#he knows how to be polite to relatives at the very least

[finelinevogue]

bump

summary - you don’t like people constantly touching your baby bump

word count - +1k

pairing - azriel x reader

✨🌙💫🌟✨🌙💫🌟✨🌙💫🌟✨🌙💫🌟✨

The party was in full swing.

It had been 2 weeks since you’d announced to your close friends and family that you and Azriel were pregnant - after having 1 month living with the news just you two.

Somehow, Rhys had managed to plan and pull-off a party in that short space of time in order to celebrate your pregnancy.

It was relatively low-key, only people that were closest to you and your family having been invited - mainly because you didn’t want a huge thing made of it but also because Azriel was a mad-man at the moment and wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t trust with his life near you.

Azriel had been overprotective to say the least.

Just the other day you’d tried to reach for your favourite mug in a very accessible shelf above you, but Azriel saw what you were doing and instantly panicked - moving you gently out of the way and fetching it for you. To which he also proceeded in making you a tea as he didn’t want you anywhere near boiling water.

“I can make my own cup of tea, Az.” You sighed.

“I know you can, but I can also make one for you.” He replied. That was his usual reply nowadays.

“I’m not incapable you know?”

“I know. I just… I can–.”

“Yes I know you can, love, but I don’t need you to all the time, okay? I love that you want to take care of me, but I also don’t want to feel useless.”

“How could you be useless? You’re currently doing the most important thing that you could ever be doing.” Azriel placed a soft hand on your stomach.

But after shunning Azriel for being too overprotective, you sort of wish he would bring it back again in this moment.

This party was lovely, but it was also so overwhelming.

You didn’t realise how many people would be so interested in coming up to you and feeling your baby bump. Hands constantly touching you when they usually wouldn’t if you weren’t pregnant. It felt weird and uncomfortable.

“Y/N!” Layla called, walking up to you with a glass of bubbly in her hand.

“Layla, hi.” You smiled at your friend who had worked with you in the Velaris bakery for many years.

“I can’t believe you’re pregnant.” She gushed, giggling a bit with excitement.

“Really? With the amount Y/N and Az sneak around every moment they get, I thought it was about damn time.” Nesta came up alongside you, rolling her eyes as is her and Cassian don’t do the exact same thing.

“Well with a mate like Azriel, I don’t blame you.” Layla wiggled her eyebrows and you gave her a small smile - feeling a little insecure that someone as beautiful as Layla was gushing over your mate whilst you were starting to look like an inflated balloon.

You felt Nesta give you a side look before wandering off into the crowd, leaving you to once again speak to Layla alone.

“So how far along are you?” Layla asked.

It would have been fine if she just asked that, but she had to go and put her hand against your bump at the same time.

You were far too polite to say anything but you really didn’t like her hand on your stomach. Not just hers but also everyone else’s who’d decided to just touch you without asking first.

It was starting to feel invasive.

“About 12 weeks.” You gave her a small smile, stepping back slightly.

Unfortunately for you she just followed, adding her hand back.

“Wow so you didn’t have any symptoms for a while then?” She asked, cupping the roundness of your belly with her palm.

It didn’t feel as comforting as when Azriel touched you. Nothing ever would, but there was something so overstimulating about someone other than your mate just touching you before asking. It felt a little violating.

Before you could get emotional about it in front of a crowded room you excused yourself.

You hurried as fast as you could out of the nearest door and walked through the corridors of the House of Wind.

The tears had arrived as you were walking, your heart beating fast and hands shaking with nerves.

Was it rude to not let people touch your bump? You couldn’t help but think.

Yet, at the same time you would never just go up to a female and put your hands on her pregnant bump - even if it was Feyre - You respect their boundaries too much. So why did you feel like getting upset about this was silly?

Was it the hormones? Because they had been making you feel slightly crazy recently.

You made it to the kitchen without bumping in to anyone.

You braced your arms on the kitchen counter and sunk your chin to your chest, letting out small whimpers as the tears fell.

There was no need to jump from your skin when Azriel’s arms snaked around your waist to hug you because you’d felt his presence the moment he’d appeared in the room. His cheek was delicately placed on the back of your head to still allow you the time and space to be upset.

Some of his shadows were already snaking around your arms in support and stomach in protection.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked and you had to laugh at his tone.

“Ask me what you really want to ask, Az.” You lifted your chin up and tilted your head to the side to try and see him.

“I’m not sure asking you who I need to kill is the right thing to say when you’re crying.”

You chuckled, kissing the side of his face.

Azriel let you turn around in his hold, not letting your waist go for a moment though. Now his head was tilted down to face yours.

“Tell me.” He said softly.

Your smile broke as your lips wobbled, trying to focus on not crying and instead talk it through with your mate.

“I hate it.” Your voice wavered.

“Hate what? Who?”

“I hate purple touching my bump.”

“Okay.” Azriel said but didn’t add any thoughts for you. He wanted to hear you say everything on your mind first.

“N-not you. But, people have been touching my bump all day without asking and I hate it. I hate it so much, but I feel like a witch if I tell them to get off. Like it’s just my stomach at the end of the day..”

Azriel moved his hands quickly from your waist to cup your cheeks, stroking his thumb carefully over your cheeks. His touch immediately stopped you from talking.

“Woah, woah, woah. No. Don’t do that. Don’t try and talk yourself out of feeling the way you do. It’s your stomach, love. It’s your baby. No one should be doing anything you’re not comfortable with - ever.”

“No I know, but…”

“No buts. Y/N, love, if you feel uncomfortable then that’s the line I draw. The next person to touch your bump without asking is going to lose their hand.”

You give him a stoic look, but part of you was seriously wondering whether he was being truthful.

“Will you stay with me for the rest of the night?”

“Or how about we don’t go back at all.” He raised his eyebrows in suggestion at you.

“If you’re on the same wavelength as me then yes - please!”

“Perfect.” He kissed you softly, both your chests warming at the touch, “You get the ice-cream and I will get the blankets.”

[amelikos]

Something to note about Amethio's interactions with Crave in HZ078 is that he uses formal/respectful language with him (which he also does with Gibeon).

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[vigilskeep]

as a big fan of you Viago Posting I gotta ask, how do you think Viago feels/reacts to the news of Rook de Riva romancing each of the various companions? I feel like the guy would absolutely have Opinions on all of them lol

i keep receiving asks addressed like this as though i am some kind of Viago Whisperer, which i find both funny and an intimidating task. nevertheless i shall do my best.

i don’t think he would react well to any of the options here, but that’s not necessarily damning, because viago does not react well to basically anything. roughly in order from Least Viago Stress to Most Viago Stress:

1) emmrich seems, in banters with lucanis, to have been emboldened by lucanis’ confirmation that viago posssesses a rosseletto painting and gone on to actually discuss art with viago himself. (lucanis later lets emmrich know from viago that a painting he ordered for vorgoth’s benefit has come in.) emmrich is a man of culture with a very respectable necrotic damage specialisation. he comes from a politically powerful organisation that can defend itself, yet is not personally ambitious in a way likely to drag house de riva into trouble or use rook for his own ends. sure i think viago would make a little fuss about the age gap because he’s judgemental like that but i don’t think there would be much passion behind it

2) bellara’s bubbling questions and excitable nature would be personally a bit startling and maybe slightly grating to viago but i’m keeping her pretty high up because i think lucanis is right and that viago would eat up her knowledge about taste profiles for his usual Nefarious Purposes. once he realises she genuinely is asking questions about house de riva proprietary poisoning tactics for writing research, of all things, i think we can get these fantasy scientists chatting and then she’d charm him against his will.

3) taash’s general bluntness would startle viago even more. their interactions would be pretty hysterical, because taash is so straightforward and viago is so paranoid, and i think viago would leave all of them confused and slightly intimidated. if you send taash with the crows in the final battle, they and teia have a cute interaction about taash getting honorary crow rights, as a conclusion to lucanis and taash’s banters. so this has Teia Approval, which causes viago grumbling but does have a positive viago effect overall. the lords of fortune are friendly with the crows so i don’t think there are major occupational objections here

4) harding is an inquisition agent, which i think viago probably has both condescending and paranoid opinions about. i.e., the inquisition are a small band of fading influence but they also have a history of insane power grabs out of nowhere. neither of which are exactly what you want your protege to marry into. her inability to cook suggests very little skillset bonding. she’s an ordinary farm girl from ferelden and viago’s an antivan elitist so no discussion of their relative backgrounds is going to go very well. HOWEVER, there are saving graces here. she’s a rogue, which is the viago equivalent of dating someone who’s made good career choices. they briefly worked together in the comics with no issues and happily shook hands at the end. he would find her powers conceptually interesting. she’s the type of person to make an effort with in-laws. (hysterical image of her somehow getting viago to her ma’s house for a family gathering. his spindly legs not fitting under the dwarven table. him testing the world’s most earnest fereldan soup for poison. endless potential here.)

5) neve is a detective. viago is a poisoner and rook is his assassin. these are not particularly compatible life paths and i believe viago would point this out with increasing volume as nobody else seems to take issue with it. her canonical willingness to work with the crows would mollify him a bit. every other aspect of her life would not. maybe avoid her mentioning that she lives in a dock town apartment and makes no money because she’s too busy picking fights against impossible odds out of the goodness of her heart? like just don’t bring that up over dinner.

6) davrin made life choices against his own clan’s wishes, greatly approves when you knock his boss out cold, and has zero respect for the crows. davrin does not want viago’s approval. davrin cannot even pretend to want viago’s approval. viago thinks he has the right to be insulted. let alone the insult of his protege ending up with someone with the zero lifetime prospects of a grey warden monster hunter. does rook even know what happened the last time a crow lost their head over a warden? perhaps rook would like the crows to bury as many fifth talons as they did eighth talons! <- said in increasingly hysterical tones, as teia pats him on the back comfortingly while giving rook a thumbs up for picking out a handsome one

7) viago’s fairly sure you’re publicly dating the first talon because you want him personally in an early grave

[porcelana-r0ta]

JOYRIDE

Fandoms: Batman, Danny Phantom

Relationship: Dan Phantom/Jason Todd

Word Count: 3,823

Ao3 Link: Available only to registered users

Summary:

Dan doesn't want to join his Habitudes group for their dumb community service project, which is why he lets two idiot goons kidnap him off the streets. When said goons turn out to work for The Joker, Dan decides to do something about him, maniac to maniac.

Or: The Joker tries to live stream a ransom, but ends up live streaming his own execution.

xxXxx

When Dan Nightingale is grabbed off the streets of Gotham, he makes a half-hearted struggle, just so he can seem human. The kiddie hero business and the indiscriminate genocidal tendencies no longer call to him like they used to, and while he’s still an impatient person who is intolerant of disruptive bullshit, he needs a little excitement in his life. 

Plus, he wants an excuse to get out of his Habitudes community service project. His pretentious trust fund baby groupmates chose to volunteer at some fucking coffee shop instead of something normal, like a hospital or an animal shelter. (Dan didn’t even know a coffee shop was an option, but anything goes for wealthy elites who want to roleplay as an impoverished barista, apparently.) Well, Jay Peters wasn’t so bad, and he was just as irritated as Dan was about the others’ choice. Plus, the chill that settles into Dan’s unused lungs when the other student is around shows that he’s at least Death-touched like him, even if they’ve never acknowledged that to each other. 

So, yeah. He lets himself be kidnapped by two goons, even if he could easily break free and make their insides their outsides. It could be interesting! Enrichment in his pandimensional parole! Everyone’s got to have fun sometimes! It’s like a little joyride, as a treat! But he isn’t the one committing the crime! How quaint!

