#he got drunk on his own power and wanted to figure out exactly what he could do so tried to get a kid there to commit suicide

[viviswtings]

Alcohol wet.

So I've just been drawing Neteyam like the simp I am, and it's going great. He's inspiring me so much I got to write a whole thing for him.

Words: 2627.

Warnings: suggestive fluff? Is that a thing? Also not proof-read. Just finished and posted. English isn't my first language and there are words I'm iffy about all over. Tell me if something doesn't make sense.

The characters are aged up. Like, in their twenties sort of aged up. Don't come after me. Or do. Idk.

“Shit, you’re beautiful “

He exhaled against her face, his breath smelling of the sweet, fruity liquor he had been sipping all night.

Up until this point he had been slurring his words, letting them fall off his purple stained lips, all buttery and soft- his speech, that is- without seemingly any care for if she could understand them or not.

But this. This he said clearly. Like a cloudless day, after a particularly dark eclipse. She understood every single word, and she was exhilarated when she did.

How sweet his voice came out, how his plushy, swollen lips had caressed every word like he knew exactly what place in her heart they were meant to fit into. Taking that little space she had once made for him and making it bigger and bigger, so all her feelings may fit within her chest.

He was staring at her from up close, his nose almost touching hers. Those big, golden eyes that let her see her own reflection in the dilated pupil. She hoped he meant it, that, in his eyes, she truly was beautiful.

But alcohol did its thing as the warrior pursed hisr lips and got closer. She turned her head as quickly as she realized, for she had reacted too slowly, having been immersed in his gaze and almost gotten lost in it.

The peck on her cheek was wet, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the distressed sound off Neteyam’s chest once he figured he had failed his attempt. Leaning back to look at him, it was impossible not to smile.

His face was turned towards the ground, while his stare remained on her, brow furrowed and lips pouted. His ears, now flushing almost pink, laid tense flat against his braided hair, all the muscles in his body were tense as his tail flicked from side to side behind him. It was comical. The great, mighty warrior Neteyam te Suli was butthurt. Because she had denied him a kiss.

Maybe it was right at this very moment that a part of her mind, in the furthest back off it, has come to understand she had some power over him. But perhaps she didn’t, and it was all the liquor’s fault, for it had made her delusional.

Seconds in silence had passed, which, given the previous circumstances, was unusual. The young warrior had started bragging about all his feats as soon as the alcohol had settled in. Talking nonsense about how his father barely had to teach him anything, how he was a natural, fishing when he was still using a children’s bow, being the youngest hunter to make his first kill and finishing his ikniyama at the ripe age of just thirteen years old. He almost made her ears fall off, but she did have a special soft spot for him and his slurred, rhythmic and almost-purr like nonsense. So, she had listened attentively all the same.

“Do you not want me?” Was the first thing that left his lips after his failed strategy. She did not expect the look of doubt carved into his features. Like his worst nightmare had become true, like he was… afraid.

Her heart skipped various beats that made her throat close, so no words could come out. She couldn’t flat out reject him just because he was drunk, but saying she did-and oh, she did want him- would risk him not remembering the next morning. Even worse, he could regret it, stop talking to her altogether and leave her with the hope of finally fulfilling her one wish.

It could also escalate and she was not about to take advantage of a drunken man twice her size.

“Nete” Her voice came out as an exhale, like she had been holding her breath all along. “You… ask me tomorrow” Was her final answer, hushed, but with a bit more confidence. If he didn’t ask, she could just presume he didn’t remember and not risk her own heart being shattered.

His ears twitched, his tail stopped, and he got closer again, to which she retreated, trying to avert his eyes. What would happen if she even dared to look back at him? It scared her, so she didn’t.

Then the rough skin of his fingertips came in contact with her forearms, making the hairs on the back of her head rise up and her body tense even more.

“I will” He pressed another kiss to her cheek, a little bit further away from the corner of her mouth, much softer and velvety and leaving no trace of wetness. At least, not on her cheek.

“Alright” She muttered, barely above a whisper, much too afraid of the people around them finding out the oloe’ytakan talking in such an intimate way with her. Both of his hands on her, caressing the skin of her knuckles with his thumb while he kept hold of her forearm, as if to keep her close, to not let her distance herself too much.

He had been resting his chin on her shoulder, face almost cradled in the hollow of her neck, when he was rudely interrupted by a deep, guttural grunt he knew all too well. It would’ve had him standing straight and knocking the air off him in any other situation. But Neteyam was way too comfortable, skin all warm, hands busy and mind fuzzy with the sweetest smell.

Then he felt a hand around his neck, the woman almost under him getting impossibly straight and tense when she pulled her arms away from him. Breath tickled his ear, making him uncomfortable. “Up, boy. Don’t make me repeat myself”.

So he did. All his body screamed against it, but Neteyam got up, not looking down, unable to see the flustered girl he had left on the ground, fidgeting with her tail and head low in shame. He would’ve sobered up in a second if he had. Or so he’d most likely want to believe.

But the older man did see her. As a matter of fact, he always saw her, he did see all of the members of the clan, old or young, gatherer or warrior, it was his duty. He took pride in it. He loved his people.

But that girl, ever since she arrived, she had his eldest running around like a headless chicken. He wasn’t blind, nor a fool, the kid was sweet and very pretty indeed. That, and he knew better than to meddle with young passions, given his own record. His son had crossed a line, though. As he himself had witnessed his son make a fool of himself all night.

“C’mere, sweetheart” He offered his hand to the girl, smiling her way when she looked up at him. “How about we walk you home and I’ll take care of this one for the night”.

She smiled back, taking the five-fingered hand with her own, to which Jake pulled her up, ready in case he had to help her with her balance. But she did just fine, maybe a bit wobbly on her feet, but not a major inconvenience.

The walk to her hut was almost silent, with Neteyam’s head hanging low, too immersed in his own thoughts to even mind his step. If he didn’t know the paths of High Camp like the back of his hand, he might have found it really difficult to find his footing.

Jake only ever broke the silence with politeness, asking how they were doing- to which his son only grumbled-, and making small talk with the girl. He knew her just enough to know what to ask and keep the light smile with jokes as long as the small walk lasted. If he could make his girls laugh, this one shouldn’t have been too much different. Thankfully, he was right.

Once they got to their destination, he stepped back, leaving way for his son so he may have his privacy.

Neteyam knew he should thank his father for the chance, but forgot all about it once he had to put two words together.

“I will ask” He repeated, lowering his eyes to meet her own. He had thought about what he should say all the way there, yet he found himself dumbfounded, incapable of remembering a single thing.

“Alright” She answered back, just as she did before, hands clasping in front of her, knuckles a yellowish shade of green as she gripped onto her own fingers, her nails drawing recent shapes on her palm.

“You will accept” He sounded far more confident than his beating heart would’ve ever let her know. But this surge of confidence lasted long enough for him to hold her hands in his, so she wouldn’t hurt herself anymore. “Then I’ll have you, as you have me”.

She was choking on thin air. The way he was staring her down, brow stern and lips sealed tightly into a line, while making those statements as if he already knew. As if he was laying his head against her chest and hearing her breath catch and her heart beating furiously against her ribs. Like it was the only possible, reasonable outcome.

She had him? Never in her life had she dared to bluff such nonsense. While every young woman almost paraded around him: the nicest singers, the prettiest dancers, the most skilled healers… Every single woman with the least bit of status within High Camp took the slightest chance to be near him. She simply existed, not particularly away from him, but afraid to get so close it would end up hurting her.

Why wouldn’t they? She may laugh at her “mighty warrior” comments, but she knew they were true. He was mighty, and as tall as he was slim, agile and strong. His hair was thick and his hands looked almost heavenly when he put it up for hunting parties, his long neck and the line of his shoulders in display while the muscles in his back flexed, almost knocking the air out of her lungs.

Just as he did now. Luminous freckles making a soft path around his features, down his nose and over his cupid’s bow. He felt so soft pressed to her skin it made her tail move behind her nervously and her loins burn.

“Can I kiss you?”

He had gotten closer to her face once against, big eyes open in question, as he now held her by her arms, pulling her just a tad bit closer as he waited for an answer. If his father had heard him, he didn’t show. He cut her short before she could attempt to answer. “Not your lips”. The remark caught her off guard, but she didn’t know how to mind while he kept his beautiful, gleaming irises on her, like an expecting child asking to go play.

So, she nodded, in fear her words would fail her. Pushing far the thought of the man’s father being mere feet away. How could she deny him? Was she even supposed to? She did want him to kiss her, even though it felt wrong, knowing he was under the effects of the drink he had been having. A kiss it’s just a kiss, isn’t it? It only has the meaning you want to grant it.

All her facade fell precariously as Neteyam’s hands caressed her arms, heavy and warm, up to her shoulders, making her shiver as they made their home on her neck and held her jaw with his thumbs. Keeping her right where he wanted.

He kissed her left cheek, slowly, without making a noise, and she felt his eyelashes against her burning skin. When he went to the other cheek, she saw his eyes closing softly, as he pulled her closer by her neck. She let herself go, closing her own while his lips kissed her. As he looked at her again, she found her own hands clasping around his arms and a smile on his face. He kissed the bridge of her nose, letting out an amused huff.

His fingers made way into her hair, massaging her scalp, when she felt them lightly touch the base of her queue. Her whole body arched involuntarily into his, making her eyes close with her lips parted as he kissed her one last time in the middle of her forehead.

She looked delectable and Neteyam felt famished. Like a starved man, just torturing himself with the meal he could not have, as it wasn’t his for the taking.

He hadn’t meant to hold her like that, but the hazy look on her face had him in a chokehold and he couldn’t help himself. By the time he felt her queue against his fingers he knew he was utterly fucked. The way she molded against him, throwing her head back while she held onto him like a lifeline, her tail caressing his thigh absent-mindedly, just letting herself go in his arms like that. How was he to keep himself away from her, his father here or not. It was only her word holding him back from devouring her whole, just as she was right now.

He knew better than to approach a woman when she had drunk, but he also knew better than to drink himself stupid and there he was. If it wasn’t because he was holding onto her as much as she was onto him, he’d probably be face first on the dirt.

“Neteyam.” What a damn beautiful sound she had just made. He opened his eyes, pulling himself with all his might so he could look at her. “You should head home”. Home? Where was that place again? He’d rather not remember the way back and stay the night. But she wouldn’t have him, not then. “Your father is waiting”.

“Damn him.”  He thought out loud. “He can wait”.

She let out the giddiest of laughs and his heart could explode for all he cared.

“We can talk tomorrow”. He already knew. But right in that moment he felt nauseous at the thought of parting. Might as well hold onto her like a child so she’d coo him to sleep and calm all his worries.

“We will.” He remarked, kissing her forehead again.

“I know”. She ushered. “So go and sleep, so tomorrow may come sooner.”

Neteyam looked at her, like he had done so many times. At her pleasing features and her dimpled smile that reached her eyes. The Great Mother had made her all for him, he had no doubt. She couldn’t have made the most precious creature just to rip it away from him. She’d accept him, take him for herself and he’d be the happiest man.

But, of course, he couldn’t drag the whole affair forever. His father was, indeed, waiting for him and his patience was running thin. “Kid, c’mon. You need a nap.”

So, he hugged her, tightly, so close to him she would feel his heart against hers. He needed a home for it inside her, he reasoned, that’s why it yearned for her so much.

When he let go, she felt shaky. Her pupils inspected his face, but she let go rather easily. Her parted mouth was screaming for him, but he couldn’t drag the affair any longer, so he let her go. His hands fell on his sides in fists and he turned around, with a willpower only years under his father’s stern stare could accomplish.

He felt the man’s hand on his back, cold and somehow soothing against the burning skin of his shoulders. Like a kid, he let his father’s presence reassure him, he’d be fine. Even if it meant another night tossing and turning thinking of her, and now the very real prospect of her skin against his and her lips on his, her legs around his waist…

“Let’s get you home, kid”.

