#he never acquired a sense of self at all

[dayurno]

baby kevin @ riko in the nest: why do you have beef with me we’re seven ilove you

[gen-is-gone]

hrgh every time I think I've come close to forgiving lance fucking parkin I skim the gallifrey chronicles. and then I remember the Horrors.

[targaryenluvs]

RAVAGE

pairing: dark!president!coriolanus snow x innocent!wife!reader

summary: he’d won the election, much to your elation. now you’d have to navigate the fame, fortune and status as the first lady of panem. but coriolanus just wanted you all to himself, and he’d do anything to scare you into his arms.

warnings: possessiveness, murder, robbery, bad smut, controlling, tears, babying, kisses, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, kinda subby corio/dom, praise, sense of entitlement? breeding kink, tummy bulge, overstimulation, little bit of aftercare

word count: 2k

a/n: i’m such a bitch for making everyone wait so long for a delicate part two 😌 and i finally have the confidence for smut so heheh - yes i’m using tvd names a lot - corio/coryo use - tried out a new layout 👀

part one of delicate

you couldn’t believe it.

coriolanus snow, president of panem.

all of his hard work has finally paid off and you couldn’t be more happy for him. you wanted to give him a gift but you still had no idea what he would want. it seemed the two of you practically had everything overnight, so a measly gift seemed to be difficult to acquire, one that he liked? even harder.

so you’d decided to go out, the idea of surprising him exciting you so much you’d forgotten to tell coriolanus where you were going to.

so imagine his surprise when his assistant told him you’d left the house, viewing you on the security cameras.

which you had no idea were there.

coriolanus saw it as an act of defiance.

he had to move about this correctly, he couldn’t have you injured, but he needed to scare you back into his arms. to remind you of the horrible place that panem was.

over twelve stores, and nothing. so you’d decided to enlist the help of one of your few friends. “not a single clue of what he’d want?” elena asked as you stabbed at your fries, “nope.” you answered as you placed a fry in your mouth.

“well if he has absolutely everything then his gorgeous wife should be a nice gift after an extremely long day no?” you looked up at her, confused, “what do you mean?” she giggled, “oh god, i forget how you don’t know that much. you, y/n.” at your adorable puppy face she leaned in, “your body.” you jumped back at her words, “i… i’ve never.”

“you’ve never?!” elena slapped her hand over her mouth at your admission, “how? i mean you’re absolutely stunning sweetheart, how hasn’t he yet?” you played with the table cloth in your hands, “i don’t know.” elena twisted her fork around her pasta, “okay has he never made a move, or, have you never noticed the signs?” you took a sip of your wine as you stared back at her, “what signs?” elena sighed, rubbing her temple, “there are signs, moments. the two of you, sitting on the couch and his hand trails higher. his breath quickens at the sight of you in a dress. the little things.”

“and what happens if you notice these signs, act on them?” and this was exactly her expertise, she wiped her face with her napkin before paying the bill. “if i’m going to explain this in detail then we need to go to my house. or a dirtier part of town. my dear girl, i’m taking you to your first ever bar.”

coriolanus has to hold on to his mask of self-restraint, you’d been spotted at a bar, with one of your friends that he despised. but at least his plan could take full effect without a hitch.

your mind had been blown, irrevocably and utterly blown. the way elena had described it all, she made it sound like heaven. but she did tell you about other men, some care for themselves more so than the girl. and you had no clue what type of man corio was in bed.

you’d been so absorbed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed the man following you, not until he attacked you. he’d been going after your bag of course, but it was a gift from coriolanus. the man was unrelenting as he shoved you against the cold wall, grimy hands pushing and pulling with you as you tried to regain hold of your purse. “let go!” you cried out before he slammed you into the wall again, loosing grip on the purse coriolanus had just gifted you.

what would he say? it was his gift to you!

you woke up with a throbbing headache and corios hands brushing away strands from your face. “there you are sweet thing. you feeling okay?” you peered up at him, unable to move due to the millions of blankets on you. noticing your struggle he smiled before shifting them off, “better?” you nodded before sitting up with his help.

“corio, i lost the bag you gave me. the bad guy he- i’m so so sorry. please don’t be mad with me i didn’t mean to-“ he laughed, although it didn’t reach his eyes, “you think i care about the bag y/n/n? i could buy you a million bags, better bags. i’m just glad you’re okay. those guys, they won’t bother you again.” all you could do was sob and hug him, pondering the meaning of his words.

AN HOUR AGO

“hey, what the hell man? you said to attack the girl and take the bag!” the man shouted as coriolanus undid his cuffs, adjusted his sleeve, pushing it back on both arms. “i told you to go for the bag, yes. but i specifically remember drilling it into your head not to hurt her. and now she’s lying in bed, has been for the past three house with bruises everywhere. and for that?”

shouts and screams of pain echoed through the abandoned building as coriolanus struck the man with a hammer, over and over and over. the job had one guideline. and this idiot couldn’t get it right.

don’t hurt his delicate girl.

PRESENT

you’d been so absorbed with worrying over the purse and apologising for your tears you hadn’t noticed corios hungry eyes. “i really did like that purse.” he murmured, “oh corio, i should’ve tried harder to keep it. what can i do?” hook, line and sinker. he had you where he wanted and he’d finally get what he deserved.

“let me fuck you. please.” and who were you to say no? your naivety led to him laying you down on the bed, head between your thighs. you’d heard about it from elena, a man pleasuring a woman, but it was a million times better than you could’ve imagined. coriolanus was messy, and desperate. he’d been waiting for so long and god was it worth it.

his heart raced with both excitement and nervousness as he held your thighs in his own hands, tracing up and downwards, feeling the warmth against his own skin. coriolanus couldn't resist the opportunity to tease you. “you wanna cum?” corio mumbled as he continued sucking on your swollen clit, “mhm.” you could hear him laughing at your pathetic excuse of agreeing.

coriolanus wholeheartedly believes you belong to him. the second you were married, and even before, you were his. your submission would prove it, and he would do anything for it. you were his and he was yours. his bold blue eyes ravished you, all of you, “who’s making you feel this good?” your hips squirmed away from him but he just pulled you back, pushing two fingers into you.

corio reveled in your naivety, the way you responded to his touch, the way you whispered dirty words as if it were a sin. and right now, you still couldn’t bring yourself to name what you needed. his pace was brutal as he lapped at your cunt, a third finger curling inside of you as they went in and out. your gasps and cries were music to his ears, he’d been denied this all too long, and he wasn’t sure how he’d ever done it. “cmon, say it.” and you did, over and over again. “it’s you! you, coryo.”

“coryo, ah, your fingers feel so good,” you mewled, tilting your hips more trying to lean into his touch. coryo withdrew his fingers to play with your clit, rubbing circles around your sensitive nub that resulted in you crying out in pleasure.

“such a good girl, getting all wet for me,” you nodded along dumbly, “for you, all you.” you babbled as he kissed you deeply.

coryos hand dragged up and down your folds, “your pussy is soaked, baby. look at that,” you whined at the feeling of him not touching you, your cheeks flushed at the sight of your arousal. coryo pulled his pants down, throwing them away over his shoulder. you hid your head into the pillow as coryo tutted, “you have to look pretty girl, look at the mess you made.” coryo taunted as he rubbed your slick juices all over his dick, trying to humiliate you, get a rise out of you. coryos hand holds onto your neck, tightening as you clutched on with both hands, “please, coryo, i’ll be so good.” he rested his forehead on yours, noses touching.

“i love you, i love you, i love you.” he whispered in your ear, “my beautiful wife, you’d look so good with my baby in you.” the idea of having his baby had you pressing your lips to his as he bit down on your lower lip, making you gasp as your lips part, his tongue pushing inside your mouth, exploring every bit of you he’d ever wished to. his hunger hadn’t fallen, only increased.

“ i need to fuck you,” he panted, you having stolen his breath. coryo teased your folds with the head of his cock, “need to fill up this pretty little pussy of yours,” he pushed into you, warm walls coating his cock as he groaned, “you feel so good.” he moaned into your neck as your hands clutched onto his broad shoulders. he wasn’t sure if he’d last long but then again he didn’t care, it’s not like you knew it was a short time.

the way you clenched down on him was more than enough proof of your virginity. your cries fueled him on as he pinned your hips down into the mattress, rutting against you wildly. “you feel that?” he was everywhere, filling you up. his dick making an appearance through the bulge in your tummy. “uh-huh. too much i can’t-” he stopped you before you could finish by pressing down on it with his palm, “yes you can baby.” you shook your head, “coryo i can’t, you feel too good.” you begin, crying from how good he was making you feel, from how dumb and desperate he was making you.

“m’ gonna fill you up, gonna give you my baby.” he was driving you crazy, his heavy panting, hands on either side of your head, his voice was deep and filled with fire. “yes, yes please inside me.” coryo’s eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed you were too much, fuelled on by the idea of a pregnant wife, pregnant you. swollen belly, heavy breasts, relying on him to help you out of bed. his hips stuttered and faltered as he came inside you with a low groan. he didn’t care about pulling out and neither did you as your release came down on you again. “feels so good coryo, thank you.”

he couldn’t help his smile as you continued to thank him for making you feel so good. his ego was sure as hell swelling as he pulled out of you, collapsing on the bed. his hand caressed your face, kissing you all over, praising you.

“you did so well f’me. proud of you baby.” you grinned up at him as you snuggled into his neck. “only for you coryo.” all for him. “i’ll clean you up okay?” you nodded along as he got out of bed.

coriolanus deemed the night a success, but for some reason he didn’t feel complete. he wanted more. but as he looked up at your sleepy eyes and tired out body he wanted to let you rest. but the idea seemed to slip out of his head once he was levelled with your core again, his release spilling out of you and the warm towel forgotten. he didn’t stop himself when he began to lick at you, his tongue working his way into your entrance as your head shoved at his face.

“coryo, i’m sensitive. coryo please stop.” you attempted to crawl away but his hands dragged you to the edge of the bed, legs around his head. your body fell limp against the sheets as pleasure took over. your hands laced with his hair as you cried out.

it was going to be a long night.

[kaznejis]

Make it Fun, don't trust anyone- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

“I can feel it.” He spoke, refusing to meet your eyes as he visibly failed to prevent his thoughts from spilling, “I could sense the metal as soon as we left the building; I could sense your necklace, the rims of your sunglasses, the iron in your blood, and that ring.”  His words turned to venom at the procurement of the final item, you watched as he grit his teeth; smoothing a hand over his head as his jaw clenched. Anger bloomed at the pits of your stomach in response, anger at his audacity to attempt to stake such ownership over you, “You were gone, Erik.” You spat, turning to him, anger blazing in your eyes; as reflected by the shock upon his face, “What? Did you expect me to wait around like a child? Wait for you to come back on the slim chance that it would happen?”

A/N: Hello! If anyone sees this, I hope you enjoy! If not, this is entirely self sufficing and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. Just to note, sorry if the scenes taken from the movie seem a little..rushed? If there's one thing I do not enjoy it's working out how to incorporate existing scenes into canon compliant fanfiction. The struggle.

Word Count: 6,692 / Read it on AO3!

If you'd like to see more from me about Erik- please feel free to send in any requests! :)

The Cuban sunlight had acted as the perfect antithesis to your situation; the gaping hole that had formed and taken a residual spot within your ribcage as you knelt beside Charles, screaming and crying at the lack of feeling in his legs. 

But your eyes had not been upon him. 

You had stared up at Erik, stomach collapsing at his stoic gaze; only remnants of his grief were prevalent to yourself, the person that had known him most in the world. That wretched helmet had sat upon his head, his eyes empty with the melancholy of his own steadfast determination. 

“Join me.” He had whispered, his lower lip trembling as his eyes finally landed upon you; the first time since you had boarded the plane to Cuba. He had reached out then, his palm splayed towards you; hope swimming in his eyes as he beckoned you forward. 

You had simply shaken your head, lips tight and breaths heaving as you held his gaze. You watched as his heart broke, as his eyes glistened and bloodied hands trembled. You watched as he nodded and as he turned away from you. Turned away from the love that you had shared, choosing his own foolish endeavours of revenge over you. Allowing grief to swallow you, you had ducked your head; unable to watch as he walked away, unable to face Charles, writhing in the pain of your lovers’ actions. 

That had been it- you had returned to the school. Welcoming and accepting prospective students; working as an administrator and overseeing the school’s board. It had been good, amazing- supplying a necessary distraction to the heartbreak you had endured and a chance to improve your powers, learn from the experiences of others. There, in your reluctant state of happiness, you had met Adam. 

Adam, the school’s mutant psychology teacher; specialising in mind-based and largely telekinetic powers. Your curiosity regarding Erik’s powers had led you to him, sitting beside his desk; asking question after question. Questions soon turned into conversations and you soon found yourself being courted. All the traditional romances that had never crossed your mind when with Erik had become your reality; constant flowers, gifts, candle-lit dinners as your heels caressed his leg beneath the table. 

Your family had loved him, adored him. They had never met Erik, for obvious reasons, and whilst they were more supportive of your mutant gene than the average family; they had hoped that you would still be able to live the average life. Meaning, that you would acquire the average husband. Your family had practically demanded that you married him despite only being a year into the relationship, the pointed remarks about you being ‘unwedded at such an age’ a constant force at each gathering. 

So, you had. You had adorned the white dress, the large diamond ring, and Charles had granted his blessings by allowing you to host the wedding on the school’s grounds. Everyone and anyone that could have possibly been there had been in attendance, a day simply to forget about the wrongdoings of the past, the present and the future. 

On paper, everything was perfect. 

“Do you ever think about him?” Charles had asked, the night before your wedding, the two of you nursing a glass of scotch each within his office. 

You had exhaled through your nose, a lodge forming at the base of your throat, “No.” Despite the pronunciation of such a small, singular word; your voice had croaked, your chest trembling pathetically. 

Charles had simply nodded, his eyes flickering; his powers catching your obvious lie. “He’s in prison now, you know?” 

You nodded, humming affirmatively, your gut twisting at the reminder. 

“Are you sure you want to go through with tomorrow?” 

“I do.” You smirked, a failed attempt at humour as Charles had only looked back at you with sympathy, “I can’t sit here and say that Erik is never on my mind but… this is for the best.” 

Charles had only nodded, his face twisting as hair fell before his eyes, “He will never bother us again, I will make sure of that.” 

Whilst you had thanked him, smile wide and eyes crinkling as you both raised a glass; you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach had swooped in disappointment. The way your chest had heaved with unbridled pain, simply at the thought of never seeing Erik again. You would wrestle with it for the years to come- the guilt of constantly thinking of another man as you lay beside your husband. 

Your love with Erik had, to simply put it, been enigmatic; fuelled by passion- both by the mission at hand and the way you felt for each other. There had been awful, screaming fights on the worst days and entangled limbs with scratches lining his spine on the best. You had loved him with every ounce of your being, cared for him, yearned for him when he wasn’t there. Whilst you had endured the worst pains of your life with him, you had also been at your happiest. 

It had been toxic, ferocious, you had never known what would come next. 

You missed it every day. 

