. Aeneas is fine with that.

Achilles, who just saw his opponent just get yeeted into the fucking sky, just shrugs and goes "welp, guess that guy's off limits, I'm gonna go kill someone else now I guess lol".

This entire scene is pure fucking gold and the fact that I've literally never seen anyone talk about it just breaks my heart.

[lunar-wandering]

sugar starved

it's doneeeee like i said this is just 8k of me being absolutely nuts. dont expect plot here.

TWs: uh, biting, blood drinking (don't worry about it), kissing... (i think that's it??)

Word Count: 8.4k

Read on Ao3

“Shit!”

Well, that couldn’t be a good sign.

Wukong slammed another hypnotized demon’s head into the ground, knocking them unconscious, whirling around and kicking another demon in the gut as he directed half of his attention towards the pained swear that had come from behind him. A short distance away, MK and Mei were blocking any enemies from reaching Macaque, who had fallen down onto one knee, clutching his leg.

Even from this distance, Wukong could see the smattering of blood on the pavement.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, then ripped a handful of fur from his arm, blowing on it to summon some clones, mentally directing them in various directions to even out the fight. One specifically went and scooped Macaque out of the way of an axe wielding demon that had slipped past MK and Mei’s defense line, quickly carrying the other monkey to a nearby rooftop.

Wukong could feel the phantom sensation of Macaque smacking the clone’s back with his hand, as well as the faint whispers of complaints in his ear. He payed them no mind, jumping up to knee someone in the face, quickly bringing up his other leg in a follow up swing to shove them into another demon, sending them both into a wall hard enough to make it break. He spared a glance towards the rooftop for a moment, checking to make sure his clone was standing guard, before shooting his hand up to grab a wrist just before the fist attached to it could make contact with the side of his face. Wukong tightened his grip, twisted to the side, planted his foot, and flung them into the pavement with just barely non-lethal force.

He winced a bit as he heard a few bones crack.

…Maybe he should tone it down a little. Most of these demons weren’t doing this of their own free will after all.

Almost as though just thinking that had willed it, the buzzing sensation that Wukong had been pushing to the back of his mind suddenly came to an end. Wukong glanced up to see that MK had tackled some dressed up demon to the ground, and that Mei was currently stamping on some sort of- walkie talkie?

The demons that had been slowly approaching him crumbled to the ground. A few of them made noises of pain. Wukong almost wanted to do something similar. Despite having not actually been under the influence of whatever had been affecting the others, now that the buzzing was gone, he was suddenly being made aware of a killer headache. Headaches weren’t that out of the ordinary for him, but with the way this one felt, it was likely going to become a migraine sooner or later, and disrupt his well fought for peace.

Speaking of things that frequently disrupt his peace…

Wukong glanced back up towards the rooftop where his clone was waiting for him. He raised an eyebrow, and his clone responded by giving a gesture which clearly implied that he should ‘get up here, now.’

Wukong let out a sigh.

And then he jumped up, grabbing onto a signpost with his hand, swinging around it and using the momentum to fling himself up onto the rooftop. He dispelled his clone as he landed, dusting off his hands.

“So!” He said, “What’s the damage?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ooh, that’s not good.” Wukong crouched down beside where Macaque was partially curled up, the other glaring up at him. “Normally your insults are a lot more dignified than that.”

“Again, fuck you.” There was less heat behind it this time, shockingly. Wukong’s ear twitched as he assessed the way Macaque was clutching at his leg, before moving to grab his hands. Macaque’s tail puffed up in agitation. “Don’t touch me!”

“Hey, I can’t help you out if you won’t let me look!” Wukong grabbed hold of Macaque’s hands, overpowering him and finally getting a clear look at the injury. He hissed with sympathy. “Ah, that does look bad.”

Three long gashes ran down Macaque’s leg, from his knee to just above his ankle. His pant leg was practically shredded. Wukong didn’t think any level of thread and needle could fix the fabric… well, Macaque probably had plenty of extras anyways, hopefully.

The blood was dripping onto the roof underneath him and, well, Wukong didn’t really notice before but… man did it smell sweet.

Macaque’s magic always tended to lean on the sugary side- or, well, ‘lean’ was too small a word. Macaque’s magic was majorly sweet. It kinda smelled a bit like sugar cookies- if they were comprised of 90% sugar. It was the sweetest thing Wukong had ever tasted if he was being honest, immortal peaches being a close second.

…Not that he had had a taste of either in recent years. Macaque magic, specifically, well, Wukong hadn’t gotten a taste of his magic since- well. Before.

Macaque’s body runs on magic now, of course. His blood practically was magic.

Fuck, it smells really good.

Wukong was getting way too distracted by it.

“You got first aid stuff on ya?” He asked. He didn’t carry any on himself and, well, using his hair as a substitute for it never really turned out well. (Wukong didn’t even want to think about the number of infected wounds he’d accidentally given to himself over the years. No, those were incidents he’d prefer remain as distant memories). He really should figure out a way to store some first aid on himself- wait. He could shrink things, why had he never thought to- shit, he was getting distracted again.

Macaque didn’t give him a verbal response, instead rolling his eyes, a shadow pooling beside Wukong. Hesitatingly, (he wouldn’t doubt that Macaque would choose to play a prank even when injured), Wukong dipped his tail into the shadow, gripping onto a handle, pulling out a first aid kit. Setting it down, he clicked it open, looking over what he had. Unsurprisingly, it was pretty well stocked. Wukong had to wonder where Macaque had even gotten some of this stuff, he doubted the other had bought it.

Well, first things first was cleaning the wound.

Wukong brushed the shredded remains of Macaque’s pant leg out of the way, gripping Macaque’s ankle and pulling his leg towards him, ignoring Macaque’s hiss of pain as he started cleaning the cuts. They didn’t look too deep, Wukong would admit he’d been the slightest bit worried because of how Macaque was acting, but, then again, the shadow monkey always did have a shit pain tolerance. Wukong leaned down a little closer, eyes flickering gold to make sure he wasn’t missing anything-

Oh, the sweet scent of Macaque’s magic was so much stronger this close. He- he really craved- he wanted-

Mind completely lost, Wukong licked a line of blood off of Macaque’s leg, and then froze. Macaque, who had let out an outright squeak at the sensation, froze as well as the two of them suddenly locked eyes.

“Oh, ew!” They both jumped as MK’s voice interrupted their… moment, turning to see both him and Mei only just barely over the edge of the rooftop. “Did not want to see that! If you kids are going to do weird shit, do it behind closed doors, please!”

“I’m centuries older than you!” Wukong replied, instinctively, before the rest of MK’s sentence, along with the entirety of what just happened finally hit him, and he recoiled, letting go of Macaque’s leg and backing away, face igniting with gold. “And- and we weren’t doing anything weird!”

“Uh-huh, sure.” MK sounded entirely unconvinced, and beside him, Mei put her hands on her hips in an equally as doubtful pose. “Nothing happened, and Macaque definitely doesn’t look like he’s about to pass out.”

There was a small thump from beside him, and Wukong turned to find that Macaque had, in fact, passed out. Perfectly on queue too. Dramatic as always. MK let out a curse.

“Oh, shit, I was joking, I didn’t think he actually would-” Both him and Mei quickly ran forwards, restarting what Wukong had gotten distracted from. Mei started re-cleaning Macaque’s leg, while MK quickly checked Macaque’s head for any possible injuries. “Do you think it’s from blood loss or, uh-”

“Eh, hard to tell.” Wukong knelt down beside Macaque again, gently flicking the other’s cheek. He felt a steady returning echo of magic, so, “His magic seems to be stable. He was probably just overwhelmed, or something. …Can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely no reason behind it at all.” Mei said, reaching around Wukong to grab the bandages out of the first aid kit, tightly wrapping them around Macaque’s leg. Wukong avoided eye contact with both her and MK. The sweet scent was still lingering in both his nose and mouth- he subconsciously licked his lip. Suddenly, he felt a prickle indicating eyes were on him, and he looked up to find that MK was staring at him with something like concerned wariness.

“…Monkey King.” MK started, slowly, “I know you and Macaque are… complicated, but you’re not planning on… eating him, right? Cause you uh, you can’t do that.”

“Ea- I’m not going to eat him.” Wukong said, offended, “I don’t- I’ve never- where are you getting that idea from?”

“I don’t know, Mr. King.” Mei finished up bandaging Macaque’s leg, pulling a sticker out of her pocket and placing it on top of her work- for some reason. “You’ve been staring at him kinda hungrily.”

“…I don’t think that’s a way you can stare at someone.” Wukong rubbed the back of his neck, “Besides, even if I did like, do the whole, ‘eating people’ thing- which I don’t. I certainly wouldn’t eat him, he’d probably taste gross.”

Well. He’d probably taste really sweet actually. He found his eyes drifting down to where Macaque’s neck would be visible, if it weren’t for the other’s scarf. Now that the injury was bandaged, the scent wasn’t as strong anymore- but it was still there…

“You certainly didn’t seem to think he was gross when you were licking Macaque’s leg.” Mei said, snapping Wukong out of his staring and making his face burn.

“That was- I was just- um. My saliva helps things heal faster?”

“Y’know, I’d almost believe that if you hadn’t said it like that.” MK said, digging around in his pocket, before seemingly finding what he was looking for. “Open your mouth.”

“Wha-” Wukong was cut off as, faster than he could blink, MK unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it into Wukong’s mouth. “Hey-”

“Lick something that’s supposed to be licked.” MK said, standing up, summoning the staff into his hand and walking towards the edge of the roof, Mei silently following after him. “Me and Mei have a dance party to get to- if I don’t hear from Macaque by midnight, I will be accusing you of cooking him!”

Wukong’s offended cry that, again, he did not eat people, fell on seemingly deaf ears as both MK and Mei jumped down from the roof’s edge, vanishing, leaving Wukong crouching on the rooftop beside a still unconscious Macaque.

After a few minutes, he sighed, using his tongue to turn the lollipop over in his mouth.

It was peach flavoured.

…It still wasn’t as sweet as-

Wukong shook that thought out of his head- oh, huh. Somehow, in between earlier and now, his headache had vanished. That was… weird. He’d been sure it was going to become a migraine. Maybe the distraction was all he’d needed? …Whatever. He didn’t have the time to focus on that.

He glanced down at Macaque, and sighed, before placing his hands underneath him and lifting him up as gently as he could. As much as some mean-spirited part of him might wish to do so, he couldn’t just leave the other on top of a random rooftop. The least he could do was get Macaque back to his dojo- or, well their dojo, at the current moment. Flower Fruit Mountain was still unsuitable for living in, at the current moment. Reforming his past house required a lot of magic and focus, and, well, Wukong may or may not be lacking in one of those departments, so it was taking quite a while.

Not to mention he’d had a late start on it. …A month’s long late start to it. Procrastination could be such a bitch sometimes.

So, he’d been staying at Macaque’s dojo for the time being. (MK had offered his apartment, and Sandy had offered his boat, but… Macaque’s dojo was the only other building around with a built in pocket space that could fit all of Wukong’s stuff. Or, well, what remained of it. Wukong didn’t really want to think about all that had gotten destroyed during the fight against Azure, he’d salvaged what he could, and that was that. He definitely didn’t still think of the items that were either destroyed or missing).

Or, well, he was kind of staying there. Sure, his stuff was stored there, and he’d spent like, maybe one or two nights guarding said stuff, but he had yet to actually, like, sleep there. After he was certain Macaque wasn’t going to go through his stuff, he’d been spending most of his time either hanging out with the kid and the others at the Noodle Shop, or finding a random tree to rest in.

Which was why he paused when, upon kicking down random doors, he paused upon the discovery that, at some point, Macaque had seemingly prepared a room for him.

Or, well, it wasn’t really a new discovery. Wukong had heard him mumbling about how he’d “gone through the effort of putting a room together for nothing”, but he had assumed the other had just been joking- poking fun over how Wukong currently preferred a tree branch over an actual bed. Apparently, this was not the case.

Wukong took a quick glance down the hallway. There were still multiple doors to try if he wanted to find Macaque’s actual room, but, well, there was a bed right here, so.

He quickly stepped in and dropped the other unceremoniously onto the bed- and then winced as the other let out a slightly pained whimper in his sleep. Ah. Right. Injured leg. You’re meant to be careful with injured people.

…Sue him. It’s been centuries since he’d last had to deal with caring for an injured person that wasn’t himself, he was out of practice.

Slightly more gently, Wukong rearranged Macaque so that he wasn’t in a position that would aggravate the cuts on his leg. And then he… stared. Silently. Macaque was still asleep- which would’ve been concerning, Wukong was fairly sure if someone passes out, they’re not meant to stay unconscious for this long unless there’s a serious medical reason, but, well. That buzzing had been hard on Wukong’s ears, he could only imagine what it’d been like for Macaque. Maybe he just needed the rest?

The last bit of lollipop dissolved on his tongue, and Wukong took the remaining stick out of his mouth and tossed it into the trash as he contemplated. Was there anything else here he needed to-

Oh! Water! Water would probably be good- everyone likes a good glass of water when they wake up, yep. Wukong turned around, new mission in mind, heading towards Macaque’s kitchen. Man, now that there was nothing sweet in his mouth, he was craving sugar again- but he already knew that Macaque didn’t keep any treats in there. He’d tried to raid the kitchen on his first night staying here, out of spite, only to find it horrifically empty. Pigsy would’ve thrown a fit if he’d known. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, maybe he should tell the pig demon about that, the idea of what Macaque’s expression would be when confronted with a pissed-off Pigsy was endlessly entertaining.

…That might come back to bite him though. It was well known at this point that the Monkey King didn’t have the best eating habits either. Maybe he should save that idea for a time when he can easily get away…

Oh. He’d overfilled the cup.

Wukong quickly turned off the tap, setting the cup down on the counter as he shook water droplets off of his hand. Jeez, he seriously was having a hard time keeping himself in the moment today. More so than usual.

He poured the slightest bit of water out of the cup and down the drain, so that it wouldn’t easily spill, before heading back to the room and- there was no bedside table in here. How hadn’t he noticed that?

He couldn’t just leave the cup on the floor, it’d likely just end up spilled that way… wait-

Wukong ripped a piece of hair off his tail, snapping his fingers to turn it into a bedside table. There, problem solved. He set the cup down with a firm clink, scanned the room, and it’s occupant, one last time, before turning and leaving.

He could really use something sweet right now.

~

At exactly 11pm at night, Wukong’s phone went off with a message from the group chat that MK had partially forced him into. Nibbling on his ninth cookie of the night, Wukong swiped his phone open.

MK: are we all still up for game night tmrw?

A few affirmative messages flew by, Wukong simply sending a thumbs up emoji into the mix. A few seconds later, Macaque sent a thumbs down.

Mei: good 2 see that our resident phantom of the opera is still alive

Wukong snorted as he watched Macaque react to that message with a middle finger emoji- only to edit it into an angry face emoji immediately after out of fear of Pigsy’s wrath. At the very least this meant that MK wouldn’t be pestering him about Macaque’s whereabouts in an hour. Wukong had not been looking forward to that possible conversation. He set his phone down on the table even as messages continued to flow across the screen.