He definitely had to get home.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3720

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

4. Cake Doughnuts (shitty non-doughnuts)

This is not the way Mary expected her life to go. Divorced at 29, probably unemployed, and now declared mentally incompetent and legally attached to some stranger? Ew.

At least when the cops had dragged her into the ER, she’d been drunk still. But she’s sobered up a lot since then, and ever more so during the drive from the hospital to back to Brooklyn. It’s the most awkward car ride of her life. Steve’s the one who drives. Mary doesn’t know why that surprises her, but it does. And he’s the one who leads the way into their building and up the stairs. It’s an older building with character but no elevator, so they make the three story climb on foot. Another resounding Ew.

Mary walks silently around Bucky’s (and Steve’s—because of course he’s gay and married) apartment, feeling shy and hesitant and all the things she just really doesn’t want to be feeling right now. She stops when she gets to the second bedroom, stares at its pristinely tucked-in sheets and neutral tableau.

“You can bring over any stuff you need from your place,” Steve is saying gently from behind her, where he and Bucky are lingering in the hallway. “It’ll be your room. We won’t bother you in there.”

She whips around. “How long do I have to stay here?” Better to figure it out now. Make a plan. She glares at Bucky, since he’s the one in charge of this disaster. “I’m not staying here forever.” Steve looks even sadder at her words than Bucky does, kind of like a kicked puppy. It’s disconcerting, so Mary keeps her attention on Bucky instead, forcing herself to make eye contact. “Well?”

“Until I feel like it’s safe and healthy for you to be on your own,” he says, not a hint of sympathy in his tone. That’s disappointing, and it pisses Mary the hell off.

“Screw you,” she says, not particularly loudly, but definitely full of all the contempt she feels for this guy. “You think you can just—”

He’s got her pushed up against the wall faster than she can track with her eyes. One second she’s standing feet away from him, and the next she just … isn’t. He’s in her space and against her body, one hand at the base of her throat and a thigh pressing forward, holding her to the wall. It’s terrifying and shocking and …

“Oh I know ‘I can just’,” he says darkly.

… She’d rather eat glass than tell him what else it is. “Let go of me,” she grits out.

Disappointingly, he does. Steve is just standing there like a big idiot, blinking wide eyes at the scene. Bucky takes a full step back from her and says, “Don’t curse at me, Mary. It’s disrespectful.”

She wants to ask him exactly what he’s done to earn any respect from her. She grinds the words into her teeth instead while Bucky watches her knowingly. She hates that look almost as much as she hates the way he says her name, as if he’s known her for years rather than a millisecond.

“House rules,” he says calmly. “The practicalities of what’s going to happen. We should discuss that, don’t you think?”

Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, comes up beside him and wraps an arm around his waist in a way that reminds Mary that the two are a couple. “Hey,” he says softly, speaking in Bucky’s ear. “Why don’t we let her get some rest before you go asserting your dominance, huh?” Mary wrinkles her nose at the word, and Steve regards her kindly. “You’ve gotta be tired,” he says. “You want to sleep?”

Bucky looks like he’ll protest, so Mary nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah I’m tired.”

She watches as Steve squeezes his husband’s shoulder. “Come on, Babe. Let’s leave her to get some rest. She’s been up all night.”

Suddenly, Mary realizes that she has been up all night, and it’s almost comical, how fast the exhaustion hits her. Her throat starts to ache with a yawn that she fights not to let out in front of them. “Yeah,” she says again, this time thinking less about Bucky and what he wants or doesn’t want, and more about the bed that Steve said was reserved for her. She remembers that she feels like absolute shit, and probably looks it, too. “M’gonna sleep,” she says, turning away from both of them and heading for the bed.

The door ‘snicks’ shut softly behind her, and she assumes it was Steve who closed it. The two men's muffled voices fade off down the hallway, and even though it’s probably naïve to trust them so easily, Mary believes what Steve said about them not bothering her in this room.

She collapses on the bed that is exactly as soft as it looks. The sheets are tucked with military precision and smell like no one’s ever used them before. Mary grinds her face into the cool pillows and briefly wonders if Steve and Bucky have never had any company over to use this bed, before falling into one of the deadest sleeps of her life.

She wakes up feeling much, much better. Steve and Bucky’s guest bedroom has an en-suite, so she goes in and does her best to freshen up with the toiletries she finds stocked there.

There are three Advil Liqui-gel capsules sitting on the bedside table when she comes out. Mary regards them sharply and glances back to the door, but it’s still closed, no sign of life heard from outside in the hallway. Either the pills were there earlier and she just didn’t notice them, or else Steve is a lot stealthier than he looks. Twisting her lips, she scoops the pills up and tosses them back to fend off the headache she can already feel brewing behind her temples. 

A quick search of the room’s dresser drawers yields nothing, and she’s forced to face the fact that she’s going to have to do this confrontation dressed in only her huge tee shirt from the night before. No matter, she thinks, squaring her shoulders and reaching for the doorknob. She’s got a new strategy in mind.

“I’m sorry,” she says, when she ventures out to find Bucky and Steve sitting in the living room.

Steve reaches for the remote to mute the tv, and Bucky sits back with a doughnut that he’s just plucked from a box on the coffee table. He bites into it, looking only vaguely interested "Want one?"

She spares a glance at the box. "Are they yeasted?"

"What's that mean?" Steve asks.

Another glance reveals that they're not, and Mary turns her nose up at them. "It means you're eating shitty, overbaked cake, not a doughnut," she says snottily.

Steve just blinks and looks back at the box with a little frown. Bucky takes another huge bite of his doughnut and chews it, maintaining eye contact with her and speaking around his mouthful, "Weren't you sorry for something?"

Mary purses her lips and starts over with her contrition act. “Yes. Look, I know you guys are just trying to help me. And I know I probably seem like such a hot mess to you right now.”

“Cause you are,” Bucky drawls.

Mary quells the urge to go over there and slap the doughnut straight out of his hands. That won’t help her with this new strategy she’s decided on. ‘Honey versus vinegar’, and all that. “Yeah,” she says instead. “So I’ll admit, my life hasn’t been going very well lately. And I really did need some help.” She forces herself to give Bucky a friendly smile. “So I’m glad you were willing to step in and help me. Thank you.” Bucky is looking at her way, way too unimpressed, and Mary squirms in place, thinking that he should be looking happier at what she’s just said. “Well?” she says.

He chews another bite of doughnut for a solid five seconds, swallows, then says, “How much did it hurt you to spit that out?”

She scowls. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Mm hm.” He pats the couch beside himself in a clear invitation. “Come sit down. Have a doughnut.”

She’s obeying before she even thinks about it, though at least she has the sense to take a seat on Steve’s side of the L-shaped sectional, and not Bucky’s. “I’m not hungry,” she says, just as her stomach gives a small growl.

“Well clearly that’s a lie,” Steve chuckles. 

Mary glances over at him, peeved, but decidedly less so than she is at Bucky. Steve just seems less … threatening, maybe. Whatever it is, Mary pushes it from her mind.

“Look, I’ll stick around for a few hours or something if you really want to make sure I’m okay,” she says, attention back on Bucky, because she can already tell that he’s the one she’s got to convince. “But then I have to get back to my apartment.” She sees Bucky’s expression shutter at this and quickly adds, “I understand that you’re responsible for me, temporarily, technically. And I appreciate what you’ve done. I don’t want to cause you guys any more trouble than I already have. I’m going to take steps to take better care of myself now. And we can … we can keep in touch if you want. Just so you don’t ... you know … worry.” By the end of her speech she’s lost confidence, as she can see from Bucky’s expression that this is not being received well.

"Is that all?" he asks, eyebrow arched.

“Bucky,” she complains, floundering. “Come on. This isn’t … I mean you can’t just, adopt me, or whatever. I’m not some stray dog. You don’t even know me!"

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t.”

For one brief, overly-optimistic moment, she thinks that she’s actually going to get out of it that easy.

“But I’ll get to know you. Because you’re not leaving here anytime soon, Honey.”

All of that optimism tanks straight into a sour pit of disappointment. Mary shoots up to standing, startling Steve a bit where he's reaching for the doughnut box. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps.

Bucky takes another smug fucking bite out of his doughnut. “What?” he asks. “‘Honey’?”

“Yes! I’m not your ‘Honey’. I’m not your anything.”

He licks the sugar off his lips and stares her down. “You like it when I call you that.”

“No, I hate it,” she sneers. “Just like I hate your smug, self-satisfied face. I hate men like you.”

Bucky relaxes further back into the sofa, gesturing at her with the last of the doughnut before he stuffs it in his mouth and eats it. “Men like me, huh?” he asks once he’s swallowed, infuriating in his nonchalance. 

“Yes.”

He chuckles and starts sucking his fingers clean one by one. “And what would that be?” he drawls, letting his legs splay wide on the couch cushions, thigh muscles straining against the denim of his jeans. He sees her getting distracted and hums. “Hm? Pray tell, Little girl. Do enlighten me. What are 'men like me' like?” 

For one, airless second, all Mary wants in the world is to drop to her knees right between his legs, put her face at the seam of his jeans and rub her cheek against his thigh, against his … 

Her thoughts go unfocused, fuzzy at the edges, static in her brain. She licks her lips absentmindedly, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of how he’s positioned himself …

“Mary.”

The sound of her own name draws her out of it, like a slap. She meets his eyes and juts her chin out, half dizzy from the effort. “Men like you think they know everything,” she grits. “Think that they’re the end-all-be-all. Men like you don’t feel any compunction about stepping on everyone around them. Men like you think you’re so fucking smart, that you can’t even fathom the likely alternative.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you’re actually just a cocksure moron,” she hisses.

Bucky tips his head at Steve. “Stevie tells me I’m a moron every other Tuesday, don’t you Babe?”

Steve shrugs a little from where he's leaning forward, holding the lid of the doughnut box open while he tries to choose a flavor. “Well, yeah.”

Bucky smirks, so unaffected that Mary just wants to scream. “So," he says. "You ‘hate men like me’, huh?”

“Yes. I do."

“That’s why you’ve spent your whole life around them, then?”

“I …" She falters. "What?”

Bucky glances over to Steve, and the two of them have some sort of silent exchange overtop the lid of the doughnut box, wordlessly communicating in a way that evidences a years’ long relationship. When they both look back to her, it’s Steve who speaks first.

“We got to read up on you a little, while you were asleep,” he says. He nods to the laptop and packet of papers on the coffee table. “Did some research. Learned about what led up to this.”

“'This'? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been under the control of domineering men your entire life,” Bucky says, interjecting more forcefully over Steve’s gentler tone—Mary feels like she’s getting whiplash between the two of them. “First it was your father, out in Bumfuck, Nowhereville,”

“Indiana,” Steve mutters.

“Whatever,” Bucky snaps, zeroing back in on Mary with glinting eyes. “And he was ‘that sort of man’, wasn’t he?”

Mary feels a little like she’s been punched in the gut. “So what?” she says. “So you looked me up? Hospital gave you info on me and now you think you know me? You don’t know shit.”

“Your whole life, he said jump and you said how high, right?” Bucky asks, clearly not wanting or needing an answer to the question. Maybe Mary’s expression is answer enough. She’s not quite sure what she must look like right now. Horrified maybe. Or furious. “And then you latched onto the first jerk who’d give you a ride out of town.”

“Shut up.”

“Married him, too. And that worked for you alright ... Until it didn’t.”’

The backs of her eyes are starting to feel hot. “I said: shut up,” she whispers.

Bucky nods and leans forward on the couch, as if her anger and humiliation mean nothing to him. And damn him, maybe they don’t. Maybe he likes this, the sick bastard. “If he hadn’t hit you so bad, you would’ve stayed. Right? He met your needs in every other way.”

Mary shudders. “What are you talking about?”

"I'm talking about self-medicating, Honey. It's what you've been doing. Probably since you were a little girl."

She's disgusted with herself for the tears that break through, unmoored by how Bucky knows all of these things about her, and that he's able to fill in the gaps so easily. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” She swipes angrily at her eyes. “What does any of that have to do with anything? Except for that it’s none of your goddamn business?!”