Dan is a very polite captive. He lets himself be pulled into a creeper van with minimal resistance. He lets the goons zip tie his hands. He lets them put a black bag over his head, even though it smells of weed. He doesn’t count the number of turns they take, nor does he try to talk them into letting him go. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. When they eventually park, he allows the men to pull him out of the creeper van and into some building—likely a warehouse, judging by the echo of their footsteps on the floor. And finally, he lets the goons cut off the zip ties around his wrists and then tie them to the metal arms of a chair. 

He’s a great captive. And he’s so going to be excused from that stupid Habitudes community service project!

He’s content to sit and wait. The Bats of Gotham City usually have a good response time for villain bullshit, and if they don’t, then it’s not like any Fear gas or sex pollen will affect him. Dan’s not really human anymore, even if he is capable of looking so. 

Dan does not have to wait long. The footsteps increase and then stop altogether, and then a cackle fills the air. “Camera man ready? Mics? Charges?” The voice is familiar, yet grating. Where has he heard it before? In his past future, maybe?

“Yes, sir,” comes the reply from several different people. 

A pleased cackle, “Then let’s get started!”

“We are live in three… two…” 

At the silent one, the cackle echoes through the room once again. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen of Gotham City and beyond! I’m your favorite Joker, LIVE! With one of your favorite Wayne children!” 

Dan, who has been relatively chill this whole time, tenses. The Joker. That’s why he recognizes that cackle and voice. He had killed the clown before in his original timeline. Ugh, clowns. He fucking hates clowns. Hates their stupid pale makeup and their stupid dumb wigs and their exaggerated eyes and he fucking hates how they make him feel like he’s not in control. 

And what was that about a Wayne? 

Dan doesn’t think killing someone like The Joker in his original timeline should be held against him. Honestly, the guy is a megalomaniacal terrorist who abuses the guise of mental illness to get away with crimes against humanity. Dan had at least owned up to his own sanity, and never tried to hide from the law or anything like that. He just kind of… killed the law. 

….ACAB? 

A hand suddenly grips at the bag on his head, grabbing hair with fabric. “That’s right, folks! Here’s Gotham’s beloved Dick Grayson!” The bag is yanked off his head, revealing Dan in all his scowling glory. And Dan is a lot of things, but an exact Dick Grayson copy he is not, so while the goons may have mistaken him as Grayson, The Joker does not. 

He pauses, studying Dan’s face. Dan raises a mocking eyebrow, then looks around the warehouse. 

It’s empty and dimly lit, but it’s not a problem for his superior vision. The metal walls are an ugly beige and the floor is a gray cement, its color only broken by mysterious brown stains, and now the discarded black bag. Dan is up against a wall, surrounded by filming equipment. The camera in question is just a fucking iPhone 12 attached to a ring light. There’s one goon behind the camera, moderating the live stream. There is another goon holding a boom mic above Dan and The Joker, and there are four others behind the camera. All of the goons who are not handling equipment are holding toy musket guns. It is probably safe to assume that there are similarly armed goons guarding the doors that Dan cannot see from his position tied to a chair. Likely two goons per exit. In a warehouse of this size, there have to be at least six more goons that Dan isn’t seeing. 

The Joker grits his teeth. “Who brought the Grayson kid here.” It’s not a question so much as it is a demand. 

“We did, boss,” two goons pipe up proudly from behind the camera. 

“Why don’t you two come up on camera so I can congratulate you for good work?” The Joker grins beseechingly. 

One of the two goons, the blond, shuffles nervously at this, whereas the other puffs out his chest. So only one has any brain cells. 

The prideful one grabs his comrade by the arm and drags him up to the camera with Dan and The Joker. They stand in front of Dan, blocking him from the camera’s view.

“I always reward good work, you see,” he says to his henchmen. “Now, you think this is good work?” 

“Yes, sir,” says Pride, while Blond frowns. 

“Take a good look at his face.” The villain gestures angrily to Dan’s unimpressed face. “What do you see?” 

“Dick Grayson, sir,” 

Blond shuffles, “He looks like he isn’t scared.” 

“No! Wrong! This isn’t Dick Grayson! This– This is some—” The Joker takes another glance at Dan, noting the black Gotham U hoodie that hides his muscles. “This is some fucking college twink!”

“Twink?” Dan mutters to himself, disgruntled. Sure, the hoodie is baggy and he’s seated instead of standing, but do those two things add up to him looking like a twink? 

The color has drained out of even Pride’s face at The Joker’s words. “Sir, please—”

But The Joker is already pulling out a comically large toy gun that probably has real bullets, and Dan sighs. It would probably be bad for his parole if he let a bunch of humans die in front of him. 

He phases out of the ropes binding him, safe from view with the two idiots in front of him. Then, he kicks The Joker down to the floor, sending the toy gun scattering across the cement floor of the warehouse. He stands and knocks Pride and Blond’s heads together, knocking them out as The Joker screeches with rage. 

The goons behind the camera aim their guns, but Dan is already moving behind the camera. He snags the guns out of their hands, snapping them in half with strength he doesn’t even have to think about. He moves so fast that at first they don’t even realize what’s happened. By the time they connect their missing firearms to the broken bits of metal on the floor, Dan has already clobbered them over the head, knocking them unconscious. 

He takes out the cameraman, too, and the goon holding the boom mic. Then, in mere seconds, he takes out all the goons at each exit, and he’s back at the filming station by the time The Joker has staggered to his feet. His original estimate had been off by two—there were eight other goons in total. 

Dan checks the iPhone—still live streaming. On TikTok, of all the goddamn apps. The comments are going wild on what’s going on: where’s the college student, how did he kick The Joker like that, do you guys think that those two goons have brain damage now, what was that metal scraping sound, where is The Joker? 

“Hey, brat!” snarls The Joker, clutching at his ribs. “That was not part of the script.”

Dan hates clowns, and he especially hates The Joker. Sure, Dan wiped out nearly all of humanity. Who doesn’t have a bad decade of villainous activity? But he did it quickly, and he didn’t do it under the guise of insanity. He owned up to it. And if Dan’s being honest, he’s… disgusted by it all now, even if it hurts himself to admit. 

If Dan isn’t human, then neither is The Joker. 

Still off camera, Dan moves so fast he basically teleports in front of The Joker. The other man stumbles back, but Dan reaches out and grabs him by the throat. He chokes and claws at Dan, but Dan isn’t human anymore, and so his nails catch on nothing but the cloth of his hoodie. He doesn’t even feel it.

He drags The Joker to the chair in front of the still live camera and shoves him into it. While he recovers from being choked, gasping and shuddering and so fucking human , Dan forces his hands behind him and uses the ropes he’d phased out of to tie The Joker up. When he ties the last knot, Dan stands tall, staring into the camera. 

“Hello, friends and family,” he greets the audience. He gives a small smile, and he makes sure that he is perfectly, utterly human with normal blue eyes and normal black hair and normal human skin. “As you can see, things have turned around for The Joker here. Now, I’m sure his original intent was to ransom out the Wayne kid, and it would be a shame to see that hard work and planning go to waste on a mistake, wouldn’t it? So why don’t we hold a… reverse ransom? Only, I don’t need funds. I’ll accept donations. My venmo is vladsucks03. My cashapp is dannight07.”

Dan’s smile grows into a wide grin. “Feel free to donate if you like. But even not a single person donates, The Joker dies today.” 

The Joker spits out a gasping laugh, “Ha! You think you can kill me? I gotta admit, that’s a good joke. But Batman—”

“Batman what?” Dan asks, stepping off camera to grab the black bag on the floor. He shoves it halfway into his pocket. He walks to The Joker’s toy gun, the only one he hadn’t broken, and he picks it up. 

“Batman is already on his way here,” The Joker says. “He always is by this point.”

“And Batman will save you?” Dan snorts. He moves to check the live stream, comments coming in so fast that the only reason he can read them is because he’s not human anymore. 

Is this for real

fuck yeah kill that guy

💥🔫🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

extremely common gotham uni W

im donating 50$ rn

Can we vote on how joker dies

Lol does he fr think that batman would help him

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Does anyone else find this incredibly attractive or is it just me 😳

guys my joker/batman fic update is gonna slap after this

Joker’s cooked

bro is about to have ao3 level donations

Hey what’s his cashapp again

Omg i think that guy is in my bio class

I’ll donate when hes acc dead

doin god's work 🥹👍

If bro doesnt do it he’s cooked

This guy is gonna have infinite rizz if he pulls this off

The Joker scoffs, “Of course he will. He’s done it before.”

Dan yanks his gaze from the comments to The Joker’s face, “What?”

The Joker nods his head up arrogantly. “Batsy can’t live without me. He saved me after fickle-ickle Nightwing killed me.” 

“Huh.” Dan blinks consideringly, switching his gaze back to the comments. They’re all freaking out about this new information. He steps back into the camera frame, pulling the hammer back on the toy gun. “Then I’ll just have to make sure it sticks.” 

He points the gun at The Joker’s face and fires. As expected, rainbow confetti is the only thing that flies out, dusting over The Joker in celebration of what is to come. 

The Joker laughs. 

“Cute,” says Dan. He walks around The Joker to stand behind him, directly in front of the camera. He removes the black bag from his pocket and puts it over The Joker’s face. 

He shoves the muzzle of the gun into the back of The Joker’s skull. Pulling back the hammer, he asks, “Any last words?” 

He pulls the trigger before The Joker can say anything. It’s funny. As expected, the second gunshot is a real bullet. The Joker’s head and body jerks forward. Blood splatters on Dan’s face, but it’s mostly on the floor and the unconscious Blond and Pride and on The Joker himself. 

For a moment, Dan can only stare. The Joker’s body is crumbled in on itself, held up only by the bindings on his arms to a chair nailed to the ground. 

He feels big. He feels good. 

He feels… dirty.

He clears his throat. He drops the gun. He lifts up the soaking black bag up just enough to check for a pulse. After thirty seconds of nothing, he says, “Well, that’s the end of The Joker.” 

He looks up, staring into the camera lens, and he chuckles. “I missed my community service project because of this bozo. You guys think my professor will accept this as community service?”

You guys think this will affect my ghost parole? he doesn’t ask. 

He bends down to check the pockets of Blond. He finds his phone and uses Blond’s thumbprint to bypass the password. His stomach curdles at the home screen—a picture of Blond and a little girl with his eyes and his nose. His eyes burn and he calls 911, trying not to blink.

“911 dispatch. What is your emergency?”

“Yeah, uh, I killed The Joker. But he kidnapped me first, so. Turnabout.” 

“You— sorry, you what?”

“I killed The Joker. He’s dead. I checked his pulse and everything.”

“O-oh.” The woman on dispatch sounds strangled. There are muffled sounds, frantic, that the receiver only barely picks up. Dan wonders what she’s doing, Asking for verification? Trying to triangulate his location? Celebrating the fucking good news? “Do you know where you are, sir?”

“Some warehouse, I guess. Probably at the docks. Do you want me to check?”

“No, sir, please stay where you are if there are no immediate threats.”

“Got it.” He clicks his tongue. 

“Can you tell me your name, sir? Are you injured somewhere?”

“I’m Dan. Uh, Dan Nightingale. I guess he thought I was the Grayson kid. Um. Dick Grayson, I mean. And no, I’m fine. His henchmen are injured and unconscious, though.” 

“Right. Okay. Hi, Dan. I’m Claire. First responders and patrol units are on their way to your location now.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.” He almost wants to ask if she thinks that he’ll end up in Arkham for this, but he’s pretty sure that there’s no jury on Earth that would convict him. Well, maybe not. He did ask for donations for murdering The Joker, after all. That might put a damper on his defense. 

“Dan?” asks Claire. 

