#i hope I was able to articulate this in a respectful way

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 19

Series Masterlist

Warnings: strong depictions of illness; very minor suggestive situations

A/N: Super angsty with generous amounts of cuteness. Reader will eventually get to be a badass. But this chapter focuses on articulating the grave situation.

You were pacing outside the bedroom door, wringing your hands just to keep as many parts of your body as possible moving so you wouldn’t combust. Hershel had insisted you wait outside in case it was something possibly contagious that took Daryl down. Even though you’d spent a lot of time close to him, you were showing no symptoms, so the veterinarian thought it best to be safe rather than sorry. 

You could hear Daryl coughing through the door, the sound sudden and harsh, followed by a groan each time that gave you hope that he’d possibly woke up. He’d been dead weight in your arms when everyone had burst in to help. The others had returned just in time, a heavy coat and gloves in tow for Daryl like you had requested. Rick and T-Dog had carried him up the stairs while Lori and Carol put forth effort to keep you back. You had shrugged them off and followed until Hershel stepped in. 

“Y/N, you’re gonna pace a groove into the floorboards.” Carol stood by, watching you, refusing to go about her evening duties and leave you alone. “Y/N.”

You finally paused but didn’t look at her. She didn’t get a chance to comfort you before the door opened. Hershel and Maggie stepped out, whispering between themselves in a way that made your chest tighten. 

“I’ll go get Beth and Carol to help me make a list. Carol?” The eldest Greene placed a hand on Carol’s arm, giving her enough time to assess you before she reluctantly followed. 

“Is he okay?” You asked quietly. You and Hershel were alone outside the door now, the old man’s face smooth with a calm you wished you could muster. 

“He likely had a virus that developed into pneumonia from breathing in the cold air. His lungs are full of fluid and inflamed, which accounts for the rattle when he breathes and, of course, the cough.”

“I know what pneumonia it is.” You interjected, a hint of irritation lacing your tone. “What needs to happen?”

“Ideally, we’d start an IV with fluids and antibiotics. If we can get the fluids and manage some oral antibiotics, we can make those work too. He needs those two things for certain. Fever reducers and cough suppressants would be beneficial. I will check for Tylenol in my things, though I fear I may have given you the last.” 

You crossed your arms above your belly, hugging yourself tightly, and bounced on the balls of your feet, your brain running on overdrive. “Maggie’s making a list?” Hershel nodded, hanging the stethoscope around his neck. “Okay, I’ll go see when we can leave.”

“Y/N, wait.” For an old man, he sure moved quickly, stepping into your path. You knew what he would say. He would advise you not to go, that you shouldn’t put your baby in danger. For fuck sake, you knew that. “I can’t tell you what to do. We’ve established that. And I know that Daryl means a lot to you.”

“With the utmost respect, Hershel, please get to the point.” Your tone was level though inside, you felt like yourself crumbling. The world just took and took and when you would start to feel safe, it didn’t hesitate to remind you of the devastation it could bring. 

“I’d like you to stay with Daryl.” Your rebuttal melted on your tongue when he held up a hand. “I will do everything in my power to care for him but I need to be able to care for you too. Maggie is capable. She’ll have help. Daryl needs you here.” 

“I just—”

“There will be no getting him to cooperate if he finds out you left. You know this.”

You threw back your head and let your arms fall. Of course he was right. And once again, you felt useless. “I know.”

“You know, you are doing more for that man in there than anyone in this group ever could hope to do and I’m not just speaking of the child.” He smiled at you with such kindness. It reminded you of your father, your eyes burning. “Remember that.”

You nodded and sniffed. The old man’s footsteps retreated as you leaned your forehead against the door. Daryl was coughing on the other side. Hershel would have told you if you shouldn’t go in. Most strains of pneumonia were not contagious beyond the virus or bacteria that caused them. If you hadn’t contracted the cold or flu that Daryl had before this, it was unlikely you’d be infected now. 

Turning the knob, you pushed on the door, steadily controlling how quickly it opened to keep it from making a lot of noise. Daryl was under the blankets, one arm lying across his stomach and the other at his side. His face was tilted away from you.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt but if you ventured to guess, he was likely not wearing anything. Hershel would have checked for bites. The hunter wouldn’t have kept that hidden. You knew that but maybe they didn’t. 

His chest rattled and wheezed with each breath, appearing to take a lot more effort than should be necessary. You wondered if they would search for oxygen tanks. Maggie is capable. They would. You needed to stay right there and not try to micromanage. Daryl needed you more. 

There was already an old, cushioned chair next to the bed. Perhaps Hershel used it or maybe Maggie moved it there for you. Regardless, you lowered yourself into it, remaining on the edge so you could easily reach Daryl’s hand. 

His skin was overly warm and dry, the sound accompanying each labored breath was somehow worse at that proximity. Seeing him so still reminded you of finding him injured back at the farm, how afraid you had been at the thought of losing him. That fear had experienced then resurfaced with a vengeance, squeezing your lungs so tightly that you imagined Daryl could breathe with more ease in that moment. 

“Prolly shouldn’t be in here.” 

You visibly startled, nearly sliding off the edge of the chair. “Jesus, Daryl, don’t do that.” You had to take a moment to get your heartrate under control before meeting his scarcely open eyes. It was as if whatever energy, whatever stubbornness, that had been keeping him going had just drained out of him. “How’re you feeling?”

“How ‘m I lookin’?” He wheezed. He coughed without opening his mouth until he could get his arm to obey him and cover the lower portion of his face. He inhaled his food like a human vacuum but at least he covered his mouth when he coughed. 

“Fair point.” You took his hand again and held it between yours. He didn’t pull away. 

“Just need a night an’ I can get back out there.”

You instinctively began to heat up in anger. How could he even think he was fit to be out of bed, much less hunt or take watch? How many times were you going to need to remind him that he needed to care for himself as well? After the initial desire to throttle him had passed, you leaned forward to rest your elbows on the mattress. “We’ve been over this. You can’t run yourself into the ground to take care of me, Thumper, or anyone else. You've done that. You’re really sick, Daryl. And I’m scared.”

“Ain’t gotta be scared.” His fingers wiggled weakly, slowly between your hands. You moved one away so he could squeeze the other. “Ain’t gonna be in this bed long.”

“You’ll be in this bed until Hershel says you can leave it.” You replied sternly. Despite the tears in your eyes, you firmly held his tired gaze. 

He challenged you, indignation carved into every line of weariness. When you didn’t waver, he backed down, much to your relief. “Fine.” He coughed again, coming up off the pillow from the force of it. You released his hand and stood over him, grabbing the old pillow from the other side of the bed. Luckily the dust had been beaten from the fabrics before you were in that room. You slid an arm behind his neck to help him sit up a little, placing the pillow behind him. “Could’a done it myself. Ain’t a invalid.”

“I know you can do things yourself. You’re just not seeming to comprehend that you aren't alone anymore. That someone cares for you.” Loves you. You were still standing and took notice of the bowl of water on the table with a piece of fabric hanging over the edge. Very likely Maggie was trying to bring down the fever. Licking your lips, you dipped the damp material into the cool water and wrung out the excess. With the slightest hesitation, you sat down close to his hand and began to dab the feverish skin of his face. Daryl probably didn’t even realize he sighed when his eyes fluttered closed. “Just let me take care of you for once.”

Fever-bright blue reappeared to study you. He didn’t seem upset but the hunter was known for his sudden shifts in temperament. You simply continued what you were doing, moving on to his neck. He coughed weakly, bringing his arm toward his face while you moved yours to make room. The spell was brisk, your limbs trading again but you felt his fingers brush your swollen belly. 

After another moment, Daryl grunted with a look of absolute feigned irritation. Though you knew you had won this round, you kept your expression neutral and leaned close to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Thank you.”

His eyes were closed but you didn’t miss the twitch at one corner of his lips. His only reply was another grunt. 

The night was nearly unbearable. You had moved to the other side of the bed and sat cross-legged at his side. His breathing was labored and loud, the coughs frequent and painful. The more he rested, the less lucid he became during moments of wakefulness. His skin burned hotter as the fever climbed, your attempts to lower it all for naught. 

Maggie and company were set to leave at first light but it wasn’t soon enough. Pleas fell from your lips each time Hershel came to check on each of you. He urged you to try and rest, even offering to bring Carol, Lori, or Beth to sit with the archer while you got some sleep. Your refusal was instantaneous. Eventually, he brought Beth with him and reasoned she could stay to watch over Daryl while you rested beside him, promising to wake you with any changes, good or bad. 

You were exhausted, that you couldn’t deny. The baby rolled and kicked, honing in on your anxiousness, Hershel said. It was with a yawn that you reluctantly agreed. The Tylenol had finally been located, and you insisted on helping get Daryl to take it before lying down. He was resistant for only a moment before complying, simply because you started to cry. Hormones and exhaustion were not a great combination. 

“You’ll wake me for anything?” You were propped on your elbows, preparing to curl up next to the furnace that was your boyfriend? Partner? Significant other? Whatever. You’d figure that part when he was better. 

“Anything at all. I promise.” Beth smiled reassuringly and patted your ankle. 

You had been made aware that anything not in use had been packed and was ready in case there was a need to flee. That would leave ample time for Daryl to be moved safely. The team of Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog would go in search of what was needed, likely to be gone the entire day to venture further out. The local homes and businesses had already been looted. In essence, there was nothing more to be done except keep the archer comfortable and more importantly, alive. 

“Okay.” You conceded, rolling onto your side to face Daryl as he coughed, a spasm of pain on his face before he settled again. “I’m right here.” You wrapped your fingers around his and held on loosely, closing your eyes to sink quickly into sleep. 

You heard the coughs before registering that your name was being called—no. It was being shouted. You shot straight up, hands immediately fumbling for Daryl. He was upright as well, leaning over his lap and arms braced against his chest to hold the blanket in place, cognizant enough during even such a paroxysm of hacking to hide his marred chest. With both the candle, nearly spent after what most of been a few hours rest for you, and the moonlight reflecting off the snow outside, you could see the redness on his skin, veins and tendons bulging from the force. 

“It’s okay. Daryl, it’s—where’s Hershel?” Your eyes remained on him, hand rubbing circles over his upper back. “Beth?” You looked at her then, found her staring at Daryl with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Fear? Hopelessness? The girl flinched at the sound of her name, only then seeming to hear your question. 

“He went to check if we have any tea bags.” She had lost so many, so much already. So young, still a child in that world. She was frozen, her eyes beginning to shine with moisture. 

Daryl’s fit was calming, each wet, wheezing gasp making the vice around your heart clench tighter. “Beth. Beth, look at me.” You were scared. No, you were terrified of losing Daryl. When the girl swallowed hard and finally turned her head to face you, you smiled with as much reassurance as you could scrape up around the dread stealing your own breath. Whatever you had, you would offer to Daryl. And to her. “He’ll be okay. Your dad’s gonna make sure of it.” You almost failed to hide the quiver in your voice. “Can you go see if we have any more clean scraps of cloth? I’d rather not have him spitting what he coughs up onto the floor.”

Beth nodded and spared one more lingering glance at Daryl, then she left the room. 

“Nice.” Daryl said with a desperate inhale. “Almost—believed ya myself.” He was still sitting up with his shoulders slumped, nearly folded onto his lap. You were still tenderly rubbing circles over his back. 

“You will be okay.” You whispered, laying your forehead against his shoulder blade, smiling when he didn’t react to your skin pressing against a particularly deep scar. Each breath vibrated where you rested. “Here.” You sniffed and pulled away one of the pillows. “Lay on your stomach. It opens up your lungs.”

The hunter looked over his shoulder tiredly as if considering whether or not it was worth the effort. There was a small jerk of his chin that you perceived as a nod, and then he was turning languidly to stretch out on his stomach. He coughed and buried his face in the pillow. You hadn’t noticed he was shivering before then. The blanket was twisted around his legs, making it more difficult to pull it up to the middle of his back. 

“S’miserable.” The words were muffled but decipherable. 

“I know.” You were getting to your feet, pressing your hands into the small of your back to soothe the ache there. The baby moved in what felt like a roll. “Thumper’s doing gymnastics.” Daryl turned his head toward the chair on his side of the bed just as you sat down and dipped the cloth into the bowl of cool water, his arm immediately outstretched so that the back of his hand rested on top of your bump. “Let’s see if we can help the Tylenol with that fever.”

When the cool fabric touched the back of his neck, Daryl flinched. With his body fighting to regulate his temperature, it must have been quite the shock. You left it there for a moment before moving to dab the side of his face. Swiping the cloth over his back, you realized he once again was allowing you to see his scars, this time without the tension of rigid muscles that accompanied his shame and self-loathing. Maybe he just felt too horrible to care. 

By the time Hershel lightly tapped on the door, Daryl was sleeping. The coughs were still present but with longer reprieves, the hunter so exhausted that the fits barely roused him. 

“We found some tea. I regret not mentioning to Maggie that honey could be beneficial.” One plastic cup in one hand was steaming, a torn piece of flannel wrapped around it to ensure he didn’t burn himself. The other hand held a refilled bottle of water, likely from boiling some of the snow. 

Your mind drifted to how different this winter was so different from the ones before the turn. Georgia wasn’t usually a state to receive that amount of snow and such low temperatures. Maybe the lack of human activity had altered the weather patterns. Less cars, less pollution, less deforestation. You weren’t an expert but there had to be something different. If he was real, maybe god just saw fit to throw a few more curveballs at your little group. As if the threat of being eaten alive by the dead wasn’t enough. 

Shaking your head clear, you brushed your fingertips across Daryl’s forehead. “They left?” Hershel nodded. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise yet. 

“Rick seemed to think this was urgent enough to send them out before dawn. I can’t say I’m thrilled to see my daughter driving away into the night but I am inclined to agree with his judgment.”

Daryl could die. It was urgent but for more than any practical reason Rick could suggest. It was so much deeper than that. “He’s asleep. Should I wake him up to drink it?” You placed the fabric back in the water.

“As much as I’d like him to rest, he also needs to avoid dehydration.” He raised the cup slightly. “Peppermint tea is caffeine free but we had nothing to sweeten it. We can only hope he’s thirsty enough to not care. If he’d prefer, I also brought some water.”

Sighing, you nodded and leaned forward to be in Daryl’s line of sight once he awakened. “Daryl. Wake up.” You pulled the blanket up to cover his back. Hershel had seen the scars more than once, you knew that, but you were almost certain Daryl would have appreciated the effort. 

With a groan of protest, he opened his eyes to slits. “What?”

“Hershel brought you some tea.”

