#how do I tell someone that I’ll be devastated if they don’t come to my wedding without pressuring them

[mentalmeles]

Ship asks! #9 for stucky?

9. Who believes in ghosts?

It’s time to talk about one of my little headcanons hehe

Steve 100% believes in ghosts. His ma would often tell him stories about the spirits back home in Ireland as bedtime stories and he remembers them all vividly. She’d also tell him that his pa’s ghost is watching over them and keeping them safe. When little Stevie asked how she knew, she simply smiled and placed a hand over her chest.

“I can feel him,” she said. “I feel him when the sunlight shines upon me, like it’s his warm embrace. I can feel him when the birds sing, like it’s his own voice. I can feel him when I dance, when I dream, and especially when I look at you.” She paused then, brushing Steve’s hair from his eyes and holding his cheek. “You’d be the pride of his life, Steven. And he would’ve loved you so, so much. That’s why you keep on surviving, you see. He’s lending you some of his strength. And when my time comes, I’ll surely send you some of my strength, too.”

When her time did come, Steve was obviously devastated, but he took comfort in the thought she was with his pa now. And sometimes, when he was alone, he could feel her. A pleasant warmth that would settle upon him in moments of doubt or despair. His ma was watching over him and giving him some of her strength. It was more than enough.

But then Bucky fell from the train. And Steve didn’t feel anything.

No warmth, no strength, not even the feeling you get when someone is watching you from behind. And it got even worse after the ice, because suddenly he didn’t feel his ma or even his pa anymore. He was the most lost he’d ever felt and he didn’t feel any of them.

Then, when Bucky came back, Steve got his answer on that account. Of course he never felt Bucky watching over him; Bucky was alive. And finally, finally, when Steve abandoned the shield and became Nomad, it’s like a valve opened and he was almost flooded with the feeling of his parent’s watchful eyes.

“I don’t understand it, Buck. Why now?” He asked one day.

Bucky thought for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe you felt so lost after the ice that they couldn’t recognize you,” he said. “You hid behind Captain America and they couldn’t find you. But now you’re back to doing what you do best. You’re the most sure of yourself since before the war. There’s no mistaking you for anyone else now. You’re just…you.”

As for Bucky? He didn’t really believe in ghosts for the longest time.

Until he became one, that is.

[paradisetemporarilymisplaced]

.

[princessbrunette]

pogue!rafe who you call over to fix every minor inconveniences.. theres a cockroach bothering you or your ac’s acting up and rafe is the first guy you call 🙂‍↕️ he acts all nonchalant being “you could literally call the ac guy or your neighbor or someone. youre saying i come all the way here for this?” but you js go “but you’re the only one i trust rafey!!” and he eats that shit UP 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

perhaps you have strict kook parents who don’t let you bring men into the house — but rafe has worked on the house, they trust him — so he’s allowed right? he really doesn’t wanna come all that way just to press a few buttons on your ac that he knows you could do yourself — but he can’t help it, he’s just a man and you’re feeding his ego when you say stuff like “i’m not good at this kinda thing rafe, you’re all smart n’know how to fix things. oh, and my parents like you so they wouldn’t mind if you come here whilst they’re not home!” which makes his ears perk up like a rabbit of course. he reluctantly agrees and heads straight out.

it’s a specifically hot day, so when he turns up you’re walking around in just the tightest tiniest bikini because the ac is broken and you just couldn’t bring yourself to put clothes on.

he’s being his usual mean self, telling you to stay out of his way whilst he figures out the problem, and then once he figures it out starts telling you that you could have done it yourself — but you’re just smiling, barely listening, staring up at him looking all soft and grabbable which makes it hard for him to concentrate. you’re finding ways to get him to stay longer, offering him iced tea and food to which he declines every offer. before he leaves you get all upset, brow furrowed and pouty and he can’t stand it.

“what, huh? why are you looking at me like that?” he throws his arms up from the doorway to your bedroom, watching you sit on the bed sulking.

“why do you wanna leave so bad?” you mewl, genuinely sounding like you’re on the verge of tears and he sighs, scratching behind his ear.

“doin’ my job, kid. you’re not payin’ me to hang out and besides — m’not taking your money today.” he waves a hand and for a second you lose focus of your goal.

“wh— why?”

“i came over n’pressed a few buttons. s’not rocket science.”

“i’m still gonna pay you.” you cross your arms stubbornly and he spreads his palms carelessly, looking around.

“well uh, i’ll send it back.” he sarks and you huff, staring at your feet. he watches you for a moment, before giving in just a little and leaning on the door frame. “still upset? huh?”

“yes.” you pout.

“whats the problem now? you kook girls have got plenty’a shit to entertain yourself with alright you— you don’t need me for that. not a god damn babysitter.”

“you’re not babysitting. not even that much older than me, anyways.” you whine, only seemingly proving his point and he huffs out a laugh.

“jeeeesus christ.” he drawls under his breath before he strolls over to stand infront of you. you don’t look up at him, pointedly, so he taps beneath your chin twice. “hey.”

looking up, you look so sweet — he couldn’t deny it. “whats the issue?” he reiterates, and from his clipped tone you can tell he’s not gonna ask again if you refuse, he’ll just leave.

“want you…” you murmur, eyes getting hazy and low, pupils dilating before his very eyes like you’d flipped a switch. it’s tempting, very tempting but he backs off anyway.

“nah, nah you want a toy. go fuck on a dildo, m’not your slave.” he huffs tiredly as he drags his big body over to the doorway again. in almost a panic you let out a devastated noise, tears welling up.

“no i want you. rafey, c’mon… you have no idea. s’hurting.” you complain, and now his interest is piqued, turning around once more he licks his lips irritably at the back and forth, blinking at you.

“you think that shits not gonna hurt with me? huh?” he tilts his head, reaching down and boyishly grasping at the shape of himself through his jeans. “this shits bigger than any of the other suckers you’ve had. trust me, you don’t want this kid. go back to playing with kook boys.”

fed up and whiny, you bring your feet up onto the bed, spreading your thighs as you pull your bikini bottoms aside. he freezes on the spot, eyes locked in to the sight, only just taking in the pained look on your face. you weren’t lying, your cunt is a mess of slick, practically pulsating and clenching around nothing infront of him.

“i can take it. make me take it.” you request quietly, peering up at him. he exhales hard out his nose, looking around the room helplessly before storming towards you.

“yeah? alright. i’ll make you fuckin’ take it.”

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

[aliesbienish]

Changing Dynamics

Eddie has a discussion with Chris. Background Buddie x Reader.

“I don’t see how this is fair to me,” Chris exclaimed after a few minutes of processing.

“I know mijito. Say the word and I’ll end it. You are the most important person in my life. If this makes you uncomfortable then say so.”

“I’m not uncomfortable Dad. I want you to be happy. And seeing you with Buck made it very obvious you weren’t before,”

“Chris it wasn’t that I wasn’t happy…”

“You were literally hiding a part of yourself. Which after time with abuelo and abuelita I can understand. I felt like I couldn’t tell them I didn’t like chess, telling them you are a raging bisexual must have felt on par to admitting you were hitler incarnate.” Eddie snorted, but didn’t argue.

“The point is if she also makes you happy then go for it. I like her, despite her clearly awful taste in men.”

“Ouch. Buck will be devastated to know you said that. So what about it isn’t fair?”

“Buck is already like a second dad to me. So if [y/n] comes in and becomes another parent to me” Eddie opens his mouth to interrupt, but Chris quickly cuts him off “I know she’s not replacing mum. But it’s bound to happen. You fall in love with such caring people it’s not like she’ll ignore me. And to be honest I was stuck listening to her and Buck argue about the best animals at the zoo for 20 minutes while you were at the grocery store yesterday so I expect she’ll be happily tagging along to any family days we have.”

“Well that’s on you. If I didn’t catch you messaging Denny at 11:30pm on a school night, you would of had your phone and been able to ignore them.”

“Exactly the point. There will now be three of you watching my every move. I’ll get away with nothing in this house. How will I ever fulfill my teenage duty to sneak out? Three parents is too many to account for, I’m screwed.”

“So let me make sure I understand. You’re saying you like [y/n]? You’re okay with her, Buck and I all being in a relationship? You are happy for her to move in? You’re just not happy that someone else can ground you?”

“Exactly. In fact after hearing you say it I know what we can do,”

“Do you now?” Eddie questioned dubiously.

“Yup. How about you give me back my phone now and we extend my bedtime to midnight?”

“I’ll give you your phone you pest. But since you reminded me that I’m not your only parent, I’ll discuss the bedtime with them,” Eddie smirked, ruffling Chris’ hair.

[aventurineswife]

Hello! Hope you're doing well!

So I sorta got rejected for Valentine's this year :cc so I was wondering if I could ask for Aventurine, Phainon, Dan Heng and maybe also Anaxa helping the reader with cope with rejection

Hope you're having a good day! Please take your time!! 🫶

Every Closed Door Leads to a New Beginning

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rejection, Healing, Emotional Support, Slow Burn, Self-Discovery, Inner Strength, Self-Worth, Healing Journey.

Warnings: Mentions of rejection, Emotional vulnerability, Mild angst.

A/N: I'm so sorry to hear that 🫂 (sorry for the late response too😔🙏)

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

Aventurine had seen countless deals collapse, empires crumble, and fortunes shift with the flick of a wrist. Rejection was just another spin of the wheel, an inevitable part of the game. But when he found you curled up in quiet devastation, he realized—this wasn’t just a failed wager to you. This was real, raw, and deeply personal.

He sighed, leaning against the edge of the table where you sat, hands folded in your lap. “Ah, rejection,” he mused, tilting his head dramatically. “A bitter drink, isn’t it? Like ordering the finest wine and finding it’s corked.”

You didn’t respond, only staring at your hands. The silence was an answer in itself. Aventurine’s usual smirk softened as he observed you—he could read people like open ledgers, and right now, you were on the verge of shattering.

“Tell me, darling,” he said, lowering himself to sit beside you, “what makes this so unbearable? Did you truly lose, or did you just not get the outcome you expected?”

You swallowed. “Does it matter? It still hurts.”

Aventurine clicked his tongue. “Of course it matters. If you lost, then you grieve and move on. But if it was only an outcome you didn’t anticipate, then all that’s changed is the direction of the wind.”

You shot him a glare. “So what? I should just pretend I don’t feel anything?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no, my dear. Feel it. Wallow in it, if you must. But don’t let it define you.” His fingers ghosted over yours, deliberate yet light. “You know, if I let every rejection—every ‘bad hand’—dictate my life, I’d still be groveling in the dirt, licking the boots of men who never deserved my loyalty.”

You looked up, startled by his uncharacteristic sincerity. He smiled, but this time, it wasn’t sharp or teasing. It was something… quieter.

Aventurine stood, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. “Come,” he offered, holding out his hand. “I’ll teach you a lesson more valuable than gold—how to turn rejection into opportunity.”

“…And if I don’t want to?”

His grin returned, brighter now. “Then I’ll simply stay here, bothering you with endless metaphors and tragic poetry until you beg for mercy.”

A small, reluctant smile broke through your sadness, and Aventurine knew—he’d won this round.

Phainon found you standing alone, the weight of rejection pressing down on you like an unseen force. Your shoulders were tense, your breathing uneven, and he knew—he recognized the look of someone fighting to keep their heart from crumbling.

Without a word, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and steady. “You don’t have to talk,” he said gently. “But if you do, I’ll listen.”

You hesitated before finally whispering, “I wasn’t enough.”

Phainon’s brows furrowed. “That’s not true.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “How would you know?”

He turned slightly, eyes searching yours. “Because rejection doesn’t mean you lack worth. It only means this wasn’t the path meant for you.” His voice carried an unwavering kindness, a softness that wrapped around you like a shield against the pain.

You exhaled shakily. “It still hurts.”

Phainon nodded. “Of course it does.” He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “But you’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to grieve. Just don’t believe, even for a second, that this defines you.”

You looked down, squeezing his hand back. “How do you deal with it?”

He smiled wistfully. “I remind myself that my worth isn’t determined by someone else’s acceptance. And when that’s not enough… I turn to those who see me for who I truly am.”