“Y’know.” He said, “You can’t keep avoiding game night forever.”

There was a crash, and a split second later, a shadow portal opened in the doorway, Macaque stepping out of it, looking some combination of pissed off and frazzled.

“What are you doing in my kitche- what the fuck?!” Macaque cut himself off as he fully registered the scene in front of him. “Wukong. What is this-”

“Uh, I’m in your kitchen cause I’m staying here, remember?” Not really, again, Wukong had barely spent much time here at all other than those two nights guarding his stuff. “And this is all uh, a late night snack. You know you’ve got no food in here? Do you even eat?”

“…I just portal it in here when I’m hungry.” Macaque mumbled, the cleared his throat. “This. Is not a midnight snack- this is- did you even pay for half of this stuff?”

“Yes I did, in fact, pay for it, so if you want some you’re gonna have to pay me back for it.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how much this cost you- nevermind. I’m rephrasing my question. Why do you have what’s practically a sweets banquet set up in my kitchen?” Macaque asked, “You’ve got like, three cakes here-”

“I was craving sugar.” Wukong shrugged, picking up another cookie, avoiding eye contact as he shoved it into his mouth. Although… Macaque had a point. Wukong had returned with the results of his sweets haul over two hours ago, and he’d barely made a dent in it since then. But, well, he wasn’t lying. He was craving sugar.

…Still is. Not a single one of these treats seemed to be able to get rid of his want for-

Macaque reached over Wukong’s shoulder to grab a cookie from the package sitting in front of the Monkey King, and Wukong nearly choked as he was suddenly hit with the sweet scent of the other’s magic yet again.

Yeah. Okay then. Nothing else really could ever truly compare. The cookie still in his mouth suddenly tasted practically flavourless in comparison.

He still shoved another one into his mouth anyways, if only to get the thoughts of biting Macaque’s arm out of his mind.

“I’m not paying you back for this by the way.” Macaque said, taking a small mouselike bite out of his cookie, as though testing if it was actually good, before taking a slightly larger bite. “…Albeit, I guess I could like, take these as rent? Since you’re storing all your shit here.”

“I won’t throw you through a wall for taking my cookie on one condition.”

“…Which is?”

“Join us for game night.”

“I’d rather get thrown through the wall.”

“Alright.”

“Wait- wait!” Macaque’s voice pitched up with slight fear as Wukong stood up and grabbed hold of his arm. Wukong paused and waited, but didn’t let go. Macaque stared at him, as though analyzing whether or not he was actually serious.

He was. Injury or not, a little throw through a wall wouldn’t hurt him that much. And would also let Wukong take out a little bit of frustrated energy- that headache that had gone away earlier was slowly starting to make it’s way back.

After a few seconds of nothing but silent staring, Wukong raised an eyebrow, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

“Shit- fine!” Macaque hissed, tugging at his arm, trying to free it. “I’ll go to game night! Now let go of me!”

“That’s more like it.” Wukong obediently let go of Macaque’s arm, turning and sitting back down, scooping his phone off the table.

MonkeyKing: convinced mac to come to game night

MK: HOW?!

MK: actually based on what happend earlier. i dont wanna know

“…Are you going to be sitting out here all night?” Macaque asked, bringing Wukong back to where he currently was before he could type out a frantic message about how nothing had happened earlier. Macaque was leaning against the back of Wukong’s chair, though, he was seemingly more focused on the second cookie he’d snatched than the phone, which Wukong quickly turned off before Macaque could see the messages- purposefully or accidentally. Briefly, he glanced down at the bandages wrapped around Macaque’s leg- there was no sign of bleed through, which was good, but-

“Do you have to stand so close?” The proximity was making the sugar cravings so much worse, and with the treats in front of him no longer working as a substitute…

Wukong forced his gaze away from where it had strayed to Macaque’s scarf, or, well, his neck. He seriously didn’t need a repeat of whatever had come over him before.

“Why?” Macaque did the opposite of what Wukong wanted him to do, leaning closer, “Does it bother you?”

“Psh, no.” Wukong reached up to shove Macaque away, touching nothing but thin air as Macaque side-stepped out of reach with a smirk- which was soon replaced by- a yawn? Wukong stared at him incredulously. “There’s no way you’re still tired. You just spent the past like, 6 hours unconscious.”

“I could probably go for another 32.”

“…Minutes?”

“Hours.”

“Sounds festive.”

“Glad to know you find the idea of me falling into a coma fun.”

“Look, if you’re that tired, just go back to bed.” Wukong rolled his eyes, “I’m not gonna like, start watching a movie on full blast or anything.”

“You will likely make a mess of my kitchen though.” Macaque said, “I mean, you practically already have. Are you at least going to bring some of this stuff to the game night- I don’t think either of us could finish even half of this on our own.”

That… was an excellent idea actually.

“It was always the intent for most of it to be for game night.” Wukong lied, “I’m done here now anyways- the kid just wanted me to make sure you didn’t like, bleed out or something.”

He grabbed a new package of cookies, shoving them into the folds of his clothes as he stood up, brushing past Macaque on the way to the door. Wukong paused with one foot out of the dojo.

“I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon to help carry everything over to the Noodle Shop.” He said, “You better be ready by then, or I will be dragging you out of bed. Forcibly.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Macaque huffed, waving him off, “Have fun getting backpain in your random tree branch.”

Wukong already dealt with backpain, a few weeks of nights spent sleeping on a tree branch weren’t going to help or hurt him more. But, well, that wasn’t important.

He slammed the door of the dojo closed behind himself, and summoned his cloud to go hang out on the roof of MK’s apartment until tomorrow.

~

“Uno!”

“Go fish.”

“I think I’m gonna fold.”

“Does anyone have an eight?”

“Pick up two.”

“Wait, what are we playing?” Wukong asked, suddenly very aware of the lack of cards in his hands. At his question, Mei let out a snort, and the others set their handfuls of various cards down on the table.

“We’re playing Never Have I Ever.” MK patted Wukong on the back comfortingly, “You started spacing out twenty minutes ago- Red Son thought it’d be funny to see how long it’d take you to notice we’d started spouting random game instructions.”

“Noodle Boy, you cannot just oust me like that-”

“No wonder it’s taking you so long to remake Flower Fruit Mountain.” Macaque interrupted as he set down his own hand- two queens and two plus four Uno cards. “If you can barely focus enough on a kids game, then it’s a miracle you can get any complex magic spell done at all.”

“Hey- I’m not normally this bad.” Wukong said, rubbing gently at his forehead. “…I just have a little headache, that’s all.”

“I’ve got an aspirin if you need one.” Mei popped a pill out of a package and held it out. Wukong stared at it a little hesitantly for a few seconds- mortal medicine had a fairly low chance of helping him out nowadays. But, well, low chance was still better than no chance… Wukong took the pill and swallowed it dry, ignoring how some of the others winced at that action. It probably wouldn’t help him much in the long run, but, well, he could pretend it did for their sakes.

“Now that Monkey King is back in the land of the living-” MK said, pouring a refill of juice into everyone’s cups, “I can say this; Never Have I Ever licked someone’s leg-”

“Oh, you’re still on that?” Wukong would’ve rathered they’d left that whole thing behind. He grabbed his cup-

And proceeded to almost spill it when Macaque violently slammed his hands down on the table.

“Wait.” He hissed, eyes flickering from MK to Wukong and back again. “That was real? That actually happened?! I thought I hallucinated it-”

“It was, unfortunately, real.” MK said with a solemn tone that did not at all fit the topic they were talking about. Quietly, Red Son asked Mei what was going on, and Mei leaned over to whisper about what had happened yesterday into his ear. Wukong could only thank whoever in Heaven that may or may not be listening in that Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy were busy getting pizza from the store, and were thus not being brought in on this whole little fiasco.

“Whatever- it, it was nothing, okay?” Wukong downed his juice in one go, grabbing the bottle with his tail to pour more into his now empty cup. “Let’s just move on- Never Have I Ever… uh-”

He paused for a moment, trying to think of something that he hadn’t done. As someone who had lived for over a millenia, well…

“…Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of game to play with a bunch of immortals.” Red Son said-

“No, no, I- actually no, yeah, I’ve got nothing.” Wukong had been going to say he’d never eaten people- considering MK had seemed to decide they were bringing up yesterday’s events, but, well. He was pretty sure Red Son’s family had had a little… phase, and he wasn’t entirely sure if Mei and MK knew, and, well, a party game was arguably the worst way to find out about things like that, in Wukong’s opinion.

…Or maybe they wouldn’t care, who knows, MK and Mei were weird like that. He’s pretty sure he heard the kid specifically chanting something along the lines of “Be Gay, Do Crimes” the other day, or something like that. Was cannibalism included in that? Wukong has no idea, and he certainly is not going to be the one to ask.

He was spared from further thinking about it as the Noodle Shop’s door chimed- Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy finally returning, Sandy carrying pizza boxes in his hands.

(Wukong had brought over some of the junk food he’d impulse bought the previous night. Macaque had complained about how he was still leaving so much of it in his kitchen, but, well, Wukong kinda wanted a stockpile of it. Just in case. Either way, it didn’t really matter, quite a lot of what he had brought over would probably be coming back to the Dojo with them anyways, considering Pigsy had nearly passed out over the idea of only having sweets for super. He’d insisted they at least get something more dinner-like, even if it was takeout from another place. MK had demanded pizza faster than anyone else could think).

“Scoot over, monkey.” Pigsy said, pulling a chair over to the table, making Wukong have to move over-

Closer to Macaque.

Shit.

Wukong took a chocolate bar he’d hidden in his shirt pocket earlier (it was his favourite brand, he only had one left and he wasn’t risking any of the others taking it), and took a bite out of it, forcing his eyes to remain on the table and not stray over to the monkey demon sitting beside him. There was no sweet scent surrounding the other anymore- thank heaven, but just the memory alone was messing with him. The urge to just bite the other was all too strong.

“Right!!” Mei clapped her hands together, drawing Wukong’s attention back to the group. “Now that we’re all here, lets get the real games going. Up first, I think we should play Werewolf-”

~

“Night one. Night. One. All of you- voted for me first thing.” Macaque hissed as Wukong slammed the door of the dojo closed behind them. “I hadn’t even done anything yet! There wasn’t even a discussion- just immediate voting!”

“Macaque, that was hours ago, why are you still complai-”

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you were the one who voted for me first, Wukong!” Macaque poked Wukong in the chest as emphasis- “You clearly set that whole thing up on purpose- hey!”

Wukong grabbed hold of Macaque’s wrist, pushing him backwards as the Monkey King stepped forwards, pinning Macaque up against the wall.

“Enough.” Wukong hissed, and then paused, taking in the look on Macaque’s face, the way shadows were slowly darkening against the wall, as though ready to portal the other away. After a second, he relaxed his grip on Macaque’s wrist a little, using his free hand to gently run a thumb over Macaque’s cheek. “You’ve been complaining for hours. It’s making my headache worse, so- it’s high time you shut up a little.”

When the shadows faded to their usual colour, and Macaque didn’t voice any form of protest, Wukong leaned in.

…This wasn’t the first time they had kissed. Far from it.

A few days after the fight against Azure, Macaque had shown up in the remains of Flower Fruit Mountain. The resulting fist fight had ended with Macaque pinned to the ground, panting, and smirking, before he’d grabbed the front of Wukong’s clothes and pulled himself up to place a kiss on Wukong’s cheek.

Wukong had grabbed him before he could fade into the shadows and pressed their lips together with a surprising gentleness for someone who hadn’t kissed another for over two hundred years.

They hadn’t really… stopped since then. Neither of them ever really planned to initiate it, it just seemed to happen- suddenly gently or passionately kissing each other.

This kiss… was neither of those things.

It was desperate, and needy, and Wukong’s fangs nipped Macaque’s lip hard enough to draw blood and make him gasp. Wukong pulled back at the sound of it, before zeroing in on the blood. He ran his thumb over Macaque’s lip, smearing the blood, then brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it.

“…Sweet.” He said, ignoring the way Macaque’s eyes narrowed at him as he leaned back in for a better taste. Macaque made a choked sort of noise as Wukong licked his lip mid-kiss. Wukong slowly let go of Macaque’s wrist in order to cup the other’s face with both hands, pulling him slightly away from the wall and impossibly closer to him, nipping at Macaque’s lip again to draw more blood forth.

“Ow!” Macaque pushed Wukong back- Wukong forcing himself to comply and move away as Macaque shook his head, seemingly trying to snap himself out of the daze that had come over him. “Okay- wait- what’s with the biting?”

Wukong silently stared at the small trails of blood slowly dripping from Macaque’s bottom lip and down his chin.

“Wukong? Sun Wukong. Hey.” Macaque snapped his fingers in front of Wukong’s face. “I know you’re bad at it, but I’d like you to focus now-”

Wukong blinked, trying to think clearly over the delicious sweetness that was steadily fading from his tongue.

“Uh-” He hesitated, trying to make eye contact, and failing, eyes being drawn back to the quickly drying blood. How to- explain? His mind was buzzing over finally getting a small taste of what he’d been craving all day, and despite his headache having somehow vanished, it was nearly impossible to think. He wanted more, so much more. “…Sweet?”

“Not an answer.” Macaque said, wiping the dry blood off his chin, “If you want something sweet, have one of the hundreds of treats you’ve tossed into my kitchen- wait, does this has something to do with you licking my leg yesterday?”

Macaque’s face, which had already been tinged slightly purple from the kiss, flushed to a much deeper shade at the memory, and Wukong knew for a fact that, confronted with it now, his own face was probably burning with an equal amount of gold. He’d been kinda hoping that, despite MK bringing it up again for some reason, Macaque had forgotten that whole thing had even happened.

It seemed like his hopes had been in vain.

“Maybe.” He’d muttered it, but it might as well have been a yes with how Macaque’s face suddenly lit up with a smirk despite the blush still covering it- speaking of, said blush was quickly starting to show through the glamours on Macaque’s ears as well, the faint outlines of his extra ears lightly glowing.

“Ah-” There was a tone of realization in Macaque’s voice that Wukong decided right then and there that he didn’t really like- “It’s the magic that you want, isn’t it?”

Oh, Wukong suddenly regretted constantly begging Macaque for a taste of the other’s magic because it was “sweeter than peaches!” way back in the past. Macaque had been quite proud of it back then, seeming to view being ranked as above peaches as something special. Of course the bastard would put the pieces together so damn quick, even over a millenia later.

Wukong let out a defeated groan, taking another step back so that Macaque was no longer trapped against the wall. Macaque adjusted his clothes, blush and smirk still present on his face as he turned and started walking towards the main living area, Wukong slowly trailing along behind him with his arms crossed. Macaque’s tail was swishing back and forth with something that was definitely not agitation, and Wukong couldn’t help but feel that maybe Macaque was getting just a little bit too much enjoyment out of this realization.

Macaque hopped over the back of his couch to sit down on the cushions, and after a moment of hesitation, Wukong followed.

“…It’s not your magic specifically.” He said, grumpily, “It’s just… sugar? But, uh. Nothing else is, um.”