“Ain’t thirsty.” He closed his eyes. 

“Bullshit.” You challenged flatly. “Come on, sit up.”

His eyes opened a little wider then, sheer stubbornness driving him to glare at you. “M’comfortable.”

“Tough titty.” 

His expression smoothed out, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Nah, s’real soft.” The hand that laid on your stomach drifted up, the back of his knuckles pressing lightly across the swell of your left breast. 

Hershel cleared his throat. Daryl’s hand moved away at a speed you didn’t think he was capable of in his current state. You snorted when the fevered flush coloring his cheeks deepened with embarrassment. 

Reaching a hand toward the veterinarian, you waited for him to cross the room and pass off the cups.

“Try to drink as much as you can, son.” 

Daryl hummed, likely feeling too awkward to trust his voice. You smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Hershel.”

“No thanks necessary. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check in, but call down if you need anything sooner.”

“Okay.” The door clicked shut while you sat the cup of water down by the bowl and cloth. 

“Why didn’cha—tell me the old man—was in here?” Daryl croaked, making a face so close to a pout that you found it adorable. 

You chuckled. “I didn’t think you were gonna feel me up from your sick bed, sir.” He grumbled something incomprehensible but you honestly weren’t paying attention. If he wasn’t willing to sit up, you could have him raise his head just enough for you to help. “If you won’t sit up for me, could you at least lift your head and let me help you drink?”

“Y’ain’t gonna—stop houndin’—me ‘til I do, are ya?” He turned his face into the pillow and coughed, staying there until he was sure it was over. 

“Nope. You might as well just do what I ask.” You were smiling sweetly and batting your eyes when he finally moved his face back to you. 

“All women nag—this much—or s’mine just special?” Along with the relentless wiggles of your unborn baby, butterflies stirred and fluttered. Even if it was difficult to look past the fact that he struggled to draw in enough air when speaking, you felt your skin—as well as your heart—warm. 

His. 

“You’re just lucky.” You nearly sing-songed, choosing not to question his verbiage. You knew you were his. He’d been rather clear about that, even if he hadn’t exactly used words to convey it. That was enough for you. Hearing it was just a bonus. 

Daryl dragged his limbs and began to push up onto his forearms, but he abandoned the movement before his chest even lifted from the mattress. When he sighed, it was likely from resignation. He lifted and angled his head for you to adequately position the cup and pour a small amount of tea into his mouth. 

“Needs sugar.” He commented a moment or two after swallowing. Shaking your head, you offered it again.

It took a substantial amount of time to finish the tea and a few sips of water. The sun’s appearance found you sitting on the edge of the mattress, running your fingers through Daryl’s hair. He had fallen asleep before finishing the tea, waking only just enough to cooperate with your efforts. Hershel had been in once, declaring that while the archer hadn’t improved, he hadn’t worsened either. 

When he began to cough, you moved your hand from his hair to his back, rubbing soft circles in an attempt to provide any measure of comfort. Once he had settled, you used one of the flannel pieces Beth had retrieved to clean his mouth and the pillow. Hershel seemed pleased that the cough was productive. It was a disgusting reassurance but you’d take anything.

Daryl groaned and shivered, the fever relatively untouched by the Tylenol. The veterinarian had cautioned you that without the aid of antibiotics and soon, it was likely Daryl’s condition would deteriorate. Your hand stilled on this spine, the rattling of his lungs vibrating beneath your palm. Nearly overcome with an intense notion of foreboding, you turned your face toward the window, almost as if to summon back the team by sheer force of will alone. 

“Please hurry.”

[wholoveseggs]

I am begging you can you please make a Damon and Elijah fic? I didn't know this ship even existed but I'm so fuckin invested in it. You can make up the story line and everything, the only thing I ask is that Elijah is the dominant one and that Elena doesn't support their relationship but they simply don't care what she thinks anymore?

Thank you thank you thank you🫶🫶🫶

Respect

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah puts Damon in his place, and demands he show him a little more than respect.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I was giggling like crazy writing this (its my fav Elijah ship) Unfortunately I didn't include Elena, but we all know she would be jealous as fuck... (of who? well... that's up to you...) ♡♡

2.9k words - Warnings: smut, this is just a alternate version of the iconic pencil scene, Elijah in his middle part menace era, dom!elijah, sub!damon, blowjobs, face-fucking, Damon being an Elijah simp...

At first, Damon just saw Elijah as the enemy, simple, straightforward, an asshole that just had to go.

He was a threat and Damon was an expert on handling threats, especially when it came to the safety of those he cared about. He wasn't afraid to throw punches, not afraid to pull out the stops and go all out.

But then things changed.

Things changed and he realized that maybe he and Elijah had more in common than he thought, the man was cunning and calculating, he could be dangerous when he needed to be, and Damon would be lying if he said that it didn't scare the hell out of him.

Elijah was a mystery that he wanted to solve, he wanted to figure out just how deep his intelligence went, how far his knowledge spanned. He was curious about him, he wanted to learn every little detail and find out what made him tick.

Damon knew what he was to woman, he would wield his good looks like a weapon, his charm was another weapon, his wit was one too.

But now he truly understood what it was like to be on the receiving end of such charisma, it was addicting, and he was hooked.

Elijah's power and dominance was something that drew him in and held him there. He wanted nothing more than to submit to him, to surrender and let him do as he pleased. It was a foreign feeling, one he wasn't exactly comfortable with… but he couldn't resist him.

The way Elijah was able to command his attention and keep it was intoxicating, his presence alone demanded respect, but when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were pure elegance, and Damon found himself captivated by his smooth tone, his articulation was flawless.

He was a true gentleman.

He was everything Damon was not.

So what did Damon do? He took all these new and uncomfortable feelings and did what he always did. Antagonize.

He would try his best to push Elijah's buttons, hoping for a reaction, an emotion, anything to give him a clue on what was going through his mind. But to his dismay, the man would not budge, and it just left Damon wanting more.

He knew he needed to get his attention, and Damon still was determined to protect Elena at all costs, so he decided to take it further, the more dangerous the stunt, the better.

Damon sauntered into the Lockwood mansion, his signature smirk firmly in place. Today was a simple fact finding mission. All he wanted to do was suss out Elijah's weaknesses, find out if he could be manipulated, maybe find a way to control him.

That's all. He told himself, making his way deeper into the house, looking for the original.

It wasn't long until he spotted the older vampire, who was chatting away with Carol. He watched him, noticing how his body language screamed regal and refined.

Damon didn't want to admit it, but he was nervous, this was the first time they were officially meeting. The last time Elijah ripped out the hearts of two vampires right in front of him and the time before that Damon drove a coat hanger through Elijah's heart. Not the best first impression.

He could feel his heart beat quicken, and he knew he needed to calm down, otherwise the vampire would notice. So he took a deep breath and plastered his smirk back on, striding confidently toward the pair.

"Damon," Carol gave him a welcoming smile, happy to see him. "What a surprise," she greeted, reaching forward and shaking his hand.

"Carol," he returned, nodding at her.

"Elijah, I want you to meet Damon Salvatore. His family is one of Mystic Falls' founding families." Carol introduced.

"Mmm," Damon looked at Elijah, whose expression was impassive, his eyes scanning him briefly. "Such a pleasure to meet you."

"No. Pleasure's mine," Elijah replied, taking Damon's hand and squeezing tightly, just a tad bit too tight, causing the younger vampire to wince slightly.

"Excuse me," Carol interjected. "I should probably attend to my other guests," she smiled, giving them both a nod before leaving the pair alone.

Damon could feel Elijah's eyes almost burning holes into him, the older vampire seemed to be sizing him up, as if trying to decide whether or not he was worth his time.

"So," Damon drawled, his smirk still present, he motioned towards a private study off to the side, the door slightly ajar. "Shall we?" he suggested, his tone dripping with honey.

Elijah followed behind him, watching as he made his way inside. This young vampire was going to be quite the handful, but that was okay. He had dealt with others far worse.

Once they were both in the room, Elijah closed the door, grazing his fingertips along the leather sofa, not even bothering to look Damons way.

"What can I do for you, Damon?" he inquired, his voice low, but smooth and controlled.

"I was hoping we could have a word," Damon replied, his tone slightly less confident than before, the way Elijah spoke and held himself was unnerving.

"Where's Elena?" Elijah questioned, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Damon didn't like the way Elijah asked after her, like he had some sort of claim over her, and he didn't like the way he said her name either.

"Safe with Stefan. They're laying low, you know, bit of a werewolf problem," Damon explained, his tone nonchalant.

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that," Elijah responded, finally looking at Damon, his expression stoic, almost unreadable.

"I'm sure you did since it was your witch that saved the day." Damon couldn't hide the bite in his tone, he didn't like the way Elijah seemed all knowing, as if he was privy to everything that went on in Mystic Falls.

Elijah finally looked at him, and it sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes were cold and calculating, and it made him uneasy and a little aroused.

"You are welcome," he replied with a smug grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Damon leaned against the nearby desk, trying his best to stay casual. "Which adds to my confusion on exactly why you're here?" he questioned, hoping his voice didn't betray the nerves he was currently feeling.

Elijah was bored by this conversation, the infamous Salvatore was not worth his time. "Why don't you just stay focused on keeping Elena safe and leave the rest to me." He replied, looking away from Damon and smiling softly, he then turned and headed for the door.

But Damon wasn't going to let him get away so easily, he was determined to get his attention, so he sped to the door, blocking Elijah's way.

"Not good enough," Damon stated, his voice firm.

The look on Elijah's face could of melted steel, it was cold, his eyes were hard and his jaw clenched tightly.

Before Damon could blink, Elijah's hand was around his throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall, his grip was like a vice. Damon couldn't breathe, he struggled against the original, clawing at his hand, gasping for air.

He grabbed Elijah's throat, trying to choke him in return, but it was no use. He was strong, and the fact that the older vampire could effortlessly hold him there, only turned him on even more.

Elijah peeled Damon's hand off his throat, crushing the bones in his fingers, and causing the younger vampire to cry out in pain. Damon was shocked at how strong Elijah really was, how easily he was able to handle him.

"You young vampires, so arrogant." He growled, pushing Damon's hand away with ease. "How dare you come in here and challenge me?'' His voice was full of venom, his tone menacing.

"You can't kill me, man. It's not part of the deal." Damon managed to wheeze out, his words slightly slurred from the lack of oxygen.

Elijah was amused by his statement, his face contorting into a gentle smile, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Silence," he whispered, his tone dangerously low.

Damon's mouth snapped shut, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He was in a compromising position, and he wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline, or the fact that he was literally at the mercy of an Original, but his body was buzzing with anticipation.

Elijah could hear Damon's heartbeat racing, the blood pumping through his veins. He knew what the young vampire was feeling, the fear, the arousal.

Elijah grabbed a pencil and jammed it into Damon's neck. He needed to teach this vampire a lesson. He was a mere child compared to him, and it was time he learned his place.

Damon cried out in agony, the pencil lodged deep in his neck. He was utterly helpless, and Elijah could tell.

He dropped Damon, letting him pull the pencil out of his neck and stumble forwards, he clutched at his throat, groaning in pain.

Elijah smiled slightly, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the blood off his hands, "I'm an Original. Show a little respect," he ordered.

Damon could feel his pants getting tighter, the bulge in his jeans growing with every passing second. Elijah's dominance was a major turn on, and he couldn't stop the arousal coursing through his body.

Elijah handed him the handkerchief, their fingers brushing, causing Damon to shiver. He took the cloth, wiping away the excess blood.

Damon wanted to be angry, he should be furious, but instead he was excited. His blood was pumping, his adrenaline was high, and he couldn't hide the fact that Elijah made him feel things he never thought possible.

When their eyes met, Elijah knew that he was in for a fun time. He could see the desire swimming in those bright blue eyes. He smirked and stepped closer, invading his personal space, causing the younger vampire to swallow nervously.

"On your knees," Elijah commanded, his tone deep and seductive.

Damon felt a jolt of pleasure go straight to his dick, his mind was screaming for him to leave, but his body was already sinking down to the floor.

Once on his knees, he looked up at Elijah, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming out in shallow pants.

"You know what to do." Elijah encouraged, his eyes full of lust.

Damon hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as he reached up and began undoing the belt and button on Elijah's dress pants. He was a bit nervous, not because he had never been with a man before, he had, plenty of times, but this was an original, and he wasn't exactly sure how far he was willing to go.

"Do you require a written invitation?" Elijah questioned with a teasing grin.

Damon frowned and swallowed thickly, pulling the zipper down slowly, and carefully removing Elijah's cock from his pants. It was so hard, so thick, and Damon couldn't deny that he was intimidated by its size.

Elijah grunted slightly, looking down at Damon with hooded eyes, his gaze filled with dark lust. He didn't usually have his enemies submit in this way, only when he was in a charitable mood, but Damon was an exception.

Elijah ran his fingers through Damon's dark hair, tugging gently at the strands, causing the younger vampire to wince, it wasn't rough enough to hurt, but it was enough to pull a reaction.

Damon leaned in closer, his hot breath ghosting across the sensitive skin. Elijah smelled like pine and leather and a hint of cologne, he was pure man, and it made his head spin.

So Damon, using all his experience from previous encounters, ran his tongue over the tip, earning a small groan of approval.

Encouraged by Elijah's moan, he started to slide his mouth along his shaft. Giving him gentle licks and wet kisses, tasting the bitter flavor of the pre cum seeping out.

The pace was slow at first, Damon running his tongue down to the base and back up to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head of the shaft, eliciting more beautiful sounds from Elijah.

Elijah dug his fingernails into Damon's scalp, gripping his head, and guiding him down further, moaning softly as he hit the back of his throat.

Damon gagged a little, causing Elijah to chuckle. "Hmph, there we go," he grunted, looking down at Damon's face and meeting his heated gaze.

He then forced his cock deep into his mouth, holding his head in place and listening to him gag, spit dripping out and down his chin.

"Ah...good boy, that's better," Elijah cooed, easing his grip slightly and allowing Damon to adjust. "Just like that." He praised.

Damon closed his eyes and relaxed his throat, letting Elijah use him the way he wanted, the way he desired.

As soon as the noises stopped, Elijah removed his dick, giving Damon the opportunity to breathe. Damon gasped for air, coughing, his throat was raw, he hadn't let someone treat him in this way for decades, he was completely and totally dominated.

But it was so hot, so arousing, and he loved every minute of it. His own erection pressing painfully against the seam of his pants, he wanted more.

He swallowed heavily, looking up at Elijah who was stroking himself, enjoying the sight before him.