You met his gaze, and in that moment, you realized—Phainon saw you. Not as someone rejected, but as someone strong, someone deserving of love and understanding.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Phainon’s smile grew, bright and unwavering. “Always.”

Dan Heng wasn’t one to offer words freely, but he noticed the way your movements had lost their usual energy, the way your eyes seemed dimmer. He didn’t ask. He didn’t pry. Instead, he simply placed a cup of tea beside you and sat down, his presence solid and unwavering.

You stared at the tea, then at him. “You heard, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“…And?”

Dan Heng took a slow sip of his own tea before speaking. “It isn’t the end.”

You scoffed. “Sure feels like it.”

His gaze remained steady. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… grounding. You found yourself tracing the rim of the cup, trying to gather your thoughts. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Dan Heng set his tea down. “Because you cared.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Because you invested a piece of yourself into something that didn’t return the way you hoped.”

You clenched your jaw. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

He looked at you for a long moment before answering, “Heal.”

You let out a shaky breath. “And if I don’t know how?”

Dan Heng shifted slightly, as if considering his words carefully. Then, he spoke with a certainty that made your chest ache.

“Then let me help.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice. Dan Heng wasn’t one for grand gestures or excessive reassurances, but this—this was real.

His presence alone was enough to remind you that even in rejection, you weren’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

[acourtofthought]

Lucien in Feral Mate mode:

Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king. A mate—a mate already going wild to defend what was his.

Jurian stalked over to Lucien amid the rising squabble, laughing under his breath. “Do you know what Illyrian bastards do to pretty females? You won’t have a mate left—at least not one that’s useful to you in any way.” Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

I was fairly certain that only centuries of training kept Lucien from leaping over the table to rip out Jurian’s throat.

Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate.

He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who’d claimed her and shred him apart.

He paused right between them and said to me, to Nesta, “She needs fresh air.” “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—

The words were little more than a growl.

His russet eye flashed with simmering rage. An uncontrollable instinct—for a mate to eliminate any threat.

Lucien in Calculating Mate mode:

“Forever,” I parroted, glancing behind—to where Lucien stood in the gravel drive. His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie. As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it. As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing. Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again.

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” I knew who he meant. I shook my head. “I don’t know. Rhysand has a hundred places where they could be, but I doubt he’d use any of them to hide Elain, knowing that I’m aware of them.” “Tell me anyway. List all of them.” “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.” “You couldn’t see that he had me in thrall. You let him take me back.” Lie, lie, lie. But the hurt and guilt I expected weren’t there. Lucien slowly released his grip. “I need to find her.”

Lucien in Respectful Mate mode:

“Is … is there anything I can get for you?” I’d never heard my friend’s voice so soft. So tentative and concerned.

The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands.

Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side.

“How is she?”

But is she still …” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Does she still mourn him?”

Lucien had encountered him, I realized. Somehow, in living with Jurian and Vassa at that manor, he’d run into Elain’s former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

The bigger box is for you. The smaller one is for her.” It took me a heartbeat to realize he meant the presents. I glanced over my shoulder to the careful silver wrapping, the blue bows atop both boxes.

Lucien in Sad Mate mode:

Lucien leaned his head back against the rock wall behind us. “And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

But Lucien was standing in the doorway. And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard every word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.

She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride.

Only concern for her. And … sorrow. Longing.

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but …” He offered me a grim smile. “I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court.” Home, he had almost said.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

Lucien in Perfect Mate mode:

Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way.

he’d been more than happy to do so, given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days.

“I’m a mated male now.”

But Lucien gripped my arm, halting me. “I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

“Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly. As if the death that squatted in the dark beside us had drawn his thoughts to his own mate as well.

But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

“Let me do something. About Elain.

“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”

“Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. We all looked at him. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.”

Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little.

“I’m fine,” Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, “Are you—” “Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.” A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips.

Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

[mariacallous]

The email arrived unexpectedly last week :

We will finish what remains of the project contract, but then we are ending doing business with Americans and American business. I know it’s not your fault, but your president just started a war. We still love the American people but good luck.

And that, as they say, is that.

There goes 20% of my cash flow.

It’s my first time being boycotted — my first time canceled.

I’m a voice-over actor. I provide the intelligent, trustworthy and engaging voice you hear narrating a TV commercial, a medical device explainer or a YouTube mini-documentary. I’m the voice on those annoying requisite training webinars you likely arrow-through quickly. I’m the aural comfort and security that helps relay information or nudges you toward trusting a brand or message.

But the trust in “that American sound” has been shattered. My client — an international organization that interacts with countries on every continent — no longer wants money going to American individuals or industry, and no longer wants an American-sounding voice to be associated with its hope-filled endeavors.

This isn’t a Ukrainian client. This isn’t some retaliatory Chinese, Iranian or North Korean company’s move. The company isn’t based in the European Union. Instead, it’s friendly Canadians, who are justifiably and patriotically uniting against our now-enemy nation led by a mad king.

And this is how our former allies are reacting. I can’t wait to see the actions from nations that have always hated us.

When the email arrived, I wanted to protest the decision — to upload proof of my entire-adult-life voting record or share links to my vast writings on LGBTQ issues and left-leaning initiatives.

Look! See! I’m just as pissed off as you are! We’re on the same side! I agree with you!

But it doesn’t matter. Everyone in the United States is guilty by association. The world has lost patience with us, even if we didn’t vote for Donald Trump. We are lumped together — whether we actually support the bad guys or we’re just lost causes suffering under them — and there will be economic consequences for all of us.

Rejection is part of any creative person’s life. We’re prepared for the “we’re taking a change in direction” speech. New CEOs, creative directors or VPs come in and tinker with existing contractor relationships. Decision-makers are replaced by new blood. It’s part of the gig, and I’ve endured such losses over the years.

But this email — this loss — stung. Any freelancer will tell you that when you succeed in finding that elusive client — the one who respects boundaries, appreciates your work without micromanaging or requesting changes, and then (gasp!) always pays you on time — you want to hold onto them for dear life.

Things were going so well.

Now this precious gift of a dependable income stream vanished, thanks to Trump’s ridiculous tariffs and “let’s make Canada the 51st state” trash talk. It’s a devastating blow while I’m already worrying about more and more companies using AI to write their scripts, edit their videos and even narrate the damn video, too.

Still, when the initial shock and hurt of losing this contract wore off, I had to tip my hat to those Canadians. I get it. I don’t blame them. Enough is enough. Someone has to have the balls to take a stand. And I have great respect for my Canadian friends and colleagues.

At least my former employer had the integrity to tell me the truth. He could’ve said my work wasn’t meeting their standards, claimed they wanted a new sound, or blamed it on budgetary tweaks. He could’ve just ghosted me.

Instead he wanted me to hear — and thought it was important for me to know — that our fearless leader’s words and actions will have consequences.

So, I’m being boycotted… by friendly Canadians.

I guess I’ll go commiserate with the former U.S. government employees who’ve also been tossed aside with violent, willy-nilly abandon. I have an inkling we’re going to be hearing similar accounts from average and not-so-average Americans feeling the pinch in the coming months, as the more forward-looking nations wash their hands of us (and our nonsense) and make harsh retaliatory and defensive moves.

The most daunting questions remain. With so many bridges burned — when all of our former allies have turned away from us and stepped forward as new global powers led by reliable and mature leaders — what will happen to the citizens of this country and this American experiment?

Blue state or red state, we’re all in the same bucket. We’re the bad guys to everyone — and anyone on the right side of history doesn’t come to save the bad guys. It will be up to us to save ourselves. But can democracy win in the face of so many actively rooting for it to fail?

I don’t know.

But I will keep fighting by using my voice and my writing, because what else can I do?

Brush up on my military contractor sound, since that’s where we’re headed? Or just adopt a British accent and acquire a new mailing address?

Right now I’m in mourning — over all of it.

[arcanecor3]

Sister parallels.

Okay so, this is me trying my best to explain my view of the parallel between these 2 scenes

Firstly, a little thing to keep in mind is that in this parallel, s2 Cait represents s1 Vi and s2 Vi represents Powder 

A big fight just happened, s1’s was the Vander rescue mission and s2’s was find Jinx, and both ended up going wrong because of someone who was supposed to help (Powder; s2Vi). After everything goes down at the s1 warehouse, we see Vi screaming and she is angry (i’ll come back to that later), and then Powder shows up with the “my monkey bomb finally worked” line we all know, and on s2 we have Caitlyn being the angry one because Vi didn’t let her shoot.

a little parallel with the lines:

“you did this?”-s1vi to powder

“you stopped me”-s2cait to vi

“i was saving you”-powder to s1vi

“that was a kid! what if you missed?”- s2vi to cait

Now, both s1 Vi and s2 Cait are blinded by anger and grief, so even tho the other person (Powder; s2vi) is explaining themselves (in Powder’s case it wasn’t the greatest explanation, but she does states that it was an accident, and s2 Vi was being rational), they don’t really listen because of all the anger.

then, Vi slaps powder, making her fall, and that’s when Powder desperately asks: “why did you leave me?” to which Vi answers: “because you’re a jinx! do you hear me? mylo was right". Now on s2, basically the same thing happens, just in a different order: s2 Cait says: “I keep telling myself that you’re different. but you’re not. it’s her (Jinx’s) blood that runs in your veins”, then Vi asks her: “then why are you the one acting like her?” and Caitlyn hits vi, knocking her to the ground. AND IN S2 WE EVEN GET A SHOT OF ANGRY CAITLYN LOOKING AT VI CRYING, JUST LIKE S1 VI LOOKED ANGRY AT POWDER CRYING. LIKE HOW SICK AND TWISTED IS THAT.

Then both s1 Vi and s2 Cait walk away, leaving the other one crying alone on the floor. 

The thing is that crying is the exactly what we expect from Powder, since that’s how she was during the entire scene, because that’s how her character is. but not Vi. Because during the entire of the s2 scene vi wasn’t actually crying, in fact, Vi barely cries in the whole show, the only time we see her actually sobbing is during the bridge scene from s1e1, when she saw her dead parents. And since then, she has trained and fought to become a person who can protect those she loves. And even when everything goes down at the s1 warehouse, we only get to see her a glimpse of her crying before she tried to go back to powder, but she’s mainly angry, that’s the way Vi usually reacts to these situations. She gets angry. And she tries to do everything in her power to go after who hurt her/the people she loves.

But this s2 scene is different. She simply has nowhere to go. Once again, she lost everything. Her family? dead. you might argue there’s Jinx but as Vi herself said: “my sister is gone”. the last person she had was Caitlyn, and she left, and Vi now feels like she ruined everything again, because that’s how she is, she burdens herself with the guilt and blames herself. So when you see Vi just, on her knees, crying, it’s just so devastating when you think that she is like that because her life is essentially over. All there’s left to her is cry. Just like Powder in the end of s1e3, s2e3 Vi lost everyone.

But that’s when the parallel ends, because it’s when Powder was in that desperate state that silco came, and even though his character divides opinions, you can’t deny that he took care of and loved Powder (who became Jinx).

Vi doesn’t have anyone to come and save her, to wipe away her tears like she had done so many times before for Caitlyn and before that for Powder. She is alone.

thank you to whoever read this entire thing for contributing to my arcane obsession, and shoutout to my amazing friend who helped me put this together @crzytoogetherr 🥰🥰

[unknowntoyou2205]

Sweetheart I love you

Info:  Devastation follows the Shelby family everywhere, but Tommy always had his daughter. That was until Grace came into the picture.

Relationship: Tommy Shelby x daughter reader

Tommy Shelby was a man of many things, but one thing he wasn’t was someone people would call kind. Coming home from the war changed people, but the one thing it didn’t change was the way the Shelby man was towards his daughter. Before the war Tommy had had an affair with a woman, and the encounter had led to a little girl to be born and left on the Shelby doorstep. At first Aunt Pol had been furious with her nephew, but one she saw the way Tommy was with the baby girl, she instantly melted. Heartbreak was evident in the father daughter duo when the time came for all men to be called to the war, and the last memory Tommy had of his daughter was the five year old screaming in her aunt Ada’s arms, arms outstretched for her father to come back to her. Her little head didn’t understand why her father was leaving her, but hearing the words ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can’ meant to her that her father wouldn’t be coming back.