“Fulfilling the craving? Checks out.” Macaque nodded sagely, as though he expected this, and Wukong had to, for the second time in under 24 hours, fight the urge to pick him up and throw him. Macaque seemed to realize he was treading on thin ice, as he quickly broke eye contact. “I mean, it takes an ungodly amount of, well, anything to affect you, it only makes sense you’d need something super sweet as well.”

…Huh. He was right, that did make sense.

It also would maybe explain why the headaches went away after tasting some of Macaque’s insanely sweet magic blood too. It wasn’t some coincidence, it was just Wukong finally getting something akin to the right amount of sugar in himself. The sugar craving wasn’t just his sweet tooth, he actually needs a lot of sugar.

…Probably not a good thing he keeps going extended periods without eating anything, then. Of course, he could probably live without it, obviously, but, well. It felt awful to do so.

(He’d slept away fifty years once, and had felt genuinely and truly horrible once he had woken up. It’d taken three days of eating immortal peaches before he’d started to feel well enough to branch into eating and drinking anything else).

“Well, there’s no real reason to postpone it.” Macaque’s voice drew Wukong back to the present, and he did a double take in shock as he realized that, at some point while he’d been spacing out, Macaque had taken his scarf off. Wukong’s eyes immediately were drawn to Macaque’s collarbone. Macaque smirked at his reaction, and moved forwards, wrapping his scarf around the back of Wukong’s neck, and pulling the Monkey King closer to him, practically on top of him, in fact. Macaque tilted his head slightly to the side to give better access. “Go ahead.”

Wukong blinked for a second in shock, a golden flush on his face, before he smirked.

“Good boy.”

“Wha- no, we’re not doing th-ah!” Macaque cut himself off with a yelp, glamours falling down as Wukong gently sunk his teeth into his shoulder. Wukong let out a slightly muffled laugh at Macaque’s reaction, before biting slightly harder, blood pooling up as Macaque swore from the sting of it. One of Macaque’s hands gripped onto the back of Wukong’s clothes- his other hand gripping the back of Wukong’s head with enough strength to pull on his hair enough for it to slightly hurt, but Wukong didn’t care. He was finally getting the sweetness he’d been craving, and he wasn’t going to let anything distract him from that.

A minute passed, and Macaque slowly started relaxing from how he’d initially tensed, leaning back to be laying down, shivering and yelping whenever Wukong sunk his teeth in deeper again to draw up more magic blood. Wukong leaned closer in to him, letting their tails wrap together. Macaque didn’t even try to say anything of his usually sassy or dramatic nature, for once leaving them both in relatively peaceful near-silence.

The sweet flavour filling the Monkey King’s mouth tasted almost like bliss.

Slowly, Wukong pulled back a small bit. The craving had been satiated, fading to the back of his mind as he licked his lips, clarity starting to come back to him.

Macaque’s shoulder looked like a bloody mess.

He gave it a tiny, gentle lick, savouring the taste on his tongue for a few more seconds, before pulling back entirely.

“…I think we might’ve stained your couch.” Wukong said, wiping his mouth, though he was sure he’d only succeeded in smearing the purple blood across his face instead of successfully cleaning it. “And your shirt.”

Macaque didn’t answer, staring at the ceiling while panting, a dazed look in his eyes. Wukong slowly tilted his head in confusion, carefully shifting so that he was no longer on top of him.

“Macaque?” Wukong tried again, “C’mon, we should get you cleaned up. We can go to the Flower Fruit Mountain hot springs- I finished fixing them up a few days ago.”

“…Yeah. Right. Hot springs… sounds nice.” Macaque sounded breathless as he forced himself up and into a sitting position, swinging his legs over and making to stand up and take a step forwards.

He crumpled over, starting to collapse to the ground.

“Woah!” Wukong shot up and grabbed hold of him, Macaque gripping onto him for balance. Wukong was suddenly very aware of the way Macaque was starting to get a little wispy at the edges. “Fuck, did I take too much?”

“Maybe jus’ a bit…” Macaque’s words slurred a little as Wukong helped him sit back down onto the couch. “I’ll be fine, I just, need a sec…”

Wukong gently brushed Macaque’s hair out of his face, before gently tapping the other’s lips.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“…Mm.” Macaque made a sound of consent, so Wukong gently pressed their lips together, a golden glow enveloping the both of them as he closed his eyes and drew back on how they used to share magic.

(Passing it through a kiss was a lot easier than getting it from blood, but, well, Macaque’s magic was too closely tied to him now for him to do such a thing anymore.

…Plus you couldn’t really taste it this way).

When Wukong next opened his eyes, Macaque still looked a bit dazed, but he at least wasn’t wispy at the edges anymore. Pulling back, he held back as much of his strength as possible and lightly flicked Macaque directly in the middle of his forehead.

“Next time, tell me when I start taking too much.” Wukong said, ignoring Macaque’s pained grumbling. “Now, lets get you fixed up- you still okay with the hot springs?”

“I could use a bit of a soak- wait. How are we going to-” Macaque shrieked as a golden flash surrounded them, falling backwards onto the ground with a small sound of pain as they were suddenly teleported to Flower Fruit Mountain.

“Oops. Forgot to warn you.” He absolutely hadn’t- this was his way of paying Macaque back for not telling him important things like the fact that he was taking too much blood. Wait, speaking of blood- “Ah- I forgot the supplies- hold on for a second, alright? Don’t go, like, passing out on me again.”

“I’m not gonna pass out.” Macaque said, even as he put a hand to his head, trying to get the spinning from the sudden teleportation to stop. Wukong raised an eyebrow in doubt at him, but still proceeded to vanish in another flash of golden light, leaving Macaque on the ground staring at the starry sky.

His eyes were just starting to adjust to the natural darkness- when another bright flash of light made him hiss, covering his face.

“I’m back!” Wukong did a little pose as he announced his presence. Macaque just slowly sat up and stared at him with an incredibly unimpressed look. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Wukong coughed, setting the basket of items on the ground down beside the other. “So, um. I realized between there and here that uh- well, I was gonna bandage your shoulder, but, you’re not meant to get bandages wet, and we’re gonna go in the hot springs, so um-”

“Just put some spell on them to keep them dry or whatever.” Macaque rolled his eyes, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world, as he shrugged off his sleeve to give Wukong better access to his shoulder. Wukong knelt down beside him, bandages in his hands, and then hesitated.

“…Wukong-” Macaque started, and then sighed as Wukong leaned down and licked some more blood off of Macaque’s shoulder. “Seriously? I thought you were done with that.”

“I just wanted one more little taste.” Wukong pulled back, grabbing a small hand towel and dipping it into the hot spring, using it to gently wipe the rest of the blood away. The bite marks were already starting to heal, the skin already starting to scab over. Wukong wrapped some bandages on top of it anyways. There would probably be more steps he’d have to do for this if Macaque was human, but, well, he wasn’t, so this should suffice.

“Hurry it up, I wanna get in the water, it’s cold out here.” Macaque said, his tail swishing a little in agitation. Wukong huffed out a small laugh at his impatience, summoning a golden magic circle to his fingertips, which he then pressed against the bandages to imbue them with the spell. He repeated the process for the bandages on Macaque’s leg, and then turned away to put the bandage roll back in the basket he’d brought.

A splash had him turning around to find that where Macaque had been, there was now only his clothes on the ground, the other monkey demon having already made his way into the hot springs. He’d done that so fast, how-

“Ough, headrush…” One of Macaque’s hands shot out to grip a nearby rock, seemingly for support, while the other went up to his forehead, his ears flicking. He looked a little bit wispy again.

Oh. He must’ve used his magic to shadowshift out of his clothes and portal into the water. He knew full well he was low on magic power right now, why on Earth would he-

(It suddenly occurred to Wukong, that, y’know what, maybe putting someone who was recently experiencing something akin to blood loss into hot water was possibly… not a good decision).

“I can hear you thinking.” Macaque mumbled, shifting a little to glare at him. “Just hurry up and get in here.”

A few seconds later had Macaque loudly swearing as Wukong jumped into the hot spring, splashing the other with warm water.

“Seriously?!” Macaque spluttered, coughing as a bit of water made it’s way into his mouth. “Can’t you just enter the water like a normal perso-mM!”

Water splashed over the edge of the hot spring as Wukong cut him off by grabbing the sides of Macaque’s head, climbing onto the other’s lap in one swift motion and pressing their lips together. Macaque made a muffled noise of protest, before his eyes slowly slid closed, his hands finding their way to rest on Wukong’s shoulders as the Monkey King shared more of his endless magic with him. Wukong tilted his head, pulling back before pressing a kiss to the corner of Macaque’s mouth, then his cheek- and then his ear.

Macaque did a full body shiver as Wukong kept his lips pressed against one of the other’s glowing six ears. When Macaque didn’t have any further reaction, Wukong opened his mouth slightly, and softly bit down.

Unlike the previous bites, it wasn’t enough to draw up blood, but it was enough to make Macaque let out a quite frankly pitiful sounding noise, tail thrashing, causing more water to spill out onto the rocks. Wukong chuckled, the sensation of his breath against his ear making all of Macaque’s ears twitch. Wukong seemed to take that as a sign to purposefully blow a breath of air onto Macaque’s ear, making Macaque yelp and shove him back.

“Stop that! And, must- must you keep interrupting me mid-sentence?” He said, “Seriously, you’ve done it like three times.”

“But what if I like the sound you make when I catch you off guard, Sugarplum?” If Macaque hadn’t already been flushed to the tips of his ears, purple blush glowing brightly, Wukong dropping that nickname of all things would’ve been enough to make him blush violently.

“Wuko- …P-Peaches, you can’t just-”

“Can’t just what?” Wukong pressed their foreheads together, smirking as he stared directly into Macaque’s eyes. “C’mon, I’m on a bit of sugar high right now, you gotta let me have some fun- hey!”

Macaque roughly shoved Wukong back, making him slip and fall underwater for a few seconds. When he came back up, he made a frustrated noise as he tried to push his wet hair out of his face so he could see again.

“Did you have to do tha- woah!” Wukong stumbled backwards, his back hitting the side of the hot spring as his hands grabbed Macaque to stabilize him as the other suddenly surged forwards, wrapping his arms around Wukong’s neck as he kissed him. Wukong’s hands slipped down to Macaque’s hips, quickly adjusting their position into something more comfortable as Macaque tried to press himself as close to him as possible. After a few seconds, Wukong hummed, turning his head to the side to break the kiss. Macaque quickly moved to press his lips to Wukong’s neck instead. Wukong let out a breathy giggle- “Is this your idea of revenge?”

Macaque’s response was to wrap his tail around Wukong’s own under the water, kissing up the side of Wukong’s neck, to his cheek, and then back to his lips. Wukong let him, smirking into it-

And then he let go of Macaque’s hips, one of his hands going to rest in the middle of Macaque’s back, the other going to the back of the other’s head, as he shifted his weight and dipped him, Macaque letting out a muffled squeak against Wukong’s lips as he almost went under the water. Wukong pulled back a bit to stare down at Macaque’s shocked face, his black hair flowing in the water, the glow from his ears reflecting in the water in a way that was-

“Beautiful.”

“Oh shut up.” Macaque reached up and grabbed the sides of Wukong’s face, pulling him down to press their lips together again-

Wukong’s feet slipped on the underwater rocks, sending them both under the water. They both resurfaced a few seconds later, coughing on accidentally inhaled water.

“Right.” Wukong said, taking in a wheezing breath, “I think maybe- maybe that’s a sign we should cut it out for now, ha.”

Macaque didn’t verbally respond, instead just silently nodding, leaning against the side of the hot spring and staring up at the stars.

They were silent for a few minutes.

And then Wukong reached over the edge of the hot spring to rummage in the basket he had brought, and pulled out-

“How did you even fit that in there.” Macaque deadpanned, “What are you, some kind of Mary Poppins? There’s no way you fit that in that basket.”

“…Sounds like somebody doesn’t want cake.”

“Now hold on, I didn’t say that-”

[qsphyxias]

Nightwing x Male! Thief! Reader

if you fetishize mlm/nblm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; nightwing and ur dynamic, as a small, not super skilled, thief that nightwing likes

warnings ; male! reader, cussing, mention of oral sex (no actual sex at all), banter,

note ; wish i wrote smth abt nightwing's GYATTT

words ; 1.3k+

Your teeth chattered in your jaw as you continued to shovel stacks of cash from the busted vault into your gym bag. Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you could feel your fingers going numb from the adrenaline rushing through your hands — Faster, damn it, faster!

The emergency lights flashed a red hue on everything you saw, and you couldn't hear anything but a pulsing in your head, and quiet and light steps behind you. Knowing who it was, you only sighed and remained tense, refusing to look your assailant in the eye.

"Really, s/o?" You winced at his disappointed tone of voice, already pissed at his audacity to talk as if — "As if you have the right to judge me, Boy Wonder." You spat out, frowning as you swivelled around to see Dick Grayson, a mere inch away from you. Your gym bag rotated around you on impact and caught itself on your shoulder. The impact and the shock alone were enough to make you take a step back — but not before Dick had slipped one of his batons behind the groove of your back, pulling you towards his chest by pulling on both ends of the baton.

"It's Nightwing now, actually." He corrected, seemingly unfazed by your resentful attitude. Your dynamic usually went this way; a small fight amongst rivals and old friends, with a mutual understanding that the other is off-limits. Looking down at your irritated face, Dick only grinned wittingly and nodded towards your bag full of cash over your shoulder, "I assume... money's tight?"

You could only laugh, feigning shock, "Oh, right, I forgot you don't know what it's like to be poor because your daddy's filthy rich." With a quick shove away from his suit-bound chest, you backed away from him and started immediately looking for exits.

Dick noticed and shook his head. "Hey man, he may be a billionaire, but he doesn't give me a single penny!" Dick stepped closer to you as you stepped back, cornering you. "Can you believe that?" He muttered, his perfect hair looking like a bright shade of red from your close-up point of view underneath the hue of the emergency lights.

You looked up at him, then looked down as you considered punching him in the stomach to get away. The vigilante began eyeing your bag, taking the chance and reaching for it when you were distracted looking for his weak points.

Acting quickly, you rip the bag away from him, bolting for a closed window jumping out of it and into another rooftop of a building. Glass had flown everywhere, some of it cutting you, and some of it landing inside your shoes. Dick laughed in slight annoyance as he saw you take off, not wasting another second and going right after you. "You can't run forever! I know this bank personally, s/o, they're getting their money back!"

You don't waste time looking behind you and flip him the bird over your shoulder, leaping onto another building with a running start. Midair, you feel a strong arm wrap grab your waist and fling you around in an unknown direction — just until you reach solid ground on top of a 24/7 diner. Not used to being in the fucking air you found yourself holding onto the superhero's shoulder's in a vice grip until you let go, finding the whole situation mortifying.

"Breakfast?" Dick looked at the bright Neon sign that was below eye level from his spot on the rooftop, grinning at you so coyly; he was serious.

"It's 4 AM, Dick." You say his name like an insult, rather than a title.

Dick, however, was unfazed, having heard that joke over a thousand times in his lifetime. "Well, yeah it's midnight, but I'm hungry and— Oh shoot! I'm short on cash... S/o? Do you happen to have cash?" Nightwing crossed his arms and hummed in thought looking around like a sailor looking for land.