You passed the feeling off as pure delusion, your mutant gene playing cruel tricks on your mind as the years passed; as you grew bored. Bored of the same mundane life every day, bored of the simple forehead kisses, bored of that house. You and Adam remained within the dark confines of the manor instead of finding a place of your own following the fallout of the war in Vietnam; acting as support for Charles, who had steadfastly begun to dwindle in both his morality and his health. You had used this as an excuse every time Adam had attempted to introduce the necessary conversation of moving on, settling down. Children. You had deflected his attempts every time, claiming that you needed to be there for Charles, that you weren’t ready, that it wasn’t the right time. 

You knew for a fact that the reality lay within your inability to let Erik go, your inability to potentially miss the opportunity to catch a taste of his mere presence again. As the breadth of time since he left and the distance with Adam widened, you thought of Erik more and more. His serrating blue eyes and wicked charm haunted every moment, both awake and unconscious. You yearned for him, worried for him, hated him. You hated him for giving you up so easily, your lack of support in that specific moment signifying the end of everything, defining the status of the rest of your life. Sometimes, during the darkest of nights, the ones where you felt so alone, the nights where the wind howled and the trees drew vines and branches upon the walls- you imagined what it would have been like to join him, to have clasped his hand against yours and allowed him to lead you into the darkness.

Secretly, you knew that following Magneto would have led to your early demise, sometimes you pondered on whether that could have been a better end to your time together than your reality. 

But then, as Spring turned into Summer; as the grounds of the manour flourished in their unkempt state and the sun cast illuminations through the large windows- Logan arrived at your doorstep. A mission from the future, unbelievable if not for the pure conviction in his eyes. Unbelievable if not for the grief that haunted his strong features. 

You had been completely unprepared when Logan had stood from the chair you had offered him, yourself having been perched on the edge of Charles’ crumpled couch; your legs crossed and hands clasped with worry as he had detailed the horrors he had experienced, the horrors that he was there to prevent. He had paced the length of the table, surveying each resident of the room; you hadn’t missed the way his eyes had flickered between you and Adam; his forehead scrunching before his brows raised in amusement. 

“Ah…he warned me about this.” He grinned, flicking a finger between the two of you and scratching at the base of his head. “Kinda weird to see actually.” 

“Sorry?” You smiled politely, head swarmed with confusion, you looked over at Adam only to see he bore a similar expression, “He?” 

“We need to find Magneto,” Logan spoke determinedly, his gaze fierce, his voice taking a tone of finality. He was serious, conviction overtaking the air as the gravity of the situation dawned upon each resident.  

You knew that he was right. 

In that moment, you had been able to do nothing but stand and promptly leave the room; abandon the sound of Charles’ manic laughter that followed Logan’s words, Hank’s doubt that tended to suffocate a room. But most notably, you were abandoning your so-called husband’s silence.  

Somehow, you found yourself curled beneath your bed covers, arms crossed over your knees like a small child; your form shrunken in your fear and heartbreak and doubt, tremors racking your shoulders. As you attempted to steady your breathing, a knock sounded at your bedroom door. Expecting it to be Adam, you promptly rose from your position; scrubbing furiously at your swollen eyelids. 

But to your shock, Logan entered the room. 

“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” He held his hands out placantingly, slowly approaching you as if you were a timid animal, “I know you don’t know me, but I know you, Y/N, very well and… I wanted to check you were okay.” 

You nodded, crossing your arms and biting your lip as you mulled over the words he had spoken since his arrival, “It’s okay… I just- haven’t heard his name outside of my own head in a while.” 

“Erik?” 

You smiled, your heart blooming at his real name, the name you had known him by, “Yes… I’m assuming you know about us; I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve witnessed one of our messes for yourself,” He had smiled at that, his teeth glinting as he chuffed in amusement, though you could only stare at Logan, building the courage to ask what you desperately wanted to know, “When, you know, you were sent here… was Erik there?” 

“Yes.” Logan nodded. 

“Was I?” 

Logan nodded once again, though opted to do so silently this time. 

“What did he tell you about us?” 

Logan laughed properly then, a smile finally breaking across his face, “He told me not to meddle, that your situation is especially… sensitive, at this point.” He scratched a hand across his chin, his expression filled with nothing but pure mirth as he spoke, “Which I can see, seeing as though he’s locked one hundred feet underground and you’re married.” He finished that with a pointed look at your ring finger. 

You nodded, that you found yourself unable to match his amusement, unsure of exactly what it was he found funny, “I haven’t seen him in almost ten years.” You shrugged, “When I try to think about it, I don’t even know what he looks like anymore.” 

“But you still think about him?” 

You sighed, lowering your gaze to pick at the loose threads upon your old bed sheets; you had always been reluctant to get rid of them, the memories that they held with Erik remained too precious. Slowly and timidly, you spoke, “Every day.” 

Logan could only nod, an exhale sounding from his nose, “Well, if I can trust anything from my time knowing you; it’s your ability to give that man hell.” 

So, the following day; with an overly-energised, overly-excited teenage mutant in tow; Hank, Charles, and Logan had embarked en route for the Pentagon.

“Stay safe.” Adam had spoken as he leaned against the entrance to the house, having opted to stay behind; claiming that the house needed to be watched despite Logan being the first visitor in years. You had simply smiled at him, waving goodbye before turning towards the car; you didn’t miss the way the door had immediately slammed, Adam having chosen to waste no time in ensuring your safe departure. He had been quiet since Logan’s arrival, especially since the mention of Erik’s name and your obvious upset in response. 

You feared that despite his promise to protect the house, he would not be there upon your return. 

“I can’t believe you even married that guy.” Logan had mumbled, chuckling to himself and shaking his head as he slid into the car’s driver's seat; you could only manage a meager glare- your doubt regarding Adam had been clear even to yourself. 

Whilst the others performed the monumental task of attempting to free Erik; you had been tasked with organising the transport from the Pentagon and away, far away. You knew that Charles had orchestrated this purposefully, giving you the chance to see Erik as little as possible if necessary. You had accepted without a fight, you feared that if faced with Erik in a dire situation; you would act impulsively, irrationally. You feared that if faced with Erik, you would be able to do nothing but throw yourself into his arms. 

“Not appropriate.” You had mumbled to yourself at the thought, tapping a hand against the car’s wheel; dark aviators high upon your nose as you awaited. Your other hand hung from the drivers-side window, a dwindling cigarette balancing lazily between your fingers; it had been a nasty habit you had picked up in your adulthood, largely to Adam’s chagrin who had banned you from doing so indoors. You began to recognise that the stress of marriage had aged you significantly; the existence of service had overtaken your life in a way you hadn’t predicted. 

Just as you had begun to dwell upon your own disappointing life decisions; a loud bustle of noise exploded from the doors exiting the building’s kitchen; you only had a second to rescue your cigarette and balance it between your teeth before the group rushed to the car. Peter immediately sped ahead and claimed the passenger seat, grinning at you cheekily as he slid beside you; though this was quickly diminished when Logan slammed the car door back open, promptly gathering the teenager by the lapels of his jacket and ejecting him from the seat. You could only guffaw as he promptly plucked the cigarette from between your teeth, taking a hasty drag as the rest of the group piled into the back. 

You refused to glance at the rear mirror.

“Seriously Y/N?” Charles huffed exasperatedly from what you could assume was the seat directly behind you, the rustling of his jacket prevalent as he attempted to get comfortable in the tight squeeze of seats, “This may be a getaway car but it doesn’t mean you can abuse it to your will with your smoking.” 

You gritted your teeth, slamming your foot upon the pedal and pulling out onto the road; en route to the airport. Erik’s presence behind you plagued your mind, causing your fingers to tighten upon the wheel and your toes to curl within your shoes, every hair upon your neck stood ramrock straight as you waited, yearning for him to acknowledge you. 

This was what you had dreamed of, every night for years, and now you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. 

A gleam caught your eyes as you drove, suddenly all too aware of your left hand rested on the steering wheel. Your wedding ring still adorned upon your finger, glistening obnoxiously in the afternoon sun. Risking a glance, you rose your eyes to the rearview mirror- only to immediately flick your eyes back to the road before you. 

There, in the middle seat, sat Erik- his cheeks sunken, hollow; the effects of years in confinement were prevalent in his every feature. His skin was pale, almost ghastly; his haircut was shaggy, uncaring. But what shocked you the most, what made you pull your eyes away from the man you loved so suddenly- was the way his eyes, those hauntingly blue eyes, stared straight at you, straight at the ring upon your finger. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from squeaking in response, the taste of blood plaguing your mouth as you willed yourself to focus on the road, focus on the mission at hand. 

You knew that Logan had witnessed every moment of that encounter, his dark eyes sunk into the side of your face as you determinedly stared forward, refusing to acknowledge any of the people around you. Alongside the stench of smoke, the air in the car was thick with tension- the aura of unspoken words choking every passenger. Even Peter, the usual chatterbox and the one who had spoken your ears off the entire way to the Pentagon had opted to stay silent; instead staring out of the window, his lips twisted in his own display of tension. 

As you drove in silence, you became all too aware of Erik’s presence; you found yourself pinpointing his specific breaths, the crinkle of his prisoner-assigned uniform, the shuffle of his legs against the side of your seat, the nervous tap of his finger against his knuckles. 

It was a miracle you managed to reach the airport. 

Upon saying goodbye to Peter, you determinedly pushed past the front-row seats of the private jet, opting to sit at the very rear of the plane alongside Logan, of which had simply raised an eyebrow and sighed as you lowered yourself before him, “You two are more pathetic than I expected.” He exhibited an air of nonchalance as he lit his cigar, despite the plane now very much being in the sky, and propped open a newspaper upon his lap- though it was prevalent that he found delight in watching the entire situation unfold. 

You raised your eyebrows, shrugging your shoulders stubbornly and sliding back against the base of the chair, “There’s no ‘us two’,” To which you complimented with the use of air quotes, “I am married, Logan.” 

Logan could only laugh at that, shaking his head, a habit he seemed to have picked up in his exasperation at what was unfolding before him, “You do realise I’m from the future right?” 

Scowling, you crossed your arms and opted to sulk at the back of the plane; still determinedly refusing to look Erik’s way- who was now engaging in a heated argument with Charles.

“Do I at least age well?” 

“Of course,” Logan smirked, holding his cigar up in a toast; though he was quickly interrupted by the creaking of metal as the foundations of the plane shook; Erik. Logan jumped forward and immediately threw the two of you to the ground- acting as a human shield as the plane began to tip sideways; Erik’s passion overtaking all rational thought as plates and glassware shattered beside you. 

“You abandoned us all.” He spoke with finality, Charles lay splayed across multiple seats, his hair a tangled mess as he gaped at Erik. You could only pull yourself back into your seat as Charles left for the cockpit, both you and Logan gasping at each other as you attempted to regain your stolen breath.

“So,” Logan grunted, fetching a new cigar and lighting it, “You were always an asshole then.” 

You could only scoff as Erik turned, facing you for the first time since boarding the plane; you noted the way his eyes landed upon anything, anywhere but you. 

“I bet we’re best buds in the future,” Erik smirked sardonically, his voice rough with the sudden severity of his outburst. 

Logan hummed, puffing on his cigar before offering you a puff, to which you politely declined, “Not like me and your old friend Y/N here are.” 

At the mention of your name, his hands spasmed at his sides; his fingers convulsing in a bodily reaction at the mere recognition of your existence. You would have felt excitement, love; if it weren’t for the way his eyes told a different story- cold and piercing as they landed upon you, his cheekbones twitching as he allowed himself a second of eye contact before he abruptly turned, returning to his seat across the plane. 

“Jesus,” Logan mumbled to himself, reclining in his seat and widening his eyes at you; you could only nod. Jesus.

With Erik and Charles opting to keep to themselves, the rest of the journey went swimmingly- immediately upon landing you wasted no time in departing from the suffocating air of the cabin; luxuriating in the deep breaths of fresh, evening air that greeted you. 

“We need to find somewhere to rest.” Charles spoke from behind you, “The drive to the next spot is too long and we’re all exhausted.” He glared pointedly at Erik then, who simply sighed; as you allowed yourself a glance at him, it was prevalent that he too was plagued by fatigue. His cheeks were more sunken than before, his eyes drooping as he visibly struggled to hold himself up. You yearned to reach out, place a hand on his spine and simply hold him, aid him as he wrestled with the weight of the world upon his back. But then, as his eyes turned towards yours, the weight of the wedding ring upon your finger prevailed once again; you could only turn away. 

Hank managed to find a group of last minute rooms at a nearby motel, though as he returned to the reception's waiting area, keys in hand, his nerves were ever-prevalent. “I only managed to get three rooms; two have two beds and another has one, I was thinking-” 

“I’m taking the solo room,” Logan ordered, snatching the key from Hank’s hand and sauntering down the hallway, though not without sending a wink over his shoulder at you. Bastard. 

“Oh-” Hank froze, the other keys dangling from his fingers- you could only watch as he winced, practically praying for you to forgive him with his eyes, “Charles, I doubt it would be safe for you to be with Erik, so I guess…” 

You could only sigh, electing every ounce of confidence you could embody before standing, cutting Hank off once again before retrieving a key from his hand, without turning you spoke, “Well, come on then, Erik.” 

You felt his presence behind you, each of you electing to say nothing as you unlocked the haggard wooden door; its hinges creaking as you pushed open the door. Before you stood two double beds, an only-just-comfortable distance between the two. Nodding to yourself, you entered the room, your fingers twirling the keys nervously as you surveyed the room; you felt the air thicken as the door slammed behind you- you felt like prey finally being cornered by the predator. 

Erik cleared his throat behind you, the sound thick and grating, “I’ll take the bed beside the door; would you like to use the bathroom first?” 

You turned towards him, shocked by his kindness; he could only stare back at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and exhaustion tinting his features. “I- Sure.” You could only croak, opting to briskly enter the bathroom; afraid of irrationality taking over your lovesick mind. Reaching behind the shower’s curtain, you turned on the water before stripping off your clothes, the sound of your ring clattering against the sink as you placed it down caused you to flinch, knowing that Erik would be all too aware of your every move from the other side of the door. 

You took your time in the shower, breathing in the warm steam and collecting yourself after the events of the day, collecting yourself in preparation for the events of the night that was to come. You could do this, even if it meant a sleepless night whilst Erik lay only feet away; whilst the object of all of your nightmares lay only feet away. It reminded you of a night, a night a long time ago; in a motel room just like the one you were in, his skin against yours; his breath hot against the base of your throat as he had slowly stripped you of your clothes, as he had kissed every inch of you. It reminded you of his pants as he pushed into you, his groans as he buried his sweat-coated forehead into the skin of your shoulder, biting and licking and sucking there as you became one. The way that he had moaned his love for you into the skin there, your responsive moans loud and uncaring as you had clawed at the skin of his back, gripped at the hair upon the base of his head- 

Stop; you shut off the hot water, stumbling from the shower as you panted, your cheeks and chest red with warmth as you desperately attempted to remove the memory from your mind. Gripping the porcelain of the sink, you eyed your pathetic reflection; willing, begging, yourself to let this go, let your silly daydreams go. This was reality, your reality. Getting through the night was the only necessity you needed to accomplish, then you could avoid Erik and promptly never see him again. 