When the Shelby boys returned, y/n was nearing the age of ten, and her memories were shallow of who Tommy was. While Tommy expected y/n to run into his arms, she had thrown him off when she grabbed hold of Pol’s hand, refusing to leave the older woman’s side. Pol chuckled at the young girl's antics, and pushed her towards her father, leaving the joke of ‘you’re his problem now’ to cause the girl to shyly giggle, finger hooking the inside of her cheek as she looked into her father’s blue eyes.

“Hey love, remember me?” Tommy gave her a slight smile. The slight smile caused y/n to grin back at him. “Daddy.” The girl squealed, jumping into her father’s arms. “Hey sweetheart.” Tommy breathed, cupping the back of her head before linking the other under her legs to lift her up. “She’s so light.” Tommy muttered with slight worry as he kissed the side of her head. “Perfectly healthy for a ten year old Tommy, you needn’t worry.” Polly reassured him with a slight smile, watching the reunion.

Letting the young girl down, Tommy extended out his hand to y/n’s and he smiled at the feeling of the little hand in his as they began their walk home, y/n excitedly telling him of her school and how she had been getting on.

---

The years that followed the war were spent with Tommy working hard to provide for his little girl. Y/n got everything she needed as she grew up, and Tommy made sure she got the best. Each afternoon y/n would come home from school and sit in her father’s office in the betting room with her father, her on one side doing homework while he’d be on the other going through the paperwork. She’d enter the office on a daily basis and pull Tommy away from his work with a kiss to the cheek before sitting on the extra chair left for her, having a small chat with the man before starting on her homework.  Y/n was his life, and he would often bring her to the pub with him and her uncles, until a certain bar maid came.

“You know you shouldn’t really bring her in here.” A blonde woman stated to your father as she gave him his whiskey. “Ain’t doing no harm, are ya love.” Tommy spoke, looking down at his daughter fondly. “Nope.” The 14 year old popped her lips together. “I meant for her, she shouldn’t be around drunks.” “What’s your name?” Y/n watched as her father’s eyes narrowed at the barmaid in front of them. “Grace.” The woman spoke confidently. “Well Grace, here’s a thing you should know. Y/n here is my daughter, and if she asks me to leave, we’ll leave. Until then, don’t judge the way I parent my daughter, alright.” Tommy spoke to the woman harshly, leaning on the bar to move closer to the woman. “Yes sir.” The woman gulped slightly at the dark look on the Shelbys face, and she watched as it softened when he felt his daughter's hand in his. “Come on dad, I want to talk to uncle Arthur about the horses.” y/n tugged on her father’s arm. “Go on love, I’ll be in shortly.” Tommy nodded his head for y/n to leave to the back room where the Shelby’s usually sat.

“She’s a lovely girl.” Grace nodded to the back of the girl's head as Tommy watched her till the door closed behind her. “Yea.” Tommy breathed before clearing his throat. “Give me another one of these and some pop for herself.” Tommy ordered as he downed the whiskey she had given him. “On the house.” Grace stated as she slid the drinks over. “Thank you kindly.” Tommy nodded at her before leaving to where his daughter was chatting with John and Arthur, her back slouched against the older uncle.

---------

Y/n could only watch as her father and Grace became unusually close. She wasn’t used to her father giving a woman attention, he had stopped that shortly after he returned from the war, after y/n walked in on him having an ‘encounter’ with a woman. She had run out of the room crying to Arthur, who was more than happy to play protector for his niece while she refused to talk to her father. It was days before Tommy won her over again, and was annoyed that all it took was buying her a new teddy and allowing her to come with them to the pub.

There was something about Grace that y/n didn’t like, but she wasn’t sure what. The feelings that Grace had for her father were evident, and y/n couldn’t help but feel that despite her fathers emotionless expressions, it was clear that there were some feelings for Grace. These feelings became more evident after she brought him to hers to get away from those who were looking for them.

It wasn’t long till Tommy had sat his daughter down to tell her the news of his engagement with the blonde woman. Being unsure of the woman y/n had her doubts, but Tommy had shot them down straight away.

“Not you too y/n.” Thomas groaned, throwing his head back lightly. “I’m sorry daddy, there’s just something about her I don’t trust, especially since the time she outed us.” Y/n stated, standing from her seat. “We’ve all outed each other at some point.” “I haven’t.” Y/n muttered, crossing her arms as her father gave her a harsh look. “Y/n please, I love her and..” “More than you love me?” Y/n asked, eyes widening at the words coming out of her father’s mouth. “How could I, you're my angel disguised as a devilish child.” Tommy smiled, placing a hand under her chin. “When do you marry?” “After the birth.” “Birth?” Y/n asked, confused on how Grace could be with child outside marriage. “Yes y/n, you're going to be a big sister.” Tommy stated, pouring himself a whiskey. “How does a woman come to be with child outside marriage?” Y/n squinted at her father who almost choked on his whiskey. “I think it’s time for you to get ready for bed.” The father stated to his daughter, trying to get away from the topic. “But I would like to know so I don’t wind up with child.” Y/n whined. “Trust me, you won’t be able to do that for a long time.” Tommy breathed, placing a hand on his daughter's back to guide her to her room.

------

The wedding was anything but small, with the guests coordinating mostly Grace’s side of the family. Y/n was left with the job of looking after her baby brother Charlie, much to the annoyance of Grace, who kept watching the girl with her son with a glare. Y/n couldn’t help but feel unwanted at the wedding so she stayed to the side, blending in with the crowd. The only interaction she had was with Arthur and Linda throughout the night. Tommy spent the day beside his new wife, and only came to her once to tell her to put Charlie to bed for the night. Y/n couldn’t help the panging feeling in her chest, seeing her father with his new family, the three of them at peace.

The following few days were spent with y/n heading to school. On her last day her father had promised he’d be there to see her graduate, but all she saw was Polly and Ada. The father daughter duo were meant to go out for y/n’s first drink at the pub, but when she returned home and went to Tommy’s office, they only had the chance to say hello before Grace turned up, claiming that Charlie was looking for his father with only a glare being sent her way before the couple left. Y/n winded up calling Arthur who gladly took her out to the garriston with John. Arthur was beginning to become more a father to her than her own, and that made y/n sad. She winded up staying with her uncles that night, with Linda tucking her in for the night with a kiss on the head.

When she returned home, she was greeted with a slap across the face and she gasped, holding her cheek as she looked up. Grace stood in front of her with a sharp look, Tommy close behind her.

“How dare you not come home last night. You had Tommy worried sick.” Grace shouted at her. “What the fuck.” Y/n cursed at her stepmother. “Y/n.” Tommy scolded his daughter, giving her a hard look that made y/n shrink back. Tommy never gave her anything but kind eyes. “I was at Arthurs for the night after going out for a few drinks. You know, the ones dad was meant to bring me on.” Y/n stated, glaring at Grace before turning her attention to her father. “Tommy was with Charlie last night, he was restless looking for his father.” Grace stated. “Yeah, and I graduated school and was looking forward to having my first drinks with my dad but instead he ditched me for his second family.” Y/n spoke out, throwing an arm out for dramatics. “How dare you. We are more family to him than you are. After all, you're just a bastard that was born outside of marriage.” "Grace." Tommy sighed, seeing her daughter's eyes tear up. "Well she is." "Technically your son was one too Grace, don't forget that." Y/n spoke through gritted teeth. "Doesn't change the fact that Tommy took you in out of pity."  "Grace." Tommy shouted, only to be cut short when y/n bolted up the stairs. "Y/n"

TOmmy called after his daughter as he followed her up the stairs. He stalled when he heard Charlie cry out for him as he passed the boy's door. Hearing the cry, y/n turned back to look at her father as he looked between his son and daughter. Her vision turned to Grace as she came up the steps.

"I swear if you choose them instead of me again, I am out of here." Y/n warned, and she watched as Tommy's eyes softened. "Y/n...." "Tommy, can you ask someone to get him a bottle of milk while I go to him?" Grace spoke, placing a hand on his back as she moved past him. "I had a feeling." Y/n muttered as Tommy moved back to the stairs.

Not sparing another thought y/n made her way into her room and quickly packed a bag before heading out. She took one look at Tommy as she left, and he went to call her only to hear his son cry.

----

The following weeks y/n stayed at her uncle Arthur's place, away from Tommy. She had wound up at his door without a jacket, and Arhur was shocked to see the young girl shivering on her own. After hearing the story he was livid, and had wound up at Tommy's door, shouting at him, ignoring as Grace pleaded with him to stop.

Tommy had become out of character after his daughter left their home. He spent most of his time in his office when he was home, and even that was rare. Majority of his days were done on business, where Arthur would give him the cold shoulder when they were out of sight. He stopped running to Charlie's side each night during the cries, and would often find himself falling asleep on his desk, not turning up to bed with Grace. Grace had grown fed up with her husband's attitude and decided to organize a party. Wanting the best for his wife, Tommy agreed, on the  condition that y/n would come.

It was Arthur who told y/n of the extravagant party Grace was organizing. She wasn't surprised of the news but she was shocked when Linda handed her an invite that was quite obviously her fathers writing. She remembered looking at her father and him nodding at her, convincing  her that going would make her higher than him, even if he wasn't attempting to interact with her.

Tommy looked forward to that day, when he would see his daughter again. His attempts to see her had always been in vain, as she wasn't at Arthurs when he was, and he wasn't sure where she went during the day. His thoughts were broken as the barman told him someone was on the phone for him.

"Tommy, you got to come." Arthur's voice came over quickly. "Arthur?" Tommy asked, not understanding what he was saying. "It's y/n Tommy. She's been hurted, badly." "Where.?"

----------

Y/n had been walking back from her new job as a secretary in the doctors office. It took some convincing to get the job, with the Shelby name hanging over her. They told her she could have it so long as no Shelby came near the place, they weren't wanted unless they needed health care. Her hours were generally 9-5, so she always got out when the sun began to set. The roads were always busy on her way home, which was how she never heard her attacker until they grabbed her from behind.

She didn't remember much, but she did remember the sound of a gun, and multiple screams around her. The next she was on the ground, holding her side as she gasped for pain. It was evident that something had happened based on the sering pain she felt, but she was afraid to look. Her vision was clouded as she seen a figure coming towards her, caressing her cheek gently.

"Y/n love, look at me. Stay awake okay." Arthurs voice travelled to her ears, and she tried to speak. 

"Arthur." She spoke softly, Arthur wouldn't of heard it bar he was paying attention to her. "Sh, don't speak. Somebody get a fucking doctor." He screamed the last part, hoping someone would help them.

The last she felt was two sets of hands moving her before blackness surrounded her.

The next time she woke up, she recognized her surroundings to be A room in the doctors office. The smell of cleaning supplies were evident and the feeling of rough sheets was present on her skin. The throbbing of pain was felt on her side, and she moved to look down before a hand was felt stopping her. The rough hand grabbed her arm and she followed it to the person who sat beside her, recognizing them as her uncle.

“Hey.” She spoke weakly, her voice scratchy. “Hey love, how you feeling?” Arthur spoke softly, rubbing her arm in comfort. “Sore, really sore.” She groaned, trying to move and get comfy. “No need to strain, I’ll go get the doctor.” Arthur comforted his niece, moving to get up. “No, stay please.” Y/n begged, quick to grab Arthurs arm. “Your in pain, he can help you.” “I don’t want to be alone.” She spoke groggily. “Well you pick a bad place to work if you don’t like it here.” Arthur joked, causing y/n to smile weakly. “Where’s dad?” Y/n asked, licking her lips. “Called the Garriston and told him, he didn’t say nothing when I told him.” Arthur explained ,and y/n looked down. “Maybe get the doctor Arthur, I can’t sleep with the pain.” Y/n requested and Arthur smiled sadly at his niece. “I’ll be right back love.” He kissed her head before leaving.

Y/n kept her vision low, even when the doctor came by to check her over. She felt lonely, even with her uncle there. All she wanted was her dad, and he hadn’t turned up when she needed him most. His little girl was in hospital after an accident that was no doubt caused by him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the men had came to her, and attacked her out of everyone present. If it wasn’t for Arthur being there, she would probably be dead.