"Mmm, very good, such a pretty face, a perfect mouth for my cock," Elijah growled. "Now suck," he ordered.

Damon surged forward, his mouth wrapping around his shaft once more, but this time he pushed himself all the way to the base, swallowing around him, letting him feel the tight squeeze of his throat.

Elijah thrust his hips, and Damon could tell he was close to the edge, he wanted to taste his cum, wanted to feel the power and authority of him.

"Fuck, yes," Elijah muttered, holding Damon's head and slamming his hips into his mouth. "Just a little bit more," he groaned, his words broken by ragged moans.

Damon's jaw was aching, his entire body was shaking, and he could barely breathe, but the pressure building between his legs made the pain all worth it.

Elijah grunted, slamming his hips forward one final time, spilling his load down Damon's throat. The vampire eagerly swallowed down the warm thick fluid, breathing deeply, and trying to regain his composure.

When the spasms subsided, he pulled out, and Damon collapsed, his body trembling, his cock painfully hard, his breath coming out in sharp gasps.

Elijah smiled down at him, his cock glistening with the young vampires spit. He tucked himself away, straightening his suit and clearing his throat.

"Now, get cleaned up," he commanded, tossing his handkerchief at him.

Damon scrambled to wipe himself off, he didn't even have the decency to ask if Damon needed help getting off. The thought didn't even cross his mind.

Elijah fixed his hair in the mirror, making sure his appearance was perfect, that his part was just right. When he was satisfied with his look, he gave Damon one last glance and left the room without a word.

Damon sat there, stunned and aching. He had never experienced anything like that before, and it left him wanting more. He couldn't believe what had just happened, how easily Elijah had put him in his place, how willingly he had submitted.

He was a vampire, a strong, powerful vampire, and yet he was completely at the mercy of another. And that scared and thrilled him.

He shook his head and stood up, his legs shaking. He quickly composed himself, adjusting his clothes, wiping away the stray tear.

He wondered what Elena would think, or Stefan or even Alaric. Would they understand? He didn't even understand it himself.

He sighed and walked out of the study, heading towards the bar. He needed a drink. A stiff one.

Elijah was leaning against the bar, a glass of scotch in his hand, his expression unreadable. Damon could feel the tension between them, but he ignored it, instead focusing on pouring himself a glass.

"Enjoyed yourself?" Elijah inquired, his voice laced with amusement.

For once Damon was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. He didn't know how to respond.

"The moment you cease to be of use to me, you're dead, so you should do what I say. Keep Elena safe." Elijah continued, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

Damon somehow found his voice again and his snarky side made an appearance. "Well, thank you for being so gracious," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Elijah chuckled, shaking his head, he took a sip of his drink, savoring the taste.

"I like this town, there are so many interesting people," he commented, his eyes locking with Damon's, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Interesting?" Damon repeated, arching his brow.

"Indeed," Elijah replied, his gaze lingering on the younger vampire for a moment longer before he stood and set his glass on the counter.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against Damon's ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, "it was nice meeting you Damon Salvatore, I'm sure our paths will cross again,"

Damon watched him walk away, his heart racing, his mouth dry. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew one thing, he wanted more.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[arget-star]

By Any Other Name

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

A/N: Alright SO. I know I am primarily a Fire Emblem blog. however, Wind Breaker took over my life in the span of like a week and I could not get this thought out of my head and well. here we are. Not beta read, this is my first xreader fic i've ever posted. i hope you enjoy!

tags: fluff, a tiny bit of blood, feelings

wc: 2k

about: You met Sakura about six months ago, and have essentially wormed your way into his little walled off heart. He comes home to your now (mostly) shared little apartment, battered and bloody after saving a girl who looked like you

You’re not living together.

That’s what Sakura says, despite the fact you stay over four nights out of the week, and somewhere in the six months you’ve been dating, half your stuff has ended up in his ramshackle little apartment. “You deserve better than a leaky faucet”, he’d said, cheeks red and nose scrunched in a scowl. You’d merely laughed, kissing his forehead before replying, “It adds to the charm.” And that was that.

You’re not living together. So why does he hope you’ll be there, curled up on that cheap little couch you’d insisted on bringing over, that lovely smile on your face as you greet him?

Those assholes must’ve hit his head harder than he realized. Sakura grits his teeth, an arm banded around his throbbing torso as he wobbles along the sidewalk. Weaklings, all of them. Acting tough solely because they have nothing better to do with their time. Seriously, it’s just plain pathetic.

He spits out a glob of blood into the nearby bushes. He doesn’t remember biting his cheek; maybe he’d ground his teeth against it after taking a particularly nasty kick while dodging someone else’s punch. Wasn’t he past his body locking up, his muscles moving with all the speed of a turtle?

The girl had been clutching the long strap of her purse with all her meager might while surrounded by leering thugs. The type of guys who coast by on looks rather than action. Intimidation instead of respect. At least now he’s able to articulate—better yet, understand—what pisses him off so badly about guys like that. Sakura would’ve leapt in regardless, but then he caught sight of her underneath the lamplight, and her shade of hair matched yours. The purse even had a keychain dangling from it, the charms jingling in faint alarm.

She wasn’t you, obviously. You were already home, had probably cooked something simple yet delicious and were keeping it warm until he arrived.

So he froze, mismatched eyes wide as a new type of fear unfurled within his chest, and then all hell broke loose. He knew how to protect someone in a fight, finally, and while the poor girl flattened herself against the side of a nearby building as he sent the idiots flying, his attention still kept flicking to her. He kept thinking what he’d do if it was you, and on one such slip of his concentration, that bastard’s boot came out of nowhere.

He’ll have to report this to Umemiya in the morning, and tell you all about it tonight, and—

Sakura looks up. He’s nearly there; the derelict building doesn’t seem so foreboding, especially once he catches sight of the warm yellow light on in his apartment. Maybe, just maybe, things won’t be so bad after all.

The doorknob wiggles. You carefully place your bookmark inside your book,  sitting up properly in your seat. Sakura’s home a bit later than usual—he probably got stuck eating at Café Pothos with everyone else. Good. You’re grateful he has so many friends, even if he acts like a cat who fell into a puddle of water about it.

“Welco—Sakura!” Your book tumbles from your hands in your haste to stand up. He stands in the doorway while you catalogue his injuries as if in slow motion. Blood drips down the left side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow. His nose is bleeding, too, running down his chin and staining his white shirt red. His knuckles are raw. It’s subtle; yet he sways, quickly placing his right hand against the wall to brace himself. The motion is enough to jolt you from your surprise.

You’re at his side in a blink. His reaction is sluggish; lips parting in belated surprise when you loop his right arm around your shoulders. Normally, he reads your movements almost before you make them, bracing himself for whatever contact you’re about to subject him to so he’s never caught off guard. But slowly, like water eroding rock, he’d learned that he can let his guard down around you, even at his most vulnerable.

Especially then.

“‘M fine,” he mutters out of reflex. You only scoff, walking him over to the couch with a small huff of effort. “Just a small fight.”

Carefully, you help ease him down onto the cushions, releasing your hold only once he’s settled. “A small fight?” You echo, disbelief in your tone. There’s no reprimand or ridicule, just a healthy doubt. He doesn’t know exactly when he stopped looking for the irritation he’s so used to hearing. Leaning his head back, he sighs. “Some guys were causin’ trouble. A new gang, I think. Trying to rob a girl—” he cuts off abruptly, and you watch his cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red, nearly blending in with the dried blood caking his skin. Sakura immediately looks away; he misses the knowing glint entering your expression.

Spinning on your heel, you head for the kitchen. The faucet doesn’t leak as badly now, after you’d finagled a temporary fix with determination and a healthy amount of internet research. He deserves more than a crappy sink, even if he won’t admit it. “You were by yourself?” You ask, opening the drawer and removing a towel. (Yet another item that had miraculously wound up in his space one day. When Sakura confronted you, you’d shrugged, then asked what he wanted for dinner.)

Sakura watches you for a moment, ignoring how something deep within his chest settles as you run the towel under cool water. It’s a familiar scene, enough that he no longer feels the urge to yell and raise his fists in defense. “Yeah. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle on my own.”

Strange. Suo-chan and Nirei-chan always shadow Sakura. Unless Sakura is going home—they haven’t invaded his space since the day they’d discovered him sick on the floor. Now, especially, Sakura would rip their heads off if they came snooping around while you were home. The faucet shuts off. You wring out the towel once, twice, then pad back over to the couch.

“I never doubted that, Grade Captain,” you tease, arranging yourself so you’re sitting on your knees. Drops of water drip down your wrist and onto the cushions below. His blush deepens, and you don’t bother hiding your smile. “Now hold still.”

“Shaddup,” he mumbles without heat. Instinct makes him shift back an inch; he’s always taken care of himself, alone. Sick, bruised, bloodied—he proved time and again he didn’t need anyone else. Then you breezed into his life, upending his entire world with your musical laughter and patient touch.

This is far from the first time you’ve patched him up. He no longer hisses and rages and scowls, a teenage version of a toddler’s temper tantrum, yet neither can he completely disregard a lifetime of gut reactions to others extending a hand in his direction.

You never minded when his hackles rose. You understood him, remaining endlessly understanding while he let his fear run its course. The damp rag hovers in the space between you and him. Sakura zeros in on the blue material instead of your face.

“Ready?”

That’s another thing. You ask him about things. Wait for his brain to catch up with non-dangerous situations. It’s weird, and scary, and wonderful.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You always are.”

The smile you give him is radiant. Your free hand cups his less bloody cheek, keeping him steady, while you tenderly press the rag to his chin. He hisses out a breath through clenched teeth.

It’s quiet, as you slowly clean him up, beyond the soft scrap of material against skin. There’s a rhythm to your movements. Sakura finds it soothing, despite the circumstances. You both study each other; Sakura, like you’re a puzzle he’s still trying to solve, and you, like he’s something precious.

His golden eye truly is beautiful. He told you others have compared it to twilight, but you think it’s more akin to burnished gold. Rare, and infinitely treasured. He closes it, keeping it safe from harm as you run the now pink-tinged cloth over his browbone. A shame, you think, he keeps himself so locked away.

The slight pressure leaves his face. You move back, giving him room to breathe, holding the rag loosely in your hand. His eye opens again, a coin glinting in a riverbank.

“There,” you say, unfolding yourself from the couch, brushing your thumb across his cheek before you release him completely. “I’ll be back with the first aid supplies.”

Sakura just nods. He never says the words thank you; but you hear it in the way he lets you take care of him, how he takes your hands so reverently in his once your all finished, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll snap in half if he squeezes too hard.

You’re opening the cabinet underneath the sink when he speaks again. “She looked like you.”

He says it so quietly, you nearly miss it. You freeze, half-bent down to reach for the ridiculous amounts of bandages and antiseptic bottles stashed neatly in their respective baskets. (Another thing you’d changed one day, much to Sakura’s initial chagrin, until he’d stumbled home covered in half a dozen cuts on the rare day you weren’t waiting for him, and found everything he needed without cursing his lack of organization.)

Mechanically, you grab the necessary materials. You’d assumed as much, based on his reaction when you told you the cause of his current state. A shudder runs down your spine as you imagine what the other guys must look like, lying defeated in the street. Sakura doesn’t fight just on behalf of someone else—at least, that what helps him sleep at night, though you know his tune has changed after all his experiences with Bofurin. For him to fight on your behalf, however tangentially related, makes your heart flutter.

Kotoha will practically jump for joy when you tell her.

For now, you let this newfound knowledge settle into your skin, your fluttering heart, smiling to yourself as you exit the bathroom, arms loaded with supplies. “Did she, now?”

Sakura’s sitting upright, head down, once again avoiding your gaze. His fingernails dig into the fabric of his school pants. Beneath the curtain of two-toned hair, you can see the blush sitting high on his cheeks. It’s a miracle they’re not permanently stained pink.

“Y-yeah. I knew she wasn’t you, but for a moment…I need to teach you how to defend yourself. I can’t patrol everywhere, and I’m not the strongest yet. Anyone from Furin will keep you safe, but if we’re not around—”

This is new. You swallow, setting the first aid supplies down on the tatami, sitting down with your legs crisscrossed. (One day, you’ll convince him to buy a table, but there’s only so much furniture you can squeeze in such a tiny place.)

“Sakura,” you say, but he doesn’t hear you.

“—I need to know you can take care of yourself until I get there—”

“Sakura.”

“—and send them all flyin’—”

“Haruka.”

That shocks him into silence. He inhales, then looks up sharply, lips curling into the angry snarl you know so well. It’s his only defense mechanism, beyond his fists, and he’d never raise those at you. (That thing lodged within his chest stirs again. No one’s called him by his given name in years. It feels right, that here, in this space you two have created together, you should use it.)

He’s quite the sight, half patched-up and spluttering mad. One eye darkens like a storm at sea; the other kindles into molten gold, ready to burn any who get in his way.

You’re surprised, too. But you didn’t know what else to do. He’s never spiraled like this before, and it hits you that for perhaps the first time, he was genuinely scared for someone else. You shake your head, breaking eye contact, and reach for the gauze. “I’m sorry, Sakura. I should have asked before using your first name.”

Your fingers shake only a little when you grab the nearest antiseptic, flipping open the cap with your thumb. He watches it all, struck dumb. He doesn’t want an apology. He wants you to say it again, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

All of the fight leaks out of him. His shoulders slump forward. Haruka. Haruka. You hadn’t said it in disgust, or fear, or hatred. If he had to guess, you sounded concerned. Haruka. “I liked hearin’ you say it,” he replies.

A laugh bubbles out of you, born from nervous relief. You nearly spill antiseptic all over you instead of the gauze. “Really? May I call you Haruka, then? Not all the time…just here.” Rising to your knees, you crawl over to him, taking one battered hand in your soft one.

His throat tightens. An odd pressure builds behind his eyes. “Fine.”

“This’ll sting,” you murmur in warning, almost like an afterthought. “You can use mine, too. If you want.”

Sakura’s about to respond, tell you he’ll do it if it’ll make you happy (and make his own heart beat a little faster), but then the gauze descends onto his split knuckles. It’s not like eating a kick to the face; it barely registers in comparison.

Maybe it’s the emotions he’s kept bottled up since the fight. Maybe it’s the fact you called him Haruka and the world didn’t explode. Both things, he assumes, and that’s why your healing touch hurts worse than a dozen roundhouse kicks.

It fades, after that first bright burst.

Neither of you say anything again while you continue your ministrations. Once his knuckles are taken care of, you move on to his face, tenderly smoothing his bi-colored bangs off his forehead to ensure no strands get caught underneath the small bandage you apply to the cut above his eyebrow.