You could go back to your husband, back to your life. 

Undeniably however, you couldn’t ignore the way Erik made you feel, the way his mere presence made you feel. Adam’s influence upon you paled entirely in comparison, your obligation to return to him simply one of duty, one to appease your family, one to live the ‘perfect’ life- be the perfect wife. But you craved more, you craved better; for years you had chased and yearned for the way Erik’s slightest touch had made you feel- the way that his love encompassed every molecule of your being; the way that he had branded you for life, rendered unable to ever feel the way you had felt with him again. Your thoughts of Erik made you all too aware of how long you had spent in the bathroom.

How long you had spent, very obviously, avoiding him. 

You emerged from the bathroom in nothing but the oversized shirt you had packed hastily to sleep in; swiping it from the bed due to the short notice you had received in regards to this trip. You felt bare, naked suddenly as you left the bathroom to Erik’s piercing gaze. He sat, fully clothed, lounging against the headrest; allowing a pen to swirl around his fingers, dancing from pointer to thumb as his wrist spun. Entrapped, you could only stand there and stare; stare at the beauty of his powers, at the beauty of him. 

“It feels good,” He spoke slowly, carefully, allowing the pen to drop onto the sheets beside him, “To use my powers again; to feel metal.” 

You nodded, smiling politely, unsure of exactly what to say in response. You opted to stay silent, allowing yourself to walk past him and into your own bed, the crinkle of the duvet loud in the silent room, loud within the silence that was swelling between you. 

“You aren’t wearing it,” Erik spoke suddenly, his voice slicing through the silence; to your shock. Once you recovered, you simply crooked an eyebrow at him, to which he spoke; swallowing his words audibly, “Your ring.” 

“Oh,” You shook your head, staring down at your empty finger, remembering that you had placed it on the sink, “I usually-” 

“I can feel it.” He spoke, refusing to meet your eyes as he failed to prevent his thoughts from spilling, “I could sense the metal as soon as we left the building; I could sense your necklace, the rims of your sunglasses, the iron in your blood, and that ring.” 

His words turned to venom at the procurement of the final item, you watched as he grit his teeth; smoothing a hand over his head as his jaw clenched. Anger bloomed at the pits of your stomach in response, anger at his audacity to attempt to stake such ownership over you, “You were gone, Erik.” You spat, turning to him, anger blazing in your eyes; as reflected by the shock upon his face, “What? Did you expect me to wait around like a child? Wait for you to come back on the slim chance that it would happen?” 

Slowly, at the pit of his lungs, he formed a laugh; his head shaking as his fingers trembled once again, “You think so lowly of me, Darling.” 

“You left me!” You were yelling now, rising from the tangled bed sheets as your chest heaved with anger, heaved with the heartbreak and sadness that had plagued you for the consequent years following his departure, “You left me.” 

“I gave you a choice, Y/N. You chose Charles, you were more than welcome to come with me.” 

You shook your head, scoffing, “Well… if I had gone with you; I would be dead by now.” Your tone held a sense of finality, as supported by your return to the bed as you promptly turned your back to him, curling up under the duvet and refusing to face his reaction to your words. His response followed in the slam of the bathroom door as he promptly left the room; leaving behind the stale air of your own regret. 

It felt like hours as you waited, wondered; hoped for him to come back. Hoped for the two of you to forget the words that had been said, to sleep comfortably in your separate beds and complete this mission as peacefully as possible; to go your separate ways and live your separate lives once again. 

In the depths of these daunting thoughts, you fell asleep; the exhaustion of the day’s tensions taking hold as your eyes slipped closed. You woke, hours later, to the moon’s rays spanning throughout the room; a ghostly glow hanging in the air as you rubbed at your eyes, glancing to your side, Erik was fast asleep; his sharp edges and soft hair illuminated in the scant light- you allowed yourself a moment, just that moment, to take him in. Drink in the features you hadn’t faced in almost a decade, the features you longed to reach out towards; to trail a finger down his jaw or scratch a nail upon his hair. His hair was wavy, a slightly damp smell filtered throughout the room told you that he too had taken the opportunity to shower. 

The thought of his broad shoulders and lean back illuminated by the spray of hot water did nothing to help the swarm of doubt swirling within your gut. Shaking your head, you reached into the bag beside your bed; fetching the box of cigarettes stashed within one of the inner pockets. 

Then, barefoot and in just a shirt, you shouldered open the room’s door, balancing a cigarette upon your lip as you did so before promptly lighting it, traversing the motel’s corridors silently before reaching the fire escape. Hoisting yourself upwards, you climbed up the ladders before finally reaching the building’s roof. The night was clear, quiet; the only sounds emerging from the distant highway and subsequent traffic- you listened out for any signs of disruption as you lowered yourself to the roof, allowing your legs to dangle from the side of the building. 

The silence of the night and the goosebumps prickling at your bare arms allowed the tears to emerge; it allowed them to pour down your cheeks, for snot to bubble at your nose and for your lips to tremble with unkempt sobs. You allowed for your hurt to take hold, for your hurt at Erik’s words and actions and simple presence to take hold. But then you allowed your hurt towards yourself to unfold; for allowing yourself to end up here, in this situation- living this life that you had manufactured for yourself. 

You couldn’t go back to that motel room, but most notably you couldn’t go back home. You couldn’t bear it anymore; the stresses of being within that barron manor were becoming too much to bear. If you couldn’t be with Erik, then you would rather be alone; somewhere far away, far away from here. You stewed upon this thought for a long time, as you lit your second, third and fourth cigarettes; it prevailed. 

Just as your fourth cigarette began to dwindle, the slam of a door sounded below you before hasty, alert footsteps lined the hallway. You rose, walking back towards the highest entrance of the fire exit before looking down; listening as the hurried steps continued, haggard breaths accompanying it. Opting to investigate, you lowered yourself onto the platform below before descending the stairs; entering the residential hallway of the hotel. There, at the end of the corridor stood Erik, the obvious source of the worried footsteps as his chest heaved; he was turning in place, visibly searching for something as he rushed down the hallway. 

“What-” You mumbled, slowly walking towards him as he had not yet spotted you. Finally, you decided to catch his attention; concerned as to whether there was some form of danger, “Erik?” You called, a hand shielding your eyes as you peered down the dark hallway. You watched as he froze at the sound of your words, his head snapping towards you as he drank in your presence, your appearance. 

“What the fuck-” He breathed, immediately shaking off his shock and advancing towards you, practically running as he reached you. Entirely unannounced, he swept you up into his arms; shaking as he lowered his head to your shoulder, practically breathing you in as he tightened his hold by the second. 

“Erik, what-” 

“What is your problem?” He pulled back almost as soon as it had begun, his breathing staggered as a blush covered his cheeks; he wore only the black tank top and sweatpants he had been asleep in, his hair a mess upon his head; as if he had just jumped from his bed, “I woke up and- and you were gone, your bed sheets were practically stale with how long you’ve been gone I-” 

“I’m fine.” You assured, catching his hands between your own as an attempt to calm him down; the worry he had been feeling now prevalent within the staggering of his chest and the blush at his cheeks, “I just went to have a smoke I- let’s get you back to the room.”

He nodded, his glassy eyes immediately beginning to droop as he allowed you to use your grasp on his hand to pull him down the hallway. Upon depositing him into his own bed, as you left to enter your own, a tight grip latched upon your wrist; you turned, only to be met with those blue eyes swarming with desperation, “Stay?”

You sighed, nodding reluctantly before crawling in beside him; allowing him to drape an arm over your waist, allowing him to rest his head upon yours. Before your departure, before the decision would be set; you could allow yourself this one thing, this one night of unplagued sleep as his comfort would ward away the nightmares that tended to tinge your nights. 

But, before you could fall asleep; Erik’s voice rumbled above you, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You could only shrug, pressing your nose to his chest as you listened to his heartbeat, “Me too, Erik.” 

He moved backwards then, settling so that his face lay directly before yours; the tip of his nose rubbing against yours with each second breath. It seemed that he could only muster a whisper as he continued to speak, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His eyes grew wet as he spoke, his head shaking slightly as he smiled sadly. 

“Erik.” You whispered, your voice soft with contempt as you raised a hand to his cheek; brushing away the tears that had begun to fall there. Feeling him swallow against your wrist, you could only watch as his eyes flickered downwards, just as your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip. Before you could register, he had moved; his lips pressed to yours as your cheeks grew wet with his steadily falling tears. Your mind allowed nothing else but to kiss back, to shift your leg upwards and to caress his cheek with your thumb. He kissed you earnestly, slowly; as if approaching a terrified fawn, testing the waters as to what you would allow him. You could practically taste the desperation perspiring his tongue, as you assumed he could yours. You would take anything, trade any parts of your wretched souls if it meant that you could feel this forever; feel the warmth of his tongue sliding against yours for every waking moment that remained. 

Erik pulled back then, only to lower himself; his mouth hot and needy against your throat, his hands trailing patterns against the skin of your stomach; becoming exposed as your shirt had rode upwards. His ministrations rendered you only able to lay there and pant; to bask in the feeling of being needed, wanted. Truly, ferociously. 

As he began to paint a trail of kisses down your stomach, something changed; something shifted in his demeanour. His hands, beginning to pull your thighs upward, were shaking and whilst his lips were forming kisses, they were forming words too. As you raised yourself to rest against your elbows, you finally heard the words forming within his mouth, “Please don’t go back to him.” He was whispering, pairing the almost unspoken words with a gentle kiss to the nearest area of skin; he was crying again, his eyes glistening with fresh, unshed tears as he burrowed his face into your skin. It seemed as if he was afraid to let you go, practically burrowing himself into your being, with the hopes that you would stay. 

“Erik, Erik wait-” You spoke urgently, lowering your hand to his chin before pushing him away; he stared up at you through his glassy eyes; his hair ruffled and cheeks rosy. Confusion graced his features at first, though he soon registered the concern in your eyes and realisation visibly dawned upon him. 

He removed himself from you then, moving to sit at the end of the bed; the duvet splayed around his waist as he sat with his legs crossed. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself, wiping at his mouth and running a finger over his teary eyes, “I’m sorry Y/N, I- it’s not my place to tell you what to do.” 

Instantly, you crawled towards him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and settling yourself into the space between his legs; you felt his cheeks crinkle as you pressed kiss after kiss to his face, but you could still sense his confusion, his doubt. “I knew I would be leaving him the moment Logan mentioned your name, whether you were coming with me or not.” You stroked his hair as you spoke, caressing your fingers through the thin tendrils of oaky brown hair that adorned your lover's head. Erik grinned then; his teeth shining as he practically mooned up at you, he kissed you again then; pulling you in and deeper into his lap. 

Before you could push him onto his back, before you could lower yourself upon him and mobilise the groans that would fall from his mouth; he abruptly straightened up, untwining his hand from beneath your shirt and raising it in the air- your wedding ring flew towards the two of you, hanging in the air before Erik made a flicking motion with his fingers; you could only gape as the ring flew through the open window and into the darkness of the night. 

“Erik!” You squealed, hitting at his chest as he laughed loudly, unabashedly. Despite being secretly pleased, you couldn’t allow him to know that. “That was expensive!” 

“I can find you better,” Erik grumbled against your chest, burrowing his head into your shirt and inhaling unashamedly, “That one wasn’t you anyway, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that ghastly thing on your finger.” 

The only response you could have mustered in that moment was to shove him back against the bed; silencing him with the warmth of your own mouth.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

✨️🫧📀The 12th House in the

Signs📀🫧✨️

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

📀If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!📀

🫧Masterlist🫧

🫧It is considered a house of introspection, subconscious and ending cycles. This house is associated with the sign of Pisces and is considered the most spiritual and mystical of all astrological houses🫧

📀Aries in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own spirituality and do things your way. They may feel the need to distance themselves from the world and seek their own direction. They use much of their energy to confront their inner struggles, to which they never give up. In some cases you may be on the verge of losing the battle, but your perseverance will ensure that in the end you will be able to overcome your intimate problems.

📀Taurus in the 12th House: may indicate a need for connection with nature and the need for emotional security. They can be very intuitive and feel most comfortable in a calm and relaxed environment. They long for security. They like to have everything under control regarding their lives and that unforeseen events do not occur that alter their daily lives. Taurus natives in the 12th house are happy and self-confident and are willing to work hard so that they lack for nothing. .

📀Gemini in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own truth and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very imaginative and creative. They relate more to their spirituality, some seek time for seclusion, introspection, and reflection. Individuals have difficulty learning rigorously, mechanically, but they still acquire knowledge by paying attention, capturing the deeper messages.

📀Cancer in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find a spiritual home and connect with your family and your past. They can be very intuitive and sensitive, and may feel the need to work through their emotional problems through therapy and meditation. Their projects are linked to the affectivity they receive in the environments they frequent, it being important that these do not clash. with his own emotionality.

📀Leo in the 12th House: may indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with your creative and artistic side. They can be very creative and passionate, and may feel the need to work on their self-esteem and confidence. allows you to act with great independence. Enjoy being alone, reflecting calmly. He lacks that fear of loneliness that terrifies many people. For Leo it is more of a blessing. He knows how to fill space and time without needing to turn to anyone else.

📀Virgo in the 12th House: May indicate a need to work on your own personal development and connect with your spiritual side. They can be very analytical and perfectionist. Being interested in even the smallest detail in each project or action they undertake is a typical trait of Virgo in the 12th house. However, although at first glance it can be considered something effective and advisable, the truth is which can also have its dark side. Of course, as long as it is taken to the extreme.

📀Libra in the 12th House: May indicate a need for balance and harmony in your spiritual life. They can be very intuitive and balanced. They want to have tranquility and peace in their lives, it is a period of retreat and without much social interaction. They have a sense of justice and a desire for equality that is not manifested very visibly in their environments. Furthermore, when Libra is in the 12th house, the fantasies and dreams of the natives are awakened.

📀Scorpio in the 12th House: May indicate a need to work through your emotional issues and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very intuitive and sensitive, and may feel the need to work through their emotional problems through therapy and meditation. They are strongly drawn to mysteries. Everything that is hidden before the eyes of ordinary mortals is most interesting to them. They do not hesitate to immerse themselves in the enigmas they encounter, eagerly trying to reveal what they hide.

📀 Sagittarius in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with nature and the subconscious world. They can be very adventurous. Sagittarius natives in this house go through times when their religious beliefs are shaken. They discover that there are other points of view from which to see life in a different way. Sometimes open-mindedness will come from the recommendations of the most unexpected people. But they know that they must always be attentive to be able to listen, think about what they have learned and act later.

📀Capricorn in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your purpose in life and connect with your spiritual side. They can be very disciplined and ambitious. The conception of Spirituality of individuals in this phase can be confused with social justice, with the existence of opportunities for everyone to have a dignified life. However, they are more driven by values of the practical life, to the satisfaction of the needs of employment, home, decent conditions for the development of the family, rather than with realities transcending the material world.

📀Aquarius in the 12th House: may indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very innovative and creative. In this positioning, people can fulfill themselves through humanitarian activities of a spiritual nature. The concepts of harmony and wisdom develop. They feel a universal responsibility that involves spirituality, compassion and humility.