“Why were you here?” Y/n asked her uncle when the doctor left. “Finn heard some block talking about taking down the Shelby girl, doesn’t take much to know who.” Arthur explained, taking y/n’s hand in his. “Oh.” Y/n stated, before turning as the door was heard opening.

Tommy rushed through the streets towards her daughters work place after the call from his brother. The nurse and doctor gave him a glare when he barged through the front door, but he didn’t care to ask them where his daughter was as he opened all the doors. His breathing was ragged as he found the correct one, and he stopped to take a look at his daughter. Y/n was there, lying in bed, with Arthur by her side as their attention turned to the open door. Y/n could only look at Tommy as he took in her appearance.

“Y/n, my sweet girl.” Tommy breathed, rushing to the opposite side of the bed to take her face in his hands. “Daddy?” Y/n asked, moving away from his touch. “Are you hurt?” “No, she’s lying in bed for no reason.” Arthur spoke roughly, causing y/n to look down. “ A shot to the side. Fainted with the shock. Just the pain really.” Y/n explained, shrugging her shoulders. “Y/n love, look at me?” Tommy asked. “You can go back to your new family now that you know that I’m okay.” “Arthur, give us a minute yea.” Tommy stated to her brother, who looked at his niece before leaving after getting a nod.

“Y/n love, I am so sorry for what Grace said to you. She had no right to. And you should know that in no scenario is that true.” Tommy spoke softly, crouching down to be eye level with y/n. “You didn’t stop her.” Y/n stated. “She’s my wife…” “And I’m your daughter.” Y/n spoke sharply, glaring at her father. “I know you are y/n, and I love you so much but the thing is with marriage, you have to..” “Don’t.. Your marriage is not one to idolize. Allowing your wife to speak so poorly to your daughter is not something to be proud of.”  Y/n stated, shaking her head. “Please forgive me y/n, okay I know I made mistakes. But I’m your father…” “Arthur has been more of a father to me than you lately. He protected me when I needed him to, you didn’t.” Y/n spoke sharply, hitting a nerve for Tommy. “Y/n please, let me make this right.” Tommy begged, placing a hand under y/n’s chin,  wanting his daughter to give him a chance. “I want to, but how do I know that Grace will separate us again.” “I won’t let her okay. I…. I will talk to her alright, make her know that you are just as much family as she and Charlie are. Sweetheart I love you okay, I will do anything to have you back home with me.” “I really want to believe you.” Y/n spoke, looking her father in the eye. “Than do, let’s get you home and we can have our time back. Tonight, you and I by the fire, talking about our day, just like old times. “I think I’m going to stay with Arthur for tonight dad.” Y/n looked down at her hands, playing with her hands a little. “Y/n..” “I can call by tomorrow and we can do something.” Y/n suggested, and her father looked down. “Sure, whatever you want.” Tommy stated, nodding his head as smacked his lips together.

Y/n smiled as Tommy looked back up at her. Seeing the tears in his daughters eyes Tommy moved to bring her into a hug, cupping the back of her head as he kissed her forehead.

“I love you Sweetheart.” He mumbled in her ear. “I love you too dad.” Y/n breathed, relaxing into his touch.

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 1: Lust

Pairing: (Terzo x f!reader)

Summary: You agree to partake in the Ritual of Seven, devoting yourself entirely to a sin each day. And Papa Emeritus III is there to guide you, starting with some harmless flirting to build up to day one...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Teasing, brief footsie, pent up lust, aggressive but consensual, lingerie, fingering, hair pulling, minor choking, fishhooking, p in v sex, squirting, creampie 

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Prev: Prologue | Next: Day 2 - Sloth

“You’re sure?”     “Yes.”  

“Double sure?” 

You sigh. “Yes!” 

“...Triple sure?” 

“Papa, yes! I’m sure. We’ve been over this. Just tell me what the rules are, how do I make sure I do this correctly?”  

You sat in another private meeting with Terzo, this one just over a week before the ritual was due to begin. You needed more information, you needed the rules and the quid pro quos ahead of time. No way were you going to mess this up... No silly little slip ups, nothing to derail your devotion. 

“Okay well, from my research I’ve figured out that it is one sin per day, beginning on October 25th. October 31st, you perform your final sin. They don’t need to be in any particular order, and you can either embody the sin yourself, or make somebody else perform the sin as long at it's with you. So uh, if you were to make someone else angry at you and then act on that – to His taste, of course – that would count towards wrath.” 

“Understood. Do we... plan these things?” you asked, wondering if it might be easier to map out which sin you would perform and how. Terzo looked up at you from the notes he’d created, sprawled out on his desk. He’d done extensive research; solo, to keep the prying and judgmental eyes of the clergy unaware of what was to come. This was your shared secret. 

His research had been difficult. There wasn’t a lot of readily available material on such a ritual. But then, there rarely was when it came to the rituals that invited Lucifer himself to talk directly to the subject. Still, when he found himself ready to give up on the matter he would remind himself of the desperation in your eyes, your tiredness, your devastation. And he’d remind himself of Sister Imperator’s doubt in him.  

It was plenty fuel to the fire. He would not give in. He would not let you down. 

“A plan, cara? Boring.” He smirked in your direction, “I shall plan a few things, I suppose, but I think it might be more fun if I surprise you. After all, who schedules sin?” 

You supposed he was right – for the ritual to work, the sins need to be genuine, to be authentic. You couldn’t simply force them. And Terzo was certainly more experienced in sin that you... Strangely, you trusted him. 

“Y-yeah, okay...” you mumbled in agreement.  

“Bene, then we will begin when the moment feels right on October 25th.” He stood from his desk, gathering his notes into a neat pile. He looked down at you, his eyes darkening and a smirk settling on his face. Before he dismissed you, he left you with what you could only imagine was a promise... 

“I’ll see you around, Sorella ...” 

October 17th  

Terzo had been making up excuses to have meetings with Secondo – which of course, you had to attend as his assistant. But there was a purpose for this, one that he considered to be an important one. 

He had no idea if you were attracted to him or not, if you had ever even looked at him in that regard. Usually it was fairly obvious to him, but with you... Secondo had kept you to himself, he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time around you to know if your eyes had ever wandered, if your thoughts were ever slightly impure towards him. And so, he needed to use the time he had left to woo you, essentially.  

He had eight days before the ritual was due to begin, and he was going to use every opportunity in those eight days to wind you so damn tight that when the 25th did roll around, neither one of you could keep yourselves apart for long.  

It was all in the anticipation. The chase. The temptation.  

In today’s meeting – a pointless endeavour that Secondo whined about, complaining this could have been a phone call or an email – Terzo refused to tear his eyes from you. Even when speaking to his brother, he would be staring at you. You tried to ignore it, to remain professional but you could feel his eyes burning into you, as if scorch marks were being left in trails over the skin he imagined exposing. 

Secondo noticed. There was no way he could not. But knowing his brother, Terzo had just decided you were the new object of fascination to him. He had no idea of the upcoming ritual, the agreement you’d made. He assumed his fratellino was just interested in pursuing you, the latest in a long line.  

“Terzo, if you could concentrate...” he grumbled. 

“I am concentrating, fratello,” he quipped, eyes still never leaving yours. You gulped and looked nervously between the two men.  

“On me, piccola merdina (little shit),” Secondo demanded. Terzo tore his eyes from yours slowly, inhaling through grit teeth as if it pained him to do so. “Grazie. ” 

Secondo continued to talk mindlessly about colours for drapery at the All Hallow’s Eve ball while you squirmed in your seat. You knew Terzo’s eyes kept flickering back to you, watching you, studying you. His gaze was heating your cheeks, setting your teeth on edge. He looked at you as if you were prey, like he was waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.  

You almost wished he would.  

Eventually, the meeting had to end. And by the time it did, Secondo was in a foul mood, annoyed at his brother’s actions. You must remember to thank Terzo for that later...  

As you were heading out of the door behind him, Terzo gripped your elbow, pulling you back against his chest as his brother stepped outside. Your gasp was muffled by a white glove slapping over your mouth to keep you quiet, avoiding suspicion.  

“I just wanted to tell you,” Terzo whispered into your ear, the warmth of his breath tickling your lobe and exposed neck. The hand on your elbow now dancing with the hem of your short skirt, the fabric of his gloves tickling your bare thigh underneath. “You look deliziosa (delicious) in this habit, sorella. Potrei mangiarti per intero se solo tu me lo permettessi (I could eat you whole, if only you would let me.)”  

And then he let you go, running on unsteady feet to catch up to your grumbling Papa ahead. 

It was now clear what he was doing. And not being one to back down from a fight, you silently took on his challenge. 

Game on, Papa.  

October 20th  

The monthly clergy dinner. This was your chance.  

Once a month, the clergy and papas – along with their assistants – would sit down for a meal together. After Papa’s little games in the last few days, teasing and gawking at you wherever he could, you figured this was the best time to get your revenge, to put the wheels in motion, so to speak. 

Because Papa had to be on his best behaviour here. 

You’d waltzed in with Secondo and sat in your seat opposite Terzo’s own assistant, Sister Christine. Papa sat at the head of the table, to your left. Secondo, to your right. You felt his eyes on you immediately, and you were almost certain you’d heard a ‘cazzo’ under his breath when his eyes fell on you.  

The monthly clergy dinner was an opportunity to wear something nice, other than your habits, as long as you kept your veil on to show your standing. So you picked something you figured Terzo may have a hard time ignoring. 

There was nothing wrong with the length of your dress, past the knees and quite conservative. But the way it exposed your shoulders, your collarbone and your breasts... That was where the struggle lay. The sleeves – more like separate gloves – began halfway down your bicep and hooked around your middle finger in a point, a deep red material to match the wine you were drinking. The neckline was level with the sleeves, your cleavage pushed up and on display, grucifix nestled nicely in between. Only when you walked in could he see the tight material clinging to your curves – once you were sat, he had nowhere to look other than your exposed shoulders and chest. 

When you had gone to Secondo’s office that evening to ‘pick him up’ for dinner, even his gaze had lingered a little too long. That’s how you knew this would work.  

“That’s a beautiful dress, Sister _____,” Christine pointed out, smirking as she noticed the look on her boss’ face. “That colour is sublime on you.” 

“Thank you, Sister. I’ve had it for a while and the occasion never really called for it, but I just thought to hell with it,” you toyed, leaning forwards on your elbows and subsequently pushing your breasts together to torment your poor Papa further. 

When the Ghouls brought out the meals, you took another opportunity. Making what you would call ‘yummy noises’, except... exaggerated. Wanton moans and little gasps with every new flavour as your painted lips wrapped around your fork.  

Papa’s hands tightened around his own cutlery, his jaw clenching as he glared at you.  

Secondo beside you was aware you were doing more than usual, but rolled his eyes and focussed his attention on Primo beside him. Perhaps he could have a mature discussion with him, instead.  

Terzo was struggling beside you, trying to remain professional, to keep up conversation with the cardinals and clergymen at the table. Cardinal Copia had tried to ask him what his plans for this Sunday’s Black Mass were and if he needed any help at all, but Terzo couldn’t think straight, claiming he hadn’t thought about it yet.  

Dessert nearly killed him.  

“Sorella, what do you think you’re playing at, eh?” he whispered to you when the Ghouls took your empty plates.  

“What do you mean, Papa?” you asked sweetly, right as you began to raise your heeled foot to graze against his inner calf. His eyes widened in shock – he'd never known you to be this bold, this provocative.  

You felt his legs part as he sat back against his chair, his eyes lingering on you, daring you to continue. And you did, raising your foot to the inside of his knee, able to manoeuvre your way to graze his inner thigh to about the halfway point before you could reach no further at the awkward angle.  

His gloved hand gripped your ankle under the table, tightly squeezing in warning before he pushed it away. You subsided, knowing you had won this one.  

You left him alone for the rest of the night to his sinful thoughts and dark glares your way. 

October 22nd  

You’d stayed out of Terzo’s way since the clergy dinner, hoping to build a little tension between then and when you would have to see him again at Black Mass.  