You could only roll your eyes at his behaviour, knowing he was serious about using the money you stole to buy himself a chicken-fried steak and a stack of pancakes.

A normal person who was to look at this man's behaviour would have instantly known he was joking; you, however, were no ordinary man. For you have known Grayson for longer than you wanted to have known him, and a couple of years' worth of time spent with the acrobat was enough information for you to know; he fucked around, but man, did he love finding out.

You felt your shoulders drop in a "why-not" attitude, and you let out a long sigh, shrugging and gesturing to jump down from the rooftop of the diner.

With a pursed lip smile, Dick hopped down and opened the diner's front door, beckoning you inside eagerly. After you got down, you rolled your eyes at him but laughed anyway, finding the situation unbelievable. "Did you want a blowjob for your chivalry?" You joked, peeking over your shoulder to catch Grayson checking out your ass from behind you.

"Why; is that an offer?" Grayson ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rapid-firing his side of the banter. The hostess stood before the two of you, watching the exchange occur uncomfortably. Despite your public profanities, she couldn't care less, it was 4 am.

"Table for two?"

——————————————————————————————————

The air was calm in the diner, it smelt of coffee — which made sense, because how else would you stay awake at this ungodly hour? You were lucky that there was no one else here; a swarm of men and women alike would have crowded around the superhero sitting before you, had it not been empty.

As you scanned the menu briefly, you couldn't help but get a little distracted at the sight of the man before you. Stealing glances above the menu, you leaned back in your side of the booth and shrunk, trying to look as if you aren't staring at him just for the sake of staring.

"I know I'm gob-stoppingly gorgeous, but be careful, you might even fall in love with me with that look." Dick snorted, dropping the menu down on the table to reveal his shit-eating grin.

"Oh fuck off," You murmured, looking away for a second only to meet his eyes again. "... So what's the plan, Dick?" Your embarrassment was soon replaced with your focus on the important matter at hand. "Are you planning not to turn me in today? Plan to take me out to dinner like one of your girls?" His attention was now completely on you, his eyes carefully watching you as you got comfortable in your cushioned seat, balancing your head on your hands as you leaned forward.

"What do you want?"

Dick gulped. "Well, I... I want a huge stack of your house buckwheat pancakes and a soda float, if you please." His demeanour shifted completely as he transformed from sexy-man to child-patron when he waved his hand over to the waitress to get her attention and his order in. "And— What, a milkshake? A milkshake for the gentleman please— And fries!" He looked back at you, "can't have a milkshake without fries, am I right?"

You could only stare blankly at him as he conversed with the waitress across the room, "Dick, look at me." getting fed up with his indifference, you reached forward to grab his jaw lightly by the tips of your fingers, angling his face to confront you. You could feel your heart skip a beat as his dark blue eyes focused on you once again.

Your breath hitched, and you nearly forgot what you wanted to say. "... The hell do you want with me now that we're here?" You repeated under your breath, watching as one of his hands reached up to grab your hand on his face.

"Well,"

"Maybe I just wanted to waste some of your time, sweetheart."

[highlordofkrypton]

Time for me to say ONE LAST THING on all this drama, but it's important to me.

art is a form of therapy

you do not know other people's trauma, and you sure as hell cannot know a person even if they posted everything about themselves on their blog

no one holds the right to say what is valid or invalid

The ACOTAR fandom has an exquisite way of policing trauma as well as character and ship enjoyment. the fans pick and choose who is deserving of community, kinship and basic decency.

I speak a lot about empathy on my blog because I cannot know what a person is going through on the other side of the screen, and though I don't always agree, I have enough decency not to go out and make rules excluding people, insult others, while calling myself a positive space.

Just because your trauma means that you prefer to avoid certain topics or characters does not make anyone else who enjoys said character a bad person. some people, myself included, work through trauma through art.

My writing has saved my life, and the compassion I choose to give to "fictional "abusers (btw, victimhood and abuse does not come in one absolute form and you CAN be both a victim and an abuser with a capacity to change) is intentional. I do not glorify abuse, but I understand that art and humans are nuanced.

I also think it's a real privilege to look at other people's traumas, especially intergenerational trauma which is extremely hard to overcome, and say that 'nah, that person is just an abuser'.

I think it's hypocritical to claim fight against abuse, and fight for victims of abuse while carelessly flinging 'abuse sympathizers' and other insults to people you don't even know.

You realize that's a form of abuse, too? Invalidating, gaslighting, etc.

But thank you, ACOTAR fandom for teaching me:

Thank you for teaching me my trauma is only valid if I act like the way you think a victim should

Thank you for teaching me that I do not deserve respect, even if I take extreme care to create nuanced and emotional art because you don't like the character

Thank you for teaching me that if I face my abusers through art, I, myself am an abuser

Thank you for reassuring me that your fav, who is closer to my abuser almost to a R, deserves redemption because you love him more, and he is more attractive

I have never used my trauma as a credibility card to judge and be dismissive of real people in fandom. If you want to police something, police your fucking content.

People aren't content for you to consume, and vomit your unfiltered opinions on. It's time people remember what community means, which remembers interacting with other people who are not your abusers. Maybe take a second and fucking learn about other perspectives, grow as a person or whatever the fuck you need to be a decent person.

If you plan to reblog this invalidating/arguing what I've said above because blah blah you're still upset about your fav or ship, please take a second to read the post again 'cause you've lost the plot.

Now, I'm done. Peace out ✌️

Additional note: You know what I fucking do with my trauma? I make beautiful shit for everyone to enjoy. You don't don't have to read or care about my stories full of depth and nuance, but if you laugh at my fucking memes that are for EVERYONE and you turn around and shit on people, you suck.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 46

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 43, part 44, part 45

Something shifted between Steve and Eddie. Something important. There wasn’t any yelling. Or resentment hiding in their eyes. No, they were just talking with each other. Standing close and looking comfortable. No sign that they were flinging insults at each other last week. None of that.

They were just acting normal. Like they weren’t screaming at each other the past few weeks. As if they’ve been friends for years.

Which is weird, right? It’s weird.

Robin and Nancy are here too, off in their own little world. Just talking in some of the deck chairs. When they should. Robin’s so close to Steve, she would know about all the fights. All the things that would have been said. She’d be biting back. She’d be giving Eddie hell if he said anything too mean. But there she sits, like nothing happened.

How can everyone be acting like nothing’s happened? So much has happened and no one is talking about it. They’re all so ready to go back to real life, and Dustin feels so stuck. It’s like he can’t move on. Not when the consequences are staring him right in the face and he can’t stop looking at it.

Max is just sitting on the first step in the pool because she can’t swim without someone holding her. Her limbs are still building their muscle mass after the break. Not to mention that fact that she’s fucking blind.

But here she is, smiling and laughing. Not feeling out of place at all. Her life has changed on its axis, and she seems to be over it. Just moved on. Accepted her new life.

And Steve’s standing in the shade with his sunglasses on. Dustin saw him take a migraine pill earlier, but he’s still out here. When he doesn’t need to be. He can be inside taking care of himself, but he’s out here, watching them.

Talking to Eddie, who’s standing with his forearm crutches. He could be sitting. Resting. Not forcing himself through pain that Dustin knows is happening right now.

He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Without all the layers, Dustin can see the damage to his skin. The reddened marks of healed tissue. Still ragged and slightly concave. So different from the rest of his pale complexion. Because the nerve damage wasn’t enough, Eddie has to have obvious scarring too. For the rest of this life.

They are just going to live like this for the rest of their lives and continue to smile. How can they continue to smile?

Dustin wouldn’t blame them if they never did. He wouldn’t blame them if they were angry forever. Upset that their lives have changed forever in seconds. One small event, and it’s over. He wouldn’t blame them. But somehow, they can keep moving. Keep walking forward.

It feels like everyone is ten steps in front of Dustin. Like something is tied to his feet, keeping him stead while they can move on. His mind continuously reminding him of their scars that they can just look past.

Steve keeps looking at him. Saying something to Eddie that Dustin can’t hear. Somehow, he knows it’s about him. Because of course, Dustin can’t act normal for one afternoon. He had to make this all about him, when he’s not the one whose life has changed.

Will bumps his shoulder into his. “Are you ok?”

Dustin shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you just look like you’re anywhere but here. I know what that’s like, it’s not fun.”

Because Will has been through so much more than Dustin has. He’s been kidnapped, possessed, moved across the country. When what, the most Dustin’s gone through was breaking his ankle and seeing some of his friends almost die. Pretty run of the mill for them at this point.

“I’m ok,” the words come out of his mouth like a foreign language. He’s not even sure what they mean. “Just tired.”

“That makes sense. The fourth is coming up, that would be bad memories for you.”

Not just for him.

“What do you mean?” It means bad memories for all of them. His were the least of their problems.

Sure, he roamed around a Russian bunker for a night and ended up living. Max lost her brother, El lost her dad. They all fought against the mind flayer. It shouldn’t affect him more than him.

“I mean, you never really told us about those few days. All I know from it has been from what Lucas told me about Erica’s nightmares. And the little bits you’ve dropped like it means nothing. That week was hard for all of us, especially you.”

“I wouldn’t say especially me,” he tries to say.

“I would,” Will interrupts him. “You haven’t been the same recently. With everything that’s been going on, and with the anniversary coming up, I just wanted to make sure that you were taking care of yourself. You’re allowed to feel whatever it is you need to feel about this.”

Is he? Someone was supposed to keep smiling. It was supposed to be him.

He only wished his brain could realize that. So, he could stop thinking about bright lights and dark tunnels. The song that played in the background of the recording. Haunting as he took each step.

The weight of an electric poker in his hands. The way it buzzed as he pressed it against skin. How easy it was to hold in place. Watch as it made someone drop to their knees. To the floor.

Shoes on concrete, running faster than he ever has. Unable to process what just happened, immediately onto the next problem. Holding up the weight of someone he thought was so strong. Eyes so dilated, Dustin couldn’t see the brown of his iris anymore. His laughter rings through the elevator while the blood drips from his face.

There was so much more than he knew. So much more that Steve protected him from. But Dustin was smart enough to put the pieces together in those seconds. To feel the weight of what happened fully washing over him.

He couldn’t focus on it then, but he could focus on it now. When Steve has his sunglasses on and stands as far from the noise of the pool as he can while still keeping an eye on them.

It was Dustin’s fault that he had to at all. It was Dustin’s fault for a lot of the things that happened to them. If he hadn’t gotten involved. If he hadn’t pushed. Where would they all be right now?

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[bluegalaxygirl]

Amnesia (KidKiller X Reader) P2

Plot: After an explosion reader wakes up in a hospital with no memory of the past few years, her parents want to take her home so she can recover and get back to a normal life while the Kid pirates want her back on the ship where she belongs.

Warning: Bad language, Violence, Blood and Making out.

Reader is Female, Poly Relationship, established relationship, Kid X Reader X Killer, Reader is a member of the Kid pirates and is in charge of the money, Budgeting and negotiating the best price.

< Previous part ..... Next Part >

----- You, Bubblegum, Boogie, Gig and Emma -----

The ship stopped moving a while ago but the group are still stuck in the cell under the ships deck, the only light was now coming through the slight gap around the hatch door in the hallway since the candle has fully melted away. Emma lays next to your still uncontuse and unmoving form hoping her body heat can keep your cold body warm, if it weren't for the fact your chest was moving with each shaky breath she would think your dead. The hatch door flings open making the group jump and sit up to look over at the bright morning light now flowing down into the dark belly of the ship, heavy boots walk down the wooden steps then make their way over to the cell. The white coated marine from before glares at the group as other marines come into view standing to attention and waiting for orders "I'm surprised you all made it through the night… this makes my job a lot harder" He sighs before unlocking the cell door, with a nod the other marines walk in looking the group over "Be good, and we'll get you all some medical treatment and food, got it" The white coated marine states, Boogie nods and the others follow his lead deciding not to put up a fight as their dragged out of the cell. Two marines grab your body carrying you out the cell and up the stairs into the burning morning sun light. The group squints trying to get their eyes to adjust to the new brightness but soon come face to face with a large marine prison facility, anxiety rises in the group, but they knew Kid and their crew will come for them. The group is pulled off the boat being forced to walk down the wooden dock as the white coated marine leads them, a head are a few medical personnel with a Commodore standing next to them.

The Commodore looks everyone over as they all come to a stop, his face was happy at first but soon starts to drop which made the pit in your crew stomach that much deeper. "Lieutenant, when you said you captured members of the Kid pirates i was expecting a batter catch" The insult made Gig growl but Boogie gives him a look not wanting to make the situation worse, "I'm sorry sir" The white coated marines bows, going from confident and rude to polite and fearful. The Commodore sighs pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping closer to look over the individuals of the group, walking down the line he soon stops at two marines who have laid your body on the floor slightly blocking you from his view as one puts pressure on your now bleeding shoulder. He steps closer before bending down to inspect your injuries only to recognize your face, his eyes widen and his breath hitches as his hand goes to your neck feeling for a pulse soon letting the breath out at feeling you have one. "The Fuck Lieutenant? I told you if you ever found her to call me first" The Commodore stands yelling at the white coated marine who backs up to the brick wall in fear, The medics quickly rush over to you tending to your wounds as their boss grabs the lieutenant by the collar "You've now made this more complicated than it needed to be and on top of that she's half dead. I'm not about to explain this to her farther" The groups eyes widen, was your farther a marine, if, so he must be quiet high up for this man to be so angry. "I-I'm sorry sir b-but it not like he can fire you, he's not even a-" The white coated man tries to defend himself only to get shoved to the ground.

Your crew look from the marines over to you seeing you finally getting the medical treatment you needed "Take her to the medical center, do not put her on the records. No one else is to know she's here" The Commodore yells at the medics who nod putting your body on a stretcher before rushing off. Your crew are glad your getting the help you need but the situation is scary and confusing, the marine knows you, doesn't want you on record even though your bounty if one of the higher amongst the crew and seems to be in fear of your farther a man who isn't a high ranking marine. "Get your ass up and make the call, i'm not going to be fucked over for your mistake… The rest of you come with me" The Commodore yells before storming off the dock and through the gates, the group are forced to start walking again now following the higher ranking marine as the Lieutenant walks off rubbing his shoulder with his head down. "What the hell is going on?" Boogie whispers mainly to himself but the rest of his crew here it, they all shrug not sure themselves. It didn't take long for the group to get patched up and thrown into cells but the whole ordeal made them tired wanting nothing more than to pass out on the rock hard beds with a scratchy blanket. "I don't get it" Bubblegum sighs as he lies on the bed, Gig laying on the bunk above him who lets out a questioning hum. Boogie sighs as he leans on the bars of his cell trying to look around the wall to see into Bubblegum's and Gig's cell "I don't either" he sighs not understanding the situation either.