📀Pisces in the 12th House: May indicate a natural connection to the subconscious world and a need to explore your own spirituality. They can be very sensitive and empathetic. They are a compassionate person, although they do not usually show it externally. You have to dive a little inside yourself to discover someone who does care about others and always tries to do as little damage as possible in their discussions. You must let yourself be carried away by your sensitivity to know the different options through which you can channel your creativity.

[fangsandfeels]

Got hit with more thoughts about spawns and Cazador...

...and naturally, I'm posting it here because I'm no longer a functional human being.

I remember the lingering question that Astarion seemingly being only one of the spawns using seduction to lure victims in. At least, there is no menition of other’s doing so, except for Petras. So, why is that? Why Astarion was the only one?

In my opinion, it stems from Cazador’s very particular choice of victims. In all these years, he acquired only seven spawns (except for the thousands of Turned nobody knew about), and almost all of them used to be accomplished or talented people:

- Violet, a beloved and talented songbird from Reithwin;

- Dalyria, a respected doctor working in the Parliament;

- Leon, a sorcerer (a spell modifiaction he came up with shows how good he is at his magic);

- Astarion, a magistrate with a promising future, centuries of life ahead of him, and a beauty worthy of a thousand paintings.

Following this tendency, we can assume that Yousen, Aurelia, and Petras also were similarly talented or good at something enough to attract Cazador’s attention and make him envious.

The bastard thinks very highly of himself. He calls himself the most intelligent and beautiful creature out there, and spends hours writing letters to other vampire lords, trying to convince them of his grandeur. He attempts to inflate his ego, making it finally big enough to overcompensate for his miserable inferiority complex, in any way he can: so, whenever he spies someone with a talent or potential, someone who might be better than him at anything, he snuffs them away, adds to his collection, and then breaks them over and over, making them believe that they’re nothing. He is the father who gives them purpose; they are his spawn who owe him everything; and everything they have belongs to him.

And maybe, aside from tortures, and humiliation, and gaslighting, and forcing “siblings” to hurt each other, he came up with one more way to break them - when he forces them to hunt, he forces them to use everything that made them special, loved, respected, and admired for the most gruesome things.

- Violet, previously a talented singer whose voice was fondly remembered up to Reithwin’s fall, using her voice to catch attention; using her image and charm to lure people into the palace to their death.

- Dalyria, picking her victims around apothecaries and temples that responded to the people's suffering by closing doors in their faces, seeking out refugees and ailing citizens low on coin, offering to help them, kindly inviting them to “her place” (if we take Karlach’s family as an example, finding a healer who would agree to help a less-than-wealthy family is quite a problem at the city).

- Leon, using his talents and magic to nab people from the street, to drag them to Cazador without a fight while knowing that he will never be able to use the same power against the bastard himself.

- Astarion, a previously sophisticated, proud, and beautiful elf, stripped of his dignity and pride, using his body to either seduce poor young and inexperienced souls (fulfilling their image of an ethereal and caring lover) or let himself be pawed at by drunkards and brothel-goers.

I don’t think any of Cazador’s choices were accidental. I don't think he had to roam the streets at night, looking for potential candidates; that he ever Turned any of them by chance.  

They all caught his eye at some point, became an object of his obsession, and then fell victim to a scenario where they were confronted by a promise of salvation - and each time, it made Cazador giddy with excitement and a sense of self-importance. He took them away from the world because he could. He will twist and shape them to his whim because he can. And then, he will take everything from them, reducing them to miserable wretches because this is who they should be, compared to him.

They will belong under his heel, scared, helpless, and obedient, worshipping him and fearing him. Forever.

[ultravioletrayz]

a request? what about your edging miguel and so you let him cum since he begging it however we continuing to do it? and so what about this but with cumplay ? you know,and he.....like into it,like you playing with he cum, on his body.thigh. abs, idk anywhere and just licking it idk?

so a kinda dom/sub!miguel x fem!reader

yea im crazy for a whiny men whos loves anything we do and espically whimper and beg

you with me girlie?

Yes yes yes, totally with you.

The plot for this was inspired by this ask, btw!!

@ce3stvu tagging my bby girl <3

Pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x dom!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, cumplay, cum eating, dacryphillia if you squint, themes of jealousy

Summary: you remind miguel who he belongs to

A/N: i love dom!migs, but something about imagining that big man all whiny and crying is sooo hot

Word Count: 1K

It’s all that stupid bitch’s fault. The thought is swirling around in Miguel’s head on repeat as his hips pathetically twitch and spasm upwards to try and loosen the grip you have around the blushing tip of his cock. Still, you merely apply more pressure, squeezing his poor head so hard your fingers act as a makeshift cock ring, making it impossible for Miguel to acquire any sense of relief as your other hand fondles his heavy, aching balls with little skill, your only goal being to tease him. 

This was a much better way of reminding Miguel of your loyalty to one another than talking it out. Frankly, you didn’t even know how to approach discussing the topic. You were supposed to be Miguel’s angelic, bubbly little girlfriend. You didn’t want to cause a fight over some random spider-woman from work. 

Instead, you smile from ear to ear as you watch the beads of tears that cling to Miguel’s gorgeous, thick eyelashes as he sobs and begs to cum, after you’ve denied climax after climax with your possessive grip around the thick circumference of his dick. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that other spider-people can hear Miguel’s unapologetic whines from outside his office, and the thought makes your mind a hazy fog of lust and pride. Hopefully, that new girl that Miguel was training, the one that kept running her grubby hands all over his arms and back like you were an idiot and wouldn’t notice her blatant flirting. 

You had initially felt guilty when you pulled Miguel away from his sparring session with the girl, leading him to his office with one goal in mind: reiterating that Miguel is yours and yours alone.

But now that he's been forced into becoming this mess of desperation and sticky pre-cum, your worries and shame have vanished. Only your touch can make Miguel feel this way, making him lose all of his self-control and dignity. And he does the same thing to you. Sure, an outsider would probably say all of this jealousy and possessiveness is toxic or overbearing, but you and Miguel can't help but cling to one another. You're each other's soulmates. That new girl could never compare.

"Hah- ah, fuck! M-Mami, por favor… need- ah! need to cum. Please, please l-lemme cum-!" Miguel begs, his tear-stained cheek squished against the smooth material of your spider suit that conceals your tits, but the warmth of his face seeps through the fabric, his breath causing your nipples to perk up at the subtle contact as you lean over him and giggle. 

You keep your fingers squeezed around his tip, rubbing his swollen head in circular motions as your other hand cups his balls in the comfort of your palm. The tension around Miguel’s tip is almost torturous, making him curse and thrash around in his office chair as he desperately attempts to make your hand slip even slightly so that his dick can breathe again. 

The thick, chocolate-brown hair that adorns the tan flesh from his belly button down to his base caresses your forearm each time Miguel fails to push through the restraint of your fist and thrust into your closed hand. 

You feel bad for taking your insecurities out on your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend, who was just trying to be a good boss and do his job, so you decide to give him a break.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, guapo?" You coo teasingly, releasing the pressure around the leaky head of Miguel's cock and instead starting to pump his shaft, your pace fast and sloppy as you make up for the time spent prohibiting Miguel from having any kind of release. 

Miguel's climax hits him like a freight train, his back arching drastically and his claws digging into his seat as his rock-hard cock spurts bucket loads of cum up into the air, the gooey strands of his devotion to you hitting his toned abs and coating the hair on his thighs and stomach, creating a pooling mess of semen, sweat, and tears as he slumps back in his chair and splutters.

You watch with wide eyes as Miguel's cum decorates his tan skin, like an abstract painting of your composition. And you couldn't be more proud of yourself. In a hypnotised state of desire and devotion, you scramble to your knees in between Miguel's spread thighs. 

With a smile on your face, you lick a fat, sloppy stripe from Miguel's pelvis up to his juicy pecs, gathering his cum on your flat tongue and swallowing. He tastes divine.

No other bitch would treat him like this, using her hands and mouth to worship him like you do. You lap up every thick glob of shimmering cum from Miguel's panting body, not even able to savour it due to your desperation to taste all of him.

"You taste so good, Mig." You moan, eyes fluttering at the salty, decadent flavour of Miguel's cum flooding your senses. Your hand keeps pumping him slowly, milking every last drop of his delicious cum from his cock as you worship his body and devour his essence as it glistens on his stomach and thighs. 

Your free hand scoops up some of his mess to watch how the strings make your fingers stick together, before shoving your digits in your mouth and sucking the cum off your fingers. 

Miguel chuckles and moans at the sight of his pretty girl so desperate to please him, all to ensure his loyalty. The fact that you're more willing to drag your wet tongue up and down his cum-covered, shivering body than have a conversation about your feelings is a little odd, but Miguel's not complaining. It's sweet to see how much you love him, and how much you hate that new bitch for thinking she stands a chance against you.

Miguel holds your chin in his hands and stops you from feasting on any more of his cum, directing your gorgeous face upwards so that you're staring into his eyes. You rest your tacky hands on his thighs, making him tremble ever so slightly at the way your skin sticks to his, binding the two of you together. 

Breathlessly, Miguel whispers to you, his girl, his one and only, the love of his life, with a crooked smile on his sweaty, fucked-out face.

"Sólo para ti, hermosa."

sick and tired of miguel being depicted as the “jealous and possessive” one in the relationship. If I had a man like that, I’d be just as crazy

[xxximortalxxx]

As much as you guys hate to admit it, the Five and Lila pairing makes sense and was not at all utter bullshit as you guys are making it seem.

From the time Lila was introduced, she came in as a strong character that's wild, sexy, fun, and a bit deranged. She's a badass character! And what happens? She meets Diego in a point in her life where she was at the height of chaos and adventure. They fall in love, or in a toxic situationship filled with family drama and mother/father issues.

Now let's look at Five. His situation is overall fucked. Imagine being some kid that grew up with space/time travel powers and getting stuck in time, having to grow up pretty much before all of his siblings, and then having to come back in his KID body and still have to fix THEIR problems on top of dealing with his own mental issues that he acquired and loneliness. Reminder that he would not have had a partner due to his inconvenient life/appearance.

Lila and Diego are in this marriage with kids after trying to live a "normal" life. Lila feels stuck because she basically trauma bonded with some guy that happened to be there and was able to put up with her issues and vice versa. Diego was convenient. And from what I see, she really just wanted to make a family she didn't have. Their relationship is kinda out of obligation for their kids at this point, and neither of them are happy.

At this point, Five and Lila get stuck in time together after having previously been on opposite sides but coming together for family sake. From the beginning they matched each other's energy and even I would say they complement each other. They both have explosive personalities filled with sarcasm, snark, and a bit of humor. They both enjoy danger and a rough tussle. That's all they have known.

At this point, both Five and Lila have experienced so much in their lives, so much adventure already. They are ready to settle down, because sometimes love is the adventure you're looking for in this crazy world.

And look I get it. Badass lady is reduced to housewife trope that shouldn't exist unless within character. But can we really say this is out of character for Lila? She always does the unexpected, so her going off to be a spy is what we would expect, for her and Five.

And I also get that you guys think that Five would never betray his family like that. This isn't a perfect world and neither are these characters. If anything, we've seen Five do things for his own self interest over what the family/others want. Same for Lila.

Add in the loneliness of DECADES from Five and the trapped loneliness Lila feels within her marriage, and the fact they they go on another mission together over SEVEN years, mixed with their explosive dynamic and you have a pairing.

And explosion seems to be the theme for this season right? With Ben and Jennifer. Sometimes 2 exlosive chemicals become more stable rather than creating a blast. And maybe each other is what Five and Lila needed. They both understand each other in ways Diego could never understand Lila. Lila also understands Five's predicament like no other, having lived it first hand with him in the Seven years. It's only natural that they would come together. Lila and Diego were eventually going to divorce because they weren't compatible. Lila has always had the most chemistry with Five.

I get the cheating and in no way do I excuse it, but these characters have no idea when they will ever get back home and if. I think they would go absolutely crazy if they didn't have each other. In this time, they realized how similar they are and ended up being a better match. They found what they were looking for in each other. And you can't deny their connection like come on.

In my experience, in the real world, love is messy and not perfect. Sometimes finding love is your next adventure after you've live a life like no other. Maybe this will be good for them.

Also, they writers arent crazy or out of pocket, you guys just need to grow up.

[justliketoreadsowhat]

Self Indulgence ☀︎︎

☀︎︎ 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐀/𝐧: 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

______________________________

“𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞“ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐯𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐚.

Phoenix was one of the many places you had marked on your list of places to visit this summer before you went back into hibernation for school. You had made a stern promise to yourself that you would get out of the house more and become less of a homebody.

Solo trips and dates became a common factor when venturing out. Being by yourself wasn't the downfall of your vow, you didn't mind being solo, peace rained throughout your mindset as you found solace within your life.

Stepping up to the venue, the windows deeply tinted, allowing the smallest bit of view to see from the outside. On the side, cars were aligned in unison, Mercedez, Maybach's, and Range Rover's easily toppling over thousands of dollars.

Reaching out to open the small double doors, you were met with a security guard who looked everything but amused, towering over your frame aimlessly. His eyes red and low quickly scanning over your attire. He began to nod slowly to himself, pondering with his own thoughts.

Speaking up with a ragged tone "Oh you must be one of their girlfriends right?" his head motioned behind him, revealing a dim purple hue, the area filled with dangerously tall women scattered around each section.

Just go with it

"Uh- yes, sorry I hope I'm not too late" you pressed, falsely checking your gold-plated watch that hasn't ticked in years.

The guard shook his head slightly, "Nah we're just getting started" his free hand released from his biceps motioning you to walk through the entrance. Grounding your steady footsteps, walking into the shallow doorway, the smell of alcohol and prominent fragrance swiveled through the air making your head dizzy.

Music blared through the speakers with bass that shook the ground, how could anyone hear themselves think? To calm your senses, a drink was added to your agenda, a good fruit mixture would never lead you in the wrong direction.

Locating the crowded bar planted in the far right corner was easy, but physically getting there was not. People swarmed every inch of the floor making it nearly impossible to move without touching someone. Cautiously maneuvering through the crowds, you soon acquire that everyone here was in fact a woman, not a male figure in sight, excluding the stoned guard.

Women of all dynamics, tall, muscular, and every lick of beautiful, coming from all different shades. Instantly you knew you were way out of your element, and you'd be indulging every second of it.

Approaching the bar, attempting to blend into the vibe that was flowing through the atmosphere. Cool, calm, and collected. Looking over the different variations of drinks displayed behind the counter.

"You know the pink Whitney and Shirley temple mix goes crazy together, you should try it" a low voice rang in your ear sending a small shiver throughout your body. Eyes darting to the view next to you met with a pair of ocean blue ones.

A small smile masked the impending nervousness growing. "I'm not really a Shirley girl but I love a good pink Whitney"

Her face twisted in shock "Really?!, you look like the type though" Paige asserted, slowly licking her lips and tasting the faint alcohol that lingered. Her demeanor was soft, yet so dominant at all once. It was hard to tell whether she was fully sober or if she was just naturally charming and spoke to whoever was in her line of sight.