Bucky softens a little. He glances at Steve, who gives him a warning look. “Sweetheart,” he says, looking back at Mary plaintively. “The drinking and the cutting, the feeling miserable and being sad all the time; that all started after your divorce, yeah?”

That … is not what Mary expected him to say. She’d been expecting more insults, more heartless jabs at her past. “I … What?”

“Answer the question,” Steve urges gently. He looks like he’s in on some secret with Bucky, something only Mary doesn’t know. 

“Yeah,” she admits warily. “I mean, divorce is … well it’s divorce. It sucks. Of course I wasn’t happy about it.” She scowls and crosses her arms. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that, dysfunctional as they were, you had very specific relationships with very specific types of men, until what, like a year ago?”

“... Year and a half,” she mutters, unease creeping up her spine at where she thinks this is going.

“Right. And that’s when all your troubles started. Because let's be real: you weren't hurting yourself before then." He tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "Why do you think that is, Mary? Why weren't you falling apart before? When you had a father touching you wrong, or a husband putting holes in your drywall?"

"Stop," she breathes.

He nods sadly. "It was was after, when you didn’t have those people in your life anymore, structuring it, telling you what to do. Once you were alone, that’s when you started to fall apart.” He levels her with a pitying gaze. "Now why do you think that is?"

Oh, hell no. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mary says. She actually takes a physical step back from where she’s standing. “You think what? I was using my douche ex-husband as some sort of a … a dom? My freaking father?!”

“Mary, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She jabs her finger at Steve, who’s spoken. If she thought she’d been angry at these two before, well now she’s just … she’s just … “You’re fucked up,” she tells them, voice full of quiet fury. “And you,” she points at Bucky. “You might be diagnosed with some freaking mental disorder or whatever, but that doesn’t give you the right to put that fucked up psychology onto everyone else!” She jabs her thumb at her own chest. “I’m normal! I’m not like you. I don't–I don’t have …”

“Mary,”

“No! I don’t. I–I didn’t …” Vaguely, she starts to recognize that her pulse is pounding in her ears, that it’s getting harder to draw breaths. “My f-fa, my, my f-father…”

Bucky stands up and comes towards her. “Mary,”

“No!” She makes to push away, to leave the room, but he closes in too fast and before she knows it, he has one hand on her throat and one at the base of her skull, gripping her hair. And it’s not mean, the way he’s holding her, but when she jerks away it tugs her hair unpleasantly and she whines and stills. “Let go,” she gasps, terrified by the way his hands make her feel.

“Steve, a little help?”

Her heart lurches as she hears Steve move, sees him getting up off the couch and coming over. “Wait,” she whispers, afraid and not understanding why. Not understanding why she’s even whispering in the first place, instead of screaming like she should be. “No, wait, wait—”

Steve is behind her, and even though he’s hardly even doing anything, just has his hands resting on her lightly, Mary still feels a tremor run through her whole body. She feels so trapped. Fixed in place and terrified, but not because she thinks they’ll hurt her.

Because suddenly she can draw a deep breath again.

And she can see the look in Bucky’s eyes, can see how he knows that. “Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes when tears well to the surface. “Please, just, I just need to …”

“You’re okay,” Bucky soothes. “You’re okay, Mary. Just breathe against my hand. Breath against me, against Steve.”

She shakes her head, even though she knows what he means. With her eyes squeezed shut like this, she can feel both him and Steve so solidly, can feel the points where their bodies connect with hers. When she inhales, she feels them there. “What the hell?” she winds up whispering, more to herself than to them.

“You were starting to have a panic attack,” Steve murmurs. He hugs her from behind, and Mary shivers but doesn’t try to shrug him off.

“I don’t have those,” she says. Even to her own ears, it sounds weak. “I don’t,” she insists.

“First time for everything,” Bucky says.

They stand there for a long minute or two. Hell, maybe it’s more. As long as Mary keeps her eyes shut, she can at least pretend that it’s only a minute. It’s only once she opens her eyes that she has to face reality. When she does, she sees that Bucky’s watching her keenly. He looks … sad.

The thought that the man with one hand fisted in her hair and another wrapped around her throat is concerned for her strikes Mary as almost comical. She doesn’t laugh, but she also doesn’t feel close to crying anymore. “I’m okay,” she rasps, swallowing thickly. “I’m okay now.” Shaky maybe, but better. She can breathe again. “Really, I–I am.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and the motion makes her all the more aware of his hand on her throat. She has to fight back a pleasured sigh at the feeling of it, fight to keep her eyes from fluttering closed. 

Bucky shifts in, sandwiching her even closer between their bodies. “So what?” he murmurs. “You want me to let go of you now?”

“Yeah,” she says, not feeling like she wants that at all. “Please.”

He hums. “You’re very good at saying ‘please’,” he observes. “And at telling me you’re not submissive.”

“M’not,” she insists, trying harder to make her voice firm, or at least more than a pathetic, breathy whimper. She looks him in the eyes again.

When had she stopped looking him in the eyes? She can’t remember. She feels like she’s watching this all happen through the lightest sort of fog, or maybe in slow motion, like a videotape playing at only 70% speed. Something like that, she thinks dazedly. She doesn’t feel like she has to worry about it, though. It's warm and heavy and nice here; like being under bathwater.

Bucky’s not looking at her in concern anymore. He looks more relaxed now, nicer, his eyes softer around the edges. And he hasn't let go of her, either. 

“She down?” 

That’s Steve’s voice, coming from right behind. Mary likes the way she can feel the quiet rumble of it where he’s pressed to her back.

“Mmhm. Waay down.” 

“Is it normally that easy?”

Bucky chuckles, it's a nice sound that Mary likes, the richness of it making her want more, like how chocolate makes you want more.

“No, it’s not. This is deprivation, right here. Poor thing.” 

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“Oh, sure. We’ll just stay like this for a minute. She needs the contact."

Something about the two of them talking about her like she’s not there is … well it multiplies the bathwater feeling. She hears Steve asking a question, and Bucky making an unhappy noise and answering,

“It should never be this easy. Right now she’d go down for anyone, for even the smallest thing.”

“And she was working in the service industry?” A huff of breath hits Mary’s ear. “Jesus.”

“... Hey,” Mary says, sure that she should protest somehow.

But Bucky’s hand tightens just the barest bit on her throat, and he shushes her sweetly, tells her she’s a “good girl,” and kisses the top of her head.

And Mary pretty much forgets what she was going to say, after that.

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Square N5: childhood trauma

[lab1rynth]

YAN!LUST

Yan!Lust who you met around a decade after you got sent to hell, there was 7 rings which had been ruled by the 7 sins, one for each ring. Depending on the sin you had most committed, you had been banished to that ring.

Yan!Lust who you first see in a large bar he had owned, strippers and horny people flooded the floors, yet the large king had been left alone, no one dare step within 10 feet of him. Calling him large was a understatement. He was 11 feet tall, probably taller, his large platforms making him even taller. His head was replaced with a charred ghost skull with gold highlights, a fur scarf wrapped around where his neck would have been. He had two sets of arms, which were uncovered as he was wearing a white virgin killer and black pants, which shone bright against his pitch black skin that had matched the color of the skull.

Yan!Lust who you were honestly quite scared of at first, you knew his status and his power, and you weren't willing to catch his eye. Though as you drank more and more, and started to match the careless energy around you, you decided to walk up to him and flirt with him, leaning against his chair with a drunken smirk.

Yan!Lust who looked down at you, bringing one of his hands up to his chest as he gasped, he was also quite drunk and had been shocked someone walked up to him, "What are you doing, Little Sinner?" He asked, his voice quite deep as he spoke. The mouth of the skull moving as he spoke. You explained to him, "Hell, I'm drunk and dead and at the moment I don't give a shit about what happens to me. So you want to show me why you're the embodiment of lust?"

Yan!Lust who that night, after much flirting between you and him, had led you to one of the rooms where costumers would do as they pleased with the strippers, he locked the door before you both started what you both would be doing for the rest of the night. He had stamina, and wasn't exactly vanilla, though you had expected that. He's literally Lust, you'd be quite stupid if you expected anything less.

Yan!Lust who you stuck around, he wanted to keep it at a one night stand but you decided against it. You thought you had some sort of say in it, as if he didn't have sex with multiple sins a day and was a lot more powerful than you. He was the first sin, the origin of sin, he was quite a bit more powerful, as there's no sin without lust, bloodlust, lust for money, lust for sex, lust for power, it goes on.

Yan!Lust who figures you aren't leaving anytime soon, you quickly walk next to him and talk on and on as he slightly walks and looks forward. It happened a lot, you continuing to go on about random things as he ignored you, or at least you thought he did. That was until one day you asked a question, and he responded with a thing you had told him a few weeks ago. To say you were surprised he listened (let alone remembered), would be an understatement.

Yan!Lust who started talking to you a lot more after around 3 months, which if you were alive would be around 3 hours. Lust had told you how hell worked, it was made to torture all of the inhabitants that came from earth, those who were born in hell had been tortured, yet less than earth-borns, and those who ruled, as he did, performed this torture as much as possible.

Yan!Lust who lets you basically do whatever you want, you sit on his lap as he sits on his throne, when he's telling someone off your next to him roasting the shit out of the person. You drink, talk, fuck and party as much as you please. Well, you would've done the same before, but at least now you can do it knowing you aren't going to get murdered or something.

Yan!Lust who actually started to be quite laid back, yet clingy. He started talking more and joining in on some of your shenanigans, he had also taught you how to poll dance and how to use Aerial Silk! He was always at least two feet away from you, touching you, and had you in his sights.

Yan!Lust who, after one eventful night, you found missing from beside you on his bed. His door was locked and you had no tools to open the lock. So, you had decided just to look around, looking through his wardrobe, and through his drawers; going through a drawer in his bedside table and finding a strange collection of stuff of yours, nothing you gave to him, but small shit you'd lost. You let out a small laugh, closing the drawer before jumping onto the bed and turning on the TV.

Yan!Lust busted into the room a few hours later, dramatically sighing as he fell back next to you onto the bed, "Sorry Mouse, there was something happening with Lucifer and I couldn't have you come with me," He hummed, playing with your hair as you climbed onto his chest, burying your face between his breasts as he brought a hand up to play with your hair.

Yan!Lust who after a few minutes, you looked up at with a small smile, "So when do you plan on giving my shit back?" You asked, leaning your head onto your hand, "Maybe if you beg enough," He laughed out, making you pout. He brought up a hand and poked at your lip, stopping you from pouting, "I dont think you need them back anyway, since you're living with me now," You had let out a gasp and rolled off of him, "Since when?" - "Since you literally stopped going to your old house and sleeping in my bed," oh, yeah.

Yan!Lust who starts locking you in his room more often, cooking for you,getting you stuff, and moving you around like a little doll. Treating you like you belong to him. He barely lets you outside anymore. Though at this point you dont really care, you're being spoilt by a demonic king for the rest of eternity! Why would you care?

[666writingcafe]

Quick Strategy

After hiding in a side corridor and giving the spider the slip, I'm able to properly assess everyone's emotions. I'm more or less calm, Asmo's freaking out, Lucifer's over it, and MC...

For once, I can't read them.

"We need to figure out a way to soothe this beast," Lucifer remarks quietly. "Otherwise, we're not getting out of here alive."

"And how are we supposed to do that?!" Asmo exclaims, causing MC to hush him for being too loud. "We don't have anything at our disposal!"

"That's not entirely true," MC replies.

"What do you even mean, Zephyr? Of course it's true!"

"Your charm. It's tied to your demonic power."

"But I've never charmed an animal! At least, not on purpose! Besides, I've not dealt with something this huge before. I don't think I'm powerful enough to stop a giant spider in its tracks."

"Maybe not on your own, but if your power is combined with someone else's, then you'll be able to calm this spider down, and we can go home." Is MC doing what I think they're doing?

"How do we go about doing that?" Lucifer sighs.