“Yeah?”

“Is– is he really dead?”

Dan looks at the body and kicks a limp leg, avoiding looking at the gory black bag. Nothing. “Yep. As a doornail.” And he knows death intimately. 

She breathes a shaky, staticky sigh into the receiver. “Thank you, Dan.”  

He blinks, “Can you get fired for saying that?”

She laughs, “Honey, everyone not on break right now is listening to this. My boss just broke a bottle of tequila out from his desk.” 

He barks out his own laugh. “Oh?”

“You’re about to be very popular, Dan.”

“Well, I—” 

And seventeen minutes late to the party, the windows at the top of the warehouse shatter open. In cascades of broken glass and grappling cables, the Bats drop down to the floor. 

“Away from the body,” commands Batman as soon as his feet hit the ground. His little birdies, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and the newest Robin fall in line with him. Robin makes quick work of rounding up the unconscious goons and binding them. 

Dan obligingly puts the hand that isn’t holding the phone up in the air, but before moving away from the camera’s view, he says, “Just a reminder guys, my venmo is vladsucks03 and my cashapp is dannight07. Please remember that I might need a lawyer soon.”

“Okay, funny guy,” Nightwing says, entering into frame and pulling Dan away by the shoulder while Red Robin shuts down the live stream.

“It was self-defense and defense of another. A whole population, if you will,” Dan says. 

Red Hood snickers, “Only crime here was the kidnapping.” 

“Dan, are you okay?”

“Bats are here, Claire,” Dan tells her. He watches Batman lift the black bag off The Joker’s face, revealing the viscera and gray matter beneath. He’s not smiling anymore. Dan hasn’t seen that kind of gore in years. He’s the cause of it once more and he doesn’t regret that. It feels invigorating. It feels devastating. “I guess I’ll hang up now. If The Joker is mysteriously alive after this, it’s because Batman couldn’t handle not being the hero.” 

“Dan—” He hangs up as Batman’s shoulders go minutely tense at his words. The man stands fully, turning his head slightly to narrow his cowled eyes at Dan. 

“Problem, sir?” 

“You killed The Joker.” 

“I saved myself and his two idiots.” He shrugs. 

“You had him restrained.” 

He rests an offended hand against his chest. “I was frightened that he would escape, sir, just as he escapes from the very place you put him every eight to ten months.” The Bat doesn’t want to be judge, jury, and executioner. Fine. Whatever, he gets it. Dan hadn’t wanted to be that, neither as hero nor villain. He’d wanted to save, he wanted to be saved, and then he wanted everyone to feel like he did. But he’s not so prideful now to know that he wouldn’t have stopped then, not unless someone handled the job permanently. 

The Joker needed permanence. 

The Bat can play fucking judge all he wants. But he’d be just as villainous if he tried enforcing his own moral code on other people.

“You asked for donations,” Red Robin says dryly. “You were basically putting a hit out on him.”

“My art in life textbook is $300. How much do you think a lawyer is going to cost?”

“Hn.” 

“Stop giving the man a hard time for doing a public service, Batman.” Red Hood shoulder checked Nightwing away and held out a gloved hand for Dan to shake. He takes the other’s hand and firmly shakes it. The contact, while not to skin, gives Dan goosebumps and chills his lungs. 

Jay?

“Let’s hope my Habitudes professor agrees with you.”

“She will. Everyone with three brain cells to rub together will.” The man cuts a glare at Batman. 

Dan didn't say what pronouns his professor uses. 

The rumble in Red Hood’s voice is enticing. He looks at the other man, really looks, and notices his broad shoulders, how tall he is (though Dan towers over him even  disguised as a human), and his muscled arms. Arms that Dan’s pretty sure are normally hidden beneath a Gotham U hoodie, just like his own. 

He smirks as sirens sound in the distance. “Let’s hope the cops agree with you.”

“They will,” Hood says. It sounds like a promise for something entirely different. 

“Gag me,” Red Robin mutters.

Robin says, “For once I agree with you.”

Without looking away from Dan, Red Hood flips the two off, and yeah, maybe redemption can be more promising than he initially thought. 

xxXxx

A week later, Dan finally goes back to his regular schedule. His ghost parole is intact—he’d even been thanked by some Gothamite ghosts, and Danny begrudgingly told him that there were ghosts who said they’d riot if Dan was given any punishment. As for the mortal side of things, Vlad Masters had graciously sent his team of attorneys to Dan’s aid. While Dan still hates him, he has no issue about using a free team of lawyers to defend him. He’s guaranteed to walk.

Jazz had called him. It made his core unsettled and stony. She wasn’t disappointed, and he doesn’t know how that makes him feel. He doesn’t regret it—The Joker would never change. But what does that say about him and his progress? 

Jazz in general makes him uneasy now. She used to be his big sister, and now she’s younger than him, and he tried to kill her, and— she’s different from his Jazz, is all. But if she’d always known like she said, then his Jazz did, too, right? Could she still be his Jazz, a Jazz who got to grow up? Still be his sister? It would be stupid to hope so, right?

He feels bitter.

She said she’s considering Gotham University as her college of choice as she nears high school graduation. Apparently, their psych department is amazing. 

So maybe hope isn’t so bad. 

Dan sits down at his 10:00 am Habitudes class. Everyone already in the room stares at him. Before they can offer any congrats or thanks or swarm him, Jay sits down next to him. 

Dan looks at Jay’s mostly black hair and his tuft of white at his front bangs. He’s wearing his usual Gotham U hoodie, a hoodie that likely hides muscled arms. A chill builds in his lungs like it did when speaking with Red Hood, like it has every other time he’s talked with Jay Peters. 

…Hm. A hoodie that definitely hides muscled arms. 

“Hey,” says Jay with a grin. “Crazy week, I hear?”

“You’re a Gothamite. I’m sure you’re aware of exactly how crazy it’s been.” 

“You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure. After class? We can grab an early lunch. Make it a date, maybe.”

Jay smiles, cute and small. His eyes flash green—a baby Death-touched soul, still can’t control his spooky abilities, how adorable—and he says, “That sounds perfect.”

[no-passaran]

you mentioned that it was beaten into your grandparents' generation to not speak catalan, but to speak spanish. did people in catalonia often not speak spanish before franco? what was the political situation of the language like before?

also, do catalan people prefer when spanish is called castellano? i know in romance linguistics it's often called that because spain has other languages, but i think catalan people often don't consider themselves spanish if i've understood it correctly

Yes, many people did not speak Spanish before Franco. For example, my grandma was born and raised in Barcelona right before the war (she was born in 1932) and she did not know any Spanish when she was a kid. She told me that one of the things she remembers the most of her childhood is how terrified she was that someone would find that out. She used to go with other kids of the street to sew with a elderly woman while their parents were at work (babysitting in working class neighbourhoods basically) and after Franco won the war this woman (who didn't speak Spanish either) told them in a made-up Spanish (adding an -o at the end of Catalan words and making them "sound Spanish" mixed with the very little Spanish she knew) that now it was very important that they all spoke Spanish when someone could hear because otherwise they could go to jail. So my grandma spent about a year when she did not say a single word on the street or outside of her family and close family friends. When she went to the market, she only pointed at things and nodded yes or no with her head or said the numbers by raising her fingers. She was very scared that she would be jailed with murderers and rapists. Even though I don't think children would be jailed for this (but it's not strange she believed it, because she had relatives who were in jail and were tortured, and the first years of dictatorship there was so much torture, executions and depravity that you ended up believing anything could happen), even if children wouldn't be jailed, they could still have gotten punished. She was still a kid, so at that age you learn quickly, so she could learn Spanish soon enough (or at least enough Spanish to pass well, because to be fair I've heard her speak Spanish now and every so often she still makes noticeable mistakes, even after decades of being married to my grandpa who is Spanish and speaking Spanish at home).

My parents (born in the 1960s), too, have told me that some of their classmates made mistakes and used Catalan words instead of the correct Spanish sentence. At that point, pretty much everyone in urban areas like ours already spoke Spanish well enough, but most people didn't use it often outside of school (unless they were Spanish immigrants or their children), so they made mistakes. And then the teacher beat them. It was the law that the punishment for speaking Catalan (and for many other things) in schools was corporal punishment. My mum was never beaten and was always at the top of the class and well-behaved, but even to this day she is still quite traumatized for what she saw. The only time I have seen her cry very desperately almost like an anxiety attack was when my grandma was talking about their teacher, because she remembers how he used to throw disobeying children to the floor and kick them, even when the kids were crying he'd still continue kicking them.

My parents have still met quite a few elderly people who didn't speak Spanish, only Catalan or Aranese (there was an Aranese man who used to come to my town for commerce, but it's no problem because Aranese and Catalan are mutually understandable, so they could have conversations where he spoke Aranese and the others spoke Catalan and it was fine, they just thought it was kind of funny). But I (and I dare to say almost everyone from my generation, except people who know someone with a strong mental disability and maybe some people from very rural areas) have not met anyone who speaks only Catalan and doesn't speak Spanish (excluding people from the Catalan-speaking areas that aren't under Spanish control, of course; because I have some friends from Northern Catalonia and there the bilingualism is Catalan+French, or even only French at this point for many young people).

You asked what the political situation of the Catalan language was before the fascists' victory in the Civil War. The situation was of course much better than during Francoism, for example we had the right to use Catalan in public, in schools (public schools taught in Catalan and even taught how to write Catalan), there were films dubbed to Catalan, Catalan radio, Catalan books, etc. and the huge amount of people in Catalonia spoke only Catalan in their everyday lives. However, there was still a strong political and social discrimination according to which Catalan was associated with the working classes and Spanish was seen as more classy (this was the case since the 1600s and intensified much more after 1714), but thanks to the Renaixença movement* Catalan had regained prestige to be used in literature and formal settings, even of the upper class, though conservative upper class (specially monarchists and fascists) still preferred Spanish. But we had done a lot of great steps in the right direction, and things were going very well. Better than ever before since Spain's invasion in 1714.

*the Renaixença was an artistic —and most important literary— movement of the 1800s that's basically our version of Romanticism but with a strong component of political and social fight for the rights of Catalan language and people.

I do not have any preference on whether Spanish should be called Spanish (español) or Castillian (castellano). In Spain, it's almost always called Castillian, so when I speak in Spanish I say castellano just because that's what I'm used to. But it's the same. It feels more correct to say Castillian because it's the language of Castilla, like you say "English" because it's the language of England (instead of saying "British"). But Spain is just Castilla and the lands it invaded, so when anyone says Spanish (language, culture, government, whatever) it means the Castillian one, and Spain has worked hard to make it clear that it does not include any of the occupied nations in its concept of country. So I always understand Spanish as referring exclusively to Castillian things (understanding Castilla to include all the Kingdom of Castilla, not only the modern-day administrative regions of Castilla. So, for example, including Andalucía and Extremadura).

I do not consider myself Spanish and I find it offensive when people try to say "Catalan is also Spanish because it's a language from Spain", it feels like saying that Catalan is nothing of itself, only belonging to Spain. It's forgetting that part of Catalonia has never been Spain (Northern Catalonia) and that Catalan is also the language of Andorra (an independent nation) and l'Alguer (a city in Sardinia inhabited by the descendants of Medieval Catalan settlers who moved there centuries before Catalonia was occupied by Spain). Their language is not "a Spanish language" and never has been, and either way I refuse to be reduced to that. Our language goes back centuries (with changes over time, of course, but it hasn't changed as much as English, we can read Late Medieval Catalan just fine), it has developed as independently as any other Romance language, with its own traditions and literature (the 1st vernacular literature in Romance languages btw!), so we are of ourselves, not "of Spain". I don't want our existence to be reduced to a possession of Spain. We should be described in our own terms.