"Now what does that mean?" you questioned tilting your head slightly, remarking on her ability to maintain eye contact so easily.

She shrugged "Most pretty girls love Shirley temples" smiling to herself.

"I take it that you're one of them hm?" confiding in the way her features correlated so nicely. Lips the perfect shade of pink, eyelashes curled to perfection, hair slicked back without a single strand out of place. Her tall frame made every aspect match perfectly, including her two-piece set that had dashes of purple stitched within each pattern.

"Something like that" she bantered, tapping her fingers against the cold counter "Here let me buy you one" plucking the gold Amex card stashed in the back of her purple phone case. Good to know you could skip the whole "What's your favorite color" mantra.

"Oh no no it's alright, you don't have to spend your money on me I got it" gently sliding her card back into the slot. Denying Paige was not on your game card for tonight, but you refused to let anyone buy you anything, ever.

"Nah it's not a problem" Paige insisted "Are you here with someone?"

Replaying the guards' assumption in your head, you quickly denied "No I'm just here by myself.." 2nd guessing your answer, a silent prayer sped through your mind, hoping that you didn't talk yourself into a frenzy.

"Mm." she hummed softly against her lips, almost as if she knew you were spiraling on the inside.

"Why do you ask?" your tone more so concerned rather than confused.

Her eyes lightened at your expression "I'm just asking mama, no pressure" a smirk plastered across her face as she watched your eyes widen at the name. She knew what she was doing, this was nothing new to her.

But The Way She Made You Feel Was All New To You

[galedekarios]

gale’s early access dialogue transcripts - the tiefling party [romance path]

at the tiefling party in early access, you were able to lock in your romance choice for the first time.

a second time, you were able to do so while traversing the ebonlake to the grymforge. the narrator gave a general overview of your deeds so far (including rescuing the tieflings/siding with the goblings, etc.) and ended on your li choice.

i'll include the screenshot of that moment here bc there's not much worth talking about romance-wise past that point:

Narrator: *It hasn't all been bad, though: you fondly remember your night with Gale.*

back to the tiefling party: you were able to talk to the companions at the party after zevlor, the tieflings and your group arrived at the camp, and they all propositioned the player to spend the night with them, some more subtly than others, depending on who you talked to first and accepted.

the romance option for the night was then locked in if the player took a long rest and, from the dialogue options, picked their partner of choice.

for gale, the proposition to the player looked as follows:

Gale: Thank you. - Player Option 1: I'm sure you're welcome. Gale: There's that confidence I like. [Go to "Amidst all the merriness...] - Player Option 2: What for? Gale: I'm glad you sought me out. [Go to "Amidst all the merriness...] - Player Option 3: Spontaneous thank yous make me suspicious. Gale: Come now! This is a night for celebration, not suspicion. I thank you for seeking me out. - Gale: Amid all this merriment I wasn't sure we'd have a chance to speak this evening. I wasn't sure we'd have a chance to make merry, just the two of us.  - Player Option 1: I think that's the wine talking.  Gale: As they say in Waterdeep: In wine there is truth. That's usually followed by: In water, there is good sense. Good sense will have to wait till the morrow. - Player Option 2:  Make merry, just the two of us. What would that entail? Gale [if Weave scene successful + talked abt the Weave scene with Gale after]: We shared a romantic moment of the mind while cloaked in the Weave, didn't we? And I seem to recall a fond allusion to that moment afterwards. - Player Option 3: Actually, I think I'll go mix and mingle.  Gale: Too bad. One should never be afraid to live life to the fullest.  But before you go... I know there are many things about me that remain shrouded in mystery. [Gale would then invite the player to talk again the next day & reveal his background story + the convo ends] - Gale [if the player is interested]: Allow me to make the following proposition: there is a book that circulates in Amn, detailing the first thousand nights of a newly-wed king and queen. Gale: They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time honoured and newly acquired. The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself. I say we take a page from their book.  - Player Option 1: Leave it to you to woo someone with a book. Gale: Forget the book then. Let's be blank slates on blank sheets, delightfully new. - Player Option 2: You're remarkably upfront about your intentions.  Gale: I'm many things, but coy's not one of them. What do you say? - Player Option 3: I'll remind you we're newly acquainted, not newlyweds. Gale: Then we'll start writing the prequel. What do you say? - Player Option 4: Let me stop you right there. That's not something I'm interested in. Gale: Too bad. One should never be afraid to live life to the fullest.  - [if the player accepts] Gale: We'll let the night run its course. And when everything is quieting down, safe in the arms of sleep, I'll come by to find safety in yours. [end]

if you clicked on gale again before long resting, he said:

Gale: There's promise in patience, I assure you. Let the night run its course so that we can run ours as well. [CAMP_GoblinHunt_State_GalePartner]

if you then talked to any of the other companions, who were much more reactive to your choices and what happened around them in general, they had something to say about the player's decision to spend the night gale:

shadowheart

Shadowheart: Everyone seem to be in high spirits. I saw you with Gale. You two looked... cosy. Far be it from me to judge. Blood must be running a little hot after everything.

wyll

Wyll: There he is - the man himself! Let us raise a glass! To you - a legend in the making! And to you and Gale. May your stars burn ever bright.

lae'zel

Lae'zel: I have seen the kith'raki tear a screaming neogi's legs from its belly to fashion into blades. Yet they could not match your nerve today. It was enough to drive me to madness. A pity for us you have promised your body to Gale. I've no doubt he is as seductive as he is succinct.

funnily enough, if both weren't romanced by the player character, lae'zel would try to sleep with gale at the party. he - unlike wyll and astarion, both of whom used to accept lae's advances - did not do so.

lae'zel used to complain about this the next day if the player questioned her about her night with gale, saying he only wished instead to talk:

Lae'zel: There are, after all, other spreads before me. Gale looks particularly tempting tonight. [GALECOMPANION, CAMP_GoblinHunt_State_WyllPartner]

follow-up the next day:

Player: You said you were going to share your bunk with Gale. Lae'zel: So I did. And he wanted only to talk.

astarion

Astarion: By the Hells. Passion. Fun. It's easy for some, of course. You and Gale seem to be getting on very well. I wonder if he uses magic in the bedroom? That could go very well... or very badly.

the pictures here are all from an old gifset of mine.

there is no option for karlach in early access because she, at that point, wasn't a companion, but an npc to a much different set-up with anders the paladin of tyr and his companions.

if you clicked on the bedrolls around the camp fire to select the long rest, the narrator used to say the following:

Narrator: *The buzz of celebration quiets to a soothing hum as you approach your bunk.* *Though you seek repose, you needn't spend the night alone. With whom will you share a bed?* Player: Gale. Narrator: *Your heart skips a beat. What treasures might this night bestow?*

it used to then lead into the actual romance scene of early access.

i'll be talking about in the next ea meta post because it's a longer one as it encapsulates the romance scene itself, but also gale's confession about his backstory, karsus's folly, mystra's and gale's relationship, as well as possible ways to cure gale of his orb.

🖤

[dr-futbol-blog]

Our hero, Major John Sheppard is stationed at McMurdo base in Antarctica at the start of the series. We learn that he likes it there. Sheppard himself tells Teyla in Sateda (S03E04): "Well, that [having no social skills] is why I enjoyed flying choppers in the most remote part of my world before all this craziness."

This is what John Sheppard tells us but we learn that what he tells us is not always the truth and certainly not the whole truth.

The alien AI that created a hallucination from Sheppard's own subconscious in Remnants (S05E15) poses him the question: "You're either someone with a death wish or someone running away from something. So tell me: what are you running away from?" Running away to the most remote part of his world, running away to another galaxy.

In fact, he has both been banished to and self-isolated in the most remote part of his world ("You torture yourself every day, John.") due to his "black mark" acquired in Afghanistan. We are never explicitly told what this black mark was, only that it bothered Gen. O'Neill and was something that Dr. Weir could live with. We are left wondering.

While we are shown something of what happened in Afghanistan during the episode Phantoms (S03E09), through the hallucinations from Sheppard's past of him failing to save Capt. Charlie Holland, it isn't until toward the end of the series that we find out what happened through the mirror of a parallel reality in Vegas (S05E19), where alt!Rodney tells us "You were a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan but were dishonourably discharged for disobeying orders and trying to rescue a field medic trapped behind enemy lines. You were shot down – obviously survived, but unfortunately the crash killed four American soldiers along with eight civilians. You avoided jail time; the record was sealed for various political reasons."

The field medic in the Vegas-verse, one where "infinite variations of our own known reality where alternate versions of you and I play out events", is female; this revealed in a mumbled 'ur' (I didn't even catch it on first viewing even though I knew about the gender swap in advance; it might just as well have been "knew 'em") in alt!Rodney's line: "That field medic – the one you defied orders to go back and try and rescue. You knew her personally. You were... involved."

This was one of the differences between the two realities, perhaps even the most defining one of them, the point of divergence.

Vegas Sheppard dies to the tune of Johnny Cash's Solitary Man because that's what he was, a recluse (and note that the importance of Johnny Cash was underlined in the episode by Sheppard taking nothing but his poster, the same Johnny Cash poster that our Sheppard had in his quarters for all of the five years, with him once he walked away from his job; it carries weight):

I know it's been done havin' one girl who loved me Right or wrong, weak or strong Don't know that I will, but until I can find me The girl who'll stay and won't play games behind me I'll be what I am

But our Sheppard is not a Solitary Man (he has self-confessedly found something of a family in Pegasus). He's the Man in Black (in fact, he is dressed in black throughout the series even in situations where other fatigues would have made more sense; it is only in the very last episode that we see him in lighter colours):

I'd love to wear a rainbow every day And tell the world that everything's okay But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back 'Til things are brighter, I'm the man in black

We know the background. When the series begun, DADT was still in full effect, the franchise had a long-standing co-operation with the USAF, Prop 8 was still several years into the future. The non-normative sexual orientation of an All-American Action Hero was never going to be main-text. Even heterosexual romance between characters was mostly eschewed by the franchise. But damn if the subtext doesn't lay it out thick for us.

There are so many obvious parallels and comparisons in the show that I need to write them down somewhere, and while this is a day late and a dollar short, this fandom could do with some meta. So this marks the beginning of my journey through Stargate Atlantis with an eye on its bisexual protagonist.

[letters-adressed-to-the-fire]

so this is why i think peter is the one looking in people's windows

A few days ago, I saw a swiftie on TikTok talking about how I look in people’s windows could be taken as the other perspective of the same story narrated in Peter, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I decided to go in-depth and start a self-assigned quest to look for any clue that could interweave these two stories in a way that made sense.

I know this could sound a little absurd or could be taken as a stretch of some sort, but I believe, and I’m sure most of her fans would agree, that most of the beauty in Taylor’s writing comes from the countless different interpretations people bestow on her lyrics. I’m not asking you to take this analysis as absolute truth because I’m genuinely just having fun with it, and I hope you do too.

I’ll analyze “I look in people's windows” from Peter’s point of view and “peter” from the other character’s pov, whom we’ll call Wendy given the obvious parallelism to Peter Pan.

Well, the main and obvious connection is given by the “window” element. While Wendy is waiting for Peter by the window, Peter is looking for her from outside that window. If you look at this through very literal and rational eyes, I believe you’d think it doesn’t make sense that they were both looking for each other through the same window but never met again. So HERE is where I want to insert my interpretation.

There are two options I can think of that would explain the failed meeting. 

Peter intentionally avoided Wendy while still looking for her every day.

Every time they were looking for each other, it happened at different moments.

The first case presents a lot of questions, like, is the pledge to grow up what is stopping Peter because he knows he can’t do it? Or was he cruel enough to wait for Wendy to move on and then come back? Either way, the conclusion remains the same. In this scenario, Peter was a coward. If it was because he didn’t want to grow up, if it was because he just wanted Wendy to never move on, or if it was because he never gave her a real answer.

On the other hand, the second case talks about something that’s closer to a tragedy. They were always doomed by the narrative. While Wendy was waiting for him, Peter was looking for her, but Wendy never saw him—not when she waited or when Peter was looking for her. We would need to assume some things here tho. Either it all comes back to the first option and Peter had been avoiding her the entire time, or he thought she had already forgotten about him. The first option shows us, once again, that Peter is a coward, but the second one also tells us something important: he may be too scared to grow up, but he’s not selfish enough to stop her from moving on.

“Northbound I got carried away As you boarded your train South, south, south, south, south, south A feather taken by the wind blowing I'm afflicted by the not knowing so”

Based on this verse, we can design a new theory. He watched her leave and he was aching for her to come back to him. So he started looking for her in other people’s windows, wondering if one of them was gonna be her. Even when he had already said goodbye to her.

And here’s where another verse of peter will acquire significance:

“I thought it was just goodbye for now”

With both songs in mind, it sounds like he said goodbye to her, hoping they were gonna see each other again, but he also knew he had to let her go at the time and that he was condemned to miss her. But what Peter didn’t know was that Wendy was gonna go through the same thing, but she wouldn’t have the comfort of knowing what he did (wait for her).

“promises oceans deep, but never to keep”

This is why we get two completely different endings for both songs. While Peter is still addicted to the what-ifs, Wendy has turned off the light; the fantasies have expired for her. Wendy grew up; Peter didn’t. While I look in people's windows gives you the feeling of being running from house to house in a neighborhood you don’t recognize anymore, trying to fit into a routine you were used to in the past; peter reads like the last chapter of a book you’ll never touch again.

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 1

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Note: This story will eventually include bits from the Anime, so you should expect some Spoilers if you haven't watched it. However, everything written here is purely based on the liveaction adaptation.

Please consider that Mihawk is 41 when he first appears in One Piece, which means that the Reader is supposed to be in her thirties at best, even if the age isn't mentioned.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Read on AO3.

CHAPTER 1

The day you headed out to sea from your place of origin, you didn't anticipate the course of your life to take a turn for the worse. Of course, in a world infested by piracy, riots, and wars, you were conscious of the potential perils that lurked in the horizon. However, you did not foresee that you would end up with a bounty on your head for taking the life of a Marine Admiral, who had put you through numerous days of torment and barbarism.

If anyone had conveyed to you about a similar possibilty, you would have deemed it to be a matter beyond your wildest imagination. You? A wanted criminal with the blood of another person on your hands? You were renowned for your compassion in your hometown. You could never harm a fly, no matter how hard you tried. And yet, the time you spent incarcerated for a minor food theft in the East Blue brought forth a substantial change in the person you used to be.

You had no desire of becoming a pirate, least of all taking someone's life the way you did. The legendary treasure, the One Piece, didn't entice you in the slightest, as it could very well be a falsehood concocted to unleash disorder on the world. You were seeking nothing but an outing, a break from the monotonous cycle that had exhausted you for quite a long time. You yearned to be on an adventure, to observe the marvels of the ocean, and to gain your financial stability through ethical methods.

You were once the pride of your family, and the thought of how profoundly disappointed they must have felt for your sullied repute overflowed you with mortification.