"Unfortunately, the quickest and most painless way would be for you to make a pact with Solomon," he answers. "From what I've heard, he's powerful enough to draw out and enhance your demonic power." I never thought I'd see the day. Lucifer actually agreeing with me about pacts?

Granted, he's not the one getting one from me, but still. He's made it clear many times before that he doesn't want my magic anywhere near him or his brothers.

"But don't feel like you have to if you don't want to," MC quickly adds. "It's very difficult to undo a pact with someone, so you need to be completely sure that you want it before getting one."

Okay, now I'm confused. Surely MC remembers the situation with the snake, right? That's why they brought up his charm in the first place, isn't it?

"In this particular situation, however, it is the most viable option. You'd still be able to keep some autonomy this way, and that won't be possible if you choose me or Zephyr."

"Quit forcing the issue, Lucifer."

Oh. I get it. MC's still pissed that Asmo got manipulated into making a pact with me.

But I'm not the one pulling strings this time, which makes their objection that much more baffling. They seem to be bumping heads with Lucifer a lot more frequently in this timeline, and I have no idea why. Is it related to a power struggle that I don't know about, or is it something else entirely?

"Zephyr, believe me, I'm not a big fan of the idea. I don't trust Solomon as far as I can throw him, and I have no doubt in my mind that he's going to abuse this pact with my brother." Wow, Lucifer. I'm standing right here. "However, desperate times call for desperate measures, and I don't know about you, but I'd really like to not become that spider's lunch."

"What's this about keeping my autonomy?" Asmo asks. MC diverts their attention away from Lucifer and answers,

"A pact between a human and a demon works both ways. He has the ability to control you, but you can also do the same to him if the mood strikes you."

"How interesting..." Asmo's deep in thought. Now's my chance.

"If we make this pact, I promise I will do anything you ask me to," I quietly tell him, causing his eyes to light up.

"Anything?" I nod. "You'll actually allow me to charm you into submission whenever I please?"

"Yes." I know MC probably thinks I'm lying, but the truth is, I've already agreed to this arrangement with him. Initially, it was proposed as payback for me taking advantage of him while he was drunk.

But as time's passed, I've actually come to like having Asmo controlling me occasionally. It's a nice way to shut my brain up for a bit and allows me to genuinely relax. No thoughts; just Asmodeus.

The Avatar of Lust smiles as I hear something scuttling across the floor.

"Then let's make it official. I'll make a pact with you, Solomon."

"Better make it quick, because I think our spider friend's returned," MC warns us.

Thankfully, I know how to do exactly that.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch

[formosusiniquis]

In a turn of events surprising exactly no one among the group, it's Dustin's who starts the whole thing. He calls a formal party meeting, and an hour after the message goes out over the walkie Steve has a living room full of anxious freshman and Eddie Munson -- and him and Robin who are mostly there because the meeting had to be held at Steve's house for some reason.

Dustin's sense of dramatics have come to rival Eddie's, and he waits until they're all seated before he even bothers coming out from where he hid himself with a manilla folder under one arm and the only white sheet in Steve's house, that had definitely come from off of his parent's bed, under the other. He doesn't say a word as he throws the sheet over the entertainment center and comes back again wheeling in an overhead projector. Steve can still faintly make out O'Donnell written on the side. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've gathered you all here today," Dustin punctuated his sentence with the heavy click of the projector being switched on.

The fan doesn't drown out the screaming from the crowd.

"You made it sound like an emergency."

"How did you get that here?"

"How did you get it at all?"

"Please," Dustin interrupts, "save all questions for the end." From his manilla folder he slaps a pre-written laminate down on the light table. Projecting, enlarged for everyone to see, 'Why Lucien is secretly the big bad of the whole campaign: a presentation by Dustin Henderson."

"This is the lamest reason for petty theft ever." Eddie gripes. Clearly more upset than Henderson had actually figured the plot twist out, Steve remembers how proud of himself he'd been when he talked himself through it weeks ago.

"Did you help him do this?" Steve asks, afraid of the answer. 

"Obviously not, why would I spoil my own-"

"The projector, Eddie."

"I mean barely, I was more of a getaway driver. Really, if she wanted to keep her projector she shouldn't have moved it out into the hallway so they could wax the floors. I didn't know he was going to use it for evil."

Henderson clears his throat, a disgusting phlegmy hem-hem, "If you're going to talk through the presentation, you'll be asked to leave."

The attitude on the kid, really.

It becomes a thing after that. Steve already has the projector, it's not like he can bring it back to the highschool. What would he even say, 'Sorry about the confusion, my overhead projector looks just like this one.' When there's nothing good at Family Video to rent or it's raining too hard to use the pool, they'll all go to different corners of the house with a stack of ten laminate sheets, a wet erase marker, and a vague theme. Then they come back and share what they've come up with.

The group is incapable of not instigating some kind of competition, at the end of the night they'd fight and argue over whose presentation was best. Steve participated half the time, but more often than not let himself be talked into playing referee to make sure no one's feelings got too hurt. On those nights he'd add onto Robin's. His favorite: why star trek is better than star wars (with footnotes from Steve)

It's at least twice as gay, kirk and spock are basically alien married and uhura definitely had a thing for spock's wife. All star wars has is the robots and they're barely main characters.

Steve note: Spock's half-vulcan status can be looked at the same as being bi or genderqueer, not feeling like you belong right in either half of your identity cause you aren't enough of one or the other -- Luke is just a twink with a nice wardrobe.

The Party could argue about anything, but Steve wasn't exactly surprised when the young adults got in on the fun too. The projector didn't usually come out until they were all drunk or stoned enough to admit that they had been waiting all night to make their presentations. Unlike the kids who mostly treat the games like debate team: who's the most powerful fictional character, what's the best PC class, what character from star wars would survive the Upside Down (he thought Erica's presentation: why the my little ponies could take down tiamat but wouldn't because they're too civilized, was especially inspired). The older teens treated it more like an amped up game of truth or dare, making up things that someone else in the group should have to do and encouraging the rest of the group to join in too.

They started the night off with Argyle's "Why Steve should give me his secret brownie recipe" which turned out to be mostly about how good they would taste as weed brownies and Eddie and Jon were quick to join his side.

They go around like that advocating for bad decisions like consequences don't exist, like they could be kids again. Robin thinks they should get tattoos, Steve is easily swayed. Jon proposes a road trip back to California. Nancy says they should all move to Boston with her. Eddie thinks the core four should start a band. Steve waits for his turn.

Steve has had his pages written and waiting for days. He knows exactly how long it takes his friends every time they meet to get wasted enough to give in to the temptation to wheel out his contraband projector. Once Robin is finished shouting at Eddie about how they're the only ones with any musical gifts he takes his turn.

"Why Eddie Munson should go out with me: a presentation by Steve Harrington."

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: A Toast to the Luckless Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: G Status: One-Shot Main Characters: Knight-Commander Piper Chanterelle, Woljif Additional Notes: Friendship, Tiefling Solidarity, a bit of backstory Word Count: 2.1k Summary:

“People love a good story,” Piper smirks, and she raises an eyebrow at Woljif. “Don’t they, oh great prince? What faraway land are you from, again?" “Alright, fair enough. But don’t tell Seelah I made that up, she’ll want her ten gold back.” Woljif takes a moment to chew on his thoughts, his tail flicking back and forth in time with the questions on his mind. He doesn’t want to push his luck by digging too much, but he is curious. “So what’s the real story?” Piper and Woljif reflect on tall tales and strange twists of fate. Wine is drunk. Backstories are shared. Candlesticks are stolen.

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Woljif lets out a low whistle as he ambles down the halls of the mansion, taking in his surroundings in solitude while the party rages on in the distance. The place really does need to be seen to be believed- this isn’t even Daeran’s main mansion, and somehow it still sparkles with enough gold to make any jeweler drool. Woljif noses his way through the empty rooms, stopping every so often to slip a little something into his pockets. Judging by the layers of dust, nothing he takes will be missed. Besides, expecting him to keep his hands to himself in a place like this is like asking a paladin not to preach.

Eventually, he finds his way into the room in the furthest corner of the wing, where the cobwebs have full reign. Not much worth taking here, he figures, even as he makes a pass of the paintings hanging haphazardly off the walls. None of it really catches his attention- until he reaches the largest portrait, hung right across from the door.

Truth be told, it ain’t all that interesting. Not really. Just a picture: a woman, a man, a little kid. Daeran isn’t hard to recognize, not with those aasimar features. Seems he got those features from his mother, who stands alongside him and a man who must be his father. The whole painted family is decked out in finery; between the three of them, there’s probably enough jewels to sink a ship.

Woljif’s own jewel- the only one he’s ever owned, and he had to risk his tail stealing it- suddenly feels very small in its place around his neck.

The sound of a door creaking open stirs Woljif from his thoughts, and quick as a flash he takes a step back from the wall, holding his hands up in feigned innocence. “I didn’t touch nothing!”

“No?” A rose-colored tiefling glides into the room with a smirk and a glass of wine, her skirts and swishing tail leaving a trail in the dust behind her. She peers around the room with interest, a small smile playing on her lips. “What a waste.”

Woljif breathes a sigh of relief. No angry guards, no fussy nobles- just Piper.

Despite technically being a crusader- and not just that, but the commanding crusader- Piper’s a good sort. And it’s not just because she fished her brother-in-demon-blood from a jail cell right under the soldiers’ noses, neither. Unlike most of her fellow crusaders, Piper is actually good for a story and a laugh, and she’s never turned up her nose at any of Woljif’s 'less than legal' ideas. It’s a wonder she gets so many uptight, law-abiding forces to follow her around, given her own disregard for their high and mighty rules. But that’s Piper; she opens her mouth, and it seems she can convince anyone of anything.

And the unprecedented magical powers probably don’t hurt, either.

“Look at this place,” she sighs, shaking her head in dismay. “Empty for years, but every room still has its treasures. And nobody around to appreciate it! It would be a crime not to take anything, in my humble opinion.”

Woljif chuckles, emboldened by the lack of lecture he would have surely received if, say, Seelah had been the one to walk in on him. Or, gods forbid, Irabeth. “My thoughts exactly! And besides, it’s not as if Darean cares enough to miss any of it.”

Piper’s eyes glide over the room, finally fixing on the portrait Woljif found. “Ah. Speaking of Darean…” she moves closer, studying the young aasimar in the frame. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Guess he got his looks from his mom.” Woljif tries to keep his smile up, but he can hear the bitterness in his own voice as that image sticks in his head- the noble boy and his family, enclosed in their golden little haven. “What a world, huh? Some people get a celestial bloodline, tons of money, and a title, while others get horns and a slap in the face.”

Piper is quiet for a moment, and her usual easy smile slips from her face. Woljif almost feels bad for bringing down the mood, but then she takes a breath, shrugs, and says, “Fate plays favorites, and life isn’t fair. Those are the first lessons you learn in this world. So how about a toast to those born without any luck?”

She doesn’t wait for answer, just takes a long sip from her glass before handing it wordlessly to Woljif. He can’t say no to that, and in one motion downs the rest of the drink. After taking a moment to enjoy the taste of what is surely the most expensive booze he’s had in his entire life, Woljif glances at Piper and says, “You didn’t have it so bad, though, did ya, chief? At least not according to that story you spun the other day. How did that one go? World-traveling troubadour, trained by the best Pitaxian bards, who felt destiny calling her to deliver the world from demons?”

Piper laughs, though the sound lacks its usual warmth. “That’s not even the best part! You should hear the stories I used to spin for audiences- my mother was a fae, one who fell in love with a powerful magician! Their love was true, and they were gifted a daughter blessed with beauty and song, but alas- all romances between mortals and immortals tend to end tragically. But never fear, for I vowed to travel the lands and spread beauty and love in their memory!”

She recites the tale in dramatic cadence, moving her hands emphatically through the air in graceful gestures, but Woljif can only snort in response. “And people fell for that?”

“People love a good story,” Piper smirks, and she raises an eyebrow at Woljif. “Don’t they, oh great prince? What faraway land are you from, again?”