Emma sits on the top bunk looking down at Boogie "You mean what that marine said?" She asks getting her crew mate to look up at her and nod. "I'm sure we can ask Y/N, when we get out of here" Gig sighs looking up at the ceiling hoping their captain gets here soon to get them out. "Yea but… it doesn't make sense, he's so amendment on keeping her hidden… none of what he said made sense as well, it makes me think that your dad might not be a Marine" Bubblegum thinks out loud earning raised eyebrows from the rest of his crew, Boogie looks out the call bars and tried to see his friend in the cell next to him "What? Her dad has to be for a marine to act like that" Bubblegum sighs and rolls onto his side facing the wall "I don't know, it was just a thought" Emma thinks for a second before gasping shocking Boogie who puts a hand on his heart going to yell at her for scaring him but stops at her shocked face "You don't think her farther is one of the Warlords or Elders do you?" She asks hoping that isn't the case, Gig laughs out loud holding his stomach as it starts to hurt "No way, Y/N would have mentioned something like that plus the only warlord who's old enough to be her farther is Mihawk and Y/n looks nothing like him." Boogie nods before walking over to the bottom bunk and sitting down "And the five elders are out of the question, first they would differently want her on record and second the only people who know the elders are ranked higher than that guy" The group collectively sigh deciding to give up on it for now and just rest.

----- The Victoria Punk -----

With the Vivre card in Wire's possession he navigates the ship through the calm water, night had turned to day and there was no sign of any marine ships. Heat stands behind Wire looking at a large map on the table, being on the grand line doesn't always mean a map will come in handy but it will give them an indication on what to expect. A cup of coffee is placed on the table getting Heat to look up at Killer with tired eyes "Take a break" The first mate states his voice sounding tired, of course the masked man couldn't sleep but so couldn't most of the crew including Kid since they could all come upon a marine ship at any moment. "Thanks but its best if i keep my mind busy" He sighs taking the cup of coffee and sipping on it, deciding not to push, Killer just nods and walks over to Wire handing him a cup of coffee "I took a break an hour ago" The tall man blankly looks down at the masked man knowing he was going to say the same thing he said to Heat, with a simple nod Killer leans against the wall looking out the window to the empty Sea. "I think i know where we are but its mainly a military area, so their most likely in a prison by now" Heat sighs sipping on his coffee as he looks over the map, they haven't been to this area before so there's not a lot of info to go off "We've taken on prisons before, this one won't be any different" Killer looks over at Heat, they all knew they would have to fight to get their crew members back, but they hoped it would be easier, a single ship would be simple and easy to take on.

The battle caused some damage to the Victoria but all of that was patched up now, the only thing to worry about is if the rest of the crew is well rested and patched up enough for another big and chaotic fight. The main person Killer is worried about is Kid mainly because the captain has locked himself in his office again and refuses to sleep wanting to keep his mind busy, its not like the masked man can blame him, he tried to sleep but his mind wouldn't stop going over the previous battle and what's about to come. Killer's snapped out of his thoughts by Wire who hums in slight confusion "What?" The masked man asks looking out of the window while walking closer to the tall man but there's nothing out there just empty sea "Her Vivre card" Wire states holding out the card between his fingers letting Killer and now Heat who walks over to see the card burning a little only to stop and then heal up, it does this a few times in a rhythmic pattern taking short breaks in between "I've never seen one do that before" Heat raises an eyebrow as Killer takes a hold of the card watching as it continues to burn then heal over and over again, none of them had any idea what it meant, was it good or bad? "Maybe she's getting treatment" Wire tries to reassure them since there's no need to worry unless it doesn't heal back as it burns. With a sigh Killer hands the card back to Wire since its still trying to move in the direction your are "Yea your probably right, Call me if anything changes" The masked man pats Wires shoulder before giving Heat a nod and walking out the door.

On the way to Kids workroom Killer debated whether to tell the red head about the card, he had to since Kid is the Captain but on the other hand he didn't want the man to lose his shit. With a sigh knowing what he has to do Killer knocks on the door before opening it "Hay" He calls out letting the Captain know who it is so something isn't thrown his way "What?" Kid grumbles while hunched over his work bench tinkering with some metal, walking up to the table the masked man places a hand on it, so he can lean over to see the red head's face "There still no sign of the ship but Heat has figured out where we are, it's a marine area mostly prisons" Killer informs earning a simple nod from Kid his eyes still fixed on his little contraption, of course the captain didn't care about that, it didn't matter where they were he would raise hell in hell itself if thats where he ended up. There's a moment of silence as Killer prepares himself for what ever he has to deal with in the next few minutes "Y/n card is doing something strange" Kids eyes widen as his head shoots up to look at the masked man wanting more info. "Its burning but then healing back up over and over again" Killer grits his teeth as Kid stares up at him a look of anger and confusion, the masked man raises an eyebrow at this not used to this kind of reaction but at least Kid isn't going mental and putting more holes in the ship. Leaning his back against the table Killer takes his mask off and places it on the side "I don't know what it means but Wire said she might be getting treatment" Killer crosses his arms over his chest as he looks down at Kid though his blonde hair that covers most of his eyes.

Kid didn't know what to think as he sits in his chair, his hands clenched hard around the tools he was using moments ago, seeing Killer's calm face made him feel a little better since if the blonde wasn't worried than its most likely nothing to worry about "Is it still moving?" The red head suddenly asks earning a simple nod from Killer, it means they can still find you and the crew you were with, releasing his tools the captain runs a hand though his red hair while leans back in his chair with a groan "Any idea how long we have to sit here?" Kid grumbles as his eyes look up at the ceiling getting annoyed with how long its taking, you may be getting treatment, but he trusts his ships doctor more than those marines "No idea, we're most likely an hour at minimum behind them" Killer states not happy about the wait either but there's nothing they can do to change it, all they can do is rest and prepare for the next fight. There's a long silence between the two both stuck with their own thoughts on the situation, Killer's was mainly planning ahead, thinking about how to go about things and what treatment you and the others will need, while Kid had his mind focused on killing those who hurt you and his crew. He wanted their heads, he knows the rest of the crew will find you and the others so his main job was to take anyone out who got in their way.

Killer's eyes wonder a little looking at Kid's hand that's laying on the desk his fingers tap in a rhythmic pattern, sliding his hand over the blonde takes Kid hand holding it tight in reassurance. The red head looks over, his eyes meeting with his first mates even though their slightly covered by his blonde hair, they stare at each other for a while before the captain stands steeping closer to Killer before placing his forehead on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around the blonde's waist. Killer lets out a soft sigh wrapping his arms around the captain letting the man use this time to calm his nerves, the two are worried, but they hate to show it unless its only the three of you alone. Kid lets out a groan in frustration "How the hell did everything go wrong?" He grumbles earning a shrug from Killer who truly didn't know how things got so bad, they were doing a great job, they had the upper hand and the man power. No one expected the marines to fire on their own ship especially one that still had marine on it. Despite how he's feeling Killer's mind went to one person, yes the two are feeling bad but judging by how he's acting their friend isn't taking this too well. "I think you should talk to Heat" The first mate suddenly states making Kid raise a brow while lifting his head up to look at the blonde "He isn't taking this too well, he hasn't slept, and he won't take a break." Killer continues watching as the captain sighs closing his eyes for a second, he's not used to this kind of thing, Killer and Heat usually deal with these kinds of issues and if Killer is asking him to do it then that means he's already tried and failed.

The captain grabs the blonde's arms pulling them away from his waist "I'll order him to take a break" Kid groans letting go of Killer's arms only for the man to grab him stopping the red head from walking away "That's not what i meant… I know your not good at this kind of thing but i think he just needs reassurance from you" Killer knows he's asking a lot of his captain, but he can't think of anything else, The red head sighs again mentally cursing the man in front of him "Why can't you do it? Your better at this… What am i even supposed to say?" Kid yells in frustration and anger but makes no move to pull away from his first mate who's still holding his arms, Killer takes a step closer closing the gap between the two "I think he just needs to know your not mad at him" Kid groans and goes to speak only for the masked man to cover the captains mouth with his hand earning a surprised look "I know you said it wasn't his fault but you stormed off right after, it wasn't really convincing anyone. You just need to calmly tell him your not mad and its not his fault." Killer states as Kid rolls his eyes, but he gives a nod, happy with the response the blonde removes his hand and pats the red heads chest only for his wrist to be grabbed tight. "I'm only doing this because of you… got it?" Kid glares not happy about doing it but if you or Killer give ask him he'll most likely do it especially if he can get a little something in return. Knowing what he wants Killer gives a small smile before leaning up and placing his lips on his captains, Kid instantly leans in shoving his tongue into his first mates mouth not waiting for permission, not that he needed it.

Killer lets his captain do what he wants while kissing back just as hard earning a hum of satisfaction from Kid, the captain soon pulls away with a smirk before letting go of the blonde and heading out to talk to Heat. Walking out onto the deck Kid was surprised to find the stitched man leaning on the side of the ship looking out at the calm ocean "Taking a break?" The captain asks startling his friend a little but Heat soon relax and goes back to watching the water as Kid leans next to him "Wire kicked me out" The red head lets out a chuckle while shaking his head, it takes a lot to get on the tall man's nerves so Heat must have done something really annoying for a long time. Silence fell between the two, there's slight tension mainly on Heats part but Kid sighs knowing what he promised to do. "I'm not mad" The captain states turning to look away from the stitched man who looks at his captain in slight shock "I don't blame you for anything, If you didn't leave the ship your fire could have caused an explosion. Then we would have lost Y/n, the other and you. No one knew what was going to happen or that the marines would be stupid enough to kill their own men. I don't want you working yourself to death or being too tired for our next fight for something you couldn't control, now will you stop blaming yourself and sulking around and just go to bed or something" Kid rambles a bit trying to get his point across while turning to look at his friend in slight anger, Heat lets a smile form on his face while letting out a small laugh "Thanks Captain, I'll get some rest " The stitched man pats Kids shoulder before walking off feeling a lot better now that he knows his captain and friend doesn't hate him or blame him.

[6lostgirl6]

Can you do a request for me with Hannibal x Fem Reader where she starts seeing him as a patient and you reveal to him that you have kinda gray morals when it comes to murder and stuff like that and over the course of about 6 months or so you two start falling for each other but he tries to keep it professional until he can’t anymore and fires you as a patient which upsets you until he tells you why he did it (which was so he could date you)

Unexpected Romance

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

TW: slight meltdown, hints of murderous thoughts, dependence, slight angst, arguing, fighting, happy ending

You sighed, walking out of the building that once held your third psychiatrist of the month, clutching onto the white paper labeled 'referral.' It felt like a slap in the face, sitting in a comfortable office chair and spilling your deepest secrets to someone you barely knew, only for them to refer you to someone else.

'I don't know how else to help you.'

They would question you, offering you a false sense of security, yet when their prescribed medications and deeply-rooted questions did nothing, they simply lost hope in rekindling your sense of morality.

You were...beyond saving...

You slammed your car door shut, flinging the piece of paper onto your passenger seat where it lay abandoned, seemingly mocking you that it would add to your collection of your previous referrals, prescriptions, and office information. You sniffled, staring at the leather of your steering wheel. The next second, you were screaming, crying, and slamming your fist against the steering wheel as if it insulted you.

"Fuck!" You yelled, clutching your sore knuckles, staring at the bruises that were already starting to form from the force of your rage. "Fuck..."

You sniffled, staring into your rearview mirror, hastily wiping away the tears that were streaming down your face, eyes bloodshot and nose threatening to plug up from your excessive crying. You tried calming down, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Your first psychiatrist taught you about breathing exercises.

Yet, those techniques didn't stop you from the plague that invades your subconscious. The images of your family murdered, blood staining every crevice...

You shook your head before glancing over at the piece of paper, sighing to yourself as you reached over, picking it up. The name of your new therapist stared back at you, promising you of more false promises and hurt.

Dr. Lecter.

A few weeks later, you were sitting in the waiting room waiting for your first session. Well, first session with your new therapist. You were picking your nails as you watched the clock, dreading the unavoidable. The minutes were ticking by, seemingly mocking you of your adversity.

You were anxious all morning, pacing in your room, dressed and prepared only a few hours ahead of schedule. The drive was hellish, thoughts of canceling the appointment, suffering a fee and turning back haunted you. Now, you were in the waiting room with a racing heart, the pattering of the raindrops outside distracting you.

'I am beyond help...'

"Miss (L/N)?" A deep-toned voice asked.

Your head snapped, mind clearing as you faced the person that had called your name. Standing by the door, keeping it open with a charming yet polite smile upon his face, was your new and fourth psychiatrist.

Dr. Lecter

"Sorry, yeah, that's me." You said, standing from your seat but keeping your distance, you simply didn't want to barge into his office. You gave him a small smile, still feeling uncomfortable with the beginning of your session. "It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter."

"Likewise." He replied, stepping to the side with the door still opened for you. "Shall we begin with our session for today?"

"Of course." You walked past him, nodding in thanks before stepping into his office, maintaining from letting out a gasp of surprise over the vastness of his office. If you hadn't known this was his office, you would have guessed it was. The room screamed elegance and filled with decor one would see in an art museum.

"You have a lovely office." You complimented, looking around the room as Dr. Lecter closed the door and walked over to his desk, picking up some papers.

"Thank you, I quite enjoy displaying decorum through interior decorating." He replied, almost in a teasing way. "I apologize that you've been waiting a few weeks before we could start. Your psychiatrist had to send your information over from previous sessions."

"I wish it were longer, actually." You stated halfheartedly, finally taking a seat when he gestured silently towards one of his many available chairs nearby, nodding in thanks.

"Not very fond of sessions are you, miss (L/N)?" He asked, glancing your way as he shuffled through some of your paperwork, most likely your old medications and lack of diagnoses.

"I'm not particularly fond of wasting my time talking about my issues until the person trying to help me figures out I'm just incurable." You refused to return his gaze, fiddling with your nails. "They can't figure out what's wrong with me."

"There is no such thing as being incurable, there's only being overlooked."

"How do you figure?" You asked in confusion, looking up to watch him place down the papers and take a seat across from you. You didn't like the way he refused to look away from you, it made you...fuzzy.

"I believe your experience with your previous psychiatrists are, in better terms, unfit to handle someone like you." He paused for a moment, "You need someone that is able to understand you, discover your innermost self and I'm simply a better fit."

You felt your cheeks warm slightly, glancing away and unable to understand that fuzzy feeling you were feeling in your chest. "You make it seem so undemanding." You only glanced back when he called your name.

"You, my dear, are not incurable."

You were speechless, you didn't know what else to say. Something that would make him deter him away, but nothing could cross your mind before he continued.

"You are not beyond saving."

You stared at him for a while, the words sinking into your mind and chasing away some of the doubt that has haunted you for a majority of your life. You decided, against your judgement and the aching of your heart at the risk of more pain, you would give him a chance.

You nodded, which prompted him to give you a polite smile.

Time to restart the process.

At first, it was morbid curiosity.

When Hannibal was notified that he was being referred to a fellow colleague's previous patient, he was curious, very curious. He wanted to know the reason a respected psychiatrist, with an incredible track record, couldn't help a patient for once.

Therefore, he decided he would see the person behind his fellow colleague practically being close to ripping their hair out in stress. However, he was genuinely surprised when he opened his office door and saw you sitting in the waiting room. Your timid form playing with your nails with your gaze laser-focused on the clock that you didn't even react when he stood in your presence. Yet, you were oddly polite and if Hannibal didn't read your paperwork, he would have assumed you were an ordinary girl with her own issues.