The Mass itself was uneventful. You sang the hymns, partook in the prayers like a good Sister should. And then came communion. 

You’d planned this already, and as you waited in line on your knees on the chapel steps beside your Siblings, your eyes homed in on Papa.  

You’d never noticed before, perhaps because you’d never really looked, but he looked incredibly powerful in his robes. Thinking of the way you were teasing your Papa recently, building the anticipation towards that first night together... it sent a pang of heat between your legs, and you shuffled in your spot. 

He came to you and remained professional. He was surrounded by siblings, cardinals, clergy... he couldn’t slip up. Not now. He had to remain stoic, no matter how torturous it was to have you on your knees before him... 

You stared up at him through your lashes, opening your mouth and laying your tongue out for him to place the little cracker on. As he did, you closed your lips around his thumb, sucking a little on the leather of his glove, the cold gold nails tasting like old pennies. His eyes hardened, and he retracted his hand quickly as if you had bit him.  

Around his thumb you could see the remnants of your red lipstick, and you smirked in triumph. He wiped his thumb on his robes before taking the chalice of wine from Cardinal Copia behind him – who whilst assisting him, had also noticed your little tease and gulped to himself at the sight – and tipping it against your lips.  

A droplet spilled from the corner, dribbling down your chin which you quickly caught with your finger and licked off, all the while holding eye contact.  

Terzo filed that image away for later of the red wine dripping down your chin. Information he could store for the future...  

But for now, he ignored you – and the aching hardness beneath his robes.  

October 24th  

He hadn’t anticipated you would be as feisty as you were, that you would play his little game with him and more so, end up winning. He couldn’t allow it. He had to try and get the upper hand.  

But he was already so pent up, refraining from indulging in any of the other Siblings or Ghouls since your agreement had been made. He hadn’t even jerked off, although that was getting more and more difficult to fight...  

The amount of teasing, of flirting and being downright obvious that you were both riling the other up was starting to get to his head and now even the slightest thing was enough to drive him wild about you. He felt like a caged animal.  

And so who could really blame him when he walked past you, alone in a hallway where you had smirked and avoided eye contact with him, and he had turned on his heels and dragged you by your elbow into the nearest alcove... 

He shoved you against the wall, his body covering yours and trapping you in the confined space. Before you had time to register what was happening or utter a single syllable, his mouth crashed against yours. 

His hands were on you, holding your hips against the wall as he pressed himself against you. You didn’t fight; frankly the willpower to fight it had dwindled days ago, and here he was giving you what you both wanted, what you’d both been working up to.  

You kissed him back with reverie, your fingers threading through his dark hair and pulling him impossibly closer. The need between your thighs grew incredibly strong with every roll of his hips against you. You were drowning in him, finally ... 

Terzo let out a low growl, fighting a battle in his head. He wanted you now. But if he could wait one more day... He had to wait one more day. 

With a grunt and a loud smack to the wall beside your head he pulled off you, smoothing his hair and walking off down the hall with a scowl on his face, as if nothing had happened. 

You leaned back against the wall panting, mouth agape in shock. He didn’t look back at you once, just rounded the corner leaving you with heart palpitations and a pooling feeling in your core... 

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.   

October 25th  

Today, it began.   

Your schedule was busy, which concerned you. You had work with Secondo, several meetings in the diary. But your evening was free, and you assumed that Terzo would find his way to you then. With just a few hours left until you gave in to him, until you could finally have him, you were incredibly on edge.  

It had taken you entirely too long to roll out of bed that morning, needing to hurry getting ready and haphazardly dressing in your pre-thought-out habit and veil – with a sneaky little surprise underneath... When you’d rushed to Secondo’s office, you barely made it in time for your first meeting of the day; a Latin curriculum debrief with Cardinal Copia you were due to take notes from. 

You liked the Cardinal, he was the kind of man who put you at ease. Mostly because he was so timid himself, a very sweet man who would try to brighten anyone’s day he could. You were glad when you’d been told he was your first meeting with Secondo, thinking maybe he could ease your anxiety. Alas, he seemed a little on edge himself, refusing to look you in the eye for too long at all. You couldn’t entertain it today – you focussed solely on your notes and the meeting at hand. 

The morning passed painfully slowly, drab meetings with bishops and cardinals alike dragging on as if the earth had slowed on its axis. When Secondo dismissed you for lunch, you let out a breath of relief.  

“I need you back before 1pm, Sorella. We have a meeting with Terzo at one o’clock sharp,” he stated plainly as he scribbled on some documents.  

Shit. This would be torturous.  

This had been a good idea at the time, an easy way in, to tempt you into coming back to him that evening. But Terzo had misjudged his decision wildly, not knowing when he’d put this meeting in Secondo’s diary that he would be down so fucking bad for you that every tiny little thing you did made him swoon like a touch-starved Victorian gentlemen. He was simply grateful he’d asked Sister Christine to run some errands for him today, and she wasn’t also present to witness his agony – she would have picked up on it immediately. 

He noted how uncomfortable you looked, squirming in the chair in front of his desk next to Secondo. He noted how you refused to look at him, busying yourself with a notebook and pen as Secondo droned on and on about the All Hallow’s Eve ball and the preparations. He noted how fucking beautiful you looked, with flushed cheeks and anxiously bitten lips.  

His composure was waning, eyes raking over your form as you bounced your leg nervously. Your thigh wobbled under your short skirt and with every bounce his muscles tensed in his body just a little bit more. You twirled your pen in your fingers, and he imagined what magic you could possibly do with them. You fidgeted in your place, hips circling to find a comfortable position to sit, and he wondered how it would feel if you’d been sat in his lap.  

Every. Tiny. Little. Thing. Was driving him to distraction.   

You’d never been so uncomfortable in your life, knowing Papa was watching you very closely. In your haste to get ready this morning, you hadn’t quite dressed yourself properly. The zipper at the back of your habit was digging in between your shoulder blades where it had been done up in haste. Your tights felt uncomfortable around your behind where they hadn’t been adjusted comfortably. Your veil kept slipping back on your hairline, not properly pinned to hide your hair.  

And with Terzo’s eyes scanning over you, a thick tension between you, you noticed these things even more.  

You sighed quietly to yourself as Secondo droned on about the menu options for the ball, reaching up to your veil to push it forwards on your head, covering your hairline again as you had at least six times in the last twenty minutes. It just would not stay. 

“Sorella, are you alright?” Secondo asked, noticing your exasperation.  

“Oh, sì, papa. Excuse me...” you smiled awkwardly, willing him to continue and pay no mind to you. He did just that, continuing his waffle. Terzo ignored him, eyes trained on you as the veil slipped again.  

This time you reached up, pulled it from your head, figuring you would just start a fresh. Your hair fell around your face, draping over your shoulders. Terzo would swear blind it happened in slow motion, like a scene in a shitty made for TV movie. But he couldn’t help the feeling of being punched in the gut, seeing you unveiled and exposed. How beautiful you fucking were...  

“Get out.”  

Both you and Secondo looked up at Terzo, his eyes dark and heavily lidded, staring you down.  

“Fratello, don’t be so rude. She is just adjusting her veil, she means no disrespect. I need her to stay,” Secondo protested, annoyed at his brother’s tone. How dare he speak to his assistant like this? 

“Not her. You.” His eyes never moved. His voice deepened. 

“Scusi? ” Secondo seethed.  

“Get. Out.” Terzo punctuated the words through grit teeth, annoyed that his brother hadn’t just disappeared in a puff of smoke like he so wished in that moment.  

Secondo looked at you, finding you staring back at Terzo with wide eyes and parted lips, holding your veil in one hand that was still raised by your head where it had paused as you’d slipped it off. His eyes darted between the pair of you, seeing that neither one of you moved, neither one looked in his direction.  

“Per l’amor di Satana (for the love of Satan),” he muttered and rolled his eyes, slamming his own notebook shut in his lap and standing quickly. The noise made you jump, suddenly looking up at your Papa. You wanted to speak, to ask he stay and apologise but Terzo’s hungry gaze stopped you.  

Secondo stomped out of the room, but not before turning back to the pair of you to find you looking at him like a scared little puppy dog and Terzo still staring only at you. 

“I need her back by 3:30pm, Fratellino. Or I will have your balls in a jar,” he warned, before slamming the door behind him.  

The silence that fell on you as you stared at the closed door your boss had just left through felt eerie, as if static electricity was building around you before a lightning strike.  

And strike, he would.  

He stood from his desk with a startling scrape of his chair. Your head snapped back to him, only to be met with a glare that should have terrified you. Except, it only excited you... The embers of arousal that had been simmering on a low heat for the last week since he’d first caught your elbow and whispered sweet temptations to you were being stoked – by a simple glare.  

He didn’t move though. Instead, he lifted his hand, curling his finger and beckoning you to him. Wordlessly, you rose from your seat slowly, laying your notebook and pen on the chair behind you and playing nervously with your veil you still held as you watched him.  

“Here,” he pointed at his desk, prodding his gloved finger on the wooden surface before him. You stepped around, squeezing between him and the desk – he hadn’t left much room to work with intentionally, enjoying the way you tried hard to evade brushing your chest against his with a smirk etching into his paints. You leaned against the wood, waiting for further instruction. 

“I’m sure you’ve been intentional, Sorella. Well played,” he congratulated, his voice dark and lower than usual. He pressed himself against you, leaning both his fists on the wood either side of you, trapping you. “But perhaps you have done too well in tempting me, eh? Because I simply cannot hold myself back any longer...” 

“I...I...” you stuttered, wanting to reply and fumbling any kind of sense. 

“We begin with lust,” he announced, and that was when the static in the room came to a head, and lightning struck. 

His lips were on you in a suffocatingly heated kiss, hands gripping onto your habit at your hips and shoving you against his own. You too were so pent up from the week of teasing and flirting with each other you matched his ferocity, allowing the lust you’d built to spill over. Your hands were in his hair in a flash, pulling him to you by his roots and he groaned into your pliant mouth. 

You were under no illusion that this would be particularly romantic, nor that it would last particularly long, but what you hadn’t expected was Terzo’s desperation for you to match your own. 

He crouched slightly, picking you up by the swell of your backside and shoving you onto the desk to step between your thighs. You could feel his erection against your core, and already you couldn’t help the mewl that fell from your mouth. He chuckled as he disconnected his lips from yours for a moment, allowing you to breathe and for more little whimpers to escape as he ground himself into you again.  

“Sorella, would you like to know a secret?” he asked as he sloppily kissed the corner of your mouth and under your jaw... 

“Mhmm...” was all you could muster. 

“Since you agreed to the ritual, I haven’t had another sibling,” he admitted between kisses, “haven’t touched myself once.” 

His confession swam in your mind; he’d saved himself for this. Sure, it had only been a little over a week, but you thought for sure he would have taken his frustrations out on another sister if he couldn’t yet have you.  

“All I wanted was you, Sorella. Was this...” he growled as his hand dove between your thighs to what he’d truly wanted for the last nine days. Somehow, he’d found his way under your habit, cupping his palm against you and grinding it into your clit, still hidden by your tights and underwear.  

“Papa...” you moaned, unwilling to stay quiet at all. “I need you.” 

The dark laugh that vibrated against your neck where his trail of kisses ended raised goosebumps on your skin.  

“And whose fault is that, hm?” he quipped. “You rile your Papa up and then beg him for release?” he straightened up, smirking down at you. “Is that how this works?” 

“I’m... I’m sorr-” 

Before you could finish his lips were back on yours, his hand retracted from your core much to your dismay but now unzipping the back of your habit and dragging it down over your shoulders. He exposed you to him, although with his eyes shut as he dragged his tongue across your bottom lip, he was yet to see just what you’d worn for him. 

But he was an impatient man after what you had put each other through, and to rip the rest of your habit from you he would need to see what he was doing, lift you to slide it from around your ass. But when he laid eyes on you, his stopped dead, fabric sitting at your hips instead. 

"Shit ...” 

You weren’t sure if Terzo was a lingerie kind of man, but then again, what man was not a lingerie kind of man? Your suspicions were proven when he saw what you were wearing for him.  

A deep purple bra, made of mesh to leave nothing to the imagination, with an embroidered snake on each of the cups. The exact same purple as his Papal robes, hung up in a glass cabinet against the back wall of his office.  