The entire time, he replays this strange evening over and over again in his head. It all leads back to you, caring for him, using his first name like it’s nothing when it in fact means everything. He hates himself, a little bit, for not being better at this.

For your part, your focus on him turns clinical. You can deal with the emotional part of it later. When you’ve finished with the last bandage, you stare at him a moment. Take in this boy who pushed away the entire world when it wrote him off, the very same boy who harbors no malice in his heart, just kindness hidden by anger.

You press a soft kiss to his lips, then slide away before he can reciprocate. He splutters again, blush back in place, and it’s such a Sak—Haruka thing to do, you bite back a laugh.

“Are you ready to eat, Haruka? You get hungry after a good fight.”

He offers you a rare smile in return.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume Meta 7x01

Aaaaaaannnnd we're back!!

OMG I cannot tell you how good it feels to be back writing costume meta - I have missed it so very much and this first episode has given me lots and lots to talk about so lets crack on with it shall we!

Where to start?! Firstly - Its amazing to have Alayna Bell-Price back in the driving seat and she is a genius because she knows the characters better than anyone and I have to say from my perspective there is a pretty clear difference between this episodes costumes and the ones from season 6 - not that s6's costumes were bad, just that you could see the shift of having a designer who didn't know the characters to the same level. I’m going to go in order of character appearance in a non uniform capacity for this one I think so we’re going to jump around from character to character a bit. There is no Maddie or Hen this week, as we don't see them out of uniform, but every one else is accounted for and I've included Norman and Lola as they've got a multi episode arc and their costumes are interesting and playing into a colour theme!

putting it below the cut as its a long post and I on't want to overtake everyones dashes! Enjoy!

We start off with Athena in this pale pink high neck ribbed sweater with large bell sleeves. I've spoken a fair amount about pale pink over the last couple of seasons of costume metas and how, in clothes its representative of childish and immature behaviours or thoughts. That holds true here - the pale pink is playing into Athena's childhood - when she developed her fear of cruise ships - its creating a connection between her childhood experiences and the woman sitting in Franks office.

We get a flashback that shows her in yellow and orange - the yellow for communication and the orange for transformation. A literal moment where we see Athena transform from the innocence of youth to her developing anxiety and fear around cruise ships. Its really clever visual storytelling connecting adult with child and shows us her fear is genuine and founded in something that she may not have been able to articualte fully as a child, but she can as an adult, even if she doesn't actually articulate it to Bobby.

Our next non uniform costume is Chimney. The lighting is really low in this scene, so it's kind of hard to be 100% sure of the colouring, but he seems to be wearing either a dark navy or black button up shirt under a dark green and black bomber jacket. The use of really dark green in combination with black, Back is a colour that can be about hiding ones vulnerabilities - concealment and masking, but it is also a colour associated with magic (generally dark magic) as well as pessimism. The green is growth and renewal, and the hope for a better future. to use them in combination i this way is playing on Chimneys insecurites and fears, his desire to keep the 'magic' alive in his relationship with Maddie, but it also speaks to his growth, that he goes home and talks to her about it (even if he does come up with an insane plan to 'date forever').

Eddie in the locker room - aside from being shirtless for much of it and pulling some epically good faces - was a super interesting costume choice. Especially the use of his watch! first though - Denim shirt time! We don't actually see Eddie in a denim shirt all that often and we've seen him in the super washed out one far more than dark denim shirts. I've been laughing a little bit at a few people (on twitter mostly) claiming its the same shirt he was wearing at the hospital during and after Bucks coma and it being a play on bringing Buck back to life. While I like the theory, its actually a very different shirt - the one in the hospital was black with a grey wash out and was made of velveteen - so different colour and fabric.

This shirt, is however one we have actually seen Eddie wear before and its far more telling than if it were the hospital shirt. You need to bear in mind that this scene is about Buck and Eddies respective girlfriends (or lack there of) and the fact that Christopher has a girlfriend now as well. This shirt is the same shirt Edie was wearing when he (re)introduced Ana to Chris in 4x08 (breaking point my beloved! the gift that keeps on giving!) and this puts a conversation about Marisol and things going well with her into the same category as Ana - suggesting she is ultimately destined for the same fate as Ana. the other thing that plays into this narrative is the use of the watch.

Eddie does not put the Christopher watch on until after he has found out that Buck has broken up with Natalia - so during the entire conversation about their respective girlfriends, he is only holding the Christopher watch, rather than wearing it.

In the picture below from 4x08 you can see that Eddie is wearing his black 'work' watch rather than the brown strapped 'Christopher' watch. Remember that the first time we see the Christopher watch is when he goes for his first date with Ana in Jinx, so he already has this watch and in theory should be wearing it in this scene. The fact he isn't is pretty telling and I'll go into that a bit more later when we get to Chris's (and Eddies) date scene.

Then we have Buck in his outfit of many colours! The white trainers, continue to play into my theory of Buck wearing them when he is in key points on his journey to discover his self - her it is about showing his growth - that he ended the relationship with Natalia - this is a massive thing when we saw how long it took for him to end things with Taylor - The man who clings is growing and getting out before it drags him down!

The jacket is similar in style to many of the ones we've seen him wearing in season 5 and 6, but this one is much brighter and more colourful. I know I go on about white meaning bad things for Buck, but that isn't relevant here - the white bad things happen to Buck theory is much more about t-shirts, jumpers and shirts rather than jackets - its an under-layer rather than a top layer that = danger. So i'm not thinking of its relevance here for this scene. What I am going to say is that this (according to my spreadsheet!) is the first time we've seen Buck in a white jacket of any description. To me, it's playing into the idea of purity and rebirth which is what white is often associated with. This plays into the comment Eddie makes welcoming Buck back to 'the land of the living' but also implies that Buck is starting a new chapter and making a fresh start - the check patterning suggests it might not all be plain sailing though.

The check pattern is an interesting one, obviously check pattern theory comes into play here, but whether its only in relation to the reveal that he split with Natalia, or if its also foreshadowing Buck getting himself into danger/trouble down the line, remains to be seen.

I'm going to quote myself again because I did predict that this scene may be about his relationship with Natalia when we got the stills dropped - the costume department never let us down!

The only thing I can do is scream into the void about check theory because check does't bode well for people - they always end up in the middle of the drama (see my check theory posts linked on my pinned post for more) and while they come out the other side (99% of the time) Buck in check for that scene in 6x18 pretty much doomed his relationship with Natalia (its specific to her and not C&K's baby as Buck wasn't wearing it when he delivered it!) and as that shirt in the still is very un Buck like, has not only yellow ochre in it, but also its a white base (and we all know buck in white is a bad sign!!) and its check patterned - my theory is that this scene is connected to Natalia in some way - either Buck is not being true to him self in more than one way - that things are going to/have come to a head for their relationship (my kingdom for a reverse of Buck to Eddie about Ana in 5x03!!!) and lead to a pretty big change in some way (fingers crossed for Buck to end it and then finally break down and deal with his trauma!!!) Some other things about that shirt - the colour combination - the green blue and yellow ochre are giving me call backs to coma Buck (another reason I think it might be connected to Bucks unresolved trauma around his death and Eddies absense in his dream)

In the quote above, I was also referring to the blue and white check pattern shirt he was wearing when he and Natalia got together, but there was also the fact that in the balcony scene at the end of 6x18, we also saw her in one of Bucks white shirts. I wrote in my 6x18 meta about how those two things combined didn't bode well for that relationship going forward, and thats what leaves me unsure about the check pattern on this white jacket being purely about something that has already happened. If I put my Buddie goggles on, I would perhaps suggest that the troubled times ahead may be more connected to Buck and Eddies relationship, and this would fit in with a couple of the things Oliver and Ryan have said. The thing with check theory though, is that generally speaking if it's on one of the mains, they come out the other side of the dram/trauma stronger than before. So if it is connected to Buck and Eddies relationship, then we can expect it to be in an even stronger position on the other side of whatever goes down (and at this point you can't strengthen their relationship any further and keep them as just friends imo!)

Chimneys forever dating proposal to Maddie, connects with his outfit when he's talking to Hen - it's the same jeans and black shirt, so the meanings of black, can be continued on into this scene - the idea of magic and hiding his vulnerabilities. The addition of the jacket with this brickwork pattern in its weave is a fun choice, it's playing into the idea of building something, but also plays into the idea that Chimney has his walls up - again fitting in with the black meaning of hiding his vulnerabilities - because instead of expressing his fears to Maddie ad then them talking it thorough, he comes up with his insane forever dating concept. the fact that much of this scene is a contrasting parallel with the scene from season 1 when he is pretending to be someone else entirely for Tatiana all ties in perfectly with this costume. The fact that he reverts to wearing blue (ran out of picture spaces so I couldn't include one) later on - when he's realised his plan isn't realistic, talks to Maddie and they end up back on the same page is really good to see - the blue being a signature Chimney colour and is indicative of him being true to himself.

Bobbys blue suit and blue check patterned shirt. The brightness of the blue is a really important choice - it's the only time we see him this brightly coloured on the cruise until he ends up in the bright red at the end. This is important because this is the moment when he's still all excited and hopeful for his honeymoon cruise - everything is good in Bobby's world at this moment in time - the check pattern is telling us that it's not going to stay that way for long. From her on out we see the colours of Bobby's costumes slowly beginning to dull and take on a washed out tone, but here in this moment all is good.

Athena's bright yellow dress is all about making her stand out - communicating with the audience, she is the brightest person in the room (in more ways than one!!). The thing with yellow, apart from the communication aspect, is that it can also be a symbol of anxiety and fear, so this dress plays rather nicely into the theme of Athenas fear of being on that ship.

The colour does have other good traits too - its fresh and bright and is a colour of happiness in its more jewel like tones and I think we can see all of these meanings in these scenes - Athena might be anxious about being on the ship, but she is also happy and enjoying herself with Bobby in that moment.

Lola and Norman. Lola is the one we need to focus on in her very bright very check patterned Victoria Beckham dress. Obviously the check pattern plays into check pattern theory, but the red also acts like a neon sign to the audience - highlighting that Lola is in danger - the ga won't pick up on check theory, although they might connect the dots about the fact this check patterning looks very like a cage - foreshadowing her being held captive later on, but also as a nod to the fact she was incarcerated previously.

The red is also a nod towards romance and love - playing into the rekindling of their relationship and romance in the aftermath of the freeway 'see me Norman' incident.

Ok so Christophers date night and by extension Eddies date night! This is where this meta is goingto get a bit messy and I'm goingto jump around a bit becasue I need to talk about the way colour theory is at play in all the scenes in Christophers bedroom, so we're going to talk about Christophers bedroom as one big thing rather than the two separate scenes that it actually is. They are extensions of one another and build on so much of the groundwork we've already seen in previous seasons.

Chris in plaid check yellow and red check plays perfectly into check pattern theory - it’s a signifier that something is about to go down with him - namely that the fact he’s dating multiple girls at the same time. 

He’s also wearing a white shirt which is not a colour we see on him all that often - in fact, the only times we’ve seen him in a completely white shirt is with his suit in 5x01 when suit shopping and again in 6x08 for his school dance. He did wear a white vest when dressed as wolverine for halloween  So as you can see its not a common colour for him, but the times have seen him wear it as a solid colour have been connected to school/girls and dating (i’m including the suit shopping in this because Ana was there and it was kind of a Eddie and Ana date of sorts - in that it was suppose to be for this Christening - meet the family - date type thing).

The most interesting thing is the plaid hooded shirt though. It was such an interesting choice to go with for a couple of reasons. the colour way is especially loud - we tend to see Chris wearing greens and blues and greys, with the odd other colour thrown in occasionally. So red and yellow are not common colours for him to be wearing.

On the red front we see him in it a couple of times - the adapted skateboarding scene and the scene in 4x10 when he joins Eddie and Ana on the sofa - getting in the way of their date night. We do also see him wear red in Christmas related episodes (so I don’t tend to count them in the same way as the Christmas colour theming will nearly always override any other colour theming intention - the use of stripes or check or other patterning is more important in those episodes!). 

On the yellow front things are even more clear cut - the Tsunami arc, the aftermath of him falling off the skateboard, Mays graduation party and 5x03’s Eddie Ana break up! These (apart from the tsunami shirt) were all bright almost neon yellow.

This new plaid shirt is more into the yellow ochre part of the yellow spectrum, therefore tying much more to the tsunami arc, which is actually really fitting if you think about it in a little more detail - its a connection, not only to Buck, but also to loss and grief. Eddie might have been using his secret weapon (Chris) to get Buck out of his moping (read mourning) over not being able to go back to work, but Christopher is also still grieving the loss of his mother at that point as well, so its not just about cheering Buck up, its also about giving Chris a chance to do something fun and distract him from his own grief. That is why the use of yellow then ties in so nicely with its use on Chris now.

The other thing that really grabbed my attention about this shirt though is the fact that the two times we’ve seen Buck have a conversation with Chris in his bedroom, he has sat in the same spot and has been wearing one of those two colours - post shooting in maroon and this episode in the yellow ochre - if you watch those two scenes side by side, you see that they’ve used almost identical camera angles as well to film Buck.

I've spoken a lot about the use of maroon as a colour connected to parenthood - especially fatherhood , which is how its intended to be read on Buck - connecting to Eddie and his being shot, pushing Buck into a parental role in Eddies absence.

That alone is a pretty loud reference to Christophers connection and relationship to Buck, but then we have the yellow ochre of it all.

I feel a little bit insane about how close my prediction was on what the Buck Christopher scene was going to be about - this is from the meta I wrote when t he stills dropped;

Whatever this scene transpires being about, based on what we've seen with Buck wearing yellow ochre, we can assume its going to continue to play into this idea of Buck not being fully truthful with people and fitting into the role he thinks people want him to pay rather than being true to himself. I do want to add to this theory by looking at Christophers shirt as well. The grey/ yellow combination is a bit reminiscent of Breaking point (the episode that really is the gift that keeps on giving) because we get Chris in grey and Eddie in tan - that is yellowish toned whilst not actually being yellow There isn't a good screenshot of them together, but the placing of Chris and Buck in the new one has echoes of Eddie and Chris in that scene (one that is interestingly enough playing into the idea of changing family dynamics, but also the moment before and the one that happens afterwards at Bucks loft, directly placing Buck into a parental role (as an aside the idea of Buck being a miracle worker plays into the theme of Eddie looking for magic, just saying!))