However, you were...different.

He couldn't place his finger on what it was, but you weren't like anyone else he had seen step into his office. Your profile made it seem like you were a delinquent waiting to happen. However, you were polite, respectful, and had a deep passion for the arts similar to himself. He's never met an individual who shared a multitude of common interests with him. Perhaps, he underestimated you. He certainly wasn't prepared by how pretty you were and how close you two would become and he wouldn't forget your first session. When he had the opportunity to dig deep within your center and rip out your deepest secrets about yourself, in his own space.

Your gaze was focused on the window, watching the water droplets from the rain slide down the glass, the sleeves of your sweater hiding your delicate fingers. Those slim fingers that he couldn't stop staring at. You seemed so helpless, desperate for validation for the things you were going through, and he wanted to know the root of the problem.

Perhaps then, his curiosity would dissipate and he would have an easier time letting someone like you go.

"You must tell me what you're feeling if I am to help you, Miss (L/N)." He spoke softly, crossing his fingers and catching your gaze as you turned away from the window to return your attention with him.

“I feel…” You muttered with a pause, before turning your attention to the man across from you, “like I’m a danger to myself and others because of the things I think about.”

“And what do you feel?”  He asked, voice subconsciously matching your own.

“I think about hurting people, people that I used to care about. Seeing their faces twist in pain as their life drains from their eyes.”

“How does it make you feel? Those thoughts that haunt you, you mentioned that they plague you. Is it because you’re ashamed of them?” He mentally cursed himself, allowing his growing curiosity and obsession to take hold in order to discover you.

“They do haunt me but…it’s not because I’m ashamed of them.” You avoided the intensity of his stare, staring at the loose fabric of your sweater. “I’m ashamed of them because I like the thoughts.”

He swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

It has been six months since you've become his patient and Hannibal was plagued with conflicted feelings. Over the course of six months, Hannibal began to notice the ever growing affection he held for you. The soft moments between you during the break between sessions where you both would discuss your various common interests of art, music, and food.

He never thought he would find an individual so interesting, articulate, and extremely beautiful. He could still remember your lovely smile when he presented you with one of your favorite books he happened to have in his many collections of literature. He knew that he had fallen in love with you. Something he never quite expected to happen in his entire lifetime.

However, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not when he was still continuing to be your psychiatrist.

A few days after your last session, he turned in his referral for your new psychiatrist and he prayed that you would allow him to reason with you when you find out what he has done in order to be with you properly. From your previous sessions, he knew of the abandonment you’ve feared, however, he didn’t want you feeling like he gave up on you.  

He was sitting at his desk, checking his watch as he waited for your arrival. His mind was repeatedly going through the possibilities of your reaction. Your consistent timing insisted that you would arrive any minute. He decided with a heavy sigh, that he would check the waiting room and hoped that you would accept his feelings.

You smiled to yourself, sitting in your usual spot in the corner of the waiting room. You arrived a few minutes early, yet it allowed you to have some time for yourself before you continued your session with Dr. Lecter. 

Despite the happiness you felt, you still felt a little nervous. For the past few weeks, you have realized something about yourself that you didn’t think would possibly ever happen. The fuzzy feeling that continued to tickle your mind all those months was the blossoming feeling of love. 

It left you scared, scared of the possibility of what it could do to affect the professional relationship between doctor and patient. The possibility of Dr. Lecter discovering your feelings and refusing to continue helping you. All due to the disgust of having someone like you fall for someone like him. It left you feeling defeated already, yet you will allow yourself to continue to be around him. To be around him and never letting your feelings show. 

The sound of the door opening made you stand, giving Dr. Lecter a smile which he gladly returned with a soft greeting. However, something in his face made you hesitate in replying. He seemed to have something bothering him and your heart skipped a beat. 

This couldn’t be what you think it is…

Pushing the thought from your mind, you quickly returned the greeting. 

“Afternoon, Dr. Lecter.” You said, stepping forward when he moved to the side to allow you to walk past him and into his office. “Something troubling you?”

The suit-clad man quietly closed the door, walking past you to stand near his desk, he leaned against the wood, hands perched on the surface. “We have something to discuss.” He finally said, gesturing to the recliner. 

“I think I can manage just fine standing.” You retorted, voice full of ice as your eyes hardened slightly. Your body tensed as you continued standing your ground, crossing your arms. “What’s the issue?” you asked, desperately trying to keep the hurt from your voice. 

“Please, allow me to explain myself, I do not wish for you to assume-”

“I think I’m assuming correctly, right? Just go ahead and tell me what you’re thinking.”

He sighed, glancing away, presumably gathering his thoughts. 

“I believe it is best if I am no longer your psychiatrist-” 

Crash.

Hannibal ducked when something was sent flying towards his head, resulting in a loud crash as the object practically combusted against the wall. In instinct, he was quick to cover his face with his forearm, protecting himself from getting hit directly. He was shocked for a moment, processing what occurred before hearing you rush towards him.

“How could you?!” You yelled, trying to hit him with raised fists, becoming more annoyed when your old physiatrist kept blocking your feasible attacks. “You said you wouldn’t give up on me! You fucking liar!” 

“I’ve never lied to you! Let me explain!” You couldn’t bother to see his reaction, his face expressing a mix of emotions of shock and desire. He never witnessed you become so angry before, especially at him. He found his fascination for you grew even more. “You’re only making things worse.”

“I don’t care, asshole!” You screamed, pushing him which didn’t even move him an inch as he stared down at you, gripping your forearms as you started crying. “Why are you getting rid of me!”

“You stupid girl!” Suddenly, you were pinned against the wall, gasping in shock at the warmth of Hannibal’s chest pressed against your own, your wrists pinned on each side of your head. “I only did it to be closer to you!”

“What…?” You were breathless, staring into his eyes that were full of darkness and something else you couldn’t recognize. His warm breath hitting the side of your face from his close proximity. “Then, why would you?”

Instead of answering, Hannibal simply leaned down and kissed you, warm lips pressed against your own, which quickly turned passionate. Eagerly, you returned the kiss, pressing closer to him as Hannibal let go of one of your wrists to grip the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair. 

After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, he slowly pulled away, gazing down at you while you tried catching your breath. 

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” He stated, fingers pulling away from your hair to instead delicately graze the soft skin of your cheek. “I cannot court you properly if I remain your psychiatrist.”

“Dr. Lecter, I-” Your eyes watered, ashamed of your previous behavior. 

“Hannibal, darling.” He muttered softly, stroking your cheek as he pressed his forehead against your own. “I accept you as you are and I want you to be mine, always. Will you consider that?” 

You smiled softly, sniffling as you nodded, resulting in Hannibal pulling you into a tight embrace which you gladly returned. “You already have me.” You replied. 

Spam Liking = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed

[aphroditesmoon]

Gwen x Gen neutral (fem) reader?? 👉👈 where reader is also a spider-person and Miguel introduces them to the others and it's basically like a love in first sight thing? maybe? reader's spider powers is up to you of course!! ^^

mirrored hearts

gwen stacy x afab!reader(gn)

summary: gwen has never met anyone like you before.

warnings: cursing, miguel being tired, made up multiverse(?), reader is inspired by trinity from the matrix.

a/n: such a cute req, hope this is to your liking!!

°°°°

WHEN MIGUEL O'HARA first met you, he saw in your eyes the kind of look he once had. An unbridled rage, towards the world, or towards yourself, he couldn't tell. But he did know that the anger, if untrained, could destroy you.

It is the year 80077, an anomaly has been seen in your universe, an additional problem to your already dangerous world. Spot, as you've identified, is not human, at least not anymore. Living in a world ruled by artifical intelligence with only 0.8% of trueborn humans existing, you aren't exactly bothered anymore with non human villains.

But 4 years since you became the remaiming human population's Spider-droid, you've yet to be met with one like him.

You would've caught him, of course, if you weren't distracted by a random multiverse hooe opening itself up in the middle of the underground wiring lab. The stupidly large looking spider-man did not hesitate to fling a badly designed watch towards you after a 15 minutes argument between the two of you gave Spot time to enter another spiderverse.

You would've flung the watch back at his face out of spite if you weren't curious to know where the road might lead you.

"That rebellious streak you have is going to end up costing you your life, you know?" The spider-man tells you after you're done insulting and cursing his whole family line. "I should hope so, because the only way I'll go down is with my head up high."

He rolls his eyes, muttering a 'cliche ass' under his breath before the two of you appear in the large headquarters.

You ignore the rapid spider-people around you, not wanting to betray your awe in front of Miguel. When another door opens for him, a much quieter space reveals itself to you.

"I don't like half of people we're about to meet either but I'll expect you to refrain insulting any of them in more than two languages, the only reason we're all here us because the fate of the mul-" "-multiverse depends on us, yeah I got that in the first 10 speeches you manage to give on our 1 minutes ride." You're pleased with the tired sigh leaving him.

You could see a few teenagers hanging around Miguel's desk, but what caught your attention was the dark skinned pregnant women making her way straight to him. "You should've called for backup." Her voice booms as she nears you both.

"Didn't need to, I had her." He says simply, nudging his head towards you before flinging himself upwards to his table. "Who the fuck opened dress up games on my tab?" You hear him yell, eyes directly at a man with a baby strapped to his chest.

You take a quick look at all of them before zeroing down on the girl, your eyes connected, and you sensed she was either uncomfortable or afraid of how your eyes are squinting on her. "Spider-droid, is what most people call me." You say, eyes still directly on her. "Droid? As in robots?" The big eyed looking teenager next to her asks.

"-And, who is she exactly?" The afro haired women ask, eyeing you up and down. A small crowd then began to form in front of you, Miguel then, finally has the curtesy to come back down in between you and the spider-people. "A spider-person. He responds with a sarcastic air in his tone, making the blonde with pink strands scoff aloud.

"Do you like, fight robots?" Miguel snorts at him, and you glared at Miguel. "Depends, most of my populations are robots, rather than trueborn humans."

The blonde opens her mouth to ask a question you already knew coming, you cut her off before she speaks. "I would be considered, a full human, if it werent for-" You wave your steel made left arm up, flexing the fingers, earning a few gasps and hums of understanding. "-this."

The silence came then, even Miguel seemed to be suprised, not taking notice of your arm before. "I-" She starts. You raise your brows at her. "I'm Gwen." You laughed, a short but unhelpable laugh. "Nice to meet you, Gwen." That has seemsed to snap Miguel out of his subconscious. It seems that man is allergic to social interaction that is anything but necessary.

"We can't let you go back for a while, I'll have your unierse supervised for any signs of Spot returning, but I have a feeling I know where he's going next, and I want you in." Your eyes snap at him and he gives you a look that challenged you to deny him. So you say nothing.

"Good. Penni, I want you to show her to the weaponary room, see if she can attach anything to that steel arm of hers, it'd be useful." Penni, who you just noticed exist, smiled widely, and you notice her gigantic robot-pet looking friend.

Before eitner of you moved, Gwen speaks up. "I can take her, I-uh, I need a new...new-uh, gun?" Miguel's eyes widen as he asks, "New gun? You need a new gun?" His voice in utter disbelief. "For backup, its handy-" She defends himself, resulting in him just waving her off, eyes shut in frustration. "Oh for fu- fine, whatever." He leaves in a split second away from you all.

Gwen and you watched him fly himself up his table before finally looking back at eachother. She's staring at you the same way as before, mouth open, confused.

You raised a brow in question and she just looks more confused. "Gwen." You speak. "Yeah?" "Will you take me to the weaponry room now, I don't bite, I promise."

Her mouth shuts close, and she lets out a wide eyed nervous laugh, shaking her head. "Right, the weaponry! I definitely um, remember, where it is!" She says, moving to walk in front of you as you follow her steps closely.

Your pace quickens until you're next to her, you notice she seema more relaxed than a minute ago. You were used to fear, and cautionary. You were raised by those standards. When your parents had died of mercury poisoning, you've taken their place in a fast succeeding company of scientific research at the age of 15, only a spider-droid for a year before the occurance.

All the tragedies that has happened to you, all to lead you here, in a building full of people who are just like you, yet nothing like you. When Miguel had told you of this, you almost tamed some hope of finding kindred spirits, but time and time again, you fall back into the hands of fear, and cautionary.

"We're here." She squeaked, making you flinch out if your daydream. "You gonna get your gun?" You ask jokingly. Gwen lets out a short laugh. "No, I don't think so. But um, I'll show you in." She offers, walking you in the guns and shooters section, the bulletproof suit vests' right next to it.

"I already have lasers, I don't think I'll be needing a gun either, or anything Miguel thinks can make me better." You explain, looking around the room. You see Gwen nods her head, eyeing your arm. "Well, If you want to take a shower instead, you can use a room im staying in here. How do you shower with that?" She asks. You give her a small smile, putting down a revolver you've been holding, back down to its place before turning to leave the room. "I take it off."

She was silent for a while, until you hear her mumble "Goddamn." As she walks behind you.

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 4: Eddie

Word Count: 619/Rating: T/Pairing: None/CW: bullying, brief violence/Tags: Eddie Munson, Jason Carver, Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, Hawkins High 1985

Divider credit to @silkholland

“Watch it, Freak!”

Eddie Munson winces as he nearly collides with Tommy Hagan. The jock’s muscular form is no match for his scrawny one, and Eddie’s back smashes into the row of lockers. He grips his notebook tight, not willing to let anyone get a glimpse of the song lyrics inside. 

Especially not a jackass like Tommy Hagan. 

Tommy notices the way Eddie quickly draws the book to his chest, his growing smirk holding nothing but malice. “Whatcha got there?”

“Probably his list of potential sacrifices,” Billy Hargrove chimes in, snapping his gum loudly. Eddie’s never been so repulsed by the smell of spearmint in his life. “Do you just do animals? Or humans, too?”

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters under his breath. A hand reaches out and snatches the book from him. It doesn’t belong to Tommy or to Billy.

Jason Carver, a junior on the team and the heir apparent to Billy’s douchebag throne, cracks the book’s spine. “Aww, what do we have here? Love songs?” His cackle has Eddie shrinking into himself.

Tommy peers over his shoulder, reading the lyrics aloud. “Gonna fight every enemy, won’t let them get the best of me…what the fuck is this shit?” His eyes blaze with challenge when he stares at Eddie. “What enemies do you have? Y’know, besides a hairbrush?”

“I think the Freak’s writing songs about us.” Billy presses a hand to his heart. “I’m touched.”

A muscle twitches in Eddie’s jaw. Confirming what they already know would result in instant mortification, and they wouldn’t believe a lie anyway. He opts to stay silent, only grabbing for the notebook.

Tugging it just out of Eddie’s reach, Jason grins at him. “Sometimes I forget that your name isn’t actually ‘Freak.’” 

“Pretty sure it is,” Billy chimes in, “but we can ask his parents–oh, wait. He doesn’t have any. Just that weird-ass uncle.”

Red flashes before Eddie’s eyes. He’s used to the constant barrage of half-witted insults from guys who would certainly peak in high school, but he’ll be damned if they speak ill of Wayne.  