So yeah, in Spanish saying both castellano and español are fine (some Spanish-speaking countries use one more or the other more), and in English I think it's better to just say Spanish, because that's the word that's used in English. But I don't really mind tbh.

I hope that answers your questions :)

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Which One Piece Characters Are Coming to the Cookout?

tags: headcanons, black!reader, gn!reader

notes. i'm not accepting critiques because i'm not wrong in any of my assessments. we all know these people would be there. i was up late for no reason thinking about this and decided to make it tumblr's problem. keeping it light for my first one piece hc post but i'll be making more

usopp

this nigga's one of us, this is a no question. this is his birthright

you don't see us questioning piccolo and the namekians at the black history month dinner, we don't question shit with usopp

bro belongs here

is most popular with all the younger cousins because of all of his stories

your older cousins are asking sniper king what his wash day routine is because his hair is amazing and we all know it

ace, sabo, luffy

ace and luffy were raised by dadan so these niggas are culturally black. sabo may have been raised by her to a lesser extent than his brothers, but he still was in that house so he gets to come too

the only problem luffy's ass would encounter is that he eat too damn much and he'll steal off someone's plate, so keep an eye on your man and he'll be fine

luffy also knows how to party. it's a challenge when one of the uncles go "you don't know nothin' bout this right here, young buck"

it's the same for ace. he grew up hearing dadan play mary j blige and roberta flack when she cleaned sunday morning so he's getting up the moment he hears someone playing word up

sabo and his top hat would get some eyebrow raises when he shows up but when he shows he knows something about some turkey necks and collard greens, they will be revoking their sneaky ass comments

ace and sabo would be particularly popular with your relatives who want you to hurry up and tie the knot. they help with your wash days, are polite and are very handsome. you will be a hearing a "if it don't work between y'all please give me a call" or two

all three of them will probably keep you at the function longer than you expected for various reasons from 'saying goodbye' and staying an additional 40 minutes to 'okay we gotta stay for cameo, they're playing get down on it!'

sanji

this white boy can cook much to the surprise of your extended family, so hell yeah he gets to come

your family gave you the side eye when you told them sanji would be bringing a dish thinking it was going to be potato salad with raisins and a dash of paprika but bro came with a huge ass bowl of banana pudding and the pudding was made from scratch

he's solidified his place in ensuring he is always invited to a function your family throws

your aunts love that he helps during your wash days, something you bragged about endlessly before you brought him to meet everyone

sadly sanji, like the asl brothers, will continuously fall victim to the "alright we leavin' y'all" but then you end up staying an extra hour because he's too busy yapping it up with all your aunties

you practically have to drag him back to the car

law

you already know your cousins are going to be all over this man based on the energy he exudes alone

"oh he a doctor? so he got money" someone's gonna say it at least once

he mostly sits to himself, more content to watch your family have a good time than interact exceedingly with everyone which may make him come off as standoffish but he really is just happy seeing everyone around him be happy

losing his family at a young age, he's happy to be pulled into yours even if his rbf may make others think otherwise

but all the mysterious aura goes out the window when someone jokes he probably can't play ball and suddenly your family is seeing a different side of him that is childish, competitive and amusing

jinbe/any fishman

automatic invitations by virtue of birthright. it's the same shit with the namekians, they're one of us so they get to come. they are with us on juneteenth

if anything, jinbe IS the uncle going "you don't know nothin' 'bout this right here" the moment the spinners, carl carlton or george duke comes on

[hannahwdraws]

I want to draw the whole exchange that follows Magda'len Rook Laidir coming to dinner to meet Catarina as Lucanis' romantic partner but that will be a lot of drawing!! So I wrote it below instead.

Despite Lucanis' reassurances, Rook was having a difficult time convincing her armpits not to sweat, her stomach not to churn, or her nose to twitch in nervous anticipation.

Her first time in Villa Dellamorte had been under different albeit just as high stakes circumstances: rescuing the very woman they were coming to have dinner with. And during that first visit, she was nearly taken down by Venatori for how much she gawped at the luxuries on display.

A treasure hunter for much of her adult life, trying to earn enough coin to survive and turns out all she had to do was attach herself to the crown prince of The Crows and she’d be set for life.

Provided Catarina didn't kill her tonight.

Despite The Crow matriarch's gratitude on the night of the rescue and her promoting of Lucanis to first talon, her approval was in short supply tonight. There was no warmth in her welcome, and Lucanis all but shivered from the icy brush of her lips to his cheek when they met her outside the dining room. Her eyes slid over Rook like she wasn’t even there. Was it better to be ignored in this case? Rook would have to wait and see.

They made it through the first course (a light salad) relatively unscathed. Only polite comments on the weather, the markets, and how they might get tickets to a pantomime that swore to recount the most accurate depiction of the fight against the Elven gods in Northern Thedas and they wanted to test that claim for themselves.

Catarina found a biting comment to make in response to every one of theirs.

Rook was determined to smile through the discomfort and hope that none of the food was stuck in her teeth. Or poisoned.

Unfortunately, Lucanis caught the disdainful sneer Caterina tried to hide behind her napkin and evidently thought now was the perfect time to put his title of First Talon to the test.

"Aye, Catarina, don't make faces like that. I thought you liked Rook? Didn't you always ask me when I would bring someone home? Well now I have, and you're picking it apart," he said.

"I am happy Lucanis, but you have to understand, she isn't a Crow. How will your children continue the Dellamorte line as you need to with an untried, an untested thief?" Catarina immediately shot back.

Funny, Rook thought, that thief was worth such contempt from an assassin.

Lucanis' hands raised in disbelief, and he could only scoff,

"She rescued me from The Ossuary, she rescued you from Illario. She killed a GOD!"

"Yes? And?" Catarina sniffed, only as a grandmother with impossible standards could. "A soldier can kill a man just as well as a vagrant in the streets, a Crow is of a different stock entirely. She has no parents, so I don't know anything of her house. She has no fledglings she trained with to compare against. How am I to know she is worthy of you? For the family?"

"Mierda, Catarina," was all Lucanis had strength for. He had to rub at his forehead, realizing only now that this wouldn't be as easy as he initially thought.

"WE. LIKE! ROOK." forced through Lucanis' lips before he could clamp them together.

Catarina's eyebrows creased even more (if possible) and Lucanis flushed. It was the same feeling of shame and embarrassment as when he didn't hit every target when Catarina trained him as a boy.

His shoulders tensed. His eyes unable to meet hers. Damnit, Spite was supposed to stay quiet while they were here.

Convincing Catarina was difficult in the best of times, they didn’t need the added challenge of Lucanis’ inner demon making him look incompetent or out of control.

Rook reached over, rubbing his thigh hard enough to generate heat. She gave what weak smile she could. She was too busy biting her tongue to stop herself from jumping to Lucanis' defense. They needed Catarina's approval and ripping her a new one was the least likely way to get it.

"Thank you, Spite, but don't worry about it. We are still getting settled into life after all this... crazy Elven invasion. Marriage and kids are a long ways off, if they were to even happen at all!"

"Oh so you wish to deprive me of meeting my great-grandchildren? How selfish," Catarina scoffed.

Shit. There was no winning against this woman. At least the second course was being brought in. The words would stop coming out while they were busy putting food in.

The bowls of red had only just touched the tablecloth before there was a flash of silver coming from a butler's cummerbund.

"DOWN WITH DELLAMORTE, LONG LIVE ZARA!" was screamed, as the butler closest to Lucanis raised his blade. How he got so close, into the house, no one was sure. And it didn’t matter! All that mattered was surviving the next minute. Lucanis and Catarina both dove for their cutlery, the closest weapons they had.

But they wouldn't have a chance to use it, as their vision failed them.

A cold flash of light burned around them, a flash grenade? Smoke? They blinked away the stars in their vision, and only once their eyes started to clear did they come to find their ears were blocked too. A crashing roar of thunder rolled through. The light was at least brief, while it took their ears much longer to stop ringing.

Lucanis was on his feet, knife in hand. He appeared to be fine, no injuries, no wounds. He was a coiled spring but looking around, he couldn't see the assailant anymore.

He saw a knife fall to the tiles, clattering next to a black scorch.

Only two butlers remained in the dining room, both looking just as surprised and ready to defend the Dellamortes.

Catarina was as prepared for a fight, the knife hidden in her cane drawn and at the ready. But her eyebrows and hairline were both blown back.

Slowly, the two master assassins turned, looking at the only other person in the dining room they didn’t have in their immediate vision.

Rook's hand was extended. Sparks continued to crackle up her forearm. Her chest heaved in fury for a few more breaths. A deep shuddering breath and she let the tension leave her body. The threat was not longer in the room, so she could blink the rage from her eyes. She tossed her hand a few times, dissipating the sparks as thought they were flicking water from her fingertips.

She smiled at Lucanis and Catarina. This was a different kind of uncomfortable from before, but just as bizarre. So she might as well approach them the same.

"Is this gazpacho? It looks delicious. Is it the same recipe you make, Lucanis?"

Lucanis and his grandmother both slumped back into their chairs. Everyone was on much better behavior for the rest of the evening.

Later, Rook looked out to sea on the balcony attached to the guest room that was larger than her apartment over the canal. The wealth on display was truly mind boggling. She never would have guessed given how grounded Lucanis was.

Though he wasn't exactly grounded at that moment. He made a sinuous entrance, sliding down an eave from the roof, and dropping to the balcony. He earned the squawk of surprise Rook let loose. Her laughter didn't follow far behind collapsing into his arms.

"You scared me half to death! I couldn't have handled two assassination attempts in one night!" she laughed into his chest.

"You might have to, if you don't keep it down. Catarina will know I snuck out to see you."

"Mm... isn't this supposed to be your house now? Can she really forbid us from sharing a room?" Rook grumbled against the soft knit of his vest. Her fingers were already picking to get underneath.

"Not really, no. But it's another one of her little tests. If I'm an assassin worth my salt, she won't ever know I was here. But, if I didn't try to defy her in the name of love, she wouldn't think I was serious about you. So either way, I prove she taught me well," his eyes were hooded in a devilish smoulder and he brought Rook's gloved fingers to his lips for a gentlemanly peck.

Taught well indeed, as Rook's stomach turned molten. But it was hard to feel amorous with all the worries still piled on her shoulders.

"Well good thing you aren't the one she has a problem with. I might have bungled this beyond repair. i'm sorry if I ruined dinner. I can pay to replace the tiles if they can’t get the scorch out. At least I think I can afford to replace them."

Lucanis’ eyes were focused on the cut of her dress, on the rosy flush on her cheeks. Those were much more important than listening. He was too busy pressing his lips to her wrists, biting at the gloves and eyeing where they joined her dress. Could he take just them off just as gloves? Or would the whole dress have to go?

"Mm do not worry mi amore. You did wonderfully, genuinely, I believe Catarina will give us her blessing. As soon as she's done investigating the butler. She wants to be sure you weren't the one who hired him."

Rook snatched her hands back. Her fists clenched and pressed to her cheeks. Immediately she was confused and panicked.

"ME? She thinks I hired him?! Why? And why would she give her blessing to someone she thinks tried to kill her favorite grandson and first talon?!"

Damn the rich laugh Lucanis rolled out. He shouldn't be so relaxed around someone who allegedly wanted to kill him.

"No, she is impressed! If you hired someone to make you look good by saving my life! It shows dedication and a flair for the dramatic. Both things Catarina appreciates greatly. Or, if you didn't hire him,"

"I didn't! I swear! Lucanis I would never," she grabbed his wrist and hoped her emphatic tone expressed sincerity and not panic that her plot had been figured out.