“Is this new, dolcezza ?” he asked, running a finger under one of the straps.  

“Sì, Papa... The purple-” 

“Matches. How sweet of you...” he grinned wickedly. “Is it part of a set?” he arched an inquisitive eyebrow. His spare hand lifted the skirt of your habit, running his glove along the top of your thigh and pushing the material higher and higher until he got a peak at more purple fabric, darkened by your sheer black tights.  

“Do you like them?” you teased, leaning back on your hands and spreading your legs to give him a better view of the purple mesh that did nothing to hide your glistening folds, meant for tempting and not for practicality.  

“Oh, but Principessa, I can’t see them properly...” he pouted, when suddenly his hands gripped the material of your tights on your inner thighs and ripped.   

The fabric didn’t stand a chance, a large hole tearing around your inner thighs and crotch to expose the rich purple of the mesh that covered you. You let out a squeak in shock, the feral nature of it forcing your walls to flutter in arousal. 

“Better. Now...” he held his fingers in front of your lips, horizontal, “bite.”   

You did as instructed, biting gently on his fingers. He started to retract his hand, his white glove stuck between your teeth as he shimmied his fingers out of it. Then, he rolled the sleeves of his pale pink long-sleeved shirt up his to his elbows, exposing the dark hair and veins of his strong arms. 

“Brava ragazza, keep it there. You drop that, you’re in trouble...” he booped you on the nose playfully, and suddenly that very same bare hand dipped between your thighs, pushing the mesh to one side and dragging a line through your folds with his middle finger.  

The moan you let slip would have been pornographic if not for the glove you kept tightly locked in your jaw, your head lolling back and eyes fluttering shut. Terzo leaned into your now exposed neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh and sucking as his fingers continued to work you over, circling your clit in just the way you liked.  

“I had plans for you, Principessa,” he mouthed against your neck as he spoke between each deep bruise he left, “but I’m afraid I can’t control myself much longer.” 

The way his fingers felt against your entrance as he began to tease your quivering hole was euphoric, you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto the digits and take your pleasure from him where you sat. But he had other ideas. 

“Still, you will cum on your Papa’s fingers first, sì? I will be sure of that,” he promised, finally sliding two fingers inside you. With how soaked you were, you took them with ease, back arching and pressing your chest against him. His lips mouthed wet and sloppy kisses from where the purple bruises had formed on your neck – prettily matching your chosen lingerie – down to your sternum and over the curve of your breasts.  

Terzo began curling his fingers inside you, manoeuvring in search of that spot inside you that could make you see stars. Having never been with you before, he didn’t know what made you tick, what made you feel good. But he was going to find out and take mental notes. When he found it, you sure let him know... 

“F-fuck, Papa...” you whined, stuttering as your head flew forward to look down between you, seeing his hand buried deep within you. You kept his glove tightly between your teeth still. 

“There she is, eh?” he smiled smugly. Now he knew where, he began his vicious assault between your thighs. Over and over again, he curled his fingers and hit that same spot. You couldn’t help the moans, the way your fingernails dug into his bicep beneath his shirt, the way your forehead fell against his shoulder. And when his thumb began to work over your clit in smooth, calculated circles... You lost your damn mind.  

“Papa!” you cried, glove long forgotten by both of you as it dropped to the floor. Your hips bucked wildly against him where you sat against the desk. He grunted as he bit the mesh of your bralette, pulling it down to expose your nipple to him and latching his lips around it. As he began to suck, laving his tongue over the nub intermittently, he couldn’t help but rut his bulge against your knee. He was so desperate for you, but he wanted you cumming on his fingers first, with good reason.  

He knew that to have you cum before he sank into your heat would make you so much wetter, filthier, tighter. And the second orgasm on his cock would warp your mind completely.  

Yes, that’s what he craved.  

Your thighs began to shake, vibrating your knee against his clothed cock as his fingers worked furiously to drag an orgasm from you. His sloppiness as his mouth engulfed your nipple grew tenfold at the sinful noises you made for him, a litany of profanity and his title rolling from your lips. He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, fluttering and producing a seemingly never-ending slew of slick he could use to his advantage, particularly on your clit as his thumb gathered it to use against you.  

“Cum for me, Principessa,” he barked as an instruction, “NOW!”  

As if you had given him the control over your body, you obeyed. The coil in your abdomen snapped, walls clenching Terzo’s fingers so tightly he could barely drag them out of you, only able to curl them to keep up his stimulation. Your hand flew to his wrist and squeezed, terrified he might retreat too soon, but he wouldn't dare.  

“Brava ragazza, la mia Principessa... (good girl, my princess),” he growled, still rutting himself against your knee, just slower in time with his hand slowing to a stop as you came back down. He stood up straight in time to catch you slumping against his chest, nuzzling into the soft fabric of his shirt.  

When he slipped his fingers from you, he tilted your head up to look at him from below, and slipped his slicked digits into his mouth, holding eye contact with you as you watched him clean your essence from him.  

“Così dolce, (so sweet...)” he hummed. You giggled, breathless. He’d knocked the wind out of you, for sure. But you knew he wasn’t done with you yet, as whilst he had stilled his hips against you, he was still pressed against your leg. And you could feel his thickness, waiting... 

“Papa... You haven’t seen my favourite part of my outfit,” you teased, words forming slower than normal in your hazy state.  

“Oh?” he was confused, until you gathered yourself, standing from the desk and shrugging your habit off you completely to the floor. You pushed him back with just one finger, his confusion making him pliant and intrigued, following your instruction. You smirked, and turned around, laying your chest flat against the wood of his desk.  

You heard a gasp from behind you.  

The mesh panties you were wearing as part of your set were not simply just mesh across your backside. Instead, two embroidered purple snakes – much like the ones on the bralette – faced each other, one on each cheek of your ass.  

The view Terzo had was impeccable, ripped tights allowing only some of the purple to be as bright as the rest, but he could clearly see where your panties were still pushed to one side, your glistening and swollen folds on display for him. You were presenting yourself to him, to use as he deemed fit.  

“Cazzo, Principessa... Look at you, eh?” He bit the end of his remaining glove on his middle finger, pulling it off in one quick motion and dropping it to the floor so he had both of his hands bare. He stepped towards you then, both hands ghosting over the roundness of your ass. He pulled more at the tights, ripping a bigger hole to expose more of you.  

He was taking too long for your liking, lost in the sight of you but you needed him so desperately. You couldn’t deny the ever-present lust brewing once again inside.  

“Papa, don’t you want me?” you whined, wiggling your ass in his hands to tempt him further. You heard a dark chuckle behind you.  

“Just enjoying the view, Principessa...” you felt his hands retreat, heard a zipper and fabric rustling.  

Then you felt him... Slicking himself up between your folds, his head teasing where you needed him. You pushed back a little against him as his head caught on your entrance, barely pushing onto him when he decided he couldn’t fucking wait any longer. He needed to feel you on his cock. 

His bare hands gripped your hips and his pelvis pushed against you, his length sinking inside you in a swift motion, knowing you were ready for him. You heard his grunt, imagined him biting his lip behind you as he stilled and struggled to remain composed, muffled whimper following his initial grunt.  

Lucifer, you felt incredible. Had he known your pussy could feel this good, he would have claimed you as his long ago.  

Slowly, he began to thrust inside you, filling you over and over again. He drove his hips down, knowing now where that damned spot inside you was and driving his cock home with every thrust.  

Terzo was a very vocal lover, usually. He liked to talk his conquests through it, loved to praise them, degrade them, anything to make them squeeze around his cock but right now? He could barely form a sentence, wordless grunts and moans all he could manage.  

“P-Papa...” you cried, “f-feels... so good.” His hips quickened their pace, the force becoming enough to slap his skin against yours as his pelvis met the flesh of your ass. He watched your cheeks ripple with every thrust, committing the motion to memory in case he never got this chance again.  

He knew your first orgasm would do this to you... make you sopping wet for him, tighter, more sensitive. He would have smirked smugly if his face wasn’t permanently carved in a look of pure pleasured anguish. His plan had worked a little too well, his own lust for you too much and rendering him frankly animalistic. With all the teasing, all the flirting leading up to this moment he almost couldn’t believe he was here, and yet, your walls clenching on his shaft and creaming at the base of his cock was the stark reminder that yes, he had won his prize.  

As much as he adored watching his cock disappearing into you over and over, he needed to see your face again. He needed you closer.  

He slid a hand down the curve of your back. Running his fingers through your hair before wrapping it around his fist and pulling you up, chest leaving the desk. You grabbed his wrist for added stability, the sting of your roots being pulled adding a delicious toxicity to the moment. He pulled you back until your shoulders met his still clothed chest, and your face was exposed when your head lay back against his shoulder.  

The look in his eyes should have frightened you, the lust clouding them over and what could easily be mistaken for anger etched into his face. But it wasn’t anger, it was restraint. He was desperately trying not to cum too soon, savouring every second.  

“Look at you, eh?” he growled, “you look so fucked out, Principessa...” You couldn’t reply, just whimpered as the free hand on your hip slid up to rest over your neck and squeezed. You gasped at the pressure, not enough to make breathing a struggle but enough to excite you and earn Terzo another squeeze on his cock. He smirked at the feeling, knowing now that you liked that ... 

That very same hand reached up a little further, pushing two fingertips to your lips and opening your jaw up for him. He hooked them both past your teeth, holding your jaw open slightly while he mouthed at the corner of your lips, hips so furiously fucking into you your whimpers came out as little screams.  

Frankly, Terzo had lost control. The need to cum, to make you cum again was visceral and his brain wasn’t functioning, too much blood flowing to his cock. Lust had taken over the pair of you entirely. 

At this pace, his assault on your g-spot was violent but so welcome, and when your orgasm hit you again, your eyes rolled back into your head, body going slack and convulsing in his arms. Tears dripped down your cheeks, eyes tightening shut as you screamed for him around his fingers. You didn’t know you possibly could, but your pussy squirted as he continued his stimulation, pace never slowing, but the noise that came out of him...  

It was like a demon had crawled into him from hell itself.  

When he felt the wet splash on his thigh, he lost what sliver of composure he had left and roared as he too climaxed, your walls contracting and dragging him back in with every thrust. His seed spilled inside, mixing with the mess you’d both already made and dripping from between you, hitting the floor between his feet.  

Whilst his thrusts slowed to keep his and your orgasms prolonged, the strength of them didn’t waver. And with each, he punctuated it with a noise that sounded something between a whimper and a grunt. His arms had tightened around you, grip on your hair pulling at your scalp with each final thrust. 

When he finally stilled, he didn’t let go immediately, scared that if he did you may slam onto the desk below you and him to the floor, completely boneless.  

You both caught your breath for a moment, and when he did finally loosen his grip it was to slip out of you and pull you back against him when he slumped in his chair behind him. Wordlessly and still panting, he pulled you to sit in his lap curled into his chest. He didn’t care about the mess still seeping from your ruined cunt. He knew you’d need him close, comforting you. 

And you certainly did. You nuzzled into his shirt, damp with sweat and now, your tears. Terzo wrapped his arms around you, hand stroking your hair as he whispered how good you’d been for him in your ear.  

Given a few minutes, you were coming around again to being yourself. You sat up in his lap, looking back at his face – his makeup was ruined with sweat and smudged particularly around his lips where he’d mouthed at your skin. You couldn’t help the giggle that came out. 

He chuckled with you, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his thumb and finger into his eyes as if to clear them. His head rolled back to lay against the high back of his chair, eyes on you.  

“Well, I would say that was to the Old One’s tastes, eh?” You nodded in agreement, smiling shyly.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled, biting your lip.  

“For what, Principessa?” Ah, so he was still calling you that. Well, good. You quite liked that. “Orgasm number one, or orgasm number two?”  

Smug bastard.

You swatted his chest, hiding your blush. “For helping me. Y’know... with the ritual.”  

The smugness of his smirk faded into a softer smile, hand coming to pinch at your chin lightly.  