Tommy’s the first one to catch the sudden shift in Eddie’s composure, but he continues holding himself with unfounded confidence. “Guys, be careful–he might get sad and write another mean song about us.” He slips into baby talk, which only makes the others laugh harder.

Already bored with the taunting, Jason flings the notebook back in Eddie’s general direction; it hits the tile floor with an unceremonious thump. “Later, Freak.”

Before he can think better of it, Eddie’s hand shoots out and grabs the collar of Jason’s letterman jacket. The second he wraps his fingers around the fabric, he’s tugging him back with enough force to slam his head against a locker. “My name,” Eddie seethes, saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, “is Eddie Munson. Eddie fucking Munson. You got that, jockstrap?”

Jason’s Adam’s apple bobs, filling Eddie with a strange sort of pride. Wielding his newfound courage, he hisses in the junior’s ear, “And if you ever say another fucking word about my uncle, I will personally nail your balls to the gym wall. Got it?”

“F-Fine, whatever.” Embarrassment blooms in Jason’s cheeks and neck, having been bested by Eddie. He wrangles out of Eddie’s grasp and retreats back to his friends, not bothering to even glance back. “Prick.”

Eddie allows himself to breathe, even if just for a moment. Is ‘Prick’ a better nickname than ‘Freak’? Not much, but he’ll take it, if it means shutting them up.

One day, he thinks as he shoves his lyric notebook back under his arm, everyone will know his name. His real name, with no whisper of The Freak attached.

Just him. Eddie Munson.

--

[piratesoftheseaandsky]

Gods, Villains, and the concept of Change

I beat in Stars and Time recently, and it got me thinking.

Spoilers for In Stars and Time, Persona 5 Royal, Destiny 2: the Final Shape, and Slay the Princess.

The games listed above are some of my favorite, and they have a common ground I didn't expect. Change. Resistance to it, and how that affects the world around it. They're all excellent games made with a lot of love, and I highly recommend them.

Let's start with Persona. Persona 5 Royal is an angry game. It is a game about spitting in the face of complacency. In it, you fight a total of 2 gods. The first is one brought into being from humanity's want to not need to choose. It's a critique of Japan's culture just allowing heinous acts to occur without anyone speaking up because of a whole lot of factors. Prestige, corrupt and failing systems, so on and so forth. That's not why I want to talk about it.

I want to talk about it because this is the most grounded form of resistance to change that I can offer. The god you face says it outright, this is what people wanted, this is a longing from a society at large. No one wants to have to be the one coming forward to fight against things that feel too expansive to handle alone. So, they stagnate. So the world stagnates, and so comes a god of control, to make those decisions for you. And so you are complacent. The point of this game is to scream and bare your teeth at it, to rage at allowing others to be hurt because you're comfortable, because you don't want to pursue change.

You kill that god, stand on its corpse, a bullet through its metallic skull, and prove that things can change, that it's worth a shot. That complacency is not the answer. That to get better, we have to change.

Then comes the second god. A man, one so maddeningly stuck up his own ass that he can't imagine anyone's perspective but his own. Dr. Maruki is a horrible therapist and a worse researcher. But that's not the point. The point is that he ascends to a weird sort of godhood to grant people's wishes. This is where the game elevates itself from pretty good to fucking excellent. He wants to heal everyone, and grants anyone's wish, no matter what it is.

You see a teacher of yours undergo a drastic change from grumpy asshole to friendly and kind. By someone else's wish. It's an insult, in a lot of ways, a different kind of complacency. Everyone is dependent on wishes to make life easy for themselves, and Maruki never seems to bother thinking about what these wishes he's granting might mean when they affect others.

One of your Confidants makes an argument about this relatively early on, that I always took as illogical, until Maruki became a god. She is hypocritical, but also was being manipulated, and besides, there's no point in judgement, only in action.

Once again, that's what the game is doing. The point is to get mad, to act, to do something to fix it instead of letting a shitty situation stagnate. Don't let anyone else dictate you, what you are, how you act, all of it. Don't ever allow complacency to get others hurt.

The point is to change, and force society to change with you.

Now let's fling ourselves to the other end of the spectrum. To a universe ending extreme.

Destiny 2: the Final Shape is the culmination of a decade of storytelling and a last, heartfelt hurrah to a story and a character that players fell in love with. The Witness is not a god, not quite. Powerful, horrifying, but not a god. Not worshipped, subconsciously or otherwise. It is, however, a villain. One obsessed with perfection.

Perfection is always a sticky thing, symbolic for a whole load of things. Here, the symbol doesn't matter, the act does. The Witness freezes everything in what it considers to be their perfect moment.

Well, is in the process of doing so, that's when you show up. To do so, you have to step into the Traveler, your god, or patron, or whatever. It's what granted you immortality, and your only constant companion. Your Ghost. That's something to talk about later, in a different post, how the game flips your perspective of your Ghost on its head.

The Witness uses the Traveler's power, the darkness and the light, the mental and the physical, and manifests a whole world in the Traveler. A world of perfect moments. Your first revival, the first time you make it to the Tower, the first god you ever killed.

It is an iconoclasm. "To step foot in the body of a god would be unquestionably to defile it." The Witness twists your everything, takes existence and bends it into unchanging, frozen, moments. It loathes you, because you are it's antithesis. Impermanence itself, your first life, your original self long forgotten, a constantly changing eternal.

For an immortal, you are remarkably fragile. It drives you into perpetual motion, makes you beautifully imperfect. Everything the Witness hates. Your god encourages growth, and never interferes directly. You exist for a purpose. Your god won't tell you what it is.

Of course it won't, the Traveler doesn't like to dictate you, that goes against its philosophy. Your existence is yours, it won't shove itself into a life that only belongs to you. Choice is valuable, precious. The Witness wants to rip it apart for its own purposes.

Another insult, putting the wishes of one over the many, making choices that only belong to the individuals. You rip apart its "perfection", bare the blood and guts, ugly interior built on one soul's desperate grasping for control. It buries its followers-turned-dissenters under itself, sucks them of their power and strips them of their individuality.

You sink your teeth into its throat, tear it's vocal chords out and destroy it, make an example of it, like you have done with its disciples before. Your freedom, your ability to change, your individuality, you've fought everything to keep it. And someone makes a sacrifice. For you.

But it was their choice. And that's why it matters. They chose that change for themselves, and knew how it would end. It's an honor, that their final death was for you.

For as many times as the change is no one's choice but your own, there are just as many where circumstance forces your hand. Let's talk about In Stars and Time.

In Stars and Time is a game that took me 47 hours to beat, and put me through one of the worst crushers I've ever dragged myself through. I loved it more than anything. There is a belief in this game built around the concept of change.

Change, and time, and their relation to each other. You play as Siffrin, a traveler from a country now forgotten, alongside a party on their way to face the King. The King is freezing Vaugarde, the country you're currently in, in time.

He is not a god, powerful but not divine. Barely even a threat by the end. But that's not where the danger lies, because he's not the only one messing around with time.

At the start of the game, you make a wish. You don't know the contents, not truly, but it will decide everything that happens next.

You miss a trap, and a giant boulder is dropped on your skull as your party watches.

You feel a tug on your stomach.

And you're back where you started. No one but you, and your faithful guide, Loop, remember. You repeat the same two days more times than you should, break your brain apart as you try to figure out why you're stuck in a time loop, all the while pretending nothing's wrong.

You memorize what your friends say, and soon enough you're following a script, only ever erring when it make actually be useful to figuring this out. You uncover things about yourself and your past, you change while everything stagnates.

At one point you meet the change god. It talks to your friend first, for so many reasons I will talk about somewhere else. Then, it looks to you.

You, the only one who still changes, who is still allowed to change. Center stage, under the spotlight, all eyes on you. It thinks itself the audience.

No, you are the center of an orrery, the celestial body in this loop from which all things orbit.

You change in the worst ways, tear yourself apart and drive yourself to mania for any chance at an escape. All it takes is a promise.

All it takes is the worst things you've ever said, the biggest deviation from the script you've ever done. All it takes is honesty. All you have to do is let yourself be loved.

You and the King are foils, driven by grief for a country forgotten, you force stagnation in the world around you. He changes by choice, makes himself gigantic and intimidating, chooses consciously to pluck away an entire country's freedom.

You lose an eye on instinct, wish to stay as nothing more than a desperate whisper, unconscious and drowning in your own forgetfulness.

The Universe leads, you can only follow. A three body problem. The King is a star fading, freezing, everything in its orbit loses speed, until the solar system grinds to a halt.

You are star going supernova, blinding, bursting, taking all that surrounds you with you.

But you change. The King changes. You have a family, they'll stay with you, they love you. You can move on. The King remembers, in his final moments. The last of your home frozen forever.

But he changed. He is gone and you remain, a three body problem solved. Changes made.

None of these happen in a vacuum, there are circumstances outside of both your control and your sight. A whole world to save. Let's talk about one in which there is nothing but you, a path, a cabin, the voices, and a princess.

You are on a path in the woods. At the end of this path is a cabin. In that cabin is a princess.

You are here to slay her.

If you don't, it will be the end of the world.

These are the opening lines of every route of Slay the Princess. It is a love story.

Like In Stars and Time, the gameplay is built on change. Try every dialogue option, find every ending, meet every version of the princess and hear every voice of your own.

No matter what you do, you finish your first route, and you find yourself in the long quiet. First, you must touch a mirror, see yourself, and say goodbye to the voices. They cannot follow you here. A thing sits where the cabin was, holding whatever version of the princess you dragged out. It thanks you. It asks for more. 5 is the minimum. Just five versions. Just five routes.

Everyone plays it a little differently, finds different routes, explores different dialogue. Everyone gets a different ending.

We're not here to talk about the ending, we're here to talk about you, the Shifting Mound (the thing in the long quiet), and the narrator.

The narrator is fragments, echoes of a man who made a choice for no one but himself under the guise of saving the world. Like Sisyphus cheating death. His punishment is you. You and your other half.

He trapped change itself, and split it in twain. Plucked you apart and forced you to slaughter each other for eternity, until finally one succeeds and "saves the world". He interferes, he forces your hand in the most literal sense, he denies and deflects and refuses to be honest. No matter what you choose, before the end, if you've brought the Shifting Mound 5 vessels, you will destroy the narrator.

He shatters, and he gives you answers. Sort of. You only have so manu questions before the shards of glass beneath you can no longer sustain him. It doesn't matter, because you get answers.

A fabricated prison, a separation, ill-fated desperation, and a selfish wish. A wish to get rid of change, in its entirety.

He didn't lie, freeing the princess will bring about the end of the world. But not at once. Just eventually. Because for change there must be destruction. Because motion will always, eventually, run out of energy.

Inertia, and all that. What you do next is your choice. That's the point, after all. You and the Shifting Mound are Change, and there are many ways this can go. Possibilities brought about by chance, by choice, by change.

Four stories, all about change, all about stagnation, all about the value of choice, or the lack of it. Maybe this will be meaningful for you. Maybe you'll scroll past it without a second thought.

That's the point. That's the value of change. That's why I wrote this.

[wishitweresummer]

Unstoppable

Word count: 1997

George laughed softly at his two favorite idiots, that bittersweet feeling washing over him again. An ocean away…but not for long…right?

“Dream, shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!”, Sapnap got louder and louder as he tried to drown Dream out to no avail.

“-and he cried! I made him call me daddy, George!”, he wheezed. It sounded like he was shaking his head. “And he did!!”.

“Dream!!! I’m going to come over there and kick your ass!!!”

“If you come over here I’m going to tickle you again.”, Dream recovered quickly from his laughing fit to purr the threat into his mic.

“SHUT UP!!!”.

George put his chin in his hand and balanced it on the desk, grinning at Sapnap’s red face. At the sound of Dream starting up again, he slid his eyes over to the black screen and familiar icon in the middle.

Dream and Sapnap had lived together for a few weeks now. As soon as George got his visa he could join the fun.

‘Soon.’, he thought.

“I can’t wait for you to get here George. You can help me take him down.”.

“Soon!”, he chirped. It really was more sweet than bitter. Sapnap huffed like a child and crossed his arms, sinking back into his gaming chair. George knew any other time he would see Sapnap fling insults or even run out of the room to go confront Dream in person. But now, he stayed put with the threat of tickles. “I’m actually not ticklish, so I’d be pretty useful as an ally.”.

“No way!”.

“No shot!”. The exclamations were yelled in sync, making George laugh.

And with that, one more thing added to the list of things they needed to do as soon as George got to Florida.

-Dream face reveal

-Disney

-Pick out another furry friend for Patches together

-Sapnap’s first legal drink

-Tickle fight

~•~

The next time tickling is brought up, it’s weeks later and just George and Sapnap in their comfy vc.

“He’s really ticklish. If I could just get him pinned he would be fucked, dude.”, Sapnap said to his bedroom ceiling.

“Is he really that big?”, George asked quietly. Sapnap scoffed, shaking his head in amusement at the strange question.

“Well yeah, but you’ve seen like, his body. Bro’s six two.”.

“Shortnap.”, he quipped quickly, giggling.

“Laugh it up George. I actually workout! What do you think is going to happen to you?”.

“Oh, well I’m not ticklish.”.

“Everybody is ticklish.”.

“No, not everybody. It just doesn’t do anything to me.”.

Sapnap grinned. Somehow, George knows.

Sapnap thought back to the last time he heard George lose his shit. That insane cackling in person was deafening.

“I wish I had tickled you when I visited you in England.”.

“I’m not ticklish! Really!”.

~•~

Sapnap’s scream clipped the mic and George squirmed in his chair a little, wishing Dream would turn on his camera.

They had all been watching a new horror movie together when George had gotten a message.

Sap: I’m gonna scare the glizz out of Dream

And scare he had. Dream had been so enthralled in the movie he hadn’t noticed Sapnap slip out of frame. After a minute;

Startled yelp. Sapnap’s mean laughter. A scuffle. A chair crashing to the floor. Begging. A squeal. Raspy laughter. Pleads for mercy. Screaming when they were ignored. Dream’s cocky teases. Hysterical laughter. Apologies. More laughter.

Man…George wished he was there actually. He could help Dream punish Sapnap. Or help Sapnap put Dream in his place. The horror movie faded out of his interest entirely as he listened to his two best friends laugh. Dream’s familiar cry rang out. Maybe Sapnap had got some ground in the fight? He grinned and stared at the little Dream icon as the faceless man’s laughter boomed. He tried his best to picture in his head what was happening, but the image of Dream kept blurring into nothingness.

George jumped at another one of Sapnap’s piercing screams.

“George, help!!!”, he wailed. His laughter had a helpless edge to it and George wondered if Dream had gotten him pinned.

“I’ll be able to soon!”. But, they couldn’t hear him when he was so far away. “Soon.”.

~•~

The amount of tickling in the Dream House seemed to ramp up, to George’s ambivalence. He found himself hyperfocusing on it a bit. The other two were easy to egg on. Sapnap had a competitive streak and the fact that he hadn’t gotten the best of Dream in a tickle fight yet seemed to bug him.

“Who’s more ticklish?”, he asked one day over a game of Bedwars.

“Dream.”.

“Sapnap.”, they answered at the same time. George laughed.

~•~

Eventually, the future came hurtling in. A visa was granted. Suitcases were packed. A mask was removed.