For a while, everything was as normal as it could be. You worked from one tavern to another, gathering information about the most formidable pirates setting their sights on the Grand Line. You heard several tales from inhabitants and wayfarers, even from the Marines themselves. You were thoroughly pleased with the experience and the wisdom you were acquiring for your own good during your travels.

Unfortunately, things started to deteriorate when your ship developed a massive leak, to the point where you barely managed to reach the next harbor before capsizing and sinking down. The funds available to you weren’t nearly enough to buy a new one, and thus you had to depend on occasional fishermen or merchants for transportation, still paying them handsomely for their help.

On a day when misfortune struck, you were robbed of all your Berries and supplies due to your naivety. You were unable to report the incident to the authorities as the culprits fled as soon as you set foot on land, leaving you without a single coin in your pockets and no food to sustain you during your wanderings. Without money, you could no longer afford passage by ship or meals at local taverns. You were obliged to begin from the outset, tracking down employment opportunities that seemed increasingly difficult to come by.

And then the harassment began, with unscrupulous dealers or pirates demanding a certain type of payment in exchange for their services, which you naturally rejected. As time passed, you had to resort to adopting a defensive stance the hard way, procuring blades and handguns via questionable channels.

You were tired, demoralized, and desperately hungry. Your suffering clouded your judgment, pushing you towards a path you never thought you would accept as your only option.

And then, you had the not-so-brilliant idea of stealing a piece of bread from a market, thinking that just one time wouldn't really be the end of the world. Little did you know, you were about to seal your own fate, as the Marines happened to walk by just as you committed the act, completely unaware of their presence.

You begged for your freedom, spelling out justifications in the hope that they would provide you with the considerate treatment that innocent citizens were supposed to receive. You were gravely mistaken.

The discovery of two sharp daggers and a fully loaded pistol in your backpack certainly did not aid your predicament. Despite numerous attempts to convince them that you were not a pirate, they refused to listen to your reasoning and brought you directly to the Marine base, where a cold cell awaited your arrival.

They left you there without food and barely any water for three days, until the Admiral in charge finally decided to acknowledge your presence. You had hoped that they would recognize their grave misinterpretation and offer you the justice you were due, but you were astonished to find that the conditions of the enstablishment were just as oppressive as the enclosure of your prison.

The commander wished to gain knowledge pertaining to certain fugitive pirates, whose heads were carrying substantial rewards for their crimes against the Government. In view of this, the man put forth an offer that he reckoned would be difficult for you to refuse; join forces with him in return for your liberty.

The hitch was that, besides knowing their names, you were not well-informed concerning these outlaws. The Admiral was convinced that you were withholding more than you wanted to disclose, referring to you as a member of those despicable parasites. The Marines didn’t even put in the effort to corroborate your innocence prior to deeming you officially guilty, using their prestige as a weapon and exerting power over those who were vulnerable.

Ultimately, after realizing you were unwilling to cooperate, the Admiral employed brute force in a bid to extract any secret you were keeping to yourself. In the confines of your cell, you were left to starve and decay as your body continued to weaken. The man would make daily visits, sadistically using his blade to inflict deep wounds on your back, your shirt being ripped in the process. One slit progressed to two, then three, and then ten, until you were unable to keep track of the number. The persistent agony was compounded by the dripping blood, which formed a revolting pool on the floor and stained your uncomfortable bed.

He was a sadist, twisted by madness, using your body as his canvas.

On the brink of abandoning all your hope and acquiescing into rotting in that prison, a guard entered to release you, apprising you that the Admiral had a final proposal ready for you. By then, you had already lost a considerable amount of weight, and you could barely remain standing on your enfeebled legs. The oldest scars on your back itched as they recovered, though the fresh ones were still moist and soaked with blood.

You were forcefully shoved into the office as the guard closed the door behind you, leaving you on your knees, alone with your jailer. Once again, the Admiral attempted to coerce you with promises of salvation, threatening a proper execution the following day if you didn't comply.

It was evident that he had grown tired of toying with you. The Admiral's obsession with pirates seemed to be a severe mental illness, as he saw evil lurking in every corner, when in reality, he was the only monster in front of you.

The moment he turned his back to you and placed his arms across his torso while looking at the window, you became aware of an opening directly upon his desk. There was an empty plate sitting there, with a fork and knife neatly arranged upon it.

A knife, sharp enough to effortlessly cut through a thick steak.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears as you swallowed hard. Time was of the essence and you needed to act swiftly, without any hesitation whatsoever. Summoning every ounce of energy left in your frail body, you stood up from the polished floor, careful to make minimal noise with your tattered boots. Advancing at a steady pace and with a calculated gait, you went up to the large table, your eyes fixed on the back of the Admiral's head.

Ignoring his eccentric speech, you stealthily grasped the knife by its handle, slowly leading it away from the dish and carefully concealing it inside the sleeve of the meager garment you were still wearing.

You could barely take a couple of steps back before he turned to face you once more, a malicious grin spreading across his lips. He taunted you, expressing his pity for your miserable state and remarking how much fun the two of you could have if only you were smart enough to choose his side.

He walked past the table, extending his big hand to touch your shoulder. You acted on pure instinct as the hunger, resentment, pain, and fear that had consumed you for the longest days of your life surged to the surface all at once. You let the knife slip from your sleeve, tightly gripping it in your hand before delivering a quick and effective stab to his neck, slicing it open.

For a brief moment, you felt nothing. With cold, deadpan eyes, you stared at him as he gurgled and collapsed to the floor. It was only when you saw the blood pouring forth around him that you abruptly snapped back to reality, realizing the gravity of what you had just done.

Panic surged through you when you heard the guard knocking at the door, and from there, everything happened in a blur of rapid movements. As the knob turned, you ran to hide behind the door, seizing the opportunity to slip away when the guard discovered the Admiral's lifeless body in the room. In a rush of agitation, you escaped through the halls and stumbled upon a Marine uniform that was slightly oversized. Fright filled your heart as the shrieking alarm carried on blaring through the base, until at last you managed to end up outside as a disguised cadet.

You discovered an unattended boat moored at the port, which you promptly took control of. Embarking on a journey to an unknown destination, you discarded the stolen uniform in the middle of the ocean, allowing yourself to finally collapse and rest.

The more you pondered on it, the less determined you felt to adhere to the regulations. You believed that the laws and policies of the world were established to serve a better code, but those who worked for the government, meant to become an example to admire and strive to imitate, turned out to be even more despicable than the scum they vilified.

Whenever your scars itched, or someone asked about them to satiate their curiosity, you were reminded of the little trust you could bestow on anyone in your proximity. In the event that even a senior official had the power to pronounce fatal verdicts and physically torment a civilian without carrying out an adequate examination, to whom could you turn for protection?

Ultimately, you realized that the most logical option available for you was to return to your hometown. But then, as you began preparing to leave your life at sea, a wanted poster bearing an image of your disraught face was displayed on the walls.

In that moment, you felt as if you had been shattered into a thousand pieces. You were now persecuted like any other pirate the Marines wanted to capture, and you could no longer travel to your island for the sake of your family and friends. You were alone, lost, on the run from the authorities and bounty hunters.

If they were going to treat you like a pirate, then you would just become one. And so you learned, fought, stole, cheated, and fled, over and over again. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you found yourself living in a way that would prevent you from falling and drowning, training extensively and gaining muscle. You became adept at disguising yourself on the spot, and acquired a set of skills that you never imagined would be fitting for your old, innocent self.

All you could do was endure and survive.

Between your shady deals and overheard conversations, you learned about a certain Warlord of the Sea, and none other than the strongest swordman in the world. A man whom you, with your existing notoriety, should have never dared to cross paths with.

And yet, you did.

Dracule Mihawk, once a dangerous pirate known as the Marine Hunter, had now formed an alliance with the World Government, allowing him to carry out his questionable deeds while putting on a facade of indifference. The first time you laid eyes on him, you were casually strolling down a bustling street. He leaned against a stack of wooden crates, seemingly at ease as he carefully surveyed his surroundings.

You could only identify him based on an outdated, revoked bounty poster that could still be spotted here and there on walls or scattered in the streets. However, at the outset, you didn’t know that he was specifically targeting you of all people.

It became increasingly clear to you that he had been dispatched by the Marines to pursue you relentlessly, as you began to notice his presence wherever you went. You couldn't comprehend how he managed to track your every move, as you were confident that no one was tailing you. Yet, he displayed the stealthiness of a bird of prey, meticulously observing your actions before launching his ultimate assault. You couldn't help but feel intimidated, especially in the presence of his colossal sword and menacing yellow hawk-like eyes, albeit beautiful and captivating.

He didn't even pay you any evident attention until you met his gaze by chance, sparking an electric and unsettling connection between the two of you. Despite his detachment, showing little interest in his surroundings, you couldn't help but notice that the more you tried to hide, the closer he seemed to lurk nearby.

One day, as you hastened your pace, you arrived at a bustling village market, with Mihawk still trailing a few steps behind. You quickly veered towards a clothing stall, feigning fascination in the assortment of hats and dresses on display. The merchant, a friendly middle-aged man with long hair and a sumptuous beard, warmly urged you to explore more of his wares in the privacy of a fitting booth.

In order to alter your appearance, you donned a voluminous, frilly red dress that gracefully swept the floor, effectively hiding your outfit underneath. To further conceal yourself, you completed the look with a matching hat that kept your hair securely tucked away.

As Mihawk strolled by the stall, you caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror before you. Maintaining your composure, you intentionally raised the pitch of your voice, exclaiming with exaggerated enthusiasm about the vibrant colors and exquisite materials of the dresses, even altering your accent.

The merchant's genuine excitement warmed your heart despite your act. After paying for the clothing, you bid the man farewell with a gentle wave and walked in the opposite direction, leaving the stall and stealing a final glance behind.

You caught sight of the Warlord’s sword and the white feather of his hat vanishing amidst the crowd. With a satisfied smile grazing your lips, you turned on your heels and dashed towards the docks where your new boat awaited you.

Just over a month later, you found yourself once again face-to-face with the swordman, this time at a tavern in a different part of the East Blue. Despite his distance from your position at the bar, the frequent glances you exchanged with each other evoked a completely different sensation.

In a peculiar manner, he seemed to be savoring the chase, never resorting to his strength or speed to corner you. Instead, he engaged in a game of hide and seek, seemingly finding amusement in the pursuit.

Naturally, you weren't foolish enough to approach his table and engage in conversation with a man who was likely plotting to hand you over to the authorities. After emptying your glass, you rose from the bar and made your way outside into the open air. Without bothering to check if he was following, you skillfully maneuvered yourself through corners and darted down alleys, searching for the most efficient shortcut you could find. Finally, you arrived at your vessel and embarked on another voyage, mustering the courage to look at the docks as the boat moved further away.

Mihawk stood there, unmoving, his expression void of any emotion, his golden eyes piercing into you without a single blink.

And just as it had happened before, a grin spread across your face. It was a triumphant gesture, a deliberate provocation to show him that you were also thoroughly enjoying the game. Mihawk remained unfazed, turning away and retracing his steps without making any attempt to pursue you by sea.

This pattern continued for quite some time, with more encounters scattered all over the East Blue. Each one of them ended with your successful escape, leaving his intense gaze fixed upon you. At some point, you began to suspect that he was intentionally letting you get away. It seemed unbelievable that a skilled fighter with his reputation would consistently be defeated by a novice like yourself.

While it was initially exhilarating and you liked the thrill of the challenge, in the end, it left you with a profound emptiness in your heart. Dracule Mihawk was undeniably a handsome man, but his attention proved incapable of filling the void that lingered within you. This was primarily due to his unfriendly intentions, as he solely aimed to capture you eventually. The truth was that you deeply missed your family, friends, and the mundane life that you could no longer reclaim. Ever since obtaining that bounty, you had to sever all contact with your loved ones for their safety. The overwhelming sense of loneliness and the feeling of being trapped in an endless cycle weighed heavily on you, leaving an intense craving for a definitive way out that appeared impossible to find at the time.

Your reasoning led you to the conclusion that if Mihawk's true intention was to hand you over to the Marines, he would have to kill you in the process.

While you didn't necessarily desire death to befall you, the life of a pirate had its limitations when it came to joy and fulfillment. It simply wasn't the path meant for you, and you couldn't help but wish you had known what awaited you beyond your familiar surroundings before leaving behind everything and everyone you held dear.

You were utterly exhausted, drained both physically and emotionally. The scars on your back had fully healed and partially faded, but they still left behind a collection of unsightly, rough marks that marred your skin. You were so desperate to avoid setting foot in another Marine base that you would have willingly allowed Mihawk to annihilate you.

And so, the next time you saw him, it was meant to be the very last.

Voices reached your ears, hinting at the existence of a cave brimming with wonders on a small, inhabited piece of land. Given the prevalence of pirates eager to seize anything valuable, you didn't have high expectations for what you might discover. fueled by curiosity and with no pressing obligations, you made the bold choice to embark on this adventure, inspect the cave and fearlessly delve into its depths.

As you had anticipated, there were footprints marking the sandy and muddy terrain within the cave. Empty treasure chests were scattered about, their contents long since plundered. You could only salvage a few scattered pieces of gold and jewelry that had been left behind in various locations.

Though the loot may not have been plentiful, it was still a satisfying outcome after such a long journey. Your focus was captivated by a ring that could have easily been overlooked, partially buried in the sand with only a corner of its metallic surface peeking out. It was a stunning golden band embellished with a raw emerald gemstone, a piece that felt perfectly suited for you and one that you eagerly anticipated wearing once it had been thoroughly cleaned.

Silver chains, leather strings, sparkling gemstones, and ethnic rings. You cherished collecting these pieces from your travels as mementos, a way to etch every experience into your memory, symbolize your personal growth, and serve as a reminder that you were alive and thriving.

With your bag partially filled with your newly discovered treasures, you gracefully emerged from the cave, feeling the gentle breeze caress your hair. Lost in contemplation, you strolled along the shoreline, your eyes set upon your boots as they sank into the sand, making a satisfying sound with each step.

It took a moment for you to realize that you were no longer alone on the island. Someone stood just a few feet away, observing your approaching figure with a composed expression.

As you finally raised your gaze, your heart started pounding, and a sense of unease coiled in your stomach. Standing before you was Dracule Mihawk, his piercing golden eyes locked on you.

Gradually, your movements slowed until you finally came to a halt. Despite the noticeable distance separating the two of you, he made no attempt to close the gap. His stance exhibited no hint of malice; his hands rested calmly at his sides as he observed you, not even reaching for his sword.

The longer you locked eyes with him, the less inclined you felt to leave. With a subtle smile, you displayed unwavering determination and proceeded to walk forward with confidence. Mihawk remained motionless, offering no indication of initiating combat as you drew nearer, leaving his intentions cloaked in enigma.

You walked past him, deliberately avoiding eye contact and redirecting your attention to the path ahead. Your ears remained vigilant, attuned to the surrounding sounds, making sure that he wasn't closely trailing behind you.

However, shattering the silence, his voice suddenly reached your ears, and you heard him speak for the first time since it all began.

"You are quite challenging to track down.”