“Prego, dolcezza... (You’re welcome, sweetie...) ” he winked. “Could you reach into that drawer there, for me?” he asked, pointing at a drawer to the left-hand side of his desk. You did as asked, opening it up to find a clipboard and a pen under the clip. When you looked, it was a list. 

A list of all seven sins you were to perform.   

You handed it to him, shaking your head in a silent laugh. He grinned stupidly and unclipped the pen, biting the cap off before spitting it to the ground and crossing off the first of the seven – Lust.   

His eyes flicked up to you once more, and he flipped the board around so you could see.  

“One down, six to go...” 

Prev: Prologue | Next: Day 2 - Sloth

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[playheadnorth]

The Astarion song I’m working on is reasonably close to being done. Music is recorded, and I’m in the process of recording vocals. I thought I’d share the lyrics though because they’re a lot and directly address my issues with how a good chunk of the Baldur’s Gate 3 fandom treats Astarion.

All the pretty boys say that I can’t get you out of my head All the pretty girls say, “Won’t you please come on back to my bed?” And so I take them, feel their skin where we lay But my mind is a mind is a million miles away All the pretty boys say that I’ve never known anyone like you All the pretty girls say, “No one else gets me quite like you do.” And so I take them, I lead them by the hand To the edge of the city, to a horribly splendid mansion And as the doors shut behind us, trapping us inside Before they are screaming because they’ve realized My mind is a million miles away Then the sun comes up and I go to bed In a dreamless trance thinking of what my life should be instead Really I did what I had to to survive But I’m not sure if that’s true, I can’t tell if I am lying to myself Sometimes it feels like all of this is really happening to somebody else (To somebody else) But now I’m here in the light of day And it’s incredible, I’ll never go back to being a slave And all my fears are a million miles away But I don’t know who you really are How will you react when you learn I’m a creature of the dark? I won’t stand still, be made the villain of the party I look into your eyes and I say that I can’t get you out of my head I cock a little smile and I say, “Won’t you please come on back to my bed?” And so I take you under a canopy of leaves I’ve done this all before, and darling, you’re so dang easy And I’ve gotten what I wanted, for you to take my side It’s all the same as any of the other thousand times My mind is a million miles away But then the sun comes up and you stir from sleep Ask about my scars and the things that he did to me Time goes on and this becomes a pattern You showing me concern as if you think I really matter Let me drink your blood, and for once I’m not starving Describe what I look like when I say I have no memory I can’t tell any more if you truly are that kind Or if you’re only using me Am I once again just lying to myself? Are you really different, or are you just the same as everybody else? Who want to touch me and love me and hear me call them “darling” To pet me, caress me because I am so charming It’s clearly a mask, I’m so clearly in distress But who cares about my wounds when I’m here to be consumed? It’s been so long since I had someone Want to know what goes on in my head Is it so wrong I feel myself longing You'll say I care about me as a friend? And it is terrifying, it’s thrilling, and it’s strange That you might see me for the monster that I am and want me anyway I won’t hold my breath, I might be misreading the signs But though I try to resist, I’m hopelessly resigned My mind is with you tonight My mind is with you tonight

If I do my job correctly, this song will be low key devastating. It was sure low key devastating recording the music for it.

[blushweddinggowns]

“I…” Robin trailed off, her face scrunching up as she spoke, “I know you wouldn’t lie. And if this is all true he is not getting away with it!”

Steve watched, wide-eyed as Robin hopped out of bed, grabbing his discarded phone from the floor, “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling the son of a bitch,” Robin scoffed as she turned it on, “First of all, I know a ton of your shit is at his house, so I’ll be getting all of that back. Second, someone needs to chew this psycho out. And third, he should be aware of the impending ass kicking that is coming his way.”

“Robin,” Steve sighed as she unlocked his phone, “He’s rich and an asshole. He'd probably sue you.”

“Then we’ll sue right back,” She snapped back as she let it ring, the speakerphone on, “Emotional damages and distress. I don’t give a fuck.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he watched her, fully confident that his number had already been blocked. Eddie wasn’t going to pick up. He’d probably never hear from him again-

“Steve?! Oh my god, baby, I never thought you’d call,” Eddie voice answered out of nowhere.

Steve’s eyes widened, shocked that he was even giving them the time of day. Was the game still not over for him?

But Robin didn’t miss a beat, “No, it’s not fucking Steve. Are you insane? Why would he call you?”

“W-Wait, Robin? Is this Robin?”

“Damn right it is! The sister you refused to meet-”

“I-Is Steve with you?” Eddie interrupted, “I need to talk to him. Please let me talk to him?”

Robin looked to him, but Steve was already frantically shaking his head. 

“He’s not with me,” She lied effortlessly, “He’s asleep, he doesn’t even know I’m calling.”

“I-okay,” Eddie said, obviously dejected, “Do you, um, know where he is? How is he? Is he okay?”

Why was he asking her that? Why was he still pretending like he cared?

“Why the fuck would I tell you any of that?” Robin snapped, “And why would he be okay? After what you did?”

“I-I don’t know,” Eddie answered, his voice sounding so small. Steve didn’t like it. He was usually so loud, so full of life. But now… he just sounded defeated. 

“I’m coming over there to get his shit and then you’ll never hear from either of us again,” An air of finality in her voice, “Get it packed.”

“But-”

Robin hung up before he could finish. She tossed the phone back to him, “There. I’m going to go over there now and then you’ll never have to see this piece of shit again.”

That was as comforting as it was devastating. But Steve nodded, “Thank you.”

She kissed his forehead, “No problem. I’ll be right back, okay?"

Steve nodded. He watched her stomp out of the room, the door slamming even louder than before when she left. Steve slid his phone into his pocket, completely uninterested in what the outside world wanted from him. 

He laid back down, deciding that he would get up when Robin came back. It was barely a ten minute drive, she’d be right back.

Except she wasn't.

She was gone for nearly an hour, long enough for Steve to actually get worried. Before he could start actually freaking out, he heard the door unlock, Robin calling into the house “Steve? I’m back. I, um, got everything.”

“Thanks,” Steve called back, getting up to meet her halfway. He hadn’t been out of his room for twenty four plus hours, it was the least he could do. Though when he got to the living room, Steve couldn’t help but notice she looked… different.

She set his box on the coffee table, patting the side of the couch. Steve went over to sit next to her, his eyes narrowing at the conflicted expression on her face, "You’ve softened. Why have you softened?”

From the newest chapter of this fic

[bleedingoptimism]

The Stray

part two

Steve, blushingly furiously, asks Max to take over pancake duty so he can put on a shirt.

And Eddie is both thankful and devastated about it until Steve comes back… and he’s wearing one of Eddie’s shirts and fuck, that makes it so much worse.

He’s always had a thing for guys wearing his clothes and Steve looks so fucking pretty with an old and tattered shirt from his first tour.

Steve catches Eddie staring at him and blushes again, “Sorry, I'm wearing you aren’t I?” 

‘Uhg why would you phrase it like that? That sounds so good. Yes. Please. Wear me.’

Eddie shakes his head and smiles at their guest, “Nah, it’s fine dude, you can do me whene- Wear me! I mean- wear my clot- Stop laughing Max, you little shit! I slept like two hours, okay?”

The three of them share a laugh and then, with all of their plates full, Max starts telling Eddie how she met Steve and the circumstances that got her to invite him over.

Eddie listens and starts thinking, shit, maybe he shouldn’t trust Max to be alone for such long periods of time. He worries about her, always has. But Max has always been independent and so fucking stubborn, toeing the line between proving how responsible she was and disobedience.

He tries to keep an eye on her as much as she lets him, he trusts Max to commute to college alone, to hit the skate park at any hour of the day. She used to get into fights at high school but went to therapy for her anger issues and doesn’t do it anymore.

He trusts her with her boyfriend. Or more accurately, he trusts her boyfriend. It took Max two whole months to tell Eddie she was dating someone and another two months to finally introduce them. And not because she was worried about what Eddie might think of him, oh no. 

She was worried Eddie would think Lucas was too good for her. Too pure. That she would corrupt him. (She was right about Lucas being too pure but Eddie would never think someone could be too good for her. In his opinion, she deserved every bit of good that came her way.)

So really, befriending a street performer sounded like something right up her alley but, taking a homeless man in���

Not that he can blame her, he thinks as he watches Steve shyly biting a pancake and getting progressively redder as Max dives into an action-packed story of him beating up three men to save her.

He knows Max like the back of his hand and knows exactly where she’s going when she talks about how kind, smart, and talented her friend is so he’s not surprised when she asks, “Can he stay with us for a while?”

“No, absolutely not.”

It’s not him who answers, but Steve. He’s shaking his head and looking at Max with big eyes, “I couldn’t possibly. I can’t take advantage of your hospitality any longer, I-”

“Oh, shut up Steve, don’t play hard to get. You have nowhere else to go! Just say yes.”

Steve seems to shrink into himself and looks between Max and Eddie, who gives him a little encouraging smile.

“What are you going to do?” Max presses.

Steve blinks at them sadly and he looks so much like a kicked puppy Eddie wants to make Max back off and hold him, so he stuffs his mouth with pancakes before he says something stupid.

“...I don't know,” Steve answers after a second, and Max huffs as if she is dealing with a child.

“Do you have anyone you could call?” Eddie asks him curious.

Steve’s shoulders tense for a second before he smiles apologetically, “Not anyone I’d want to find out about my… Situation”

“That settles it then!” Max says and claps her hands loudly making Eddie jump, he really did sleep two hours and he wants to go to bed now. Maybe Steve would be up for cuddles? Okay, no. He needs to go to sleep right now before his brain gets any more dumb ideas.

“You can stay in the guest room Wayne and mom use when they come over, no biggie. And don’t worry I’m not gonna let you stay here for free! You’ll chaperone me to school and the skate park and can do the groceries and cook while you look for a proper job! If anything I’ll be taking advantage of you and not the other way around,” Max tells him in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

Steve looks between the both of them once more before sighing and nodding once, a small smile on his lips that makes his eyes shine prettily.

He blinks a couple of times, his eyes looking wetter with every blink and he clears his throat and excuses himself going to the living room where his beat-up duffle bag and guitar case are, pretending to be tying things up while clearly drying his tears.

Eddie’s heart clenches for him but he looks at Max and shakes his head at her, “You know, your mom warned me once about me getting home one day and finding you with a stray puppy but,” he lifts his hand and points in Steve’s general direction, “That’s a grown-ass man.”

Max smirks at him, “Nah,” she says, taking Eddie’s plate and hers and starting to clean up after Steve, “He’s a puppy.”

to be continued!

part 1: 🎸

part 2: you are here!

part 3: 📓

part 4: 💝

coffee?☕🥐💕

[gelenka-daria]

Melkor must really break your heart. I know he breaks mine 🥹💔

um, no? did i sound like he did? god. maybe i got a little too wistful for a second. look, i’ll admit there’s something undeniably tragic about him, classic “how the mighty have fallen” stuff, real shakespearean downfall energy. you know the type, all that cosmic potential scorched into ruin like an overbaked soufflé. the kind of “oh, he could’ve had it all if he hadn’t been such a monumental, irredeemable ass” tale. but heartbreak? eeeh.

and anyway, the story’s not even over. as i’ve said before, there’s still a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel for him. it’s microscopic, yes. practically a speck. but it’s there. tolkien was way too catholic to slam the door entirely shut on redemption. nobody’s beyond saving in his universe, not really. that being said, it’s gonna get so much worse before it gets remotely better—see: dagor dagorath, a.k.a. tolkien’s apocalyptic mic drop and melkor’s grand finale, which is less “final redemption” and more “celestial curb stomp.”

i love melkor, i genuinely do. he’s diabolical and compelling and the kind of villain that makes you lock in when he shows up. he’s delicious in that “oh no he’s hot and evil” kind of way. but his downfall wasn’t a sudden crash, it was a slow-motion train wreck of self-inflicted wounds. a long, drawn-out, unintentional act of personal demolition that took the entire world down with it. he had it coming.

like seriously, there is nothing on arda, not one scrap of reality, not one vala, not one elf or man or puff of cloud or blade of grass that doesn’t have melkor-induced ptsd. everything he touched either wept, burned, or mutated into something cursed. the guy is basically the cosmic equivalent of a terrible ex who blew up your house and then gaslit you about it.