Indirectly this scene was about Buck not being true to himself with people and fitting into whatever role he thinks people want him to fit into, only this wasn't an active situation - this was a scene where Buck could draw on his experience of having done that in the past to help Christopher - the line from Eddie 'you didn't end up being like you' is such a call to this and actually shows how valuable Bucks own experiences and learnings are in helping Chris (we've all been joking about Eddie choosing Buck to help him with this Chris's issue, but in actual fact he was the perfect person for the job - not just because of his being a 'reformed player', but also because of his relationship with death and the death of a loved one where you are reliant on others for their memories of a person rather than having your own)

The thing with the Yellow ochre (this meta here that i've already quoted from above is the place to go if you'd like more detail on its use on Buck more widely) isn't just its about it's connection to Buck, his place in Christopher's life and more loosely to the will of it all, (the fact that Buck and Eddie are both wearing the same colour ways as in the hospital bed will reveal scene and are both on the same sides of the screen in both scenes is a stroke of genius and is meant to connect these two scenes together) its also its connection to Shannon.

The first time we meet Shannon, she sits on Christophers bed in more or less the same position as we see Buck and Eddie sit, and looks at where Christopher has been positioned in all these conversations, and she is wearing a burnt orange top thats pretty close to the dark yellow ochre we see Buck wearing. Shannon wears a lot of yellow - as in it there are only a couple of times we don't see her wearing something yellow or with yellow in it and those are key scenes (which I will talk about later on).

Shannons appearance in Christophers room to read the letter she wrote him had her in this black top with a floral patterning on it. She was also wearing green trousers (which can be seen in the still below but aren't actually seen during the scene.

I actually really loved the green trousers and black top as a choice because the top is very Shannon - it sits perfectly with the floral patterns we saw her wearing when she was still alive. The green trousers are a bit of a departure for her, but I think its very intentional for two reasons .

The first is that they are very much in the Eddie trousers wheelhouse, especially in combination with black - he wears green khaki trousers a lot. The inference being that the black and green combination is an echo of Eddie.

The second ties to Christopher. Green is also a colour we've seen on Christopher a lot, it's probably the colour we see him in most. It's being used as a reflection of the fact he is growing and transitioning from child to teenager. But having it here in this scene - on Shannon connects a Christopher growing up without his mom.

Both of these combined really connect into Shannon in this scene, tying the three of them together and on Eddies efforts to keep her alive for Christopher - the underlying implication that his growth into who he is so far is as much to do with Shannon as it is to do with Eddie.

Her necklaces were not identical to the ones we saw her in in season 2, but that's most likely because they don't have them any longer, so they've replicated them as best as they can. The other little nod that I enjoyed is the brown bracelets on her right wrist - the same place Eddie wears his brown strapped Christopher watch!

But the top they have her in plays into a couple of other things - the prominent yellow flowers make an obvious connection to Buck from the previous scene, but they also tie into the 'I want a divorce' scene from 2x17 where she is wearing a dark blue dress with bright yellow ochre flowers all over it. the dress is not especially close to the top in the wider sense - blue dress with white squares v black top with florals in a variety of colours, but the yellow flowers are the prominent aspect of both items of clothing and play into the yellow theme connected to Shannon and then to Buck.

This is espeically relevant when you remember that Eddie is in a black suit in that scene and he's wearing black when he gives the letter to Christopher.

The black for this sequence of scenes is such a poignant choice - its Eddie mourning all over again, not for his loss, but for Christophers loss. I did find it telling that again in this scene, we have the absence of the Christopher watch. Eddie has very rarely not been wearing a watch in his scenes, so the times when we don't see him wearing one are very telling.

For me, in this sequence of scenes, it's about the fact that they are not about Eddies relationship with Christopher, but about Shannons relationship with Christopher. The watch is much more about Eddie and Christopher, so to have it absent from this story arc makes total sense and is symbolic of Eddie being a good father

Then we have Christophers grey shirt - I said when we first got the stills from that scene, how it was likely to be connected to complex family relationships - a la when we’ve seen Buck wearing his grey shirt. And what do you know - the scene was about complex family dynamics/ relationships.

It wasn’t perhaps in the manner I was expecting, but that series of scenes played with the full scope of Chris’s complex family relationships - from the relationship he has with Buck -not only as Christophers friend, but also as more or less Eddies co-parent (the way Eddie asked for Bucks help screamed co-parent rather than friend imo - that whole burnt out car scene was two co-parents discussing their child!) to the relationship he has with his dad - which is a pretty great relationship, but it is a complex one.

The relationship he has with his mom - or the fact he feels he doesn’t have a relationship with her despite Eddies best efforts, because as he grows up she feels further and further away. 

Eddies 'date' night with Marisol. Again I ran out of pictures (30 is not enough!) so you're going to have to use your imagination or go back and rewatch the scene for yourselves, but trust me when I say that Eddie is wearing the same shirt he was wearing for this date night as he was in 4x10 - when Christopher interrupts because he can't sleep!

It's also a similar tee to the one Eddie wears when he has his breakdown and trashes his room (that one was more green when this one is much browner). Its slouchy and has cut and stretched raw edges at the sleeves and on the pocket - in the same way his breakdown shirt did. there is an element of being in familiar surroundings and being comfortable at home, but stretched out raw edges and Eddie generally tend to mean not so great things.

Of course there is the element of his parenting skills being tested by Christophers having more than one girlfriend, but if that where the only reason, then it would've made more sense to have him in that shirt when he's listening in to Chris talking to Buck, rather than when he's on a date with a new girlfriend.

This is especially true as the screen time for that tee has more connection with Marisol than it does with Chris. Combined with the fact that once again, like in the locker room scene, he is not wearing his Christopher watch in this scene and that speaks volumes.

If we are to read the scene as being about Christopher soley, he should be wearing his watch because that watch is a physical embodiment of the importance of Christopher in Eddies life - that he puts Christopher first in all things.

Got to say I was a bit shocked to see Marisol in his bright magenta silk spaghetti strap top when you consider the costumes we saw her in last season - mostly dressed down, t-shirts, jumpers and dungarees so this is a complete 180 for her character.

There are a few interesting things connected to her outfit, firstly it low key ties into Natalia - we saw Natalia in a red version of this top for her first proper onscreen date with Buck (when they go to the badge and ladder joint) so there is an interesting low key parallel to draw there. There is also the fact that her bracelet is a chain one - much like we've seen on all of Buck and Eddies previous girlfriends - although those have been necklaces, so I'm undecided if this chain bracelet is paying into the same trope as those.

Then there is the pink of it all.

You see Eddie and Pink on his girlfriends doesn't bode well for Marisol.

Both Shannon and Ana wore pink. Ana wore it a lot - there are two examples below, but generally speaking its her most commonly worn colour - including on her first date with Eddie in Jinx.

The first example below is from the first time we see her in the Diaz house. the shades are different, but the fact that the first time we see both characters in the Diaz house they're both wearing pink, speaks volumes.

The other key use of Pink is when Shannon is at the beach with Eddie and Christopher and she tells Eddie she's pregnant - Eddie takes it as the sign he has been looking for - the chance to effectively start over with their marriage, but this is the beginning of the end for their relationship, even if she hadn't died a short while later. She is wearing pale pink in that scene and it's the only time we see her wear the colour in the show.

The fact we can also contrast the use of pink with when Buck wears it is telling in its own right - we see the relationship between Buck and Eddie strengthening when Buck wears pink - May's graduation party, the tsunami, the Hildy coffee machine - all moments (big and small) that show the development of various aspects of their relationship and its ability to endure.

Essentially all this use of pink on the women he has had previous relationships with, doesn't bode well for Marisol and the longevity of her relationship with Eddie. How quickly it will end I can't say, just that it will end.

I spoke earlier in this post about colour theming for the episode and this is where I talk about it!

Pink - and in particular the very bright pinks we saw scattered across the episode. Marisol above wearing it, isn't just about connecting her to Ana in costume terms (especially as at this point that costume is a departure of her costumes from s6) it also connects her to the other characters we see wearing bright pink in this episode - Lola and Norman.

At this point in time I'm not sure if we're going to see it play out as a theme across the season, but its use in this episode was very loud on characters that are going to be around for more than 1 episode. It suggests that there is some underlying theme that connects them (by this I don't mean that they're gonna meet and hang out I mean that personality traits are going to be similar)

Magenta and bright pink in colour theory means a few different things, and like with all colours, has positive and negative traits. Generally speaking its a loud and brash colour thats designed to stand out and draw attention to it's wearer.

Things that are considered positive traits for this shade of pink are; intensity, acceptance, kindness and it's supportive and uplifting nature. It's connected to naive love (as in lust rather than the passionate and enduring love of red) can also be considered a nurturing colour.

Negative traits are; intensity, volatility, arrogant and impatient, irritability and irritating and frustration. it is also said to be a stress inducing colour and is said to be overly emotional.

Theres a clear and fairly loud connection between Lola and Norman getting into danger - Lola is in magenta trousers when she is kidnaped. Norman also has bright magenta flowers on his shirt at this point as well. My guess at this point is that we're supposed to lean into the stress inducing element, and also the irritating nature of the colour (On Athenas part at the very least!) and we'll see if those are the themes that play out for Marisol as well down the line.

Norman is in bright pink when he's lying and claiming she's unwell from being outside or too long. We also see that he is wearing pink in the ditsy print shirt later on (again I ran out of picture spaces!)

Athena's black top in this scene is much like the use of Chimney in black in his scenes. It's all about power and authority but it's also about her hiding her vulnerabilities. The other thing it does is creates a huge contrast with Bobby and all of the other passengers - she is the only one in black in the scene and it contrasts her with the underlying white of Bobbys shirt - juxtaposing them and visually putting them at odd with one another.

Like I said above about him becoming increasingly pale - here we see Bobby in a sea-foam green shirt - its the palest and washed out colour we've seen him in on this cruise (grey pyjama shirt not being included as its blink and you miss it and a pyjama tee!!!). Sea-foam green doesn't really play into the traditional meanings of green - there is still the element of renewal about it (the sea washes the sand etc)but its mostly a self-conscious and uncertain colour - both things that perfectly sum up how Bobby is feeling in this moment.

The other fun thing about this outfit is the palm tree shorts the patterns Bobby has worn in relation to this cruise, up to this point (and that includes the shirts from season 6) have all been tropical themed but on his shirts, the fact that they've now slipped down onto his shorts is a visual representation of him becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the way his honeymoon is going - that the tropical vacation vibes are slipping away.

Athenas red and white shirt, in my opinion is showing her cross purposes - its the duality of investigating and being on a cruise in a shirt. The bright red ties into the red and blue first responder colour way the show uses (for obvious reasons) while the white and the palm fronds, the lei flowers and the watery theming of the pattern fit into the troipical cruise they're on.

Bobbys red shirt contrasts with the lavender that we see on Athena - its not a colour we see on Bobby all that often and that makes its use all the more important. Especially considering the entire cruise thus far we've seen him in blues and greens - especially pale closer to pastel tones.

This red is bright snd bold and unlike his usual choices. Red is a colour of cross meaning - there is obviously the connection with love and the heart, which is absolutely at play her - his love for Athena is spurring him on and is part of what is pushing him in to investigator Bobby mode - and its representation of love is what is going to be the key player in the up coming episodes on the ship - when he is looking for Athena during the evacuation etc. But the other meaning of red is war, courage and anger and that is very much present here in this episode, and will (i'm assuming) be later on in 7x02 and 3.

The other thing I think its worth pointing out at this point (which is pure conjecture on my part at this moment in time but that I think will become relevant in the next two episodes rather than this one) is the foreshadowed parallel with Buck in season 5 when he broke down Eddies door. The bright red we saw him wearing then was an uncommon colour for him, in the same way it is for Bobby here. It's paralleling the way Buck was prepared to go into battle for Eddie, with the way Bobby is prepared to do so for Athena - going to war for your closest person, your loved one and doing what you need to do to save them.

Putting Athena in lavender the moment she gets to go into cop mode was a choice that had me giggling! Lavender is a colour of relaxation and order so for her to start wearing it the moment she gets to start being a cop again - speaks volumes for her state of being - it shows that her fear of being on the cruise ship and of being alone with bobby, has been overridden by her need to do her job and start investigating things. Its the perfect colour for this moment and for the impeding trouble brewing on the ship - Athena will bring order to things as order has been restored to her inner world.

Hopefully you've enjoyed this little canter through the costumes of 7x01 we're back in business and I can't wait to read your comments in the tags and comments 🥰

Tagging for those who've asked to be tagged - drop me a comment on this post if you'd like to be added to the list for the next meta 😎

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mandzuking17 @spotsandsocks @loveyou2thecore @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @copyninjabuckley @nathleigh @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @inandoutoffocus @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @lemotmo @bi-moonlight @satvojihusana @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @mongreloer @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud

[megumishotgf]

satoru's pretty girl (sitting on his face!!) ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ

summary: satoru really wants you to sit on his face. but he has to help you work through your bodily insecurities first (chubby! reader). i got really carried away with this omg. 

warnings + tags: body insecurities, chubby!fem!reader, body worship, oral (female receiving), y/n shows love by lowkey bullying satoru and he takes it because he’s cocky and whipped. not proofread i'm sorry it's three in the morning ive spent the last three hours writing this.

masterlist wc: 2.7k ༄ؘ

by nature, satoru is a very persuasive person. whether it’s him using his irresistible charm, or just the other party giving in after getting restlessly annoyed by his persistence, he always has a way of getting what he wants.

satoru has had the same request for the past few weeks now. he wants you - no, needs you - to sit on his face. he flails his arms dramatically, falling backwards onto the bed when you decline, whining about how he needs your pussy on his face or he’ll die.

of course, he respects your boundaries when it comes to sex. but satoru won’t drop this because he knows you want to try it. and he is certain that his eating out skills are not lacking (he’s good at everything, after all), so that’s not the issue either. every time satoru mentions it, you make excuses about being too heavy or your thighs being too big, and no matter how much bragging satoru does, you refuse to believe he can handle it. 

“i’m too heavy, toru. i will suffocate you and you will die!”

“sent to heaven by my sexy girlfriend? you know i wouldn’t mind that. i welcome the idea, in fact…”

“as if you’re going to heaven!”  

satoru has tried to coax you out of your insecurities. he likes that you’re a little bigger than other women. of course, it’s ultimately what’s on the inside that counts… but have you seen yourself? you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen! to be able to sit in between your thick thighs is a privilege in satoru’s eyes. he sits in between them all the time - sometimes eating you out for insanely long periods until you’re squirming away, and other times just letting them act as his personal ear muffs. how on earth could you think they’re a bad thing?

“i’m wounded, baby. you know i’m the strongest for a reason, right?” 