You stopped abruptly, clutching the bag tightly on your shoulder. Swallowing hard, you fought to suppress the lump that formed in your throat. His voice, like liquid honey, flowed effortlessly, captivating your attention and exuding a calmness that instantly alleviated your nerves.

You took a deep breath, reluctantly acknowledging that the sound of his voice was stirring emotions within you that you weren't ready to confront at this moment.

You turned around, meeting his golden eyes once again. “Not that much for you, apparently,” you retorted, your words laced with a hint of defiance.

For a brief moment, you caught a fleeting glimpse of the corners of his lips twitching, as if hinting at a smile. However, it immediately disappeared, leaving only a trace of its presence.

"Now what?" you asked him. "Are you finally going to capture me and hand me over? If that's the case, then you'll have to kill me. I won't put up any resistance.”

“Is that so?”

No matter how much you strained to interpret his expression, he appeared remarkably disinterested, showing no signs of engagement or emotion.

You shrugged, "We both know that I wouldn't stand a chance against your sword. The bounty poster states 'dead or alive,' and I doubt they would be concerned about the state I'm in as long as I'm eliminated.”

Casting a fleeting glance at the sword at your hip, he emitted a curious hum, tilting his head slightly to the side, almost imperceptibly. Silence settled between the two of you, accompanied only by the gentle rhythm of the waves, creating a soothing melody that enveloped the atmosphere.

You waited patiently, but he made no indication of taking any action against you.

"Well, that was quite the delightful conversation," you remarked sarcastically, pivoting on your heels and resuming your stride.

As your eyes landed on your boat in the distance, you suddenly realized that the urge to hasten your steps had dissipated. The weariness of constantly running away had taken root in you, leaving you with a profound sense of homelessness, unable to find a place where you truly belonged.

To your surprise, you heard him steadily moving behind you, his footsteps synchronizing with your own in a deliberate and unhurried rhythm. You continued along your path, maintaining silence, a part of you anticipating a powerful strike that would bring you down. However, to your relief, the enigmatic man made no attempt to impede you. Not even a hint of hostility could be sensed.

As your nervousness heightened, you made a deliberate choice to pause, silently inviting him to draw nearer. With caution, your hand moved to release the dagger from its secure holster on your belt. A quick glance at the subtle shadows cast on the sand confirmed that he was now mere inches away, in your immediate proximity.

In one seamless motion, you spun around, positioning your blade against his throat without applying any pressure. It served as a warning, your glare speaking volumes without the need for words.

Mihawk remained unaffected, appearing to disregard the presence of the dagger entirely. Frustration surged, causing you to tighten your grip on the hilt of the knife, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

"Are you seriously planning to follow me around without making a move?" you demanded, your voice tinged with exasperation. "How much longer do you think I can endure this game of cat and mouse?"

"You can lower that knife," he replied, his tone filled with discontent. "I have no intention of causing you any harm.”

As you observed him up close for the first time, you couldn't help but feel a slight infatuation with his striking appearance. His eyes held a captivating allure, his face partially shadowed by the wide brim of his hat, and his dark hair cascading in soft curls at the nape of his neck.

In an effort to regain composure, you cautiously withdrew the blade from his throat, though you kept your hand poised and prepared.

"Didn't the Marines send you after me?" you asked.

"Oh, they certainly did."

"And you're not going to obey the orders?"

Mihawk let out a quiet scoff, looking away from you and briefly gazing upward. "I don't take orders," he stated firmly.

You instinctively took a step back, regarding him with suspicion as your eyes carefully scanned him from head to toe. "They say that the Warlords of the Sea are nothing more than lapdogs of the Government.”

His golden irises locked onto you once more, seemingly a threatening gesture. However, undeterred, you pressed on. "Enlighten me, then. What should I believe? What other purpose could you possibly have in relation to me?”

You allowed your hand to fall to your side, although with a tight grip on the hilt of the dagger. Mihawk contemplated his response, ultimately giving you the most nonchalant look imaginable.

“I’m just killing some time.”

You took a moment to process what he had told you. "I'm sorry, what?" you responded, seeking clarification.

"Although I do find you intriguing,” he added.

You were left speechless, your mouth hanging open. "You don't even know me," you replied with incredulity.

"I’ve seen enough. And I am aware of your reputation.”

Crossing your arms, you took care not to accidentally cut the leather sleeve of your jacket in the process. "What's so intriguing about my reputation?”

Mihawk pressed his lips together before responding, "A woman escaping a base full of Marines, completely unarmed? That's not something you hear every day.”

You rolled your eyes. "Don't tell me you're one of those sexist bastards who think women can't handle themselves.”

"Quite the contrary. Not even most men would be able to escape that situation unscathed.”

You stood there, a smug grin adorning your face as you watched him. It would be a lie to say that it didn't give your ego a significant boost.

But deep down, the memories of those days still twisted your insides. "Who said I came out unscathed?" you retorted. "And this doesn't explain much either. You said you have no intention of handing me over, so what's your motive, Warlord?”

"Perhaps I wanted to personally verify your worth.”

Unable to contain yourself, you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "In other words, you were bored.”

"I can become quite laidback when I don't have anything interesting to occupy my time," he said casually.

A part of you found him entertaining, but at the same time, his way of speaking to you continued to irritate you. "Well, at least you can afford to be laidback now that your bounty has been cancelled.”

Your retort was filled with venom and resentment, yet once again, Mihawk appeared unfazed by it. "With or without a bounty, I wouldn't do anything differently.”

You started to question the authenticity of the rumors surrounding this man, considering how different he was from your initial expectations. The fact that he hadn't made any aggressive moves towards you made you wonder if there was more to him than met the eye.

Evidently, his immunity with the Government held little importance to him. He exhibited a keenness to discover something, anything, that could captivate his time and attention, disregarding any orders he may have received. He pursued his own interests, driven by personal motivations above all else.

"That's a shame," you murmured. "I'm afraid I'm not as interesting as you may have assumed. The only thing I excel at is disguising myself.”

"You are underestimating yourself.”

"How so?”

"You mercilessly killed a Marine Admiral. You managed to evade all pirate hunters who pursued you and successfully escaped from me multiple times.”

"All I did was survive.”

"And you have been successful in that, so far.”

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a gust of wind swept through your hair. "Do you know what it's like? To be separated from your family, unable to even reach out to them because you're constantly being chased wherever you go?”

Mihawk remained silent, attentively observing your reaction.

And then, he spoke. "Such are the perils of a life on the open seas, I'm afraid.”

"I made one mistake, and I've been punished in the harshest way possible. How is that fair? They left me with no other choice. I had to do what I did.”

"You don't need to justify yourself to me," he replied calmly, his tone devoid of judgment.

"You say that, yet here you stand. No offense, but why should I place my trust in you?”

As your heart raced in your chest, its strong beats reverberating through your body, you took deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down. Meanwhile, Mihawk remained as calm and serene as ever.

"Do as you wish," he said with a casual shrug. "But I must say, you are quite unrefined. Your movements are predictable, and unless you learn to control them, you won't last much longer.”

You raised an eyebrow at his statement, letting out a laugh that was a mix of amusement and surprise. It seemed like a blend of criticism and advice, leaving you intrigued by his words.

"What's this? Now you suddenly want to offer me your help?" you questioned skeptically. "I never asked for your guidance. Whether I live or die is my own concern," you declared firmly.

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, his gaze intensifying as if he were scrutinizing you closely, studying every detail.

"Unless," you continued, leaning forward and bringing your face dangerously close to his, exuding confidence, almost brushing his lips with yours. "-you want to be the one to push me to my limits," you added, your words carrying a daring challenge.

His typically stoic expression, always composed and unwavering, appeared to subtly shift in response to your audacious gesture. You could catch a whiff of his captivating scent, a blend of cologne, sea salt, and earth, filling your senses.

You had to quickly pull away from his taller figure, concealing the faint blush that was starting to creep onto your cheeks.

"What's the final verdict, Warlord?" you taunted. "After all, you were given explicit orders to capture me.”

Your blade made contact with the golden cross he wore around his neck and pressed against his chest, the sound of metal against metal resonating in the air. The open coat he wore left little to the imagination, revealing that he had indeed chosen not to wear a shirt underneath.

You returned to your serious and sincere demeanor, looking up to meet his hawk-like eyes once more. Your stern and courageous facade was starting to waver, but you were determined not to let a stranger see your vulnerability, especially when your life was on the line and his intentions remained uncertain.

You chuckled with amusement as you securely placed the knife back into its holster. What am I supposed to do?" you pondered aloud, more to yourself than to him.

“Grow strong and keep fighting,” he declared. "If you don’t wish to die sooner rather than later. Certainly, it won't be by my hand.”

His words left you speechless, leaving you without a proper answer as he walked past you, now the one departing. You turned around, staring at the intricate details and embroideries adorning his coat. With each step he took, his sword lightly swayed on his back, creating a graceful and mesmerizing motion.

"They won't be pleased with that," you raised your voice, ensuring that he could hear you. This prompted him to pause and briefly turn his head, acknowledging your words.

"They never are," he replied with a tone of resignation before resuming his journey, leaving you behind.

A smile of relief and respect formed on your lips as you reflected on the man who had relentlessly chased you, only to ultimately allow you to go free. Somehow, he perceived something valuable and worthy in you that led him to defy the orders of the Marines, opting for a confrontation that didn't resort to physical violence.

As he became a tiny speck in the distance, you readjusted the bag on your shoulders and set off towards your own ship. A newfound sense of confidence coursed through your veins like never before, propelling you forward into the unknown.

Yes, you had firmly believed that seeing him at that moment would undoubtedly be the ultimate encounter.

Except that it wasn’t.

Go to Chapter 2 ->

[odditycircus-2002]

Mortal Kombat 1 Intros Part IV

A/N: I'm a fan of The Boys and have been watching the newest episodes of season 4. Of course, I love to hate Homelander, and it's satisfying to watch fatalities performed on him in Mortal Kombat 1 after watching him perform heinous crap. This led me to watch his intros and then other Mortal Kombat character intros, and inspiration hit! So I hope y'all like this.😁

Oh! And for those of you that are new, the reader here is a Gorgon, meaning snake hair and wears a mask since they can turn people into stone. They also happen to be an Imperial Healer with a bit of a dark side. Hope that helps!😁

Batch I

Batch II

Batch III

Homelander

Y/N: You are not a god. You’re simply, bad product.

Homelander: You’ll be praying to me for mercy soon enough.

/

Y/N: Why should I give you respect when it’ll only go to the bottomless gaping pit of insecurity you call a soul?

Homelander shivers sarcastically: Should I be intimidated by you?

/

Y/N thoughtfully: Perhaps a virus is in order...

Homelander scoffs: A God is above something so insignificant to him.

/

Homelander: What's with the ridiculous mask? Are you trying to cosplay as some D-List Supe?

Y/N: Why don't you take it off and find out?

/

Homelander: Pray to all the “gods” you want, you won’t survive against me.

Y/N: Why assume that I pray to any of them?

/

Homelander incredulously: You actually want to fuck that disgusting freak?!

Y/N with snakes out ready to bite: Unlike you, Baraka doessssn't fill me with revulsion at the sight of him!

Omni-Man

Y/N: One look and this should be over, fast.

Omni-Man: I'll break your neck before you can even get a peek at me.

/

Y/N: Having been betrayed by a cccccharlatan lover before, I know your wife would want you dead.

Omni-Man angrily: You're not her, so your point means nothing.

/

Y/N cautiously: Your medicine could treat Tarkat?

Omni-Man: If you comply and pledge your allegiance to the Empire, all your patients may receive Viltrum care.

/

Omni-Man: You have stupidly condemned your patients to death!

Y/N: I would rather have my heart ripped out than be fooled twiccccce by a charlatan!

/

Omni-Man: Think it over; what will you have serving a diseased ruler and others with her plague for 500 years?

Y/N: I will have no regrets pursuing my lifelong dream.

/

Omni-Man: I'll rip your damn head off in under a minute.

Y/N ominously: Rest assured, this fight will be a real Scourge.

Raiden

Y/N: Are you aware that Madam Bo's special tea is local around my canton?

Raiden: How in the world did she acquire it then?

/

Y/N: I would’ve paid all the koins in Outworld to have seen you absolutely humiliate Shao.

Raiden: I sense you and him never got along.

/

Y/N: I can confidently say that you’re healing up nicely since we fought the Dragon Army.

Raiden: I’m not sure I would’ve survived without your medical care.

/

Raiden: It must be hard being The Colony's lead Healer.

Y/N: Everyone who dies under my care is a blow to my soul.

/

Raiden: Why is there a statue of Kung Lao in the Wu Shi’s Courtyard?

Y/N shrugs: Kung Lao mentioned how he always wanted a statue of himself.

/

Raiden: You’re very different from how your Titan self acts.

Y/N shivers in disgust: I should thank Liu Kang for not having me predestined for Shang Tsung.

/

Raiden: You only have yourself to blame for missing your chance with Y/N.

Shang Tsung chuckles: You say that as if I don’t still have a chance to win them back.

Kung Lao

Y/N: So far, I don’t see any signs of Tarkat but there’s still a chance you could spread it without apparent symptoms.

Kung Lao: You are not putting my mind at ease, at all.

/

Y/N: You’re inviting me? I don’t even know if I’m able to stomach regular food anymore.

Kung Lao: It would be a crime if you didn’t get to try Madam Bo’s cooking at least once!

/

Y/N: How did you not loose any fingers when you first made that hat???

Kung Lao smugly: Through much practice and much skill

/

Kung Lao: I beaten you in our last fight, so what will change here?

Y/N mischievously: This time, I’m not holding back.

/

Kung Lao: Can you believe that the Wu Shi have a trap dungeon?

Y/N hisses in amusement: Who knew the Shaolin were so diabolical?

/

Kung Lao: You and Baraka aren’t a couple???

Y/N sighs wistfully: How I wish that to be true…

/

Baraka: I don’t always understand what Y/N sees in me.

Kung Lao: You definitely have something more than Shang Tsung.

Kenshi

Y/N: I am sorry I couldn't have saved your sight.

Kenshi: You did the best anyone could in that situation.

/

Y/N: What is it like using Sento to see?

Kenshi: It’s like when you stare at a flame and look away, you see the light of the flame even though it’s gone.

/

Y/N: According to Earthrealm myths, the closest to describing my current form is a “Gorgon”.

Kenshi: Perhaps that’s because there have been other gorgons before.

/

Kenshi: I don’t know Y/N, that seems a bit excessive even by the Yakuza’s standards.

Y/N: You and Kitana think a bit of food tampering is too much.

/

Kenshi in surprise: You and Shang Tsung weren’t just lab partners?

Y/N angrily: I was a fool to fall for his charmssss in the first place!

/

Kenshi: Given how you both act around one another, I'm surprised you and Baraka aren't together.

Y/N: I'm grateful to have him in my life.

/

Kenshi: The Colony is fortunate to have you and Y/N.

Baraka: I thank Deliah every day for sending them my way.

[posletsvet]

Death Is a Mirror, or How Death Is Linked to the Sense of Self in Jujutsu Kaisen

Death is a fulcrum of Jujutsu Kaisen's message, a major point of reference for both the audience and the characters within the story. Death is a mirror that catches and reflects the last light of a life reaching its end, a moment of full disclosure that overcomes all distances and renders all defenses permeable. Death is a mirror as it asks one question: who are we when there's no more need to lie?