if anyone breaks my heart, it’s manwë, and if anyone’s heart was breaking over melkor in the legendarium, it was manwë’s. he’s the quiet tragedy no one wants to talk about because he’s all light and order and goodness and has that “dad of the divine” aesthetic and that’s not as interesting to most people, apparently. but come on, the man is suffering.

imagine it. just for a moment, imagine being manwë, and having to stand there and watch your soulmate (yes, i said soulmate, and no i will not be taking questions at this time) your twin in thought, your earliest memory, your oldest joy, the one you roamed with in the echoing corridors of existence before existence even existed… turn on you. not just disagree with you, but full betrayal. sabotage. devastation on a cosmic scale. he didn’t just walk away, he took everything down with him. everything they built, shattered. the children they were supposed to shepherd and protect, twisted. the light they were meant to spread, swallowed. he pours himself into the very matter of the world until he’s barely a person anymore, just a bitter echo wearing the shape of your brother.

and manwë? he doesn’t stop loving him. he can’t. because it’s melkor and he can’t help but hold on, because melkor loved him once too and still did, in the only twisted, tragic way he was capable of. don’t tell me melkor was out here screaming and cursing manwë’s name to the heavens for millennia because he didn’t care. that kind of hatred only comes from love flipped inside out, mutated by ego and rejection. because at some point, melkor must’ve reached out and said, “come with me. join me.” and manwë, faithful, steadfast, infuriatingly principled manwë, couldn’t, wouldn’t, because he had to stay the course and preserve the light.

but he kept hoping and giving melkor chances. he forgave and forgave, and melkor kept throwing those chances back in his face, like glass shattering on marble. in the end, manwë had to be the one to cast him into the void, to close the door of night on someone who had once been his mirror, his other half. and the worst part? he did it not with vengeance, but with grief. a grief that’s scattered all across the text.

so while everyone else is out here popping divine champagne and throwing confetti because “yay, melkor’s gone!”, manwë is standing there with a hollowed-out chest cavity pretending like he isn’t bleeding light from every seam, smiling for everyone else’s benefit. because who could he talk to? who could possibly understand what it’s like to grieve someone the rest of the world thanks you for defeating?

but he doesn’t break in front of anyone. not before the valar, not in the eyes of the eldar. they need him to be steady and radiant and calm and wise. so he waits until he’s alone, buried in the stillness of his chambers, high in the winds of taniquetil, and that’s when he shatters. quietly. completely.

because you know, you just know, that he would’ve rather had melkor beside him than wander endlessly in the void, if only the brother he once knew, the bright, brilliant being he loved, had even once looked back. but melkor didn’t. pride and ambition and a hunger for dominion devoured him whole. every inch of this tragedy is of his own making. he fed himself a thousand lies across the ages until he believed them.

he told himself manwë abandoned him, looked down on him, feared his power. he convinced himself his pain was righteous, that he deserved more, that he was entitled to arda and everything in it. but deep down, buried in the absolute black of the void, he knew that he had cut off the one person who could, would, have saved him. for pride. for power.

and now he’s alone. forever. and manwë, sweet, stubborn manwë, is left with nothing but memory. a memory that won’t scab over, that bleeds at the edges no matter how many millennia pass. a memory shaped like a brother who chose to burn the world rather than share it.

so yeah. melkor doesn’t break my heart.

manwë does.

[hannahssimblr]

Wise behaviour, I decide, is sleeping it off. I pass out in the tent for hours, oblivious to the festival chaos, and wake disoriented and in no better spirits once the sun has dipped beneath the hills. Half awake, I trudge towards the showers and wash my hair and teeth under cold water before wandering off to find someone to hang out with for the night. 

It’s Joe and Kasper I find first, laying into hamburgers that I cannot understand how they can stomach. After what I saw spew out of me today, I’m not sure I’ll ever enjoy solid food again, but I sit with them while they polish them off, finding that I can handle the eating and the finger licking if I completely dissociate and think about the way my palms feel until my mind is free from all thought, and every emotion is vacuumed right out of my being. 

I maintain it for a while, that blank feeling, and when we finally meet with the others to see Foo Fighters at the main stage, I stand there like a ghost on the outskirts of the group while Jen throws me the occasional withering stare. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she whispers, as we try to find a decent place to stand.

I shrug. “Dunno, really.”

“Why are you acting so weird?”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Not trying to.”

“And where were you all day? I texted you like, ten times, probably. It was like getting a grim insight into what it’s like to go out with you.”

“What’s that mean?”

She scoffs, “Please, how you’d disappear for hours when Michelle was trying to get in touch, and reappear with no explanation, like, a day later? No wonder she was paranoid.”

I frown. “Thought you refused to talk to her about our relationship, the same way you did with me.”

And she rolls her eyes, “oh, come on. You really think she didn’t bring it up with me? Endlessly? And you know what? She was right. Not texting her back for a whole day was a really shit thing to do.”

“It was because my phone died. Half the time I couldn’t remember where my charger was.”

“You just didn’t want to talk to her.”

“Sometimes I don’t want to talk, Jen. In fact sometimes it's better for everyone when I don't have to.”

Her face reddens. “Well then, you should say that, instead of just going mute on people. It’s not nice.”

“I said it this morning!” As my voice rises a few decibels, Evie turns to look at me, and I only meet her eyes for a split second before returning my glare to Jen. “I told you I’m not up for talking.”

“Well, fine, but tell me what you were doing today. You look awful.” her hand comes to my face and I knock it away. 

“Stop. Don’t touch me.”

She rears back like I’ve spit at her. “Jude.”

“I just don’t want your hands right in my face.”

She stares at me in outrage. “You're treating me like a criminal for being concerned. I just wanted to spend time with you today, that’s all.”

“Well, look. I’m not always going to be here. You’re going to have to find someone else to hang out with eventually, so you’ll need to stop depending on me for company all the time.”

Tears spring to her eyes. “Oh, my God. You’re being rotten. When you’re like this-”

“Don’t talk to me then.”

“I’m allowed to talk to you. You’re my friend.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, talk then. Chat away. I'm listening.”

Her chin wobbles, but her eyes harden. “You should be ashamed of yourself, by the way.”

I raise my eyebrows with mock enlightenment. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because, whatever about how I feel today, but you’ve confused that sweet girl, okay? I’ve been with her since morning, and she’s devastated that you’ve kissed her and then essentially run away and hid from her like a scared child.”

“Did she say that, Jen, or did you just make it up so I’d feel guilty?”

“That’s the fucking subtext.”

“The subtext, is it? Oh, excuse me. The fucking subtext.”

“You can’t speak to me like that.”

“Christ, I can't say anything, can I?”

“It’s not even about me, by the way. What about Evie? Huh? What about-”

“Oh, my God.” I make a sound, this hollow, frustrated hack like the imitation of a laugh. “Stop hounding me about her, right? I’m sick of it, all day, all the time, begging for details. It’s nothing. It’s meaningless, so just leave me alone.”

“It’s not nothing. I know you well enough to tell when it’s-”

“Jen!”

“Fine.” She marches to join Evie, who, after one more anxious glance in my direction, murmurs something to Jen that I cannot hear. 

“Yeah. I think he’s just in one of his moods.” She snips at volume, flashing evil eyes over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. He woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I had to see him like this all the time at school. Just ignore him.”

I scowl at her, and she scowls back even harder before whirling around and pulling Evie into the crowd, and as far away from me as they can possibly get.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

just out of curiosity – why do you like sukugo??

i've just never seen any of the accounts i follow/my mutuals celebrate this pairing so i'm really curious!

:))))))))) i smiled so wide getting this ask anon. PLS DON’T BE ALARMED just take my hand and let me tell you abt two deeply violent homoerotic men….

okay so when it comes to sukugo i just. ADORE their dynamic and relationship. it’s one of my favorites in the entire manga and i truly think akutami COOKED with it . not only the shinjuku fight itself (which is, ofc, what sold me on the ship) but also the foreshadowing beforehand!!! like sukuna telling gojo that he’ll be the first one he kills…. the two of them making the same kind of pose in their respective volume covers (vol. 4 & 14….. another parallel which is even more devastating when you remember that the number four is associated with death in japan)….. both of them being referred to as ”the strongest.”

i actually didn’t pick up on a lot of it until we got to shinjuku!! but i just think akutami teased at their importance to each other so well and so early on.

WITH THAT BEING SAID . their dynamic. their parallels. yes. they’re both the strongest and the most isolated and those two things are synonymous. it ties into one of the most central themes of jjk that equates absolute strenght to absolute solitude — it’s a kind of curse. a curse and a blessing. and they both have it.

the main difference is that gojo knows what it’s like to be understood and loved — but sukuna doesn’t. so he can’t feel lonely. he’s never known what it’s like to not be alone. but gojo has!!! gojo has felt love and felt what it’s like to be understood, and when geto died a part of him died too. he’ll always be lonely. he’s the loneliest character in the series. and when he looks at sukuna he sees the exact same isolation that’s plagued him since the moment he was born. so what does he do about it?

he tries to teach sukuna about love.

^ and THAT’S . the most delicious dynamic ever. i take no criticism. i’ll die on the hill that this concept and their dynamic is one of the absolute highlights of jjk. it’s so GOOD. it’s so insanely good. gojo wants to teach sukuna about love/cure him from his solitude by killing him. and vice versa. it’s inherently violent and inherently tender and it makes me INSANE. to me that’s the greatest appeal of sukugo!!!! violence as tenderness is a trope very near and dear to my heart (and also VERY frequently associated w queer subtext in media…. just putting that out there……) and they do it so good. they have a blast killing each other.

also i just NEED to say how much i love the ”teach you about love” line. it’s one of my favorites in the manga and akutami utilizes it so well!! he repeats it over and over as foreshadowing and to build up the sukugo dynamic. the final reveal that gojo is ”the one who will teach [sukuna] about love” made me weep (even though it was so obvious)…. it’s just so deeply. idk. it just says so much about gojo as a character :(( the fact that he wanted to teach sukuna about love. i’ve seen some people who think that part is ooc but i disagree completely!! gojo has never concerned himself w the morals of others. not really. toji kills riko but gojo still has a respect for him and allows him to say his final words. he never hated geto despite his crimes. he supports yuji fully no matter how many people die because of him. etcetc. same with all his students.

gojo looks at sukuna and sees someone who is just as alone as he is. so deeply, deeply alone. him wanting to change that is not ooc in the slighest because that’s quite literally what drives gojo as a character:

he’s just such a genuinely good person at his core. and it coexists with the way he sometimes disregards morality. this is a hot take but i genuinely think gojo’s character blossomed fully in his battle with sukuna….. i don’t see him as ooc in it at all. he genuinely wanted to reach sukuna!! he knew he was the only one who could even hope to do so. and he tried his best.

and, i would argue that he succeeded.

SEGWAY TIMEEEEEEEEE LET’S GO. okay so let’s talk abt one of my favorite panels in the jjk manga, the panel that solidified sukugo as one of my favorite pairings Of All Time:

(two diff translations bc i love them both :3)

THIS. wow. wow. wow. i could talk abt this panel alone for hours and hours but i’ll try to be coherent……

there’s just? so much meaning to be found here??? for both of them????? not only is it a fundamental moment for gojo — being praised and acknowledged and accepted as himself rather than the strongest — but it’s also proof that gojo did reach sukuna!!! he’ll remember him forever. sukuna will never fully be entirely isolated because even millenia into the future he’ll still remember gojo. gojo nestled his way into sukuna’s heart.

and that’s just . so romantic isn’t it???? so beautiful???????? this is the culmination of gojo’s efforts; the most genuine expression we’ve ever seen on sukuna’s face. he actually looks happy.

i cried seeing that panel btw 😭😭 not a joke!! i was already crying when i started chapter 236 bc i knew how it’d end but this panel (+ the one w geto cheering gojo on in his cult leader fit) made me SOB. not exaggerating. i’ve never cried so much reading a manga… T_T

so!!!! yeah. i just love sukugo. their dynamic is so interesting and beautiful and i can never get enough of it. sometimes i love it more than stsg… don’t tell geto that though……..