"If you didn't," Lucanis drawled, all while taking her hands again and winding her close. Back into his arms she went, "Then you still showed great power, excellent reaction time, loyalty..." Lucanis' eyes were so soft, so glowing with admiration for this beautiful creature against him.

"And a flair for the dramatic. I cannot emphasize enough how important that is for Catarina and most Crows."

Rook hung her head, leaning forward to press her brow against his chest.

"I know everyone says their in-laws are crazy. But you have them all beat by 60 leagues."

"It's a good thing you love me then, isn't it?" Lucanis purred, only just able to hide the nerves that his family would be the reason Rook finally left.

She heaved a sigh, lifting her eyes to his, pursing her lips like she was really thinking about it. Really weighing her options. But she couldn’t let him dangle for long. She pressed upwards to brush her lips against his and slide her arms around his neck.

"Yes, it is."

[gallusrostromegalus]

Soul Society is top heavy when it comes to power. With rare exceptions (Ikkaku), the gap between captains and rank-and-file troops, let alone normal citizens, is astronomical. How does Soul Society handle the reiryoku classism problem in and out of the Rukongai? Do the lower seats think of themselves as cannon fodder? Are there any major political factions that try to tackle the issue (ethically or not)?

So the gotei-13 is actually kind of a solution to this problem on accident.

The thing is, as powerful as the captains are, there usually only about a dozen of them, and a maximum of 2600 shinigami total. They are VASTLY outnumbered by literally everyone else, and because they need drastically more food than others (everyone in soul society needs to eat, but shinigami are at a drastically higher calorie demand and risk of starvation), they are VERY dependent on the rest of society. Zaraki made a fair fist of being a roaming menace but even he had to bow to the economy and work jobs to eat.

Hence, there IS reiryoku discrimination but it's largely in the other direction- shinigami are extremely exploited as workers, and that's the GOOD job. Other psychics are frequently drafted, kidnapped, enslaved for imprisoned so the rich and politically powerful can exploit their abilities. Even if a captain class individual were to say, take out a whole clan in self-defense, the rest of society would come down on them like a hammer and kill them or let them starve.

Yamamoto didn't found the Gotei-13 all at once. Originally it was just him, Sasakibe, the 200 spiritually aware students in his dojo, and the dojo was there to train the postal workers how to defend themselves against people trying to kill them for the messages they were carrying, but secondarily so spiritually powerful people didn't get press-ganged into serving the noble houses.

The first organization for psychic souls Yamamoto ever made was a... Relatively Safe Haven. He was also up against a wall dealing with the noble houses and other political factions so he needed anyone who could push back to do so, so a psychic would be expected to serve in at least some capacity. But the souls under his care were free to marry who they chose if they wanted or have children or not, or travel if they felt safe doing so, and even to just be weird without major repercussions, which was a vast improvement over the way they'd be treated as livestock by the noble houses. Even 1000 years later, Byakuya had to fight his family to marry who he wanted. Imagine what a psychic born in a random village and no legal protections would be facing.

So everyone with even an ounce of spiritual capacity was joining the postal service for his protection. It was a boon to the non-psychic messengers too- not knowing if a random Mail carrier could set would-be attackers on fire with their mind made all carriers safer.

...and them the Quincy attacked.

Yamamoto was now even more up against a wall because while having a united front had been helping him it was now a problem-the Quincy were attacking psychics specifically, something that endangered his ENTIRE organization.

...so he hired every spiritually powerful person he could find, including thriteen real bastards directly off of death row and organized them into an army to fucking deal with Yhwach.

Once yhwach was gone though, he had an army. And a lot of nobles looking to exploit or destroy that army.

Fortunately, one of the real bastards he'd hired had fallen for his peculiar charms and become his wife, and what Lady Tsubaki lacked in battle prowess, she more than made up for in political shrewdness. Be magnanimous, she explained. Be generous and speak of peace in our lifetimes and extend the olive branch to those who harassed you for so long. They won't realize it's bait.

So with her help, Yamamoto proposed that his army become the COURT GUARD in charge of protecting the very real and definitely alive Soul King, as well as all the people of soul society from the hollows and other misfortunes that may befall them. Finally, *proper* employment for all those spare heirs and potentially dangerous village psychics, doing the noble work of protecting society.

Why, he even helped found the central 46, a council of sages and scholars and general brain trust to work on the greater problems of soul society (a problem later but at the time, a VAST improvement over the eternally warring clans), that Yamamoto himself would be beholden to, just to show how civic-minded he was.

And just to finally, fully bury the hatchet- Yamamoto offered five of the captain's seats to the five remaining great noble houses, to be passed from scion to scion, ensuring each line would have a place in the direction of this army... Not realizing it was a trap to trick them into handing over any psychics they had, but also the high mortality rate of captains would kill scion after scion and gradually weaken the clans to the point of irrelevance.

And it WORKED.

By the time Ichigo turns up, the scion of the Shihouin clan is in exile with no plans of returning, the Shibas are reduced to a roaming band of pyromaniacs, the Tsunyashiro clan has been gone so long they don't even appear in the manga, and while the ISE and Kuchiki clans still both have representation within the captainacy... The Ise clan only has a brother-in-law and the Kuchiki are at a genetic dead end, and both those men are FAR more loyal to Yamamoto than their own clans.

Yamamoto has done what he set out to do- make a safe haven for the spiritually powerful to work the (not great but still best) protected jobs in the afterlife, destroyed his enemies the great noble houses, and largely wrested government control from them.

It's not perfect, but you can't fault the man for his accomplishment.

[recycledraccoon]

Senior Year Au

Former Rat Grinders all spend the rest of Junior year and all of summer break in therapy, both individually and as a group. It's a lot of work, but they're coming back together in the aftermath in a healthier more sustainable way. (The empty places among them leave them feeling a mix of complicated emotions.)

Mary Ann still maintains her relationship (???) with Gorgug. (They're not asking many questions because Mary Ann gives few answers.) Lucy is good friends now with The Bad Kids, but Kristen especially. Even Ruben is on decent terms for the most part.

Ivy and Oisin had it much harder. They don't remember everything, but they remember enough to make the weight of it heavy on their shoulders, Oisin especially for the large part he and his magic had played.

Ivy had never been one to blatantly apologize. She's always been a bit catty, though never like that before. Still, before the school year ends she (very politely) asks Mazey for a moment of her time.

Mazey, a much kinder person, agrees and they step aside somewhere a little more private. (For however brief a time it was, Mazey did feel what the rage from that shatter star felt like. It's a large factor in her giving Ivy this chance.)

Ivy, as much as it visibly pained her to say the actual word sorry initially, does genuinely apologize. She's blut about it, and doesn't shy away in the least from the acknowledgement of how fucked up the things she said were.

They talk for a bit, and while it's hard to imagine they may ever be friends, both girls leave the conversation feeling closure on the topic.

Mazey ends up talking to Fabian about it, so of course the Bad Kids know.

Oisin talks briefly with Fabian Seacaster one day, extending an apology for the damages to him home, and passes along information so Oisin can ensure financial compensation is had.

The apology to Fabian is appreciated, but talking about it later the Bad Kids hone in on the fact that Oisin hasn't spoken to Adaine even once, to apologize for the taunt he's sent her or for-

Adaine abruptly says she doesn't want to talk about it, and ignores the fact that he exists entirely.

Oisin doesn't talk to them once the rest of Junior Year, even tho the rest of his team does. The Bad Kids think him a coward, and while Oisin would agree with them, the Rat Grinders look at each other with tight lips.

.

.

.

Oisin struggles greatly with his actions. He had been, essentially, Kipperlily's right hand. His magic had allowed Kipperlily access into, and away from, the Bad Kids Last Stand where she had killed Buddy. (They do not know where he is, but they've sworn to each other to find him.) His magic had laid the trap in Seacaster Manor, his summoning calling the Nightmare King Storm and his relatives who swarmed a house-boat filled with innocents.

Jawbone does help them get an actual accredited therapist, which is something Oisin feels great relief about, as it makes it easier to talk about some aspects of his time under the shatter-star.

.

.

Like the fact that prior to all this, he did have a very genuine crush on Adaine Abernant.

.

.

.

How couldn't he? She was beautiful yes, stunningly so, but more importantly she was smarter than a whip and a phenomenal wizard, unafraid to get her hands dirty. Even as short, scrawny dragonborn with glasses that felt too big for his snout at the time, he'd held the girl in very high esteem.

Oh he'd never ever dare to talk to her, for all that his friends may have once tried to encourage it during freshman year. He'd known even then that the elven girl was far out of his league.

While he wasn't a true dragon, Oisin's family had strong blood ties still, and the bleed over was still strong. Strength was important to them, and fighting the other was the first step in courtships between Dragons for a large variety of reasons. He'd been so scrawny, and a untested young wizard to boot, that he couldn't fathom ever being strong enough to match up to a girl like her. He's certainly endured enough scrutiny for his lack of battle prowess at home.

So no, Oisin hadn't thought that he would ever be a good match for such a girl, but he could hoard tender feelings about her in his chest, and nobody could do or say anything about it. At most he would endure some playful teasing at the time but he'd always reassure his friends it was alright.

"Not every unrequited love is bitter." Oisin told them once, smiling softly as he pulled his eyes away from where Adaine was walking to join her friends for lunch further out in the quad. "Statistically, high school romances don't work out. This is just...an equation that doesn't result in a positive answer. No use being angry at the numbers, the math won't change." He says.

Lucy had frowned, "Life isn't a math question Oisin."

"Yes it is," Oisin's responded, "it's just one of the unsolvable ones." His grin turned into a yelp when Ivy had dragged him down to try to noogie him, and they had all laughed and left the topic alone.

.

.

.

When he had first been raged out, he hadn't felt bitter. He felt strong and powerful and didn't need the distractions. But when Adaine had spotted him at the party to talk, after he'd grown tall and bulked out from the hours pumping iron to burn off the excess anger-

She only noticed him when he'd already been on his way to hell. That's when he started feeling bitter.

.

.

.

Oisin has so many complicated emotions and guilts eating away at him. He desperately wants to apologize to Adaine Abernant, to lay his heart bare so she may deliver his due judgement and strike true.

But more than anything, he needs to sort himself out first. He would not risk apologizing, not when his heart still ached, not when anyone could possibly notice and decide his apology was motivated by selfish wants instead of true remorse.

So Oisin does not speak to any of them the rest of that year or over the summer, even as the others will tag along with Lucy and Mary Ann sometimes to join the Bad Kids for an afternoon. He goes to therapy, reads self books, and painstakingly does his best to bleed the love for Adaine Abernant out of his heart. He knew the statistics when he fell in love, he'd have to do this one day or another.

Finally, first day of Senior Year, Oisin follows his party to where the remaining Bad Kids are.

He's spotted immediately, he knows because Riz Gukgak goes tense and starts furiously whispering, the Bad Kids exchange hushed words Oisin is too far to hear, but Adaine Abernant meets his gaze for a long moment.

Then she turns and leaves.

Oisin isn't surprised, but he does watch her leave for perhaps longer than he should have, before quickening his steps to catch up with the others.

The Bad Kids, as alright as they are with the others, glare at Oisin. Ivy beside him is tense, but bumping his tail against the back of her calves is his way of telling her this is alright.

He gives brief apologies, for the storm and those of his family who had attacked them all on his request.

Then, he quietly asks them to pass on a message to Adaine.

"I would like to apologize to her but-" He clears his throat under the pressure of the glares he's receiving. "If she doesn't want to hear it I understand completely."

Oisin doesn't give much time for a response, dipping his head and giving a quick goodbye as he prepared to go find his locker before classes.