“that doesn’t matter, toru!” you cover your face in embarrassment. “your strength won’t matter when i’m depriving you of oxygen.”

before you can protest, satoru has his arms hooked under each of your legs, hoisting you up into the air. your hands instinctively grab his shoulders, thighs squeezing around his torso in shock. “satoru! what are you doing?”

“see, baby? i can pick you up just fine. you’re as light as a feather to me,” he replies in that signature flirtatious tone of his. 

satoru lowers you back onto the bed, laughing at your flustered face as he hoovers over you. “so tell me truthfully baby. what’s so bad about having you sit on me?” 

you’re silent for a few moments, unsure of how to articulate your feelings. you take a deep breath, hoping that it’ll calm your restless body and mind, but it comes out shaky and leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.

“i just… don’t want you to see me like that. you’ll see my tummy and my boobs will look weird… what if you realise i’m ugly, toru?” 

satoru’s eyes soften as he hears your voice falter. he pulls away the hands covering your face to meet your tearful eyes. how could his baby think so lowly of herself?

“my poor baby. why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he coos, gently cupping your cheek and letting his thumb wipe away a few stray tears. 

“it’s just silly. i wish i felt more comfortable being naked around you, i do. but you’re so perfect and strong and i don’t look like you at all!”

you’ve started to think it’d be easier if you looked differently. if you looked more like the women you see in magazines, maybe you’d feel more comfortable in your body around satoru. maybe if you worked out a bit more. you feel a little pathetic considering you’ve been together for so long, and you’re still covering yourself up as if you’ve been together for a mere few weeks. 

satoru sits up, guiding you to sit on his lap. he lets his hands run up your sides soothingly as you open up to him about all the awful thoughts you have in your head. your usually-goofy boyfriend sits quietly and listens so intently as you pour your heart out to him, only interrupting when you start apologising profusely for your crying.

“hey, stop apologising. you’re my girl and i’m here to listen. i’d give you the world if it meant making you happy. now, i hope you’re comfy because i have a lot to say!” 

you’re sniffling and your nose is runny but satoru still thinks you’re an angel that’s graced the world with your presence, especially when he hears you giggle quietly at him.

“i’ve never been attracted to someone like i am to you. i mean it, y/n. i knew it from the first time i saw you - whereas you found me annoying, may i remind you - i couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. i love everything about you - your face, your tummy, your arms. and your thighs? holy shit… that’s why i need the pretty things around my head, yeah? and your boobs too? baby, have i shown them anything but love?”

satoru knows how to make you laugh - it feels like a breath of fresh air, gradually filling your lungs and pushing that anxious physical discomfort out of your chest. you look at him with wide, glossy eyes but there’s a small smile on your lips. “you don’t think they’re sagging?” 

“i don’t care if they are, angel. they’re a part of you, that’s what i care about. everything about you is so beautiful to me! don’t you see the effect you have on me? just seeing you makes my heart beat faster. i can’t focus on anything but you. even when you’re not around, all i think about is when i can see you next.. and don’t you see how hard i get for you?” he continues, smiling widely at your laughter. you slap at his chest playfully at the comment, but he just takes the same hand and kisses the back of it.

“you see how i feel about you? and honestly, baby, our bodies will change eventually. bodies are temporary. i won’t look like this forever either, you know! but i know you’ll still love me the same. even as we change i’ll still think you’re the most beautiful person ever because you’re still going to be you. i love you more than anything, remember?”

“yeah. i love you so much, toru,” you say, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “and i didn’t find you annoying! i was way too focused on how freakishly tall you are.”

“oh wow… my dear girlfriend making fun of me after i poured my love out for her,” satoru feigns sadness at what you’ve just said, dramatically throwing his head back and clutching his chest. 

“you’re such a baby!” you moan but you’re grinning widely, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. “i love you, toru. thank you. you always make me feel pretty… i just needed a little reminder.”

“that’s okay. i’ll remind you every single day what i think of you, sweet girl,” satoru’s lips are on yours before you can reply. his hands wander over your body - your calves, your thighs, your hips, your tummy. normally you’d feel inclined to straighten your back, nervous that he’d see the folds in your tummy, but those thoughts have been pushed to the far back of your mind. you let your body naturally fall into his, feeling the love through his warm, embracing hands. 

“how about i show you how much i love you, baby?” satoru pulls away only long enough to see you nod in agreement. you can feel him becoming increasingly needy and desperate with his kisses - they get messier and he lets out pretty moans periodically. 

satoru ushers you to lay flat on your back, hoovering over you with that stupid grin of his as he compliments you over and over. so pretty… and you’re all mine. i’m so fucking lucky. can’t believe i’m with you, baby. you can’t feel the nervousness anymore when he starts to undress you - that same nervousness that felt like it was etched into your bones earlier. how could you feel nervous when he’s looking at you with heart-shaped pupils?

your oversized shirt - satoru’s oversized shirt - and your sweats are thrown carelessly acoss the room. the same shirt that you deemed baggy enough to hide your figure sufficiently, so that you wouldn’t have to see the outline of your body. but somehow you found yourself eagerly taking it off, even letting out a giggle when you heard satoru mutter a ‘fuck’ at the sudden reveal of your breasts, as if he hadn’t seen them countless times before. your fingers tug at the hem of satoru’s shirt too but he stops you before you can pull the material off, “tonight’s about you, okay?”

“so fucking pretty,” you can hear a tinge of whininess in his voice, and you have no doubt that his cock is heavy and aching in his pants by now. satoru takes your tits in his large hands, squeezing the fat in between his fingers. his thumbs just barely graze over your sensitive nipples, and he knows if he repeats the action enough you’ll desperately whine and beg for him to give you more. his favourite thing to do, though, is to take them in between his teeth, taking pride in the way your back arches and you gasp in shock. 

“ass up, baby. wanna see your pretty cunt,” his voice is stern this time, and you obey him immediately, making sure your back arches just the way he likes. when satoru fucks you like this, he’ll press down on the small of your back, pushing you further into the mattress, but his other hand will keep your hips steady and high in the air, ready for him to pound into you repeatedly, reducing you to nothing but a crying, moaning mess.

while there’s nothing satoru likes more than fucking you face-to-face, seeing your round ass like this makes his head spin. his hands trace over your stretch marks lovingly, as if he’s trying to commit everything about you’re body to memory. your thighs are sticky, coated with the slick that’s been dripping down from your aching cunt. it got your underwear nice and soaked too, darkening the fabric enough that satoru could see the pretty outline of your pussy lips already. his cock twitches and he feels an overwhelming urge to fuck you into oblivion - but he remembers what he initially set out to do. satoru won’t rest until you’re grinding helplessly against his face.

“could look at you forever, angel. my pretty girl,” satoru continues to praise you. you can feel him press his thumb against your clit through your underwear, his slow movements making you clench your thighs in pathetic desperation, but he spreads them apart once again roughly.  “wanna hear you say it too, baby. say you’re pretty.” 

“i’m pretty. i’m your pretty girl!” your cheeks are a little flushed when you say so, but you can’t bring yourself to feel any shame when the only thing playing in your mind is satoru, satoru, satoru. he’s barely touching you yet you’re already losing your composure, moaning out loudly for him to touch you more.

satoru seems to be content with your answer - finally discarding your underwear, gawking at the string of wetness that forms between your pussy and the fabric. you look so good - smell so good - and you’re so ready to eat, but not like this. not yet. satoru’s quickly turning you over, hands roughly gripping your hips, desperation replacing his usual carefulness.   

“can’t take it anymore, baby. need your pussy on my face, please?” satoru whines as he feels his impatience get the best of him. his hands squeeze at your squishy inner thighs, marvelling at how soft they feel. “wanna have your pretty thighs wrapped around my head. please, angel? i’ll make you feel so good. i promise.”

you’re finally agreeing to his request and satoru swears his heart skips a beat. there’s a chorus of ‘fuck, thank you baby. love you so much,’ as he urges you to move up onto his face. your body moves quickly until you’re (your pussy is) hoovering over him.

“fuck… the view is so pretty,” satoru mutters under you, hands comfortably hooking around your thighs. “want you to ride my face, angel. use me to get off, okay?”

you nod in agreement - your movements must be a little slow for satoru because his arms are starting to impatiently pull you downwards. but you sit up once more, peering down at him cautiously.

satoru senses your hesitance, letting his fingers caress your inner thighs in attempt to soothe you. he’s just seconds away from tasting your sweet pussy and satoru might actually die if it doesn’t happen. “it’s okay. i’m okay, see?” he says in reassurance before forcing you down onto him.

you naturally straighten your back once more. but as soon as you feel satoru’s mouth on your clit, you nearly topple over. the air is sucked out of your lungs and one of your hands reaches out to grip the headboard in front of you in attempt to steady yourself. but god damn his mouth is magical - your thighs start to tremble but satoru’s ironclad grip on you keeps you upright. you’re suddenly hyperaware of your tummy as you lean forward - the same routine thought your insecurities have imprinted into your mind. but thinking of satoru’s earlier words, and seeing the way he looks up at you as he’s eagerly pleasing you, you discard those thoughts immediately.  

“f-fuck,” you feel satoru curse under you. he’s gazing up at you, marvelling in the way you’re shaking above him in pleasure. the slight bounce of your breasts with each jerky movement you make and the cute rolls of your soft tummy. you look like an angel from down here, satoru thinks. and with your sweet-nectarine taste, your enticing smell and your pretty melodic sounds - this has to be heaven, he concludes. this is what heaven is like.

with the sudden tilt of your hips, satoru gets direct access to your entrance (i hate this word). you can feel his tongue eagerly lapping all over your cunt, making sure his nose nudges your clit. you’re so, so wet and satoru can feel your slick all over his face but he fucking loves it - not wasting a single drop of your sweetness. you suddenly buck your hips, starting to grind against his face. at last, satoru can die a happy man.

“fuck, toru. feels so fucking good. you’re soo good,” you cry out, tangling your fingers in his hair. your grip on his strands tightens as his movements gain speed. if he wasn’t putting his mouth to such good use you know satoru would have the stupidest fucking grin on his face seeing the effect he has on you. and he’ll tease you about it tomorrow - even thought he was the one outright begging for you to seat your pussy on his face. 

“toru, i’m so fucking close. oh - oh fuck!” you whine, locking eyes with your boyfriend, who continues to suck greedily at your clit. you feel him squeeze your thighs in reassurance, and you can almost hear him say ‘i’ve got you, baby. don’t hold back.’ in that whiney voice of his. you’re selfishly riding his face now and he fucking loves it - sure, it’s getting a little hard to breathe, but look at you, it’s worth it.

“i’m cumming, cumming - oh, fuck. toru, toru!” suddenly you’re gushing all over satoru’s face but he’s sucking it all up. your body trembles above him, and one of his hands presses against your tummy to steady you as you lean forward. satoru continues his movements on your clit until you’re crying in overstimulation and pushing his head away. 

“too sensitive, toru!” you whimper, glassy eyes connecting with his. you lift yourself off his face, legs still shaking in your post-orgasmic haze, letting yourself collapse tiredly besides him. satoru looks just as fucked out as you - flushed cheeks with the lower half of his face covered in your slick. yet he still licks his lips, trying to savour your taste as long as possible.

“that was so fucking hot. see? i told you i’d make you feel good. could have made you cum again if you were patient!”

just put all the satoru's in bold (there were fifty three) and it doesn't look like a real name anymore. anyway, this is my first satoru fic !! please let me know what you thought of him? did i characterise him well? thanks for the love for this fic i’m super proud of how it turned out!!

[cherrybomb107]

Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and I think I’m finally able to articulate my feelings about Vi becoming an Enforcer. Stick with me, cause this’ll be a rant, but I promise it’ll all make sense (I hope).

As I’ve said before on here, I feel like the Arcane fandom across different platforms is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. Here, vs the subreddit is a whole world of a difference. That difference being so large is part of the reason why I feel how I feel about Vi becoming an Enforcer. It’s not so much that I don’t like it(cause it’s not that I don’t like it; I hate it actually. REAL BAD). But, if I tried to talk about WHY it bothers me so much, some dude bro with a superiority complex and 0 class consciousness is gonna be like “Um ackshully, Vi is trying to protect her community. Why are you mad about that but not mad about Jinx being a TERRORIST?! Huh? Huh?” Then I’ll be accused of being a moron who didn’t watch the show . And then if I tried to defend myself I’d get dog piled and downvoted to oblivion.

So, first of all, irdgaf about Jinx being a terrorist. So what? What goes around comes around. When she burns Piltover tf DOWN, Imma sip on an ice cold beverage and watch, cause fuck em. Secondly, I understand WHY Vi is joining the Enforcers. Just like I understand why women can be raging misogynists. And why immigrants become Trump supporters. And why poor people join the military. And why Black people perpetuate respectability politics. I understand why members of marginalized communities join the opposition responsible for their marginalization. I understand that at its core, these people understand, at least on some level, that the powers that be are punishing them for existing as themselves. So, in an effort to take some of the heat off, they’ll internalize the messages they’ve been force fed since forever. They’ll try to change. Try to be “better”.

But see the problem with that is, trying to become “one of the good ones” and “rise above it all” doesn’t work. For the simple fact of no matter how hard you try to assimilate, you’ll never be one of “them”. You can parrot all the talking points, you can change your hair, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you dress etc. But no matter what, you’ll never be accepted wholly. You’ll always be on the outside looking in.

I say that to say, the thing I hate most about Vi becoming an Enforcer is that I’ll have to see a character that I love dearly fall victim to this mindset. In a show full of tragedies, is this not yet another one to add to the list? Piltover took Vi, a scrappy kid from the Lanes, slaughtered her family in front of her, locked her up and threw away the key, and convinced her that the only way to save her sister was to put on a uniform, and enforce the will of the crooked politicians who don’t care about her or her people.

That’s what’s got me somewhat scared for season two. I really hope they frame Vi’s reluctant decision to join the Enforcers as another tragedy in and of itself, instead of just “a necessary evil” or worse “the right thing to do”. Cause it wasn’t the right thing to do. It was just the only thing Vi felt she could’ve done.

[softonshanks]

Which character in one piece do you think has the best design?

hey! thank you for the question, I think it's very interesting. As someone who as a degree in literature and also in creative writing I can't help but give you two different answers, a short one and a more articulated one, hope you won't mind! Short one: Brook (i just think he is super cool), Ace (I'm in love with his freckles, sorry not sorry) and Luffy (I'm a sucker for those who are kind and I think Oda in his design was able to project an unusual and adorable kidness for a draw). Long one: The one thing you learn over time, whether it is studying fiction or any other piece of media, it's the importance of developing a character whose characteristics are evident not only by his words or actions, but also by his appearence. One of the reason I really appreciate One Piece, not being a particular anime or manga fan myself, is especially the symbolism.