And George came home.

~•~

It was a whirlwind of excitement; that first day. Dream and George were having a bit of trouble separating, too excited to be in person.

Dream giggled, standing in the doorway. He had been trying to leave for ten minutes, but just kept hovering and egging on the conversation. George was trying to scowl at him from the floor, but failing. The giddy energy of finally being with his best friends was crawling across his skin. He had to hold himself back from jumping up to touch Dream’s face. It was so real. He stood tall in the doorway, nearly touching the top with his curls.

George forced himself to look back down at the clothes he was sorting through. His suitcases were all open and stuff was strewn around the room. He thought back to when he had moved into his first apartment alone. The feelings mixed into the memories were different. He had been happy, for sure. But not like this. This wasn’t moving out, this was more like coming home. He knew it was cliche and sappy…but it was true.

Dream almost made it out of the room, but Sapnap appeared and wedged his own body into the doorframe so he could smoosh up to Dream. They both giggled as they shoved each other painfully against the wood. George desperately fought to not stare at them with all the fondness in the world.

“Gogy.”, Sapnap coo’ed, popping through the door to stumble towards George and fall to his knees next to him. George giggled.

“Sappy.”, he reached out and pushed gently against the younger’s shoulder. He had been struggling all day to keep his hands to himself now that his best friends were in reaching distance.

Dream took Sapnap’s entrance as his go ahead to join George on the floor again. Both had stated they were going to leave him alone to sort through his bags and start unpacking. George was glad they were failing to leave. He kind of hoped he was never alone again.

“Go away!”, he laughed and shoved at both of them.

~•~

George couldn’t help the giggles spilling from his lips as Dream cornered him in the living room. He knew he wasn’t ticklish, but Dream’s size and confidence was lighting his nerves on fire.

“Get him, Dream!”, Sapnap called from the couch.

“You said we would team up against him!”, George squeaked out. He gasped as his back found the wall.

Dream’s large hands were suddenly on his waist and he shrieked as he was twisted down to the ground.

“Dream!”, he cried, flustered.

He jumped a little as Dream went to work squeezing up his sides and shaking his fingertips into his rib cage. George slowly calmed down, just observing so he would know exactly what the other thought would tickle him.

“No shot. You have to be ticklish somewhere!”, Dream shook his head in disbelief and poked quickly into George’s stomach.

“Holy shit.”, Sapnap muttered, hanging over the back of the couch to watch him.

“Damn…okay…here?”, Dream asked as he reached back and grabbed George’s thigh. He squeezed at the muscle above his knee. George only lifted himself up on his elbows and gave Dream a little smile.

“Sorry.”, he shrugged. “Alright, my turn now.”, he said quickly and grabbed Dream’s sides before he could react. The boy squawked and almost completely collapsed against him.

George used the element of surprise and shoved himself up into Dream’s body. With a little force, he was able to flip their positions so he was on top. Sapnap cheered.

He attacked Dream’s ribcage like he had tried only a minute earlier; pressing all of his fingertips in lightly and shaking them roughly against the bones. Dream screamed. George and Sapnap both laughed as Dream turned into a squirming mess.

“What the fuck?!”, he cried. His hands shoved roughly against George’s chest, but George invaded his space again quickly and poked rapid fire into his stomach like he had done earlier. Dream’s entire body convulsed suddenly and he squealed. “Okay!!”.

“You’re so ticklish!”, George grinned. He reached back and latched onto Dream’s thigh. The boy bucked violently and shrieked with laughter. George laughed and he struggled to stay on. “Holy shit!”.

“You’re meme’ing him.”, Sapnap giggled.

“Fuck you!!”, Dream squeaked.

Sapnap grinned as he watched Dream completely fall to pieces under the smaller boy. It was so gratifying after being tickled to death by him a million times since they moved in together. Everytime Dream got a hold of George’s hand or started to shove him off, he squealed with helpless laughter and crumbled back to the floor from a new ticklish attack.

Just as Sapnap was starting to think it was the best day ever, George stood and set his sights on him.

“Oh shit.”, he muttered before scrambling to his feet. Dream was nothing but a giggly puddle as George left him to dart after Sapnap.

Before he could reach the door, a weight hit his back and sent both boys tumbling painfully across the floor. They both giggled hysterically as they wrestled. Sapnap’s giggles pitched up in panic as he blocked George’s playful fingers again and again.

“Get away, you psycho!”, he squeaked. A sneaky hand was shoved into his armpit and he crumbled. He gasped out harshly before bursting into laughter. The touch was mean right away. It made sense, knowing George’s merciless nature. It just sucked being the victim of it.

“Squeaky.”, George smirked and dropped both his hands down to Sapnap’s sides. His face burned as helpless laughter bubbled out of him against his will.

Sapnap cursed himself for not running earlier. George had just taken down Dream! There was no escaping the onslaught of tickles. He screamed in protest as devious hands shoved up into his shirt and grabbed at his bare sides.

“Okay, please!”, he pleaded, throwing his ego out the window to maybe get George to stop.

“Are you begging me right now, Stinknap?”.

“Yes! Yes, please! No more!”, he cried through his laughter. His torso was jumping and shaking at the electric touch directly into his muscles. He tugged at George’s arms and slipped into hysterical laughter. He kicked against the floor helplessly. He was so screwed. George was grinning like a demon as he dug his fingers expertly into his sides. Sapnap squealed. “Please!”.

Suddenly, George was lifted off of him. George yelped and burst into giggles as Dream held him up.

“Lemme at ‘im!”, he yelled as he kicked in the air and made grabby hands at Sapnap. They all laughed at the absolutely ridiculous situation.

“Fuck, I can’t believe this.”, Sapnap rubbed at his red face and tried to shake off his giggles. His body still buzzed from George’s rough touch.

“I told you guys I wasn’t ticklish!”, George laughed as he was placed back down on his feet.

~•~

George actually not being ticklish was just one of the many new things they learned about each other by living together. It was never a dull moment in the house and George thought he might never be bored again.

[gayshitfuckers]

HELLO I JUST GOT THE QUARRY AND I HAVE MANY OPINIONS AND YES MOST OF THEM ARE ABOUT THE ABSOLUTELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN EMMA X ABI (don't get me wrong, their friendship is SO cute and them being canonical besties is still very precious, I just noticed something i think is worth mentioning)

(spoiler warning? Idk if its necessary cause it's been out for a lil while but if you're dumb like me and my brother and have only just got/played it then be warned)

So, as we are all aware, Nick gets infected like Chapter? 3? 4? Whatever it is... and proceeds to act Very Very Weird towards Abi, very grabby and sort of demanding her attention while also insulting her. But pretty much the very last thing he does is grab her and try to pull her into him before yknow ~flinging her~. All very uncomfortable, but remember the last thing he does in Wolf Delerium™️ before going full munch is pretty much force her to be right next to him when he's about to turn. And sure he wasn't aware of what he was doing but the game gives the impression that whoever's bitten kind of knows that nothing good is about to happen and that their personalities/insecurities are reflected in their changes.

I mean come ON that is such a fuckin predator-ass pose (sorry Nick I swear I don't hate him that much it's just this part makes it DIFFICULT to love him)

Now, I would like to compare that with this little tidbit I noticed in my run. Later in I think Chapter 8, Abi and Emma are in the storm shelter together with Emma infected (my bad babes, fucked up your QTE for you). The convo ain't pretty, although it's certainly not the levels of uncomfortable with Nick. But then! THEN! Something very interesting happens. Despite being angry and having just verbally lashed out at Abi, Emma? Staggers away?? From what I could tell she was quite literally seconds away from turning and just stops speaking before abruptly putting some distance between herself and Abi. And at this point honestly Emma knew about as much as Nick (maybe a bit more cause she's been told the basics but she hasn't actually seen a transformation, all her info is whatever Kaitlyn very quickly conveyed to Emma). All that's happened to her up to is she's had a couple run ins with werewolves and hidden in the van.

This is all a very longass way of saying I can't get it out of my head that Emma realised what was happening (or at least had figured out she was some sort of danger to Abj) and was trying to PROTECT her. When Nick was this far along, he was saying vaguely cannibalistic sentiments to Abi so I'm presuming atp Emma's having similar munchy thoughts, but instead of acting on them like Nick did she's putting distance between her and Abi. She's mere moments away from turning and somehow fights her instincts off long enough to keep Abi just a little bit safer from her. Kinda further emphasised by the fact that she very softly says 'Abi' before moving away from her in a kinda panicked way.

(Found the exact thing below so you can see what I mean, but I think she goes a bit further before physically collapsing)

I also think this is one of the only cases I know of where someone infected like actively moves away from their friends? Dylan comes the closest by telling Kaitlyn she has to get away (also hard to judge cause man's in stuck in a crane so I'll give him half credit on that one). But as far as I know Emma's the only one who in pretty much her final moments physically goes against the curse enough to try and get away.

ALSO VERY INTERESTINGLY, even after she turns, she takes...a very long time to get to Abi. You can hear the sound of her fully turning as Abi goes to the ladder. I'm gonna say tops this is like? 15 metres away? It's close enough that a human could close it in a few seconds, the werewolves can basically jump that distance in a second - if that. But it takes her (and yes I timed it) all of twenty seconds to actually reach Abi and drag her off the ladder. Abi has time to get halfway up, fall off, get BACK up and only after failing a mash QTE will Emma get her. And we KNOW Emma knew where she was cause she does look at Abi just before she runs to get away. Even giving a suitable amount of time for confusion, other werewolves haven't taken more than a few seconds before running off to do something - hell even giving her 10s (which is WAY more than any other werewolf in the game takes to get into action) she's still standing there doing nothing for another 10s.

Am I suggesting that Emma loves Abi so much she fought the urge to hunt her down long enough to give her 2 chances to escape? And that she tried to further that chance by moving just that little bit away from Abi before turning? Yes. Yes I wholeheartedly am.

Obviously this is just my interpretation of that event but!!! I maintain the evidence is there. But even if you don't perceive it as potentially romantic, it still serves well to show the depth of their friendship. At the very least it shows that at her heart, Emma cares more about Abi than Nick as they both lash out at Abi in a similar manner but Emma pulls herself together long enough to give Abi a better chance.

[not-goldy]

Honestly goldy, i don’t know why you even bother going back and forth with these solos. These people are not ready to listen to anything because they’ve made up their minds that they hate Jungkook. To hell with what Jimin thinks about him or how important he is to Jungkook. These people don’t care, all they care about is what they themselves feel and if you really think about it, it isn’t even really about Jimin but about themselves. Why do you think solos usually disregard the things their faves do and say on a daily basis? It is simply because this “fight” is more about “them” than it is about the people they claim to be fighting for because how are you not ashamed sitting here shitting on somebody Jimin is literally enlisted with as we speak? How are you sitting here calling Jk the devil because of something he said donkey years ago when he didn’t know better even though we have heard Jimin say multiple times how much he loves and cares about Jk and how he knows he can rely on him and he feels like Jk can protect him? Is Jimin an idiot? Do you go about saying all these about a person who doesn’t give a tiny rats ass about you? This is why solos will always be dumb and useless. The truth is, y’all cause more harm than good for Jimin and you don’t care about it. Even the so called “good” you think you are doing for him is really for yourselves because you want to “win” this senseless war you have with other solos to prove that your fave is better.

Y’all are sitting here wanting to crucify Jk for mistakes he made when he didn’t know any better as if Jimin himself didn’t say things to people that could come off as insensitive. Jimin is the kindest and most considerate person i have ever seen but even he is not without flaws or a past. Jimin made a jokeabout RM a monkey/ baboon or something of the sort. Jimin has called other members “pig”and he himself was the captain in calling himself ugly. What y’all don’t fucking understand is that, at some point the words “ugly” or “pig” were not even considered insults anymore especially among the guys because it was just like a normal “blast” between them. Yea Jimin did look a little hurt by those words sometimes but that was probably because he already thought he was ugly and not necessarily because the members said that sometimes. Plus Jk only said that once and it was more or less a joke. Was it an insensitive joke? Yes it was but Jk didn’t know any better. He himself spoke about the fact that when he was younger, he had an issue recognizing how his words and actions made other people feel plus the boy was young and immature. If Jimin has forgiven and moved on who the fuck are you to hold unto those things? It doesn’t matter what they all said to each other years ago because they have clearly grown so much. And it’s funny how y’all hang unto those moments but ignore the moments when Jk himself even at that age kept calling Jimin handsome, pretty, saying his eyes were beautiful, calling him charming and speaking of how kind and caring Jimin is.

https://x.com/jjksonyeondan/status/1353155329241059334?s=46

https://x.com/jjksonyeondan/status/1353155222223388674?s=46

https://x.com/jjksonyeondan/status/1353155189558140928?s=46

Why do you choose to hang unto the negative and ignore all the nice things Jk said about Jimin? Since Jk moved on from that stage who has given Jimin more compliments than Jk? He is the one constantly calling Jimin pretty, cute, beautiful, sexy. He is the one charging at pple with frying pans for almost hitting Jimin, he is the one warning Tae to not fling a pancake at Jimin, he is the one scolding suga and asking him to make Jimin feel better after suga teased Jimin for saying “sorry” at the UN. He is the one gently pulling Jimin away when members hit him on his birthday, Jk is the one scolding RM for saying that Jimin’s kiss has contaminated a trophy. Jk is the one waking up and making a bigger pancake for Jimin because he has penalties to do, he is the one alerting the members to shut up because Jimin is not done answering his questions. He is the one leaving his spot to go console a crying Jimin on stage, Jimin cooks and the food is tastes bad and while other members are complaining about it and refusing to eat it, we have Jungkook going to eat the food and not complaining about it so that Jimin doesn’t feel bad. We have members complaining about a drink Jimin bought, saying it tasted bad and Jk turning to Jimin and saying “i liked the drink you brought”. We have Jk all the members teasing Jimin and Jk being the only one who doesn’t say anything, we have Jk asking tae to pass him a bottle of water so he can give Jimin and guess what? Jimin didn’t even ask. Jk is always the one looking out for Jimin or being the one praising him and telling him he did good when others are teasing him. Jk is always the one telling Jimin he looks cute, beautiful, sexy. He is the one who quietly holds unto Jimin’s chair so Jimin doesn’t fall off, he is the one who uses his hand to break Jimin’s fall to make sure Jimin doesn’t hurt himself when he falls. He is the one going to pick Jimin up after he falls off a chair. Just because Jk doesn’t scream about his love for Jimin like Jimin does, doesn’t mean Jk doesn’t care. He loves Jimin and protects him in ways that if you blink, you might miss it.

I usually don’t subscribe to all these slowed down analyzed videos but this one is pretty straight to the point and if this doesn’t show you why Jimin has loved Jungkook dearly for over a decade and still continues to, if this doesn’t tell you why Jimin keeps saying Jk will protect him, then nothing will. This is something that almost everyone will miss but this speaks volumes.

https://x.com/enoonsti/status/1736758350904484106?s=46

So y’all can continue holding unto a past that Jimin doesn’t remember anymore while that boy just keeps on loving Jk because unlike you, he actually knows him and knows what Jk does for him.

Period purr purr