"Oisin-" Lucy calls as he starts stepping away from the group.

"It's alright," Oisin murmers, thinking back to a warm fall day in the quad during freshman year. "I already knew the outcome of this equation."

"Life's not a fucking math problem, love." Ivy says, arms crossed defensively. Nobody else talks, and Oisin can feel the glares of the Bad Kids burning into his scales.

"Yes it is," he reminds them. "It's just a messy, unsolvable one." Oisin's smile is soft and tired. It is the smile of a man who's been resigned to his fate his whole life.

He'd always knew he'd never been or would ever be worth even a moment of the beautiful, amazing Elven Oracle's time.

He'd run the math, and it was no use being mad at numbers that wouldn't change.

Oisin turned and left.

[buttered-milky]

Russingon being an incestuous couple is so fucking interesting to me for what it represents narratively. (Yes, I know they are not canonically a couple. No, I do not care, because I do believe the coding is on purpose. Even if it’s accidental, it’s still there.)

If you don’t have a lot of experience with incest in other fiction (for example: the staple gothic horror), incest usually represents deviance. That’s just what it says on the tin: diverting from norms. Usually in a bad way. Deviance can be narratively treated as bad or wrong, and there is plenty of deviance from our meta societal norms with these two, but I digress. I don’t want to talk about that today.

I want to talk about subversion, and the deviance that is sometimes good, actually, and the message that sometimes you must break norms to do good.

[PS guys if you read all this and want to add your thoughts please do! This is kind of half-baked and I’d love to see more opinions because I’ve not seen anyone talk about this much.]

They are so fucking fascinating, because they are deviant! They are! Their entire relationship is baffling politically because of the Finwëan house feuds. More importantly, they have individual deviances that this relationship is telling you to pick up on.

.

Maedhros is a Kinslayer. Maedhros is also arguably the most heroic one of his siblings.

.

No, we can’t burn the ships. How the fuck are we gonna get Fingon over here?

No, I have to go parley with Morgoth.

I have to abdicate the crown because I’m becoming something I don’t want to be.

No, I have to put myself in front of everyone else. I have to hold Himring so the rest of Beleriand doesn’t get nuked.

I have to summon everyone for the Nirnaeth.

.

And then after Fingon dies in the Nirnaeth, Maedhros (as we all know) goes fully off the rails—which is to say, he becomes fully Fëanorian. He goes back to the norm for his family.

There are more Kinslayings. He tries once to save two twin children, and that’s it. He gives up. There is no more hope. Maglor is responsible for taking in the next set. Maglor also wants to beg the Valar for forgiveness, and maybe Maedhros would’ve seen the sense in that once, but instead he becomes the second coming of his father and dies burning, clutching onto his Oath.

The deviance from Fëanorian standards was the only thing keeping him from becoming a monster for all that time.

.

Fingon is also (very likely) a Kinslayer. He’s also the family extrovert and hope incarnate.

Unlike Aredhel and Turgon, he does not seclude himself for his own protection. He does the opposite.

.

No, we can’t just stay here in Aman. We need to protect the other half of our people??

No, we actually have to get Maedhros. Fine, I’ll do it myself then. I’ll reach out to the gods while I’m at it, since none of you will.

Of course we’re going to join every battle. Of course we’re going to help hold down Beleriand.

If I have to face evil alone I suppose I will, then.

.

And he dies when he’s alone against those Balrogs. Fingon is also like his father in many ways—but in some ways he is not. He is brighter, sometimes. He is hope incarnate in the worst of places.

.

I’m far from the first person to acknowledge that what Maedhros and Fingon have going on is a very strong message to never give up hope. But like—not just that. What kills me is that, you know, the hope and the heroism and the goodness is the deviance.

They like each other while most of the Noldor are off getting doomed or fighting with their relatives. You get to those little bits where it mentions Maedhros and Fingon still keeping up their friendship and you kind of have to think “damn, at least some people still genuinely love each other in the midst of all this horror.” It’s sweet. And yet it’s deviant.

And that’s weird, right? Usually deviance is bad. But I think here it’s more neutral. Just presented as: this is not the common option, not the norm. It’s not the common option, but it leads to one of the kinder relationships in the Silm.

The Silm wants you, the reader, to take away that you should have hope and goodness, even when everything around you is hell. Even when it is the hard option. When it becomes hardest to hold up light and help others, that is when it’s needed most.

It will be scary sometimes to be hopeful, and that’s okay. It will be scary to extend yourself. It will be scary to trust and to defend others. That’s okay. Do it fucking scared and keep doing it.

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hi! I love your stuff I saw requests were open 😁

Could you Write a fem human reader x thorin who’s shorter than him, and she’s new to the quest meeting the company in Bilbos house, Gandalf already knows her and is like a farther figure.

Thorins a bit skeptical of her at first but those feelings die down as he realises she’s his one. Basically Thorin being a dick at first but warms up to the reader, some confessions are made and some fluffy/little-very tame nsfw stuff occurs when they reach Rivendell?

Thank you!! ☺️

(oh I love this so much! I hope this does your idea justice, there isn't smut in this one since it got quite long by itself, but I'd be happy to make a part 2 where they get to Rivendell if you'd like :) hope you enjoy :D)

(link for part 2!)

An Unexpected Guest (Thorin x female!human!reader)

Thorin watched you from across the campfire and tried to ignore the familiar tugging in his chest. You were too busy laughing alongside Fili and Kili to notice his probing stare, and seeing how easily you'd integrated into the group only made him more perplexed by your presence. He quickly averted his gaze though when he caught the look Balin sent him. The older dwarf simply chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, reminding Thorin of the evening he had met you.

The dwarves had been gathered at Bilbo's house for some time now, and evening had fallen by the time another, relatively quiet, knock sounded at the door. The hobbit almost seemed to be seething at the idea of more people showing up, but this time it was Gandalf who rose to answer.

"It seems our final guest has arrived." At this, Thorin shot him a glare that went unnoticed as Gandalf left the room.

"Gandalf! It's wonderful to see you again."

"Likewise, my dear. Come in, I shall introduce you to the company."

After you had hung your cloak up, you closed the door and followed Gandalf into the room where the dwarves sat. Thorin could only watch in disbelief as you politely thanked Mr Baggins for hosting the event and shook his hand (which appeared to at least partially dispel the hobbit's bad spirits). The wizard had really invited another without his consent - and a human woman at that.

With a gentle hand on your shoulder, Gandalf said, "It is my pleasure to introduce to you Y/n L/n, a student of mine. I have decided that she will accompany you along this journey."

Thorin rose from his chair abruptly, and all eyes turned to him.

"When were you going to tell me about this decision?" His voice was quiet, but his rage was betrayed by his clenched fists. "You do not have the right to-"

"Thorin, I have said she will go with you, and you should be wise to respect that." The wizard's face was dark, and Thorin paused before he reluctantly stepped forward to look at you. "I can assure you that she will be of use. She has studied under me for some time and is a rather excellent navigator, which I suspect will come in handy."

You bowed respectfully. "It is an honour to meet you, Thorin." You made brief eye contact with him as you rose and he felt something in his chest tighten, but he chose to ignore it.

"Don't get in the way," He muttered and returned to the table.

Later in the evening, he found himself stealing glances at you as you chatted merrily with some of the others. He couldn't quite figure you out - you seemed an intelligent young woman, but he couldn't risk compromising the quest, and he didn't trust humans in general, but just maybe there was a small part of him that wanted you to come, and there was this odd pulling feeling deep within him...

His train of thought was interrupted by Balin's hand on his shoulder, and he quickly realized he'd been staring for longer than he intended.

"Your feelings are written on your forehead, laddie."

Thorin cleared his throat and looked anywhere but where you sat. "I feel nothing for her. She's a liability."

Balin chuckled and patted his shoulder. "If you say so."

Balin had moved to sit next to Thorin in the time he was stuck in his own head, and spoke quietly with a smile on his face.

"You can't stare at her forever laddie." The glare he was sent did not deter him. "It's been the same with her since she first arrived, and I've never seen you like this before with any other lass." The two dwarves both looked at you, still teasing Kili over something or other.

Feeling the eyes on you, you looked across the fire and waved shyly with a smile when you saw Thorin watching you. And as much as he tried to resist, he couldn't help but give you a smile in return.

Now that he thought about it, maybe he had warmed up to you a little more than he'd like to admit. Something had drawn him to you and he couldn't quite place why.

"Lad, I haven't seen you smile like that since we started this journey. She makes you happy, and you'd be a fool to deny yourself that."

Thorin sighed. As if he was trying to pretend he wasn't saying it out loud, he murmured, "What if she doesn't feel the same?"

"She does, I'm sure of it. She has the same look in her eyes as you do." Balin put a comforting hand on his knee. "Y/n is your One, Thorin. You know it better than I do."

Oh. That... actually made a lot of sense.

Before he could respond, Kili ran over to them. "Uncle! Can you come and stand next to Y/n? She's making fun of me and you're the only one taller than her!"

Balin laughed and clapped him on the back. "Go on laddie."

Trying to settle his beating heart, Thorin stood and let Kili lead him over to his One (even if she didn't know it yet).

Fili pushed her lightly in Thorin's direction. "She thinks she's better than us because she's two inches taller than me."

"Is that so?" Seeing the slight blush on your cheeks, Thorin realized that Balin may not have been exaggerating, so with a subtle smirk on his face he looked down at you. He was only a few inches taller but it felt like he towered over you in that moment. "I don't appreciate the torment of my nephews, Miss Y/n."

You looked up at him and smiled with a teasing tone. "Well, they started it. I can't take all the blame, your majesty."

If his heart was beating too fast before, he was pretty sure it just stopped completely.

The two of you maintained eye contact for just longer than necessary, before he stepped away and cleared his throat. Fili seemed to have caught on to his uncle's unusual behavior, and with a wink in your direction he subtly directed Kili back over to Balin.

"May..." He paused, still uncertain. "May I speak with you, Y/n? Somewhere a little more private."

"Of course." Mahal, your smile was almost enough for him to forget he was nervous in the first place.

He led you a little further into the woods, just far enough from the group that they couldn't eavesdrop, and took a deep breath.

You smiled anxiously. "You're making me nervous, Thorin. What is it?"

In an uncharacteristically quiet voice, he said, "I think you're my One."

"Your One?"

"I..." He tried to calm the shake in his voice, to no avail. "I suppose you might call it a soulmate."

The blush on your face spread as you processed his words. "O-oh. I see."

"I must apologize for my behavior when we first met. I was skeptical of you, but you have shown yourself to be not only a valued member of the company, but also a caring and wonderful person." Thorin looked up from the ground to meet your eyes. "I have grown fond of you, Y/n, and I feel a connection with you that I have never experienced before. Something has been drawing me towards you every time I see you, and I can't pretend it isn't there anymore."

"Thorin, I-"

"If you do not feel the same then we need never discuss it again, but I-"

He was interrupted with your finger over his lips. You giggled at his confused expression and took his hands. "Thorin, of course I feel the same." You smiled sheepishly. "I was hoping to hide it for a little longer but Kili saw right through me."

"He is more perceptive than he looks," he chuckled, tracing his fingers over yours.

You lifted one hand to softly cup Thorin's cheek. "Either way, I'm glad the feeling is mutual."

Feeling your fingers in his hair when you tugged him down to kiss you, he had never been so glad for Balin's prying in his life.

[sluttywonwoo]

pairing: joshua hong x fem!reader (ft. ex bf!kim sunwoo)

summary: you should’ve told your boyfriend the truth about that stranger at the grocery store. inspired by an audio by @/aas on quinn (iykyk)

word count: 1.7k

warnings: swearing, heavy jealousy (maybe a lil toxic lol), possessiveness, smut (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), spit kink, orgasm control, unprotected sex

a/n: this is my formal apology to kim sunwoo, nothing personal buddy

masterlist

“what was your favorite position when you were together?”