Let's take Fujitora for example, which - in my useless and humble opinion - is a perfect type of character with a design that serves more than its basic purpose.

Fujitora’s design is one of understated power and humility. His blindness is an immediate link to the Roman goddess of Justice. Iustitia (her latin name) was introduced by emperor Augustus, and even if she was not a very old deity in the Roman pantheon, was one of the most celebrated. She had a bandage on her eyes, thus representing her impartiality. Fujitora’s blindness is a key symbolic element of his design, representing his commitment to true justice—justice that is not swayed by appearances or prejudice.

His sword cane is another important symbol; it signifies both his power and his restraint. Fujitora could easily wreak havoc with his gravity powers, but his cane suggests that he chooses to walk a measured, careful path. The traditional elements of his attire, combined with his Marine coat, indicate his respect for tradition and order, in the sense of the true and old values they have to follow to be righteous. His design aligns perfectly with his character as a man of deep conviction and moral integrity. His calm, composed appearance belies the immense power he wields. Fujitora's simple, dignified appearance allows his actions and words to take center stage, making his character memorable not just for his power, but for his profound sense of duty and morality.

Sorry for the long reply, I just liked to dive in this question, I love talking about narrative techniques way too much

[saccharineomens]

A small Chainsaw Man Analysis

They're referencing this post:

(Sorry i can't respond to your ask directly, tumblr kept crashing)

LMAO ok Anon you win but I can’t promise this will be very articulate or coherent

Ok so when I first heard about Chainsaw Man I heard it was The Manga Of All Time and the anime has been Majorly Hyped and Everyone Loves It so I was curious. Then I went and watched the anime and I was like ‘huh ok I mean. It’s good but it’s not like mindblowing.’

Then I read the manga all the way to the end of part 1 and I understood.

So the world of Chainsaw Man is set in a Fucking Bleak reality. Like, overwhelmingly so. The fact that devils exist and can murder humans on a whim and it’s basically treated as an unavoidable inconvenience because how the hell can you stop them, really, when they’re functionally immortal? The best you can do is kill them, send them to Hell, and hope they don’t die there and revive back on Earth. The protagonist is a 16 year old orphan who sold parts of his body to pay off a “noodle incident” debt inherited from his father, and then the kid was murdered by the yakuza he owed money to because they decided they liked devils, actually, and didn’t want him around killing them. In CHAPTER ONE. Why would anyone enjoy reading about a story set in a world like this?

Because of Aki, and Power, and the family Denji created with them. It takes a while for the ball to get rolling in the story, because they’re strangers at the beginning, but any manga reader is gonna know what I mean when I talk about how they love each other. Denji comes across as a sex-obsessed, horny teen, but that’s just because he craves emotional intimacy and sex is the only way he thinks he could get it. The truth is that his shower/bath with Power was the exact kind of vulnerability and intimacy he was craving, and it WASN’T sexy. The narrative didn’t treat it as sexy. Denji even notes that it wasn’t sexy, to his surprise, but it was nice to be able to be vulnerable with another person. Then there’s Aki, who imprinted on Denji and Power so hard he straight-up was considering quitting being a devil hunter so he could just live a normal life with his new family. He was willing to abandon his obsession with the gun devil, something that he’d been driving his will to live for years, for them. It was Himeno’s death and the letter he read that made him realize that the life of a country mouse might not be so bad, if it’s with the people he loves. (I know that’s a loaded sentence out of context but manga readers know what I mean when I bring up the country mouse, right)

I bring all of this up to show how even in a grim, dark, depressing world like Chainsaw Man, there is hope; and that hope comes in the form of love. Love in a general, not romantic, sense. Love of having toast and jam for breakfast, love of a movie, love of a family.

Now, to Makima.

Makima is Really Fucking Goddamn Powerful. She is literally reality breaking, almost as much as Chainsawman. (For the purposes of this essay, I’m referring to Pochita/Chainsawman and Denji as separate entities.) Makima is able to control anyone so long as she feels she has power over them, and she has a contract with the fucking Prime Minister. That’s a terrifying power. She’s literally the manifestation of the fear of being controlled.

And that’s a lonely existence.

Pochita/Chainsawman says it himself. When you’re so powerful, you struggle to make connections with people. Either they worship you and put you on a pedestal, or they fear you. You can’t get close to anyone, no matter how hard you try. The only way Pochita was able to do so was because Denji had no idea who Chainsawman was.

Makima doesn’t show this emotional weakness of hers, because it directly opposes her powers. If people saw her as needing connections with other people, they wouldn’t respect/fear her, and she would literally become weaker as a result. (The same way that as Chainsawman becomes more beloved by the general populace as a Hero, he becomes weaker.) But there’s a point where we, the audience, get to see this side of her. In her date with Denji.

Quick recap (of one of the best chapters in the whole manga, thematically): Denji and Makima go on a date at a movie theater. They sit and watch like six movies in a row over the course of the day. The first five are packed with people and are funny/entertaining, but not very deep. Neither Denji nor Makima are very impressed with these. Then…I’ll just post the comic here.

The final movie they see is more of an indie arthouse film. Most importantly, it shares an intimate, vulnerable moment between two people who hug. Denji cries because he sees this thing he craves, as I’ve elaborated on. Then he looks over and sees that Makima is also crying. We already know why, as Pochita said: she is unable to get close to anyone, due to the nature of her powers and the nature of her being a devil. Because of this, Makima craves connections with other people.

Makima straight up tells the audience why she’s doing the things she’s doing. If she has control over Chainsawman, she can have him eat other devils and create a world where those fears never existed. She truly, honestly believes this would make a happier life for humans. But the problem with that mentality is that in a world without bad things, in a world without fear…there’s no good things, either. How do you tell how “good” a good thing is, if you have nothing to compare it against? How can you tell that one in five movies is “good”, if you don’t experience the other four?

Why would anyone enjoy reading about a story set in a world like this? Because despite all of the horrible things that happens, love exists. It shows up over and over and over again. Love exists. It was there. It mattered. It was worth fighting for.

That brings me to the conversation between Makima and Denji I love so much, and why the end of Part 1 works so well.

Makima thinks that a world without bad movies fear would be better. She thinks that in this world, she could be loved. She thinks that in this world, humans could be happy forever because they never suffer hardship.

And Denji knows for a fact that that's wrong, because without bad movies, the good movies don't stand out. You can't say that jam and toast is a great breakfast if all you've ever eaten is jam and toast for breakfast.

And that's why Makima is tragic (because she's never experienced the love that Denji has, and never experienced the hardships he has), and that's why Makima is wrong.

And all of this, the whole conflict of the story, is summed up in three lines between Denji and Makima in a graveyard. It's perfect.

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (Part 5)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

(this continues directly after Part 4, Hob reads the rest of Dream's entry)

Negligence and luck were my saviours in the end. I managed to escape and take my revenge. I have recovered my tools of office and my power. I am free. And yet I feel like part of me is still trapped inside that basement, as unconnected to the world around me as I was before, but in a different way. Before I was captured I felt, if not above then distinctly separate from humanity; I resented that my existence depends on them, on you. I felt detached, outside of what should be intimately familiar to me. Now I am able to recognise that, but to overcome my reluctance to embrace humanity more is still a struggle. I know that not all of you are like Roderick Burgess but the fear lingers, despite logic telling me there is nothing to fear. I know my function is to serve them and my imprisonment caused great harm to many. I see now why I cannot go on like I used to. I hope that you might help me with getting to know humanity again, as you have so many times before. I confess that in my mind you had stopped being simply a human and therefore outside of how I judged humanity. You might have worried I might look down on you, but in fact I have long since seen you as someone apart from the humans I tend to. For that I am sorry, because you are just as deserving and in need of my attention as everyone else. Your perspective was supposed to help me understand humanity better, to grow closer to humans and I failed to learn my lesson. I only grew closer to you, while completely ignoring that you are human and failing to extend my feelings for you onto the rest of humanity. I was supposed to listen to you and learn what it is like to live a human life, but I did not internalise the lesson. I hope that with time I will become able to value human lives in their entirety and show others more respect and compassion. This will not come easy to me after nearly a century spent in a cage at the hand of a human, but I will try.

I apologise, Hob. All this will not make much sense to you because I have still not told you who I am, and I still wish to do so in person. Suffice it to say that you have already glimpsed the truth and noticed changes that are related to my person and what happened to me. Feel free to guess, my friend, but be assured that I will give you my name soon. Maybe then you will understand the scope of all I’ve relayed to you.

I have laid myself bare for you, my friend. I do not think I could have articulated half of this had we talked face to face. Admitting to my faults and insecurities does not come easy to me. My ordeal has left me with some conditions that I did not know I was capable of suffering. As you already know I am struggling with being in enclosed spaces, and I feel especially reluctant if there is a lot of glass. I also do not enjoy being close to humans I do not know, although, as you well know, I know everyone. This is limited to certain aspects of their person, though, and does not include mind reading. Therefore I find myself apprehensive of their goals and possible actions, which is why I prefer to keep my distance. I know that these fears are not logical and that I should be able to “shake them off” - yet I cannot, and I do not know for how long they will impede me. My greatest fear I have so far not articulated, though. If I tell you my name, will you still look at me the same way?

The words stop without a farewell and Hob drops the journal with a choked sob, his eyes wide and watering. He wants to howl. He refrains for the sake of his neighbours and simply slumps to the floor beside the fallen book. It’s still open and Hob rereads the last line through more and more tears welling up. He makes a sound like a wounded animal and gets back up on his knees, searches for a pen on top of the desk and then immediately launches into writing a reply right there on the floor.

My friend, my dearest friend!

Why would you think that I would ever look at you differently? You are more dear to me than anyone else and knowing your name and who or what you truly are will not change that! I believe I have been privileged to get to know you over the few times we met, and even more through these letters we have been writing. Even if your name was Oberon, or Hades, or hell, even Lucifer! I would not look at you differently, except to ask you why you lied when I first guessed that you might be a demon. I don’t think you would ever lie to me, though. Whatever you are, I have thought about it and puzzled over it since I first met you, so you know that the only way I would look at you if I finally got to know your name would be with awe and curiosity - the same way I have always looked at you. You are endlessly fascinating to me and I cannot believe you would think that I might change my opinion on you because of something as unimportant as a name. I already know you, dear stranger, with or without it. So I say, don’t tell me unless you truly want to. Don’t think you owe me a name or explanation. I do not need it. All I need is you, and our conversations. 

Hob pauses his writing and lets the pen drop from his fingers, drawing a shaky breath and rubbing his eyes. He wishes he had planned this better, thought about what he would write before starting, but in the end it’s maybe best to give his stranger this excessive honesty. Hob has a bad feeling about his friend’s entry simply stopping and what he probably needs is immediate assurance. So this is what Hob will lead with, and address the other issues afterwards. He means it, too. He doesn’t care who or what his friend truly is. He’s Hob’s friend, the oldest and best he’s got, and he’s determined to keep him, no matter what kind of being he turns out to be. “My sister, Death.” That's what his stranger wrote, Hob remembers and flips the pages of the journal back, rereading the first part of his friend’s entry. Roderick Burgess tried to summon Death, and got her brother instead. Death’s brother. His friend is Death's brother. What could that possibly make him? One of the four horsemen? Pestilence, or Famine? War seems unlikely, somehow. Actually none of these fit his stranger, Hob thinks and shakes his head slightly. He gets up and sits at the desk, the journal open in front of him. He doesn’t quite know what to write next and so he drops the pen and goes to wash his face and make himself tea, trying to collect his thoughts in the meantime.

When he returns to the bedroom he finds he cannot write more without mulling it all over first. He feels empty, the horror of his friend’s ordeal growing more and more clearer in his mind. He doesn’t know what to write besides “Please let me hold you. Please let me make you smile. Please let me love you.” None of that seems even nearly appropriate to tell to a traumatised person that is probably not even remotely attracted to him. What his stranger needs now is a friend (well, actually a therapist, but Hob will do his best), not a clingy lover like Hob.

He goes to bed and leaves the journal open on the desk. Maybe when he wakes up he’ll be able to find the right words. He falls asleep to thoughts of prisons made of glass, his friend stuck inside, looking mournfully at him.

Hob dreams of the White Horse. He wears his modern clothes but the Inn looks like it did in 1589 and with a smile he sits down at the lavishly decorated table, ready to host his friend. When Hob looks up his stranger is standing a few feet away on the other side of the table. He looks like Hob saw him in his bedroom, although his hair is a bit wilder and his black coat looks longer and is speckled with stars. Hob smiles at him and gestures at the spread.

“My friend! Sit, eat! You must be awfully hungry!”

His stranger frowns and takes a cautious step closer, looking at the table laden with food, then back at Hob.

“You offer me sustenance, my friend?”

I offer you everything.

“Of course,” Hob exclaims, “this, and more! If there is anything I can give you, I will! Please, only ask and I will try and find a way to get it for you.”

Hob wants to stop talking but he can’t seem to stop the words. “Be it food or drink, or hugs, or kisses - everything I have, my heart, if you but ask, is yours.” He blushes, knows that his eyes have grown wide in shock and still he cannot stop looking at his friend, staring at him in open adoration. Brother of Death, brother of Death, his mind keeps shrieking at him and Hob feels his smile crumble in dread as his stranger does not visibly react to Hob’s words at all. Too forward, too honest! Fool, you dare, he chides himself and bites his tongue when he feels more words on the cusp of breaking free.

His stranger does not acknowledge Hob’s words, he slowly picks up a strawberry and takes a delicate bite. His dark eyes do not leave Hob’s for even a second, though. Hob feels heat pool in his belly and bites his tongue harder until he feels blood well up inside his mouth. He opens it and a drop spills out, staining his lips as red as the strawberry is staining his friend’s. His stranger’s eyes are black from side to side now, gleaming in the low light like pearls. Hob blinks and suddenly the man is right in front of him, reaching out until his fingertip gently brushes the drop of blood from Hob’s lips, the next moment he is standing at the other end of the table again, a half-eaten strawberry staining his fingers. Hob feels lightheaded and grips the table to remain upright. What is going on? This is the strangest dream he’s ever had. The voice of his friend is suddenly coming from everywhere, reverberating inside Hob’s head.

“I accept your offering, dear Hob. I promise to cherish it…and treat it with utmost care.”