The thread that binds together all major characters' deaths in Jujutsu Kaisen is how, despite multiple characters trying in an unreliable-narrator-sort of fashion to convince us otherwise, no one's truly alone in death. The connections that people forge with others throughout their lives become their tethers to the world -- and then reach even further, transcending death itself. This is how humans, using Jogo's words, can still linger after they die: through the loving memory of those they held dear.

No human exists in a vacuum. We live in the context of our relationships with the world, of getting to know and getting to be known in return. Our lives, in a sense, are a dialogue -- that's why we give and are given names. We shape the images of ourselves through establishing connections with others; our self-recognition and sense of self come from recognizing those connections. Once again, we learn the outllines of our souls by bumping into others.

These two concepts, recollecting your 'tethers' before death and acquiring self-reflection in others, are consistently brought together in the story. Before everything else, it's reflected in Yuuji's (who the story's focal point as its protagonist) idea of a meaningful death, one gone surrounded by those you love. Nobara, who possesses arguably the strongest sense of self with her loud proclamation 'I'm Nobara Kugisaki!' and who's highly conscious about her relationships with other people. Megumi, whose overarching struggle for self-determination has him relying on others to define his own worth and leaves him passively suicidal. Toji, who in his last moments thinks about his family and understands that by leaving them behind he deviated from his true self. Nanami, whose fading mind conjures the image of his closest friend and who, guided by that, chooses to go south and stay true to himself. Kokichi is yet another example, and actually quite an interesting one. His character is explored primarily through the juxtaposition between the concept of 'the body within the world' and his forced isolation, but who still contextualizes the world through his connections with his friends. It's no coincidence that Kokichi's character arc is closely linked to Mahito, who is dubbed a mirror of death.

In short, there's a plethora of instances where death and one's sense of self are tied to one another like that. I'll ramble a bit about how this correlation is discovered in both Gojo and Geto's characters below the cut.

The lack of self

Gojo is somebody who's essentially lacking both connections to others and a sense of self-identity. His entire personality is shaped around the notion that he's The Strongest, the very thing which prevents him, even if in his own mind, from building meaningful relationships with the people around him.

Not having to challenge or change his self-image, Gojo has little to no recognition of himself as a person outside of his title. He has never faced a need to discover himself in relation to the world; he was given a foundation to construct his identity on upon birth. Did he really need to grow past that and redefine himself? Satoru lacks self-reflection -- most literally.

With Gojo's face obscured by the gaping void, we do not get to see his reflection. I'd say it's quite an apt visualization of Gojo's identity crisis. Who are you if not The Strongest? As Gojo's position is challenged with his Infinity suddenly overcome, this question is forced onto him.

But as he's spent over a decade trying to escape answering it, he never got a chance to acquire a definitive answer. So now, in Shibuya, he flees from it once more.

It's painfully ironic and at the same time fully logical that it is Geto who exposes this issue to Satoru as Gojo's sense of self is arguably connected to him more than anyone else. During their student years Suguru was the one who persistently rejected treating Gojo as a title and not a person, who looked through decorum and actively chose to see him not as Gojo Satoru, The Strongest but rather as Gojo Satoru, a teenage boy. For Gojo, it was through Geto recognizing him as a person that he was able to reach that recognition, too.

But after Toji Gojo is forced to seek self-affirmation and validate his ego by reclaiming his position, which was threatened by him losing to somebody for the first time. He tries to reinforce his self-image by separating himself from the world, which ultimately leads not only to his now automatic Infinity rendering him unreachable (= disconnected), but also to a loss of his sense of self as he loses his one and only connection.

As I've already said, with the Prison Realm breaching the defenses of Gojo's technique, this issue, his lack of a firm sense of identity beyond his title, is exposed to him once more. It's reflected in the way Satoru places his priorities post-unsealing. He fights Sukuna with seemingly a single purpose of cementing his position as the strongest sorcerer alive and thus regaining his uderstanding of who he is. The answer to this question has never lain in the plane of strength alone, though, and that is why Satoru fails utterly.

But in death, as the relevance of his Infinity is eliminated, Gojo is finally able to reconnect with his sense of self. He's reverted to his teenage self, to the time he could still relate to somebody on a personal level and get stronger for it. The entirety of the 236 chapter, in a sense, is written as an affirmative: he is The Strongest because he is Satoru Gojo, not the opposite, but it's his death which makes him finally recognize this.

The deviation from self

Now, this image could not be intended as a visual parallel to Gojo's reflection, or lack of thereof, in the Prison Realm's eye. Nonetheless seeing that scene in Shibuya animated immediately reminded me of it, and I think there potentially might be some thematic similarities between the two as well.

Talking about how our identities are defined by our connections to other people as much as our relationship with ourselves, it'd be only logical to assume that Geto should have a firm grasp on who he is. Not only is he a deeply self-reflective character, but also one who actively relates to others.

However, Geto's reflection in Gojo's eyes is unclear and uncertain, almost indistinguishable. It might be a neat way to convey how, finally taking a moment to look at his best friend for the first time since SPVI, Gojo doesn't really recognize him for how much he's changed. But it also could hint at how Geto, driven to the point where he bends and warps his beliefs to justify his actions, also bends and warps his sense of self.

At least how I see it, the image above calls to mind this panel:

The moment Geto tells Satoru he's decided on 'his true feelings' which would define him as a person. Isn't it ironic how in the exact same conversation he talks about how the goal he's settled upon is only possible for Gojo, meaning striving to achieve it would be akin to trying to become someone he's not? The light novel outright tells us as much:

This was the final confession of a man who could only choose to warp himself, who had erased himself in pursuit of his goals. The only person who could bear such a curse was Gojo Satoru.

In this light it's interesting how Gojo's struggle with his sense of self makes itself known through something which threatens his position as The Strongest, whereas Geto's is reflected in the eyes of someone to whom he refers while saying 'If I could become you...', deviating from himself.

A major factor of overcoming trauma is embracing the inadequacy of what happened. So, to a certain extent, by becoming an enemy to the system Suguru wants to prove the world of jujutsu sorcerers wrong and himself -- right. It once again reminds me of Toji's dying thoughts.

The flip side of 'deciding on your true feelings' is ultimately anchoring your entire identity to what is just a single aspect of it. People exist in motion, and our personalities are in actuality as dynamic and complex as our relationships. But Geto bound his self-definition to what was rather simply a reactive feeling, so in the end he inevitably failed to live up to it.

And once again, it's exposed at the moment of Suguru's death. In his case, though, this failure is also what leads to his defeat and consequent death in the first place. I also find it curious how Geto's face is the first thing Gojo sees in the afterlife, while Gojo's face is the last thing Geto sees and acknowledges in his life. And just like Gojo, in his last moments Suguru reminisces about their shared past.

The image almost mirrors what we saw in the chapter 236, suggesting how Geto's true self is in turn tied to Satoru. Despite how vague and uncertain their relationship's come to be, the two are rendered inseperable even in death -- or rather, in death especially.

[maounteighn]

Overanalising Moral Orel: Clay, Bloberta and the Colour Theory

p.2 Bloberta

p.1

In p.1 we have already established that Bloberta's colour is red and it remained red throughout her whole journey. Her sense of Self was untouched neither by marriage nor by parenthood. When we are taking about relativity of her identity, she doesn't base it around or against anyone in her current family.

Her style barely changes, always containing red and white. However, she gradually loses white in her garments the more she decides to walk on her own. Her younger self up to that wedding in Help wears the most white – visually it softens the boldness of her red skirt. At the reception party she wears mostly red, white is only her belt and headband – red is also more saturated. The same red remains in her post-wedding daily wear. While white is not only in her collar, but also her apron, it is a completely different piece of clothing. Underneath the apron there's still her red dress. White apron dilutes red too, making it look less assertive, but it's only for the time she wears it. It's like a mask of a housewife and a mother, that she willing puts on for a meantime. Underneath it it's still her real, very persistent Self, that she is not particularly trying to hide. She also water down her true Self to appear less threatening to the society – she is a woman who has desires, attitudes and strength she shouldn't demonstrate. So not to apper a deviant, she has to adopt a socially acceptable Persona for herself.

Despite common beliefs that woman's true identity is of a wife and a mother, Bloberta is never changed by acquiring these statuses. Quite opposite, it's Clay who shapes his identity in relation to her (against her). It a simple visual storytelling, he is nothing significant to her, he is an instrument to her goals and desires, a tool. And a useless tool, too.

What has actually influenced Bloberta's sense of Self had done it way before she and Clay met. Take a look at her family.

Her mother Regina wears a mix of brown, red and very dark-green. Everyone else wears a variation of her colours. Modella – red and yellow-green, Lunchbox – green, Raymond – brown. Together they look very homogeneous too. They don't stick out, they don't clash, they don't take attention away from Regina. In comparison, their wardrobes are also similar and very simple, mostly plain l, while hers is quite busy and speckled, ornated. She is the center of attention. Raymond blends with the background, Modella and Lunchbox are like an extension of her perfect aesthetic. And all together they look classy, a very much dark academia family. That to be said, literally no one on the picture is allowed to diverge from the selected route (even their interior is in gren/brown/red) – they HAVE to be inside the borders of The Family Aesthetic or else...

In other words, they are constantly putting up a show, a collective Persona. The are not a perfect family by any standards, but Regina tightly manages their public image. Even at the reception the are like this.

But Who we have across the table? Bloberta. Her bright red skirt and white patterned blouse. She doesn't fit in the family approved hue of red, she wears too much white – she reflects too much light, her red looks even brighter again it. She is just that bright. Her reception dress is also bright red. If she was ever allowed to stand closer to them, they would look dull. So she never is. She is a family outcast. It's also reflective of a talent that she possess so naturally but is never able to utilise bc no one is interested. Despite her constant search of love and acceptance, she adopts this identity of a black – or rather red – sheep of the family that functionally casts her aside. She doesn't change to appeal to her mother's taste, probably bc it's senseless. Regina is not interested in Bloberta or her success, so it wouldn't matter anyways.

See, also, if her father was truly affiliated with her, he would have won a bit of her red maybe. It would've been a nice touch. But we know that he was too reluctant to defend his daughter even if he felt sorry for her. Her siblings are not on her side either. Lunchbox is actually her antipode – completely in green, a contrasting, complementary colour to red from the opposite side of the colour wheel – a son, a youngest child, a talent her mother actually wants. He is everything Bloberta is not. Modella, despite being closer to Bloberta in colour theme, in tone is closer to their mother. She may be not so aggressively opposite, but she is too reluctant to align with her. She has softer colour, she might be on good terms with her personally, but wouldn't risk standing up for her to Regina. Thus, Bloberta is completely alienated from her family.

Also, Bloberta's clashing style can be interpreted as her subconscious attempt to separate herself from her siblings in a desperate attempt to get attention too. Bloberta is a middle child, moreover she is a middle daughter inbetween an older sister and a younger brother. It's socially acceptable to deem her invisible – you already have an excellent daughter and a son™, this one is spare. Red is a very noticeable colour, it attracts attention. In Bloberta's case, it can also be so that she is noticed even if looked at passively. This way, her bright red is imprinted on someone's retina, even if they barely acknowledge her presence. This way, her mother, despite looking past her every day, never forgets that she is there. Thus, red is her only chance to be noticed by somebody, anybody. It's a survival tactics for her. Her depressed, meek attitude at home, and everywhere where she is with her family, doesn't allow her to come to her own character. To avoid being an afterthought, she wears bright red and contrasts it will white.

Now, let's take a look at her friend group. They all seem to have a similar style of colour combination. Pastel tones, dark-light, no more than two colours etc. But you see, no one is so on the nose like Bloberta. Even that one girl, that wears red too – it's not the same. Her red is darker, closer to brown and contrasted with light green, that is also with red plaid. The all are colourful, of course, but tame. It's just Bloberta who is standing out, and not only bc she's the only single friend now.

Also, there's another character, who stands out just like Bloberta, but in an opposite technique. Censodoll and her in this instance actually (and in general) share some similar characters despite such a dramatic difference in colour identity. They are both single, their Self shaped by actions of their mothers, the Self so strong, that they keep it throughout the whole life. However Censodoll approaches her existence with black – colour that absorbs light. She is not susceptible to the influence of her environment, but she is acutely aware of it – subsequently she can exploit it for her own gain. (Censodoll deserves her own separate paragraph).

White is a very reflective colour, it reflects light from its surrounding. Pre-Help Bloberta is very much receptive of what her surrounding thinks and expects of her and she reflects back exactly that. The slow decline of white elements in her clothes can signify gradual maturing, jadedness. Young Bloberta is still sensitive, naïve and youthfully innocent. She's of course already lost most of her expectations, learned to accept that little consideration she's given and not object or ask for more. At the reception she wears mostly red because the earlier encounter with her friend group gave her a motivation – to get engaged asap to be included again. The tone is more saturated, the white belt or headband does very little to counteract it – she drops the act she does without her family around, she is confident in her actions too. Subsequently, this becomes a colour of her victory and her downfall.

I have to say, the only time Bloberta ever abandoned her significant red was during her affair with Stopframe. It's a sportswear, so it's usually white. But on a storytelling side, it tell us about her (and his) motives a lot.

She wears all white with a tiny bit of blue. You see, we already established how white is a reflective colour. Story wise she is trying to be someone different too, just this once. It doesn't necessarily mean that it's unauthentic for her, just that it diverges greatly from her original and by that time setted colour identity. Its probable, that she is also putting a very strong and exaggerated act – she's desperate after all. It's been at least 4 years of her marriage to Clay, that was a horrible mistake from day 1, she knew it instantly, too. So this act here is targeted to secure her a better relationship (or so she thinks). It's actually the same approach she used on Clay in Help + longevity. The one thing she definitely has learnt was that she shouldn't immediately jump to a conclusion. So here, she is expanding her act in time and also putting more effort in her reflection. A tiny bit of blue is her way of associating with Stopframe, blue is one of his signature colours, especially to her. (Notably, he also has a tiny bit of red – he is also putting up an act here, they are quite the same in their tactics. He wears white, just like Bloberta, for the effect of reflection – he is whatever she wants him to be, an affinity to her. But notably, he keep an element of his own colour, while she drops it completely. He is not that dedicated to the initial act, not as much as she is.)

So, Bloberta holds her identity in a death grip and wears red as a trophy. However, she became a product of her own environment first, and locked it on herself second. Red is what she needed to survive among her family and friends, not necessarily what she truly was. Now, of course, it's what she it, the Self she accepted and built up.

Her red is very different from Clay's red too. She has a potential to be whatever she wants actually, she has much more agency than Clay in terms of independent existence. She is versatile and resilient, she is flexible and capable of big achievements if she puts her mind to it. In her case, red = strength, power she actually has, and, in extension, the power of Self that Clay actually desires but lacks.

They are different in their approaches and attitudes, routes the took etc., but in the end they arrived to the same result. They are two parts of the same disaster, one whole broken system.

Orel is next.