“Alright, fair enough. But don’t tell Seelah I made that up, she’ll want her ten gold back.” Woljif takes a moment to chew on his thoughts, his tail flicking back and forth in time with the questions on his mind. He doesn’t want to push his luck by digging too much, but he is curious. “So what’s the real story?”

His question is met with a frown, but Woljif has already asked, so he figures he might as well poke a little further. Normally he wouldn’t much care about anyone’s past, but for better or worse Piper is the whole reason he’s here. He’s gotta get a good read on her, right? So he grins, hoping to reassure her that he ain’t up to any trouble with the question. “Aw, come on. I spilled mine, remember? Fair’s fair, chief.”

Piper still doesn’t look very pleased with the topic, but she tilts her head in acknowledgement of his point. “Yes, fair’s fair. It’s just…the real version is so much more boring.” She pauses, her mouth twisting a bit as she begins speaking, her clipped tone a far cry from the eloquence she’d spoken with before.

“Once upon a time, a tiefling girl grew up in a city much less glamorous than any world of fae. She fended for herself, for the most part. Her parents were tieflings, too, you see, and neither of them needed another mouth to feed on top of everything else.”

Woljif nods- it’s a familiar enough beginning, one that’s shared by quite a few amongst the thieflings. He glances back at Daeran’s portrait, a strange feeling simmering in his chest. What’s worse, he wonders, a family that can’t stand you, a family that never gave a damn, or a family that actually cared and then went and died on ya?

Oblivious to his musings, Piper continues, her tone carefully disinterested. “So the girl begs and steals to scrape by until she’s finally old enough to talk her way into a job carrying bags for a theater troupe. She’s got a pretty face- for a tiefling, of course- and a voice to match, and she eventually makes her way to the stage. She learns a handful of bardic tricks that are useful on the road. Of course, it’s hard to stay in one place very long, so from there it’s a series of traveling bands and circuses, finding places willing to have a tiefling in the spotlight.”

“Can’t be too many.”

“Nope.” Piper’s tail turns behind her in a lazy circle as she continues. “Even the ones who seem to like her, don't like her for very long. And there are parts of the story that Irabeth certainly doesn’t need to know about, where the tiefling girl has to rely a bit more on scams than singing. But then one day…” Piper holds her hands up in a victorious gesture. “She finds a weird magical sword and suddenly she’s Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade!”

In spite of himself, Woljif chuckles. “No offense, but your story got a little off the rails there towards the end.”

“No kidding!” Piper whirls around, her voice rising an octave as she gestures to her surroundings. “Look at where we are! A depressingly decadent party in an old mansion owned by one of the richest families in the kingdom. And the head of that family is working for me, and when I leave, I’ll be going back to an entire army that reports to me! I’ve been nothing but a criminal and a street performer all my life, and now fate throws this at me?”

She stops her spin, pausing just long enough to look to Wolji in genuine bafflement. “How in all the hells did I end up here?”

For once, Woljif is at a loss for words. How should he know? He barely knows how he got here, outside of ‘it’s better than jail or being gutted by the Family’. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’m just a thiefling, remember? I don’t know nothing.” He pauses, and points to the decorations on the table behind Piper. “Except that those silver candlesticks are probably worth at least fifty gold each.”

Piper blinks, glances at the candlesticks- and a laugh bursts from her mouth. Just like that, her frantic mood is gone, and she’s once again the evasively charming Knight Commander. “You don’t say? Must be real silver to net that much.” She moves breezily across the room to examine the candlesticks. Her eyes don’t leave the silver as she continues speaking. “And…you know more than you realize. For what it’s worth, I like having you around.”

Woljif tries not to let the words go to his head- they’re just words after all, and people say all kinds of things to get what they want. Even if he can’t think of anything the Knight Commander would want from someone like him. “You’d be the first. But thanks, chief.”

“Demonspawn stick together, yeah? And…they don’t let slip to the rest of the army that the new commander has no idea what she’s doing and no qualifications to be leading anybody?” Piper shoots him an apprehensive glance. “The other stories- they’re ridiculous, I know. But they are so much nicer. And heaven knows these people need something to believe in.”

To his surprise, Woljif encounters something he doesn’t feel all that often: a twinge of sympathy. He doesn’t know all these crusaders and do-gooders, but he does know himself. He did the same thing Piper is doing every time he pressed his face against the shop window to catch a glimpse of his amulet. And maybe nothing about that was ever real, and never will be. But it felt good to hope.

Of course, he knows how stupid he’d sound if he said anything like that out loud. So Woljif gives a quick nod and says, “Sure, chief. I’m in no position to give you grief over whatever stories you wanna tell.”

Relief shines in Piper’s smile, and with a laugh she tosses the candlestick to Woljif. “Good- because you know what else we demonspawn do? We help each other fence their rich friend’s trinkets that he never uses.”

A grin curls across Woljif’s face as he catches the loot. “Now you’re talking!”

Piper nods in approval before turning on her heel and heading towards the door. “Tuck those away and let’s go find Daeran. If I’m going to steal from our host and snoop through his stuff, I should probably have the decency of getting drunk with him first.”

It’s not a bad idea- Woljif hates to admit it, but the overpriced wine Daeran’s serving really isn’t half bad. So he follows Piper, sparing only one last look around the room before closing the door on the dust and cobwebs and daydreams of a happy family.

Those things are all part of somebody else’s story.

[ssj2hindudude]

for the Pandavas sisters (including Kara): order them from how good they can hold to their drink to them getting drunk after a good hard sip.

p.s. also tell me what happen once they get fully intoxicated

The Other Potatoes' First Time Drinking (again After they turn 21)

Pt 1

Kara gets literally the cutest drink in the bar (Like a pink starburst cocktail or something)

At first no one bats an eye because all she does is act goofier and more laid back than usual.

But then the Shah genes kick in when she drinks more and starts acting even more chaotic than Aru when she's sober.

She casually drops disturbing facts about her childhood like it's nothing and laughs about it like the most Gen Z kid in the bar.

"yOu ShOuLd'Ve SeEn My DaD's FaCe WhEn I tOlD hIm I wAnTeD tO bE a LiBrArIaN! i ThOuGhT hE wOuLd LiTeRaLlY kIlL mE! XD"

"hEy, Aiby-baby!" "Please don't call him that." "hOw AbOuT I sHoW yOu WhAt YoU mIsSeD oUt On!" *Rips her shirt off* "KARA NO-" *Reveals a shirt that says "Sleeper Spelling Bee Champ of 2005"* "YOU COULDA HAD ALL OF THIS BRAIN POWER, BABE!"

Hira doesn't really drink but she took one shot of whiskey to keep up. Unfortunately, she's a lightweight and immediately starts roasting everybody.

"yOu ThInK yOu'Re So ToUgH?!? mY gIrLfRiEnD wIlL lItErAlLy SmAcK yOu WiTh YoUr OwN sPiNe!" "Hira, stop yelling at the dartboard!" "YO MAMA LOOKS LIKE A CANDY CANE, YOU FLAT CIRCLE!"

Nikita didn't care about the cost, she was determined to get the deluxe strawberry champagne. If only she didn't get totally wasted after one glass

You'd expect her fashion critiques to be on overdrive and they were...the problem is they were towards herself because now her self-esteem sunk like an anchor

"wHaT wAs I tHiNkInG wEaRiNg ThIs ToP?!?" "Nikki, you made that blouse AND sold multiple of them for thousands of bucks." "SO I'M UGLY AND I'M RIPPING PEOPLE OFF?!?"

Ok, I lied. Sheela got an even cuter drink than Kara with all kinds of fruity decorations and tiny umbrellas. It looked more like a parfait than a drink, but it had alcohol nonetheless.

She immediately passes out to the point where everyone thinks she's dead but she's literally just jumping from one person's head to another and everyone's wondering why they're suddenly daydreaming about having tea parties with this chick.

Aru took Aiden off designated driver duty and so he starts going at the drinks so he can finally get revenge.

Unfortunately, the man's surprisingly a heavyweight and almost beats Brynne's record. When she finds out, she's not sure if she's mad or impressed.

"I hAvE a HaReM..." "Not exactly, Wifey-" "Shhshhshh, LeT mE eXpLaIn! I hAvE a HaReM, wHiCh I gOt AfTeR i DiEd. My LiFe iS aN ISEKAI!" "...Don't do this. I swear, you'll make me get you drunk more often if you keep this up." "yOu KnOw, ArU, wHeNeVeR yOu QuEsTiOn SoMeOnE, yOu ShOuLd SaY 'ARU SHAH ABOUT THAT?!?'" "BARTENDER, ANOTHER ONE OVER HERE!"

Also, his Apsara powers get out of hand and he proceeds to dominate the karaoke show and suddenly has a bunch of girls flock to him. Aru's about to figure out whether she should electrocute him or them when he screams into the mike "THAT'S MY PAST LIFE HUSBAND! HIII, ARU!" and runs into her for a hug tackle before passing out.

Then the others are on hangover cleanup. Everyone's a mess in the morning and when Aiden says "This can't possibly get any worse." Aru goes "ARU SHAH ABOUT THAT???" and shows them everything she recorded on her phone. They then puked even harder...

[hypermascbishounen]

Ok so old man N!Juste's design is pretty bad. Mostly it's just kind of boring and lazy. Being charitable, they maybe were just trying to avoid an old white-haired man with facial hair looking too much like game Dracula, so they opted for a fuller style. Unfortunately it ended up looking glued on.

It's admittedly very hard to sell new old man pussy in this franchise, when we have had this man serving us cunt for hundreds of years.

In addition, they seem to have kept his shirt as the main tie to his original design, but it backfires and makes it look like he's just been wearing the same shirt for decades(Esp when game Juste's outfit was so incredibley vibrant). Even N!Juste's eyes lack the hint of white lashes from the games, which now that he is old enough for white hair to seem expected, fails to communicate he's always had white hair, which in the game made him stand out (among other Belmont's at least).

So, to fix these issues, if I were to design an old man Juste, I would personally go in one of two directions:

Option one: If had to give Juste a beard, I'd want it to distinguish him as a character, and preserve the original intent of his white hair to communicate he's got magical abilities with visual shorthand. So I would go all in and give him a fucking awesome wizard beard.

I think he could slay the Myles Pinkley gender wizards look. This would be appropriately fantastic.

Unfortunately, N!Juste is not allowed to have nice things, which is why his current beard is likely only meant to communicate that he's a drunk and let himself go, similar to N!Trevor's stubble. Rocking wizard beard Juste could only exist, if you're trying to actually have a character be cool.

Option two: But admittedly, I personally wouldn't have given Juste a beard at all. I don't really think it would bring anything to his design, and imo I think some people give a character facial hair just to convey mature male-ness, and not much else. My personal idea for what an older Juste would look like, is probably something similar to Pope Sage (or his twin brother Altar Hakurei), from Lost Canvas.

"So there's this senior citizen..."

Admittedly, it's hard to tell exactly how old Sage is meant to look, when he's 270 and using magic to extend his lifespan. But he's a good example of an aging white-haired prettyboy type, in a shounen known for its beautiful young men. He is also a mentor character, who has specifically personally raised his hot-headed and brash student, and taught him everything he knows - which is mostly wicked goth death powers.

Cool old man and his even cooler son

Obviously, Sage is an unrelated character from his own property. But I feel like he's the best illustration of the sort of design archetype an older Juste could have been in. Maybe if nfcv had a better understanding of other Japanese media, and shounen anime in particular, they might have been able to figure out how to translate a character like Juste to animation better.

[babygirl-snugglefucks]

Shit. You’re sitting at the bar, exactly where you said you would be, wearing the blue floral top that would help him identify you. The first rum & Coke that you ordered to keep yourself busy while you waited for him has now been joined by several others; you, however, are still alone. You check your messages, again.