Hob wants to ask what his friend means but he feels very tired all of a sudden, despite knowing that he’s already asleep. He feels himself sink back into what feels like soft cushions and the room darkens around them until all he can see are two twin stars twinkling in his friend’s eyes. Then there is nothing but darkness, and sleep.

Part 6

[writing-for-marvel]

Dear January

Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: While everyone else is celebrating the new year, all Bucky can think about is his resolution and you, though the two are inextricably linked.

Warnings: a little angst with discussions of Bucky’s past & references to him having PTSD, reader has empathy related powers, fluffy ending

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: banners by @vase-of-lilies, dividers by @newlips. Happy New Year everyone!! I hope 2023 is the year all your wishes and dreams come true 💜💜

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

Dear January, please let the new year be kind to me.

It was nearing midnight when Bucky strayed from the festivities, sneaking away from Steve’s overprotective, hovering presence while he was distracted with one of the new recruits Natasha was attempting to set him up with.

A crowded room with loud music and dancing couples might have been his scene in the 40’s, but was far from the solitary life he enjoyed in the 21st century. Steve had insisted that the party would be a good opportunity to get to know everyone outside of a work environment, and also confirmed you would be in attendance.

If Bucky were honest, that was the only reason he had chosen to come.

This was Steve’s world and Bucky was simply a visitor - if you could call someone who had been living in Stark tower with the rest of the Avengers for more than 6 months a ‘visitor’. But this was Steve’s home, Steve’s friends, Steve’s team, and as happy as Bucky was to see his best friend adapt to these modern times and surround himself with a community of people who trusted and respected him, Bucky still felt like an outsider.

No one trusted or respected him.

Well, with the exception of Steve himself, and perhaps you, the other newest member of the team. But Bucky wasn’t sure if your kindness stemmed from wanting to make a good impression as a newcomer, or if you genuinely liked his company.

He hoped it was the latter.

Bucky’s thoughts as he descended the tower to the small, concealed area in the basement he used to get away from the bustling upper level floors, was that this new year brought a fresh start, and that’s what he needed most right now. A clean slate. To hit the reset button on life.

He knew it was arbitrary, nothing would actually reset at the tick of midnight - his troubles of December 31st would still be his January anxieties; his murderous past would continue to follow him around like a shadow, something he couldn’t simply shake off and which only became darker the more light you shed on it.

But a change in calendar year could at least come with a change in mindset. That would be the first step in achieving his New Year’s resolution and to move on with his life.

Perhaps finally forgiving himself for the atrocities his body committed without permission from his mind would be the first step in feeling like he truly belonged.

“Hey, whatcha doing all the way down here?” Bucky recognised the voice immediately - of course it would be you to find him down here. You were the only person besides Steve to care enough to notice his absence.

“How did you find me?” Bucky chose not to turn around, he didn’t want you seeing the affliction on his face it seemed only you could detect, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

“It’s not too difficult when you have a cloud of melancholy following you around.” There were times when Bucky relished your powers, being able to sense his emotions meant he didn’t have to find the right words to vividly express how he was feeling when he didn’t have the strength to describe just how miserable and despondent the weight on his chest felt on a particular day. Though, today was not one of those occasions. “What’s wrong?”

“This is technically my first new year since the 40’s, I wasn’t sure how I’d react to the fireworks. Loud sounds sometimes still…” He trailed off, embarrassed at how pathetic it sounded when he tried to articulate that loud sounds still triggered flashbacks to events of a war which occurred eighty years ago.

The concern brimming in your eyes in response to this almost made him feel guilty for not telling you the entire truth - yes, he was concerned that the sporadic, popping sounds of the fireworks would set off one of his PTSD episodes, but what he failed to mention was he was frustrated with himself at not being able to make conversation with the team upstairs as easily as he’d have hoped.

With you it came so easy. Expressing himself to you was effortless and didn’t carry the same nervous weight as it did with everyone else. But that only made his futile efforts earlier that night all the more infuriating and discouraging.

You reached out and took hold of his hand. Even though Bucky had known you for around six months, it still surprised him every time how gentle, almost affectionate, your touch was. It made him flinch, but not in the same way physical touch usually made him recoil. He liked the feeling, he was simply not used to it. Not used to being handled like something cared about, something treasured.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be with you through the whole thing.”

The basement of Stark Tower was the depot for all previously loved items that Tony refused to throw away, so with the items on hand, you set up a blanket fort between a few old chairs, loaded with comfy pillows and sought out some old card and board games to keep the two of you occupied.

When the clock suddenly struck twelve, and the new year commenced, Bucky could barely hear the crackling sound of the fireworks from the haven of your blanket fort, even with his enhanced hearing. You said a quick ‘happy new year!’, kissed him on his cheek and went straight back into the game of uno you were teaching him to play.

He was far too engrossed enjoying his time with you, and trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks, to pay any mind to what was occurring outside the four walls of the basement.

“Do you have a New Year’s resolution?” You asked as you played a draw two card. Bucky groaned in annoyance, though your cute chuckle in response to this was the real reason he had done it.

“Are you really meant to share resolutions? I thought that jinxed them.” Was what Bucky said to avoid saying his out loud.

“It’s not like a wish Buck, you can say a resolution aloud - it’s the work you put into them that makes them come true.” Bucky hesitated a moment but eventually gave in to your curious expression. He knew his aspirations would be safe with you.

“To try and be kinder to myself. Forgive myself for the deeds I was forced to commit and to remind myself what I did doesn’t define who I am now.” His statement sounded recited and even he wasn’t completely convinced by his words, so he knew you, who was privy to every inflection of emotion through his body, would not be satisfied with his answer. “That I’m not a killer anymore.” Bucky added feebly.

“James, you were never a killer.” He had seen the way his own teammates looked at him with utmost caution and terminal wariness every time he entered a room, as if they were all predicting his complete disintegration where he would revert to his brainwashed state and attempt to kill everyone in the tower. He was positive they considered him an executioner.

Bucky paused - you had never looked at him like that.

“I killed people, I’m pretty sure that makes me-”

“No it doesn’t, because that wasn’t you.” You interrupted. The ease at which these words rolled off your tongue and the steady conviction of your voice as you doubled down on your argument, prompted Bucky to think you actually believed them. “You do not hold any of the blame for what you were forced to do, you are a war veteran who fought for the freedoms of so many people, you gave your life so others could live theirs free of Hitler’s regime. You should be commended, not punished.”

“Thank you, for having that faith in me, I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“Yes you do. And I’ll always be around if you need the reminder.” You placed your second last remaining card down on the ever growing pile and claimed ‘uno’. Bucky was too preoccupied with the words you had said to continue focussing on the game.

“Always?”

“For as long as you want me to, Buck.”

“What if I wanted you around forever.” Bucky commented, chuckling slightly so you’d think he was half joking, even though he wasn’t. He bashfully broke eye contact to place a card on the central pile, but it didn’t stop his cheeks from heating like an ember.

“Then forever it is.”

Bucky was absolutely positive you were currently able to sense his feelings of deep affection and devotion for you as easy as noticing the warm sunlight on your skin during a cloudless summer day. But with the way you were earnestly smiling at him, and those kind eyes looking at him like he was all that mattered to you, he didn’t feel panicked that you knew how he felt. In fact, right here with you was the most serene he had felt since the 1940s.

As you placed your final card on the pile, a triumphant smile blossoming on your face as you won the game, he found he could not tear his eyes away from the magnificent sight.

Bucky realised in that moment he would do anything to see you smiling like that every day of his life.

The thought he actually had a remainder of a life to plan for frightened him, but if he would be able to spend it with you then he considered that a life worth living.

“Bucky?” You queried with wide eyes, scooting closer to him in the fort. His heart started pounding rapidly in his chest with anticipation - you wouldn’t have to have empathy powers to tell your proximity made him nervous.

“Mhmm.” He hummed, licking his lips as his gaze quickly averted to your own before returning to your yearning eyes, which were making the carefully constructed walls he used to keep the pain of rejection out, weaker by the millisecond.

“You know, it’s tradition to kiss at the beginning of the new year.” You stated with a contagious cheeky smile.

“I do remember that one.” He chuckled shyly, hopeful excitement buzzed in his stomach at the prospect of what was about to happen.

“I’d like for you to be my first kiss of the year.” You requested, and Bucky’s heart felt like it would explode in his chest it was beating so powerfully. “Also for you to be the only person I kiss all year, if that’s okay with you.” And with that he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Perfectly fine with me.”

You reached across the paltry space between you and tenderly placed your lips on his as your eyes fluttered shut. The kiss was tentative at first - you were allowing Bucky to set the pace, determine how deep he wanted to delve. It was Bucky’s first kiss since the 40’s, he was worried he would disappoint you, but when he felt your eager lips against his, it gave him the confidence to go all in.

Reaching across the space between you, Bucky pulled you into his lap, simultaneously silently asking permission to explore your mouth with his tongue, which you freely gave him.

Your bodies pressed together, your hands pulling you ever closer to him, was the unexpected, yet perfect way to start to the new year.

Dear January, thank you for already making this year better than my last.

[keikakudom]

(Not a lore post) RR!AU Lucifer and Vox

Nobody asked, but it's been marinating in my thoughts for awhile.

In the context of my RR!AU, I think there's a lot of potential for AppleTV/StaticApple/whatever the relationship name for Lucifer/Vox is.

This can be taken platonically or romantically, but here are a few reasons why I think their AU relationship in general is pretty neat.

For one-- It's not reliant on Alastor. Alastor is not the "glue" that connects or introduces them! It's just so fascinating to explore how they'd meet naturally by those circumstances alone.

The next reasons get more intense.

CW: depression

The two dominant traits I've characterized for RR!Vox is that a.) he's super FAKE and b.) he's has existential depression(one day I will find a way to articulate how I feel about post-Hell, I know-- ironic, nihilist Vox).

Lucifer sees a sliver of himself in that aspect of Vox. The landscape of Hell? It's just so...eugh. Really easy to lose hope in Sinners because of that. The difference is that Vox sought out to "help" Charlie, and is actively trying to create a challenge for himself. On paper, this seems like a really good idea - but Lucifer still can't trust sinners, so he's like. I want to make my daughter happy AND I need insurance, so soul pact it is!

From my "Contract" comic: Lucifer was able to see instantly through Vox's façade. He lets Vox do it anyway though, because it's entertaining, in a nice way. It might be fake, but I feel Lucifer acknowledges and respects the effort it takes to be cordial and please people(at least to the wide extent that Vox can).

This screenshot is from a infodump convo with my bestie, edited because I first wrote it as "redemption" when I really just mean to 'better himself'.

That said, none of them needed to accept the soul deal from eachother...so it's very much a mutual balancing act.

Anyway, my AU is /gen but hey, I'll indulge in anything that seems interesting ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[wildflowercryptid]

Hope its okay if I ask about your versions of Florian and Juliana, thanks ^ _ ^

- Are they siblings?

- What are both their personalities?

- Were they actually raised in Paldea? The MC's in the game are implied to originally be from Galar so I was just wondering that

- Which storylines from the game are each the of them the main character of?

I'm so sorry if I've missed out an info sheet on them hhhhghg

Thank u again!

oh, it’s more than okay to ask about them! i actually really like talking about my interpretations of the pokémon characters, but i just struggle to articulate my ideas a lot of the time. or forget to share them. i’ve been meaning to drop lore for these two so i’ll do that now!

( putting the answers under a cut because i kinda ended up rambling. oops. )

are they siblings?

yes, they are! juliana is the older of the two, but they’re actually super close in age ( with jules not even being a year older than florian. ) because of that, they’re pretty close and sometimes get mistaken for twins. they still bicker and annoy each other like any other typical sibling relationship, but they respect each other a lot and consider each other their greatest confidant. their relationship kinda ends up paralleling carmine and kieran’s own dynamic as siblings, with juliana and florian seeing each other as equals while the same can’t really be said for carmine and kieran.

what are both of their personalities?

while they’re both pretty level-headed, juliana is definitely the more outgoing and confident of the two. florian is more of the reserved type, someone who typically keeps to himself and would much rather wait in the wings than be center stage, ( too bad he’s basically the major protagonist of the story. ) they’re both fairly friendly, but he struggles connecting with others more when compared to his sister. essentially, they’re kinda like a dialed-back version of mabel and dipper pines. florian generally is a very sweet and open-hearted kid who tries to see the best in others, which often leads to his kindness being taken advantage of and getting pushed around easily, ( i.e. carmine convincing him to keep the secret about ogerpon from kieran. ) because of that, juliana is a little protective of him and isn’t afraid to step in when he struggles to stand up for himself. and while she does like to be seen as reliable, that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t encourage florian to be more confident and advocate for himself more. he does end up growing more of a backbone during the timeskip, which makes her very proud. meanwhile, juliana is a lot more outspoken and doesn’t hold back when things need to be called out. she’s still just as compassionate as her brother and is extremely reliable, along with having a very strong moral compass. she definitely fills the cool, reliable older sister role pretty well.

were they actually raised in paldea?

they grew up in galar like what’s implied in canon, but the details are a little different. they’re actually paldean on their mother’s side, who was originally from cabo poco herself. their family decided to move from wyndon back to her hometown after their father lost his job at one of macro cosmos’s now defunct finance subsidiaries. luckily, he was able to land a new desk job in medali and now larry’s his boss. ( the two get along well, they talk about their kids during lunch breaks. )

which storylines from the game are each of them the main character of?

juliana takes on the victory road and starfell street storylines while florian tackles the path of legends and filling out the pokédex, with both of them coming together for the way home. initially, i conceptualized them as co-protagonists and they still kinda are… but florian has definitely taken on the role as primary protagonist with how much shit keeps on just happening to him. i would expand the specifics of how the path of legends plays out for florian and how his friendship with arven develops, but i’ve already rambled enough so i’ll try to talk about that in another post.

hope this answers all your questions and sorry if it's a little long, i've just gotten attached to these kids and have a lot to say about them.

if you have any other questions ( about the paldea kids or mjverse in general, ) please feel free to ask them! it might take me a sec to reply, but i'll try my best!

[hallohartje]

thoughts on episodes 9 and 10

it's very refreshing to watch The Boyfriend because the men that were chosen to be on the show are, for the most part, very good at communicating and being respectful and caring of their other house mates. watching episode 9 and seeing how the boys navigated the fight between dai and shun was really reassuring.

yes, ikuo maybe overstepped his bounds in trying to stage an intervention but it's a mistake made by a young person who has to make mistakes in order to learn from them. watching the rest of the boys try to speak to each other and understand feelings is really great. alan's words to dai is especially caring and he also made sure to reassure ikuo that things like this happen / it's going