“w-what?”

“you heard me,” joshua says, folding his arms across his broad chest. “what was your favorite position with him? the one you guys did the most?”

“shua-”

“just answer the goddamn question.”

it feels like a trap.

and in a way, it is. what answer could your boyfriend possibly be looking for?

all because you ran into your ex-boyfriend at the grocery store. things hadn’t ended on a particularly good note with sunwoo, but it had been years since then so you figured there was no harm in making small talk with him while you both waited in line to order subs. you had been wrong.

-

joshua had finished his half of the shopping and joined you in line, immediately catching on to the way the dude was hanging on to every word you said.

must be one of the guys from her cohort, he thought to himself. cute.

he wrapped an arm around your waist and took your basket to hold while you waited together, making note of the stranger’s reactions to his possessive little display. he didn’t want to overdo it since you weren’t a big fan of pda and the guy seemed relatively harmless but he also didn’t want to let him think he had a chance.

you made no move to introduce the two to each other so joshua just played along, joining in on the conversation with you and whoever you were talking to like he’d known the guy for years.

he assumed you’d tell him who he was in the car. you don’t. he has to be the one to ask.

“so who was that?” he tries to sound casual about it but he’s sure the coldness in his voice gives him away.

“hm?”

“in publix? the guy we were just talking to?”

“oh. that was sunwoo.”

sunwoo. the name sounds familiar. then it clicks.

“kim sunwoo? your sunwoo?”

you sink down in your seat at the way he says ‘your sunwoo’ but joshua doesn’t let up.

“we were just talking to your ex-boyfriend in there? and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“how was i supposed to tell you?” you counter defensively. “it’s not like i can just say that right in front of him!”

“sure you can! at the very least you could have introduced us to each other. i would’ve caught on to his name.”

“that’s exactly why i didn’t,” you mumble.

“what? what do you mean?”

“i didn’t tell you who he was because i knew you’d get all… jealous like this.”

“i’m not jealous!” joshua scoffs, painfully self-aware of just how jealous he sounds. “i just… can’t believe you let me be all buddy-buddy with the guy. i laughed at his jokes! i smiled politely at him!”

“as opposed to what, scowling menacingly?” you mutter.

“something like that.”

sunwoo is the only other serious partner you’ve ever had. the only one you had lived with other than joshua. the one who came right before joshua.

joshua knows he’s acting unreasonably. you’re with him now. you’re happy with him, you love him, and that’s all that should matter. he knows you’re not about to go running off to your ex. so why does he feel so goddamn jealous pissed off?

-

joshua drags you to the bedroom soon as the groceries are unpacked and in their respective spots in either the fridge or the pantry. your sandwiches are left forgotten on the kitchen counter as he yanks your clothes off and kneels on the floor in front of you.

he makes you cum on his tongue before he says another word to you, trying to drown himself in you as you ride his face. when your legs start to tremble, he lays you down on the edge of the bed and finishes you off like that, not wanting a repeat incident of what had happened in the shower a couple months ago.

“i’m sorry,” you apologize breathlessly afterward, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. “i should have told you who he was in the store.”

joshua brushes it off. “it’s okay, baby.”

you shake your head. “it’s not. i should have thought about how it would make you feel.”

joshua sighs, spreading your legs again so that he can slot himself in between them and lay on top of you. he doesn’t feel like having this conversation right now, feels like he can’t think rationally when he’s like… this. hard and jealous and angry with you. he needs to clear his head. and to do that—

he asks the question. the one that has you staring up at him with those big wide eyes of yours.

“are you going to make me ask you again?”

you shake your head vigorously. “um, no. it was- we… missionary.”

joshua raises an eyebrow, subtly amused by your answer. “really?”

“mhm, but like with my ankles crossed behind his back? i don’t think it technically counts as a mating press but-”

“i’ve heard enough.”

“sorry.”

to be fair, he had asked. he just hasn’t expected you to go into detail about it. he walked right into that one.

the mental image of another man, of sunwoo between your legs, kissing your neck, getting you to moan his name, is enough to send joshua into a mini spiral but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it.

“scoot up a little,” he tells you as he grabs a pillow from the top of the bed. “lift your hips.”

he slides the pillow underneath you with one hand and unbuckles his belt with the other, ignoring the way you whimper and reach for his pants. he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of undressing him, instead doing it himself while you sit there and watch with a pout.

he doesn’t drag it out even though he’s tempted to. he wants to tease you, make you whine and beg for his cock. but he needs to feel you, needs to be inside of you right this fucking instant.

he’s on top of you as soon as he gets his boxers off, running his hands along your thighs as he lines himself up.

“ready, baby?”

you nod.

“words, my love. you know i need words.”

“yes, yes i’m ready,” you assure him with an impatient wiggle of your hips.

“good girl. think you can wrap your legs around my waist for me?”

you frown up and cock your head to the side. he wasn’t trying to be discreet, but he still feels a bit sheepish that you’ve caught on.

“shua, what is this about?”

he sighs. “i’m trying to prove a point here. c’mon, squeeze your thighs around me.”

“you know you have nothing to prove though, right?” you press. “you’re the best i’ve ever been with. i mean yeah the sex with him was good but it was nowhere near-”

“baby, please,” joshua practically begs, unable to stand hearing any more about your ex-boyfriend fucking you (even though, again, he was the one to bring it up). “let me do this?”

“right, sorry.”

joshua smirks and leans down to kiss you again, feeling himself twitch against your thigh when you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. he pulls away after another moment or so and slaps his cock against your cunt a couple of times, making you whimper pitifully in the back of your throat.

then, he lets go of himself and brings his hand to your mouth.

“spit.”

you do, right into the palm of his hand, and joshua uses the saliva to lubricate the length of his cock before pushing the tip inside of you.

you’d been watching him the whole time but as soon as he starts filling you up you let your head fall back onto the mattress with a quiet “fuck”.

“you’re so fucking wet,” joshua groans.

he goes slowly for his own sake. you feel too good, too perfect, for him to risk going any faster. he can’t cum yet, not when he’s just bottomed out, not after talking such a big game.

“god, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you this wet before. you’re making a mess, baby. was it all me, or was it him?”

“you… you-you’re hot when you’re jealous,” you say as way of explanation, making joshua laugh.

“maybe i am jealous,” he admits as he begins to move his hips. “is that really what’s gotten you all worked up?”

“mhm…”

“it is? it isn’t all those memories you have with him? of him doing this to you?”

your eyes go wide and you shake your head adamantly, like you can’t even believe he’d suggest that. admittedly, it was a little fucked up of joshua to say and he knows that, but the way you clench around him when he says it only spurs him on.

“‘m not thinking about him, i promise! i would n-never!”

he wraps a hand around your throat. “good. because you’re all mine now. isn’t that right?”

“yes! just yours, only yours.”

“that’s my girl. open.”

he spits into your mouth when you part your lips and stick out your tongue for him, clenching around him even harder when he does.

“i wanna cum,” you whine.

“already? but we’ve barely started.”

“i know… feels too good.”

“hold on a little longer for me, okay?”

“i can’t,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as if you’d be able to last longer by simply willing the orgasm away.

“don’t,” joshua warns, “you better not-”

you’re cumming as soon as the words leave his mouth. you’d tried your best to hold off but it was no use. the deck was stacked against you from the very beginning.

joshua isn’t mean enough to ruin the orgasm for you so he fucks you through it as you mumble out a string of apologies mixed in with you begging him not to stop.

he’s quite pleased with himself under the transparent guise of being disappointed with you for not following his instructions. he’s almost positive no one’s been able to make you cum that fast before. or that hard. and if they have… he doesn’t need to know.

“oh baby,” he coos condescendingly, wiping the tears that had fallen onto your cheeks with his thumb. “did that feel good?” you nod shyly like you’re not sure whether or not it’s a trick question. “i bet you’re really sensitive now, huh?” another nod. “that’s too bad, angel. because i am nowhere near done with you.”

literally could not stop thinking ab this concept when i heard it 🥴😵‍💫 but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[loriache]

honestly i'm kind of interested in the idea of laios in an arranged marriage. because obviously straight-up inherited monarchies are ...bad, to say the least! but it's what the characters are familiar with (even laios' father's extremely local, extremely minor leadership role is inherited, presumably through the male line). and it isn't just about what they think the best way to run melini is; in terms of ensuring that the other longed-lived nations respect melini's continued sovereignty, having it passed down in a manner that's close enough to their own ways for them to understand it and respect it is important. And it seems like most of the other nations have leadership through inheritance - thought that isn't confirmed for certain except with the elves.

Also, a marriage carries the potential to establish foreign allies - something melini is certainly lacking. A marriage could come with resources they'll badly need, treaties of mutual defence, money, legitimacy and political capital... not that these things can't be worked around, but if laios isn't strongly opposed, there are a lot of advantages! and i don't think he would be, because that's the framework for marriage (conferring practical advantages, building intracommunity relationships and providing a partner to do important work that he can't do) that he had grown up with. he isn't exactly a romantic and I doubt he's holding out for any sort of relationship of that nature.

Like, I don't think it's impossible that they would go with this path, because it's the most obvious and it carries a lot of advantages and it's what almost all the decision-making characters would consider normal and not objectionable. and it could be so interesting.

I think Laios would have major hangups if expected (i.e., by Marcille) to establish a genuine, romantic interest in a woman. Whether because of his sexual or romantic orientation, or just his own deep-seated trauma about rejection and being inherently disgusting and scary. And I think he'd hate the idea of having kids, too, and be very frightened of being like his father. But I don't think he'd refuse on that basis; he could cope with a marriage contract, with clearly laid-out expectations and responsibilities. And when it came to having a kid, I think he'd be reluctant to express that he doesn't want to do it, because he isn't naive and he understood when he agreed to be king it would carry responsibilities like this. It's clear from his nightmare that he already felt pressure from his parents to have children, probably magnified by the fact his father has got a position, responsibilities and wealth to pass on. Obviously he isn't a perfect martyr, so he might struggle when it comes to actually going through with it - but I don't think he'd actually, outright refuse. I think he might do it even though he doesn't want to, and I think that could be really messy in a way that appeals to me.

I don't know, there's something about negotiating these kinds of complicated situations that's interesting to me. and i love a platonic marriage. If they find a woman who has an interest in education, for example, and can work with marcille on setting up schools and universities. she'd ideally be politically savvy enough to be an able partner to laios: even though kabru can and would continue to do a lot of that, there are different spheres that a queen and a prime minister can work within!

how would their relationship work? maybe she finds laios' perspective on the world, and his frankness, unexpectedly liberating after an extremely controlled, cloistered upbringing. maybe she had a rebellious phase, has magic, or something else which makes her a relatively unpopular candidate for marriage - even as melini grows in power, i doubt that they'd be getting offers for the cream of the crop in terms of perceived value on the marriage market, because laios' relationship is a bit too ambivalent/monstrous for that, and melini too new. maybe she's a widow! an older woman, wouldn't that be cool - though they'd want her young enough that she could definitely still have kids.

certainly i think he'd be happy for her to pursue other relationships, though ideally in a manner that couldn't produce illegitimate kids. with other relationships in play, that's even more interesting. like, both kabru and toshiro have complicated emotions relating to infidelity. i think kabru would actually find it quite cathartic to be in the kind of high-status environment that rejected his mother for perceived infidelity, pursuing an affair that all parties consent to, though he'd likely be incredibly aware of the public image - since "image" is what he was rejected for. toshiro... i just really really love the way he'd feel about being the "other woman" in laios' marriage, considering his feelings about his father and maizuru. especially given how much closer he is to maizuru than his mother, being in her position...! his emotions would be so complex, it's incredibly tasty. i bet he'd make a bunch of assumptions about how laios' wife feels about it and be totally wrong, and that's so interesting. also, i think laios' wife should fuck marcille (she and falin have an open relationship).