“David: “omw “

But that was at 9:37, over an hour ago. Your follow-up texts have gone unanswered, your calls go straight to voicemail. “Shit,” you say again. This attracts the attention of the man sitting a few stools down from you. He slides his drink in your direction, almost spilling it, as he stumbles closer to you. He’s a not unattractive person, middle aged, no wedding ring. You’re about to consider talking to him when the smell - whiskey and stale cigarette smoke and the foulest B.O. that you’ve ever smelled - stop the words dead in your throat, and you visibly recoil. No wonder he’s sitting alone.

As you turn to leave, someone grabs your arm “Katie! Oh my god! I was just thinking about you!” It’s a girl about your own age, in jeans and a hoodie from the local college. Green eyes framed by long brown hair look into yours with concern. Before you can tell her that you’re not Katie, she starts guiding you away from the bar. “I’ve seen that guy before, and he’s a total fucking creeper. It’s a good thing his stank acts like an early warning system. And you look like a girl who’s been stood up.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Dammit, I was looking forward to this. He was hot, and I was hoping to get laid.”

“Girl, I hear ya! Hey, can I give you a ride? My car’s right outside.” It’s a short walk home for you, but you weren’t planning on going home alone. And she seems friendly enough. “Sure,” you say, and follow her into the parking lot. You get into her little silver Hyundai and she pulls a box of Tic-Tacs from the console. “Breath mint?” she offers, “y’know, just in case we get pulled over, haha!” She pours 3 or 4 of the little pills into your palm, then appears to pop a few into her own mouth. The mint tastes a little strange, but it’s probably not meant to mix with rum and Coke.

She pulls into the street and asks, ���so, where am I taking ya? I'm Steph, by the way.” You tell her your address, but she doesn’t seem to listen. “Got it,” she says, without changing direction. “Hey, I got one little stop to make before I drop you home, okay?” ‘Can’t you drop me off first,’ is what you want to say. “Okay,” is what comes out of your mouth, with too much effort. All those rum and Cokes seem to be ganging up on you now. “Thanks… I’m really… drunk.” “Don’t worry, babe! I’m taking care of you.”

You wake up slightly when you feel the car stop. The door is opened, and a large masculine figure helps you stand up. Then he easily picks up your slight frame, and carries you towards a small house. It’s not yours. You want to protest- you’re not supposed to be here! But your voice and limbs are not cooperating. You are carried through the door, then dumped on the dirty living room carpet. You register the smells first - weed and alcohol, the stale grease of empty pizza boxes and chicken buckets. Then you realize you’re not alone. You notice five or six guys standing around you before your vision goes completely blue- someone is pulling your top over your head; another pair of hands grabs your bra and yanks the clasp apart. You struggle, but your jeans are easily slid down your legs, dragging your cotton panties with them. The pink scrap of cloth is shoved into your mouth, and you realize with shame and excitement that your pussy is soaked. You can taste your arousal in the cotton.

Your vision is still obscured by your shirt, so you have no idea what the first man to take you looks like. Powerful hands are holding your legs apart, and you feel pressure at the entrance to your vagina. A grunt, and he forces himself into you. Your scream at the sudden pain is muffled by the panties in your mouth. The invading cock withdraws, then slams back into you. Again. Again. He finally grunts and floods you with his hot seed, then pulls out, and exclaims, “You got us a virgin! Great work, Stephy!”

A belt buckle jangles, and another cock is working its way inside you. This one feels even bigger than the first. You shake your head, and the shirt covering your face slips to the side. A colossal chest of chocolate brown skin fills your vision. You look down and you realize that even though his cock is filling you entirely, he still has another 2 or 3 inches to give you. A sudden jet of warm goo landing on your face and in your eye alerts you to a third man standing above you. As you turn your head to the side to let the cum drip out of it, you see Steph leaning against the wall, one hand clutching a wad of cash, the other one busily working inside the open crotch of her jeans. The massive cock spasms inside you, and fills you again with sperm. You pass out.

Daylight filters in through your bedroom windows, waking you. The throbbing pain of the hangover, and the pain in your vagina and asshole - they took that, too! - let you know that last night wasn’t just a dream. Ignoring the traces of blood and cum and your own juices staining the sheets, you reach for the glass of water on your bedside table. Instead, you pick up your phone. There are three crisp $100 bills folded neatly under it, and a new message from David:

“Thanks for a great time last night! Let’s do it again soon. ❤️ Steph”

<3

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Dark! Aemond X OC (Snow Falls) Chapter 23: The library. AEMOND POV

You are Willa Wyldewoods, lady of Wyldecrest. After being denied your hand in marriage, Aemond murders your family and makes himself Lord of WyldeCrest, out-powering you. He claims you as his wife and spoils, He commands and goes over your home now and as you will learn right now: No one is safe under his reign. Not even you

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Aemond being a doom-tourist, Aemond being a dark tourist, Aemond being fasinated with the deaths of dozens, Aemond cursing, Aemond hating Viserys, Aemond being stabby-happy, Aemond being traumatized, mentions of miscarriages, mentions of aboritions, Aemond suffers from paranoia. Aemond is unfeminstic, Aemond is dark!, Aemond is unforgiven, mentions of non-con, rape, and other unpleasant things

Aemond's pov

In reality, Willa is still asleep. I do feel less in need of her feminine charms. I wash my hands with a sigh, rubbing the cum away with a towel. I redress myself and make my way to the library, to continue my studies. I do often so, when I can't find sleep.

I am greeted by guards and let in. I sit down on my favourite spot by the fireplace and select a few books about the doom. It always fasinates me. How far such a beautiful civilisation could fall only because of their own greed. Perhaps I have inherited some things from that old fuck that sired me. Perhaps more than I like to admit.

I hear someone approach me and instantly I reach for my dagger. I rise up from the chair, jumping up ready to stab whoever dares to oppose me. A habit I have taken from my lovely wife's home.

It is Aurelia. I put the dagger away with a annoyed groan. I would prefer assassins over her anytime. She sways her hips and smiles at me as if she won. "I told her about my child." There is nothing I hate more than a problem already solved returning to be a problem once more. And Aurelia is a problem.

"Did you?" I hum, faking interest. The only reason I am hearing her out and not dragging her off by her hair to cut her in pieces for hurting and touching my Willa, my little sweet fox and making her cry is that I want to know what she told Willa.

"Yes. How your brother forced me to give birth to my dead child." Ah yes. Aurelia was once a sweet, innocent young woman... Until she met us, that is. I got tired of her gold digging and fake moans rather fast, yet I doubt Aegon ever did. He always had a soft spot for the whore.

Even now I hear his pathetic drunk voice in my head. I am never free of that demon, so I fear. "Aemond, I don't understand why you don't take Aurelia into your bed more often." Perhaps I don't want my brother's hand-me downs. I have had plenty of those. There is one hand me down I am interested in, it is entrusted with rubies and is made of Valyrian steel. Or perhaps there are two. That, and a certain beautiful iron chair that is waiting for me downstairs. I deserve to rule this realm. Aegon never had what it takes. He spits on duty and sacrifice.

Me? I know everything about the two. I had to sacrifice my own eye for my dragon. I have never turned my back on my duties, always preformed them with dedication as a true king would. No matter how unpleasant or boring.

My blood cooks from within my veins. She wishes to scare Willa. She wishes to break us apart. I scowl. "How is that my problem, exactly? If you stayed loyal to me, you wouldn't have gotten pregnant in the first place."

She scowls now too, her pretty whore face getting ugly. I smirk, statisified with her anger. "How could I have possibly rejected him?! Your protection was nothing compared to what you give Willa!" I sigh.

Because Willa means something to me. I haven't figured out what this is, this constant need to be with her, the constant need to protect her and the bloodlust that is unleashed in my head when anyone as much looks in her direction. It makes me want to crack skulls and take heads. No one ever made me feel that strongly before. Yet a doe eyed maiden from the North? She turns all I know into uncertainty. She is the answer. But to what question?

"You are a jealous whore. Do you envy her? Her beautiful pure soul? She never had to work a day in her life. You did. Your soul is rotten from the poverty and the whoring you did. Willa eats meals you will never taste. She wears gowns made of fabrics you'll never feel. She is everything. You are nothing." I finish brutally making her tear up. Good.

I smirk, leaning in close. I smile at her, caressing her face. "You see, slut. Willa is a beautiful gorgeous and educated lady. She is my wife. You? You are a unedacted disgusting dirty little brat that outstayed her welcome already."

She slaps me, and I'll admit it is impressive for a woman. "I told her. She will see in time just how cruel you are, Aemond Targaryen." She vows as if I will allow her to be around to see this happen after what she did just do to me.

I feel my burning cheek. I do not become angry. I fake a smile but from within, I feel a hunger, only skull cracking, and blood spilling can solve. "Yes," I mutter absently. "I fear you are right about that, at least. But by the time she does, it will be far too late for her."

Aurelia is clearly conflicted as to how I feel about Willa. The stupid whore thinks it is all so black and white. So easy. That once a man falls in love with a woman, he must drop all his personality to make his conquest happy. I spit on that idea. I always have. "O... You see, I do truly care for Willa." I tell her, and for once it is the truth. I do. I wouldn't feed and cloth my little fox if I didn't care for her. I wouldn't have died for her if I didn't care for her. And I surely wouldn't have allowed her to orgasm and come as hard as she did, if I didn't care for her.

I put the books back in the shelves. They do not deserve to be dirty for what comes next. Willa is my precious little fox. I made a vow to her today, though she did not understand it. I take my vows rather seriously. Aurelia gulps.

I smile coyly before picking my dagger back up, advancing on her. "You are not leaving this room." I tell her. "You hurt my precious fox. You will pay for that with your life." I promise her before. She takes off running, to the doors. The guards do stop her for me and I smirk advancing slowly as a predator.

She is held for me. "How dare you two! I am a special friend of the king!" She whimpers. I shrug at her words.

Aegon likes her now. But love is fickle as a flame when it comes to him. One moment he promises her the seven kingdoms, the next he is ignoring her for months perhaps years. My guards hand her to me.

I take her over and for her cowardice when facing her destiny, I cut in her face drawing a ugly scar similar to my own. She cries when undergoing my torture. "Shut up, little cocksucker. Shut up. This is the beginning. Keep your voice for when the real fun begins."

She growls at me when I lay her down and start undressing her, taking my knife and slowly start petting her gigantic big tits. She made Willa insecure. I will never forgive her for making my precious fox insecure. She is above her by miles. "Aemond; your rape causes her more pain than any of my spankings. It was done to me as well. I never hurt the girl on purpose." I feel my lips scowl.

I grit out. "I don't rape her." She likes it. She enjoys it. She loves it. She would die for it. Willa enjoys what I give her and she clearly enjoys what only I can give her. I am her husband and my wife has needs only I truly understand. No other lord or man or even a god would be enough to satisfy the girl. She is mine.

"Not anymore. You did once. She has never forgotten. I see the fear in her eyes whenever you show yourself. Your real self. Not this perfect little princeling. But this rotten beast that died when they took his eye from him." I have never hidden from her who I am. Never. Not once. The little fox cried during our first few times, who wouldn't? I had murdered her family, ran them through and chopped them up in little pieces to be send around the kingdom as a warning. But her cunt...

O, her delicious little cunt. Her hardened nippels and her soft begging eyes whenever I would allow her to feel my length down her cunt, fucking it, showing her a wife's true purpose....

She loved that. I would be a fool to not notice how much my fox loves having sex with me. And none of it comes close to rape. None.

I kiss Aurelia, pretending to fuck her against the walls. "You want the beast? I'll give you the beast." I warn her.

She moans, the slut. I bite her neck first. She likes that. She always did. "You want to drive a wedge between me and her?! You want to take the one thing from me that brings me joy?! You will never leave this place alive slut." I warn her as I grab her left breast and my knife.

A whores breasts are her biggest selling points. She is nothing without it. She won't hold Aegon's attention once I mutilate her. "S-stop, Aemond..Stop. the king..I am his favourite. His special golden flower -" I spit on that nickname and her begging.

And I spit on my brother and all those who declare him king. He is no king. He is a shadow of a ruler who never will measure up to the greatness others see in him. "I will kill my brother, my damn self, in front of the entire kingdom to see if he comes close to her again. I will drink from his skull, and I will gift my Willa his eyeballs for hurting her." I whisper so the guards won't hear. Her eyes widen.

Now I don't have a choice but to kill her. She begs me, rubbing my cock through my pants. "I don't want to die..." no one does, do they? Yet if we kept every traitor alive, the world would become too full. It is good to clean away the weeds every now and then. It keeps the world healthy and a happy place.

I smirk. "You'll finally be with your daughter again. Isn't that a sweet comfort?"

"You beast!" She twists me between the legs. I choke her in return, taking my dagger and chop off her left nipple for her. I drag my dagger to her cunt and start slashing at it, watching as she cries and bleeds out on the sofa. I take no pleasure with it and start to rip her open from her cunt till her throat, as if she is a gift I am unwrapping.

What did she told my perfect little fox? I just started her lessons and she finally understands how it works. I am her husband and she will do anything for me. Tonight only confirms that my little fox loves me deeper than any cut I've given this whore that dared to touch her. I sigh. If Willa proves to be trouble once more, I will show her once more that she best behaves around me. I don't mind getting a little rough anyway. She does as well.

I cut off Aurelias head. I have plans with it. To the guards I give them a order. "Have a maid clean this mess up. Her body may be displayed on the spikes. Do me a favour, make sure her cunt is cut up lose and is impaled on a spike as well, right below the King's window. I wish him to see it."

I take the head with me and start walking to my brother's chambers.

[arcplaysgames]

God Margaret you are like so pretty?

So yeah on the final day of the game, I'm gonna shoot my shot, why not

.... oh. dang. /tugs collar

I mean, I expected nothing less from her, she was the one who started the Empress SLink really, not me. She had that fucking incredible line, something like "Entangle me in your string of fate," it was gorgeous.

I'm mostly sad Margaret isn't even more of an option because I find her really interesting and very, very charismatic. Being around her feels like being around someone who is much more important than you are but she still decides to grace you with her attention.

As an Empress, she's an interesting choice. The Empress is seated, is passive in her observation of her kingdom, but holds a wand aloft. And Margaret's was certainly instrumental in using power to illuminate the path for Reverie. She makes for a rather cold temperament, but her efficacy cannot be argued with.

Also she KISSED REVERIEEEEEEE. gosh. golly.

Character Accuracy to Their Arcana: Six out of Ten.

OH RISE. You know I have no idea if I would say I "liked" Rise but my got was she like.... the exact chaos the group needed. Teddie and Rise both brought a tremendous amount of energy to the team, both joining at the same time too.

I really admire how decisive Rise is. Which, of course, Lovers, obviously. She may struggle to figure out what exactly she wants, but once she does, she already has her shoes tied tight and is headed forward. And her journey being set up from the start with her Shadow, how there is no such thing as the True Self, and how that continues to be the core of her arc was really very fucking good.

Character Accuracy to Their Arcana: 10 out of 10, honestly.

Marie is great but does suffer a lot from being added into the game. There is a very inorganic element to her. However, given what we learn about her, that she's a creature of the other world meant to doom humanity, that she's almost a cuckoo bird in the human nest, it... sort of makes perfect sense, doesn't it? That she feels so Off.

That's making excuses for the game honestly but I'm gonna do it because while the way she fit into the game was always very pasted on, her voice acting was honestly great and smoothed over a LOT of issues I had with her. Like, I could sit here and point out the flaws but why? I like her enough.

Character Accuracy? Abstain, as I'm not very familiar with the Aeon.

I feel like i don't even need to say anything about Kanji. I'm willing to wager if you could make a pie chart of every dialogue box I screencapped, Kanji would have an outsized percentage.

I came into Persona 4 Golden with carefully calibrated expectations. I Fully expected to be deeply disappointed in Kanji's writing. But he started out amazing and he literally never ceased being amazing. This is the guy who punched his own shadow and affectionately told him to get up because any shadow of his could take a punch. This is the guy who makes "very elaborate" dolls for sad children. This is the guy who is willing and ready to beat up someone if that'll save them. He's the heart of the fucking team and he hits like a mack truck. I love Kanji.

IF ONLY HE WERE ROMANCEABLE. GODDAMMIT.

Character Accuracy to Their Arcana: Solid 7 out of 10. I still think Dojima would have been a better fit but Kanji's dedication to taking ownership and care of his community is very Emperor.

shut up kanji you aren't allowed to make me cry twice in one playthrough

Best Girl Yukiko.

God, she is so weird. She's so heartfelt. She's so funny. Her arc makes a tremendous amount of sense. She's selfish and mean, she's generous and kind. She got drunk off the atmosphere in Iwatodai. She never talks about Chie as much as Chie talks about her. My heart aches for her, and I hope she's made the right decision to stay. I hope she'll have the strength to leave later if she discovers it wasn't.

I hope she and Kanji become best friends.

Character Accuracy to Their Arcana: 0 out of 10, she and Yosuke shoulda swapped.

[anarchic-miscellany]

Terrible Video Game Idea: Persona 6

Terrible Video Game Idea Part 2:

"Persona" but in a shopping mall.

You take on the role of a new employee in the upbeat, snazzy, popular shopping mall erected in the city. It's a well paying job, and you need the money! But something is afoot here, there is a terrible secret going on in the mall. And soon it falls to you to stop it and solve the mystery! Accompanied by the mysterious powers of "Persona" and a few other workers here - you must take on these demons and save the world!

It's not just teenagers, it's adults this time!

Hiro - A spry and confident man at the mobile phone shop, who fancies himself something of a ladies' man. Unfortunately, as handsome as he is, he never got into college, and is stuck in this job. He loves his parents, even though they seem unhappy with his job too, and lives in the shadow of his elder siblings, but is happy to get drunk on the weekends and hang out with his band! You can shake this party animal from his rut and fight evil with him! And with his store, you can get first pick of all the tech which comes through!

Megumi - A clerk at the food court, this was only supposed to be a temporary position to make a little extra cash for her; now the wannabe author is stuck with no prospects and being looked up to by the young student workers as "the older hand". She's not even old! But it's money, and it just about pays bills... She doesn't want to be "responsible", or a killjoy or "the old crone"; she wants to be seen as fun, which she is! But it'll take a lot to shake her out of this preconception of her... And with her store, what better place to stock up on supplies?

Kaito - The security guard was kept out of the police force by his thick glasses, so he had to settle for this. It beats working another job and is the closest he's ever going to get to "fighting injustice" and protecting the innocent like he wanted to do when he was a child, which he still is at heart. He loves walking around feeling like a sheriff in the old West, or a beat cop, and pretends to have a secret identity! But stopping the poor and protecting rich store's stock isn't exactly a noble endeavour, and the kind-hearted man may not be cut out for this... Still! You can up his confidence, help him out and in return he will be a most useful ally in combating darkness! Hell, he even has the keys to the building!

Tomoko - Easily the coolest to many here, she works at the music store! Carefully cultivating a cool, collected and snobby persona as "the classy music snob"; she is actually super-embarrassed by her family's enormous wealth and her status as an heiress to a large fortune. Complicating things further, she actually really likes dorky stuff and music seen as "trash", but must be seen to be cool and "knowledgeable" about music. Can she shake free of her image and find a way to ground herself effectively, whilst discovering who she really wants to be? With the aid of our protagonist and his friends, she probably can!

Takeshi - He used to be somebody. He used to have his own business. Now the businessman is struggling to make ends meet here in the travel agency, an industry he knows nothing about and with strict quotas he is not able to to meet. He watches as those with more money and dreams than he will ever have come in and demand that he make their dreams come true, whilst he struggles to keep his daughter in school and a roof over their heads. His marriage is on the rocks, and he needs a miracle. What he does NOT need is the power of "Persona" to awaken inside of him, but he'll do what he's always done: make fucking do. His store gives you the maps and places to travel in this evil metaverse, don't navigate without it!

Yuuko - A gold medallist in figure skating, once known as "The Golden Swan" for her beauty and grace, now working at the sporting goods store, fitting ice and roller skates to kids and couples. She's constantly noticed and it's seen as a "fall from grace", but she's happy here! There are no pressures, no trappings of celebrity, no parents and coaches pushing her further: just a job she has to do! But she feels as if she should want more, and also: do people only want to befriend her because of her fame? Because they feel sorry for her? Because they want to hook up with the "Golden Swan"? She fears that she is boring and a washout: this adventure will hopefully change that! Her store lets you access the weapons and equipment you'll need to fight evil!

Wataru - The janitor. A grizzled old badass sporting tattoos and a cool beard, rumour has it that the man is a Yakuza. But Wataru is simply one of many lost in the shuffle: a day labourer, cab driver, dock worker and all round blue collar guy; he has shifted from job to job and struggled even to get this one. He's constantly worried about two things: being seen as useless and thus replaced by somebody younger (especially since upper management don't like him; and schoolchildren keep thinking he's a creepy old man or wise old man who has been a janitor all his life as some sort of punishment from the Gods); and word getting out about his sexuality, something most improper... You can hep Wataru kick some ass and show this old dog some new tricks! Plus he's the janitor: he's been everywhere, he can get into anything, and he'll clean up the enemy nicely.

Ai - The absolutely useless and incompetent new girl in the jewellery store, Ai only got this position because her parents are incredibly rich and famous stakeholders in the mall. She comes across as common and vulgar to the customers, and the snobby staff too, and it's gotten her down. She has no idea what she's good at, and knows that everybody thinks of her as "the rich kid who'll never have to work a day in her life", something she is keenly and painfully aware of. She doesn't know what to do, but her heart is in the right place. She has no real friends here until your gang of misfit employees show up, but she's willing to learn! Time to take charge and break free of your shadow Ai! And with her wealth and influence to call upon - she's a perfect addition to your gang!

You'll meet others in your adventures, both staff members of other stores and customers who frequent the place, as you get to know your party and yourself - in the most salary-based Persona game yet!

[bonesandthebees]

Another short one. I’ll do Quachkity now. He’s one of the people always trying to figure Wilbur out, and by extent Phil’s intentions with him. With the addition that he does know Phil. He notices the ciat almost immidiatly, but does not push.

What he does want to know, is why he and Tommy look like shit and where he has been. He’s nosy too. He has an inkling and he wants to know if he’s right. And he’s pushing for that answer. Pushing to find out where Wilbur has been.

But then he finds out and his entire demeanour changes. He phisically takes a step back. Looks at the coat again. And puts two and two togehtdr. And he knows it’s a claim. But there’s something else too. For a moment he forgot thag Wilbur has power over him, because he knows Wilbur won’t use it agianst him. But then he realsies Phil has claimed Wilbur, ans how much power Wilbur truly hold (even if he does not realise so himself) and Quackity is scared.

Probably also impressed if he thinks this is what Wilbur wants. And definitely intruged either way.

Last one for tonight, I’ll see how far I get tomorrow. Have a good day, Bee!

-🌲

quackity is an interesting case because he wants to know wtf is going on with wilbur by virtue of wanting to know why the hell phil is so interested in him. he doesn't have that much personal investment in wilbur as a person (although admittedly he has a bit of sympathy for the guy after he literally got drunk and sobbed in his room for like 2 hours), but he wants to know why phil has staked a claim in him. and he also wants to know what's going on with the negotiations because that'll directly affect his own work. he notices the coat immediately, and he also knows phil so that's why he knows exactly what it means. it's nothing he didn't already figure out, but he's definitely surprised to see such an overt sign of a stake being put in wilbur and, more importantly, wilbur seeming to accept it by wearing the coat.

and yeah, then he sees that wilbur looks like shit and knows tommy looked the same way, which again could be related to the negotiations hence why he wants to know what's going on.

lmao yup, quackity forgot what it meant for a moment that phil has a claim in wilbur. the power it gives him. and again, like I said before, the fact that it appears like wilbur has accepted it by wearing the coat. something has shifted, and quackity can tell.