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au future

a/n: i had this idea and needed to write it. it's a bit into the future, much past where i currently am, so feel free to skip. i'm still posting the next part later this evening, but i just needed to get this out of my head and figured i'd share lol

*gif courtesy of google*

words: 1.6k // warnings: solana is sad, roman is pissed, and their families ain't shit

taglist: @fearlesschimera @sayyestoheav3nn @annfg8 @cyberdejos2 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @trentybenty @empressdede @tshepisho @southerngirl41 @callmekayd

Solana should have listened to Roman. 

Should have known better than to ever think this was a good idea.

To think that they could have both of their families in the same vicinity and everything would go fine. Granted, the type of division she was expecting has been relatively tame. There hasn’t been any violence, largely due and thanks to the weapon deposit bins by the entrance.

Weapon free establishment and all. 

Yet, she’s not naive enough to think that the lack of guns, knives, and other unmentionables could stop her or Roman’s family from throwing down if they wanted. But, they haven’t. No punches have been thrown nor bones broken. It’s been more of a clear separation. Roman’s family only interacts with each other, and her family interacts with each other.

Not the kind of cohesion she was hoping for but a much better alternative than what it could be.

But, while conflict and violence between the in-laws has, so far, been avoided. There’s still another major issue that has Solana locked in one of the back rooms, sitting on a random chair, crying her eyes out.

The bullying. 

Towards her. 

Towards Roman.

Towards their baby.

It started out light, Solana having to politely shut down a near fight between her brother and Roman.

Wes lifted the beer to his lips, eyeing Roman. “So, how many people have you killed today, Reigns?”

“Wesley!” Solana’s sharp use of his name was conjoined with a disapproving expression. He’s too old for the petty jabs.

Roman, however, simply smiled coldly, scratching his beard as he delivered a chilling warning. “So far none, but you keep fucking talking, and I can change that real fast.”

Thankfully, Solana was able to de-escalate, her sister-in-law, Hazel, prying Wes away before any violence could commence. 

Then there was the conversation Solana unintentionally walked into while conversing with two of her older cousins she’s not as close with.

For good reasons.

“Aren’t you at all worried?”

Solana frowned. “About?”

Her cousin leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Roman as a dad. I mean, he’s not capable of love. Do you really expect him to be a good father?”

There’s no words to describe how much hearing such a thing about the man she loves hurt Solana. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her other cousin, however, simply rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, everyone knows that man is a sociopath. You’re better off cutting your losses now, taking the kid to Mexico with your mom’s side of the family, and praying he doesn’t turn out like his psycho dad.”

Solana had to excuse herself for that one. She had nothing nice to say in that moment, but beyond that, she just needed to get a few tears out.

And she did, hoping that would be the last of it, but no, that was just too good of a hope to be true. 

It was the comments overheard by some of Roman’s relatives, however, that did her in.

“I just can’t believe out of all the women, the respectable options who come from more established families, he chose her.”

The other woman snorted, shaking her head. “Right? It’s obvious she was looking for a sugar daddy. What is she, like 25?”

“I heard her father’s not doing well financially and told her to seek out Roman.”

“Makes sense. Look how easy she was. Didn’t waste any time opening up her legs and trapping him with a baby.” The woman rolled her eyes, adding, “at the very least, he could have found a Samoan woman. It’s bad enough he’s afakasi, but this child of theirs? The girl is Mexican and Black. He’ll hardly have any Samoan blood running through his veins. Our Bloodline could die out because of her.”

The first woman to speak snorted, smirking almost as she suggested, “that’s assuming it’s his baby. Roman’s smart though. I’m sure he’ll have a paternity test done as soon as she pushes out that bastard.”

“Assuming ICE doesn’t deport her first.”

The two women fell out in laughter at the same time Solana darted off, desperate to get away and have a safe space to cry. 

It’s all just been too much. Too much hatred spewed for something that should be filled with love and excitement. 

It’s been anything but, and it hurts. 

It hurts a ton. 

The knocking on the door is loud and borderline erratic, Solana quickly wiping her eyes and clearing her throat to inform that she’ll be out in a minute. But, a deep, familiar voice beats her to it.

“Solana.” It’s Roman, and he doesn’t sound happy. “Open the door.”

She blows out a deep breath and does her best to feign a ‘normal’ voice. “Just—just a second.”

“Now, Solana.” Before she can ask why, he adds in a calmer voice,“I know you’re crying.” Damn. 

“So you either let me in or I’ll break this goddamn door down.”

He’ll do it. She knows he will. There’s nothing ever stopping Roman from comforting or being there for her when he knows she’s upset. 

And this would definitely be one of those times. 

Solana sniffles, trying to gather herself as she carefully stands up from the toilet seat. Wiping at her eyes, she flips the lock and is barely able to turn the knob when Roman is opening the door. Stepping back, he closes it behind him and moves his hands to her face, gaze locking with hers.

“What’s wrong?”

So many things, but this isn’t the time or place, so she shakes her head. “N–nothing. I’m just—baby hormones.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs, voice still surprisingly gentle. “Baby, talk to me. What happened?”

Solana looks away, hating how just that question, coming from him, tone so understanding and soft almost, is enough to pull the truth out of her.

And it does.

“You were right. This was a bad idea. I should have never—” She stops herself, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I just wanted…..I thought….I thought they’d be happy for us.”

“Sol, you know it’s not that simple.” Though his words could be seen as insensitive, the way he says it is anything but. “Who said what?”

She closes her eyes, grasping onto his white button-up shirt. “It wasn’t just…..one person….it’s everybody.” He wipes at her tears, as she continues to feel the emotional weight of it all. “My family saying cruel things about you—”

“Sola—”

“Your family saying things about me, about our baby—”

At that, all gentleness drops and is replaced with something else. Something she knows Roman knows well. 

Anger.

“Who?” It’s one word. One single word that means a multitude of things and none of them good.

Solana shifts her weight, shrugging, “I—I don’t know who they are. Some….some cousins of yours. But, it doesn’t—it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does fucking matter.” Roman drops his hands from her face to instead take her right hand in his, holding it firmly. “And we gonna address this shit right now.”

Solana's eyes widen a bit. That’s….that’s not what she wanted. “Wait, Roman—”

He’s not listening though. His stride is purposeful and determined, as he leads them out the bathroom, down the hall, and into the main section of the venue where most of their families are gathered. 

Roman guides them over to where the DJ has his setup, Solana gasping as Roman uses his free hand to yank a set of chords out the wall, effectively stopping the music. 

The DJ looks just as confused as most of the guests but cowers away in fear when Roman ‘iffs’ at him, like he’s going to hit him, before snatching the microphone. 

The abrupt ending of the music has attracted most gazes to where Roman and Solana stand, him moving them to the middle where all can see and hear.

He never once releases her hand. 

“Imma say this one time, and one time only.” She swallows, her eyes landing on her parents. Her mom looks confused, while her dad wears the same expression he’s worn since the moment Solana finally came clean about her relationship with Roman.

Disappointed. 

“Cause if I have to address this shit again, it’s not gonna be verbally.” Chills move up and down her spine. There’s not an ounce of her that questions if he’s bluffing or not. Roman doesn’t bluff. If he says it, he means it. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. That includes her family and mine, but I’ll be damned if I let any of ya’ll disrespect her or our child.” Solana’s hand naturally moves to her belly, her bump that’s pronounced and especially visible in her white bodycon dress. “We’re together. We’re having a baby. However way any of you feel about it, keep it to your fucking selves, because there’s no reason Solana should be crying at something that’s supposed to be a happy occasion.”

She swallows, noticing how the entire room has gone silent under the deep voice of Roman’s address. There’s not a person who looks uninterested or annoyed. It’s just a sea of various scared and nervous expressions. 

“So, the next time you find yourselves talking shit about her, and especially our baby, understand it will absolutely be the last thing you ever fucking do.” Solana watches Roman begin to hand the microphone to the flabbergasted DJ before he snatches it back, turning once again toward the onlookers. “And one more thing……when you address her, make sure you do it properly.”

Solana’s throat goes dry.  She shakes her head. He can’t be doing what she thinks he’s about to do. “Roman—”

“It’s not Solana Miller.” Oh my God. “It’s Solana Reigns.”

The sea of silence quickly morphs into an ocean of various gasps, exclamations, and even shouts. 

Meanwhile, Roman simply smirks as he sticks the nail in the coffin before dropping the mic on the ground. “—we’re married.”

[northgazaupdates]

Journalist Hossam Shabat responds to a problematic article about journalists in the west being unable to reach Gaza. Hossam writes,

The biggest problem is not Western journalists being unable to enter, but the fact that Western media doesn't respect and value Palestinian journalists. My colleagues and I risk our lives every day to report on this genocide. No one knows Gaza like we do, and no one understands the complexity of the situation like we do. If you care about what's happening in Gaza, you should amplify Palestinian voices. We don't need Western journalists to tell our stories; we are capable of telling and reporting on our own stories.

Context under the cut:

From the very beginning, Western journalists have neglected the people of Gaza. They focused on how resistance actions have impacted settlers, and mentioned Gaza in only the most reductive of terms. But now, as the scale of atrocities by the IOF finally becomes too great for them to ignore, these same journalists are crafting a new narrative: ‘We didn’t ignore Gaza because we don’t care, or because it was politically convenient to do so. We just couldn’t get there to report on it.’

This is a lie concocted under the weight of ever-fickle Western guilt. They deflect their accountability for creating IOF propaganda by claiming they were kept from reaching the area. However, even more than a lie, it is an insult to Gazan journalists—those still living and those murdered by the occupation.

Gazan journalists often have contacts outside of Gaza who could help them evacuate, but they chose to stay. They chose to stay and document the genocide against their people, and did so at immense personal cost. Montaser Al-Sawaf was injured and lost 50+ family members in a bombing attack, before he was bombed again by the occupation and left to slowly die in the street. Mahmoud Ziad Aliwa and Mohammed Saber Arab are still missing after being kidnapped by the IOF while reporting from Al-Shifa Hospital during the latest siege. Eshak Daour lost his brother just a few days ago.

But as they tried to share their footage and words with the world, they were ignored, in north Gaza especially. The world had no interest in the words of Gazans, but especially if they were Arabic-speaking. Rather than undertake the relatively simple task of finding a translation for Gazan sources, or contacting Gazan journalists directly in English (of which many of them speak at least a little), they were flat-out ignored. Only English-speaking journalists with massive social media followings received any acknowledgment, and even then it was extremely minimal.

The journalists of Gaza have always been there, they have always been speaking out and asking others to simply share their words. The implication that only western journalism counts as “real” journalism is insulting, degrading, imperialistic, unprofessional, dishonest, and cruel.

This blog was created due to uplift the words of north Gazans, which were not and often still are not reaching the rest of the world. We will continue sharing from people in north Gaza, but we ask that you, reader, do so as well. Do what western journalists have refused, and uplift the voices of people fighting for their survival in all of the Gaza Strip.

Many journalists post partly in English, but for those that don’t, Arabic speakers will often leave English translations in comment sections. You can also ask for someone to do a translation in the comment section, and often someone will reply. If they don’t, you can copy and paste Arabic text, or take screenshots and upload them into Google Translate. These are not perfect tools, but they give you some idea of what is being said. It’s better than simply not listening.