[damagedjock]

Name: Dean McGuire

Hometown: Haddonfield, Illinois

Orientation: Homosexual ( Heavily closeted in his early years.)

Position: Bottom-Power Bottom.

Age: 18-24

Occupation: Onlyfans Model and Sex Worker

Face-claim: Zac Efron

Backstory: Once upon a time, Dean was the star of Haddonfield High.—a champion athlete, gifted performer and brilliant mind—He was on top of the world, racing towards success, however, the world had no idea just what exactly he was running from. Dean was born to a nasty alcoholic father and raised with an equally nasty drug addict of a brother. He was a product of verbal, emotional and physical abuse from both of these men. This took a silent toll on his mind. He may be the golden boy at school, but at home, he was less than garbage. Because of this abuse, turned his secret pain towards his fellow students, turning him into a bully. He made a promise to himself that he was going to leave Haddonfield and make a real life for himself, away from abuse. He had no idea that destiny had a much darker plan for him.

Point of No Return: No one knew Dean's dark secret. No one would believe that he's gay. He had a mob of girls following him and even the head cheerleader for a girlfriend. He could hide it very well, or so he thought. Dean had strong sexual urges he could not control. Being a natural bottom, he would often play with his hole in the empty locker room after school. He had no idea someone was watching him. This person ratted him out. One cold October night, Dean's dad and brother confronted him about his secret. They even found Dean's gay porn magazines. Being gay was unacceptable in Dean's family, so his father and brother did the unthinkable; they beat Dean to a bloody pulp and sexually assaulted him. It was horrifying, brutal and humiliating. Dean's own family humiliated and violated him. Only problem is, deep down, Dean liked it. He had no idea that this assault planted a darkness in him and set him on a dark and dangerous path, changing him physically and emotionally.

The Aftermath: Dean was never the same after that. He became a completely different person. He dropped out of the sports program, dropped out of the performing arts magnet and flunked all his classes. He isolated himself and became the school recluse. He found his way to drugs, alcohol and eventually dropped out of school to work at an exclusive gay sex club outside of Haddonfield. He developed a sex addiction, and he sought power and control. He developed a whole new identity as a power top, fucking a mountain of bottoms regularly and beating the shit out of anyone who wanted to fuck him. The deeper his addiction became, the more successful he got. He's now making six figures on only fans, works at an elite sex club for the fun of it and drowns himself with an endless supply of drugs, booze and ass. His fans and fellow sex workers idolize him, but they don't even notice the cuts on his forearms. The world around him has no idea how the darkness of his past has consumed Dean's mind, body and soul.

The Present Day: Dean has gotten the success and glory he always wanted, but it cost him his very soul. No one knows it, but he's a shell of the person he used to be. He fucks his way to his next paycheck, having no emotional investment in these hook ups what so ever. They mean nothing to him. He loves hard liquor, hard drugs and self mutilation. He has become consumed by his anger and hatred towards Haddonfield and all the people in it. He hides behind a pretty facade, but deep down, he's an angry drunk, drug addict and sex manic. He is constantly numb and always question the purpose of his life. Still, even in his darkest moments, he comes across the only person who could possibly understand him: Corey Cunningham.

Love of his Life: Dean never saw it coming. Corey and Dean went to Haddonfield High together. They even graduated the same year, but they were in completely different social circles. Regrettably, due to his dysfunctional upbringing, Dean was a bit of a bully towards Corey. However, all of that has changed.

As he got older, Dean came to regret his choices as a kid. He is deeply ashamed of how he treated Corey, especially with what happened to him afterwards. Dean never believed Corey was capable of something as horrible as manslaughter, and in seeking forgiveness for his own actions, he makes up for his past by defending Corey when the town was against him. Now their paths have crossed again, only this time, both of them have changed from horrible circumstances out of their control.

Both of them are very different from who they used to be. The darkest of human emotions have changed them permanently. However, even in their shared darkness, a light has been born. Forgiveness, compassion, mercy and understanding. With these specks of light, something new has been born; love. Dean has been emotional dead for years, but meeting Corey again, getting to know him personally, he sees in him what Haddonfield refuses to see. In Corey, Dean sees a genuinely kind soul that has been corrupted by paranoia, anger and hate. He finds kindship and companionship in Corey. Eventually, he finds love; true love, and its touches Dean deeply. Corey loves Dean for who he is, not who he pretends to be. Dean's love for Corey is genuine, pure and real. It's something he's never felt before. For the first time in his life, Dean has fallen in love and has felt genuine happiness, something he never thought he could experience. Question is, can their love break free of their shared darkness or will it be consumed and corrupted by it?

[cursedvessels]

Of course she thought she couldn’t say no. Did she not realize what kind of power he held? If she had said no, he could have turned and taken her away from that place before Demi could even think to react! Maybe it was dangerous thinking, but…He would have done it anyway.

She’s stepping closer now and Shimi takes a stumbled step back, his shoulder nudging he wall a bit roughly. A wince. Something was wrong. Very wrong. But he was too drunk to figure out what it was. All he knew was the closer she got the more nauseated he felt, the more pain there was jolting in his temples, forcing him to pull away.

Arms are suddenly around his neck, her lips crushing against his—exactly what he had wanted—yet the moment doesn’t last long. Their whole body grows rigid, the hairs on the back of their neck standing on end as harsh, violent words are chanted against the back of their mind. Eyes snap open, hands lifting to shove Leo off as they stumble backwards again. A shaking groan of an exhale, desperate and pained, as he doubles over, a hand clinging to his heart. A bolt of electricity had touched him there. So close it had scarcely avoided ending him. He felt it. And it terrified him. He’s out of breath, heaving out each exhale with a painful moan.

“Leo…” Her name comes breathlessly off their lips, still bent at the waist, clinging to their chest. They stumble another step back. “Hah..Y— You…” Glassy eyes fall on the ring. The writing. How could he have missed it?

“Leo. I can’t— That—“ Breath hitches, a knife twisting against his temple again in warning, the runes pushing him away roughly. Their eyes squeeze shut, another pained grunt given as they press themselves against the wall. “The ring, Leo. You— It’s not just a…!” They’re having a hard time getting it out and a moment later they’re doubling over again, bending off to the side as they puke up their guts. The pain, the unsteadiness of their own gaze, it’s overwhelming. Their knees buckle and then they’re on the ground—weakened.

“Leo, it’s a talisman.”

“I COULDN’T SAY NO!” Leo explodes right back, hands covering her face in frustration. “I couldn’t say no in front of all those people! If I had, would I be standing in front of you right now? Would we have ever seen each other again?!” They would have never been able to. Demetrius would have punished them both severely – and then Tim would have had his revenge on top of that.

Why couldn’t he see that she was just trying to protect them both?

“I have said yes to you every single day. Every single day!” Her lips purse, tears falling faster than she can wipe them away. Her chest heaves as she tries to fill her lungs with air between sobs. “Why aren’t you listening to me? I don’t want to marry Eric, I don’t want to ever have to touch him again. I want to be with YOU!”

She drops her head to her hands, let’s her eyes close and face shove into her palms to be engulfed in the darkness. Just for a moment… nothing but the sound of her ragged breathing and her pulse. The pain was indescribable. A part of her being forcibly and brutally torn away – but they were right. They could both be taken away with just a snap of his fingers.

“I love you.” The words are muffled in her hands until she lifts her head. A mess of mascara running down her eyes, mixing with foundation that’s melting off her skin from the tears. “I love you, and I made my decision the night I met you. I've been waiting for you to ask me to run with you. To take us both away from this. You want me to prove that I love you?"

Leo takes a step closer, an attempt to close the gap that’s grown between them. Her arms slide around his neck to pull him closer, lips brushing his with a gentleness that quickly evolves into urgency; crushing them together, fingers tangling in his hair, only parting to breathe and when she thinks she can feel him trying to yank away from her. She takes a step back, eyes brimming with tears.

"I want to be with you, only you. I will go tell Eric right now that I'm done. What else can I do to prove it to you?"

[tracle0]

hello hi hey! happy storyteller, uh, monday? I'm very late this week. anyway. question time! what were some of the inspirations for your DIAS worldbuilding? I was reminded recently about how cool it all is, what with all the tech blackout stuff and Spin City? n I really dig the whole split-down-the-middle deal Spin City's got going on with the two opposing sides :D so ye, where did the premise for this setting stem from? I request the worldbuilding inspo rambles if you care to share c:

Hi hello welcome to Monday I hope you had a good weekend and slept proper and well ‘nd all that

Ahhhh yes worldbuilding for DIAS, the one thing that DIAS is actually missing in the draft right now. I got stuff! But it might not be what you’re looking for. However; I will share anyway. I will also share that a lot of these ideas came from a note I made on my phone during the long drive to Cardiff.

The whole idea for lacking tech came from... a video called ‘Grazed by the Apocalypse’ which looked into a number of ways humanity almost died. One of these ways was a coronal mass ejection, which is basically where the sun yeets out a bunch of radiation which has the potential, should it hit earth, to really fuck up our way of living - specifically by targeting tech. When I researched it, I learned it best affected radios, but for plot, I went ‘what if it affected EVERYTHING’ 

Whilst brewing up the world, I decided I didn’t want a disaster story, but a story of the politics of recovery; how would people be divided in this world? What about over this specific issue? Why would people chose one side over another? What drives the theory behind stuff? I found that some of the ideas that I came up with were kinda extreme. Unrelated note, but that’s about the time I decided to set it in America. 

Split down the middle is basically so you can Stay In Your Zone - if you’re pro-tech, you can stay in the more technical part of Spin City, with working lights and all that jazz. It’s decided by the river that runs through the middle of the city, and the centre, more undecided part, is not a great place to live due to constant fights over what should happen. It’s also where Leon lives because it’s cheap and he is poor.

In case you’re curious, Ant lives in the anti-tech side because their parents believe that.

So far, we have a world that’s dead to tech, two sides who are unwilling to co-operate and confusion everywhere. What we need is something to kinda... direct the mob towards progress. 

Enter Spin City!!!!

So, Spin City is a Big Deal. It was the first town to start to recover after tech died, the first place where electricity started to work again after four years in the dark (a district of SC is called Beacon, due to it being where the first lightbulb started to work) and where the disputes are most strongly heard. Other cities draw on Spin City’s progress and ideas to decide what to do themselves. 

For a while, they did great! Then uhhh s o m e o n e got into a position of leadership who was against tech and slowed things down hugely. Only recently did that same position open up to someone who was pro-tech, but not open to other peoples ideas. He was forcing things ahead and would’ve gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for two meddling kids and their dumb factory explosion. 

Because the pro/anti tech is not really the conflict of the story, I try and stay neutral about it in the book itself. Ant and Leon blow up a factory to stop tech productions, but it’s strongly in the question as to whether that was the intention of the mission or whether it was a mistake in their information, whether Leon only made said mistake due t forced rushing, plus Leon is also hugely into building things and fiddling with everything, and Ant enjoys seeing developments made in the city. Pro/anti tech is a debate for their parents. They don’t give a fuck.

It’s also never clear if what Simon is doing is really bad, only that his way of getting what he wants is. 

Other ideas did not make it through, like... the idea that the first leader person who drew Spin City back together was going to be a Silvertongue as well, and was assassinated for various reasons. I mentioned it in the draft, but it was never relevant to the story, so I scrapped it. 

The name ‘Spin City’ came about whilst we were trying to think of a name for our media team during college last year; someone suggested it as a name, and no-one liked it, but I thought it’d be cool for an actual location, so stole it. I also used college name suggestions for newspaper companies that are mentioned during a brief conference c;

Another dumb name origin is ‘Lansea’ where Ant’s sister lives - during NaNo, I forgot to name it, so just combined the words ‘land’ and ‘sea’ together, because it’s a beach town. It’s obvious and dumb but I like it. 

I can say that pro-tech wins out in the end and the world recovers quite quickly after that; in a matter of a few generations, the world looks a lot like we know just with a smaller population, and a population that’s able to use various supernatural abilities. Enter the world of wip4

Hey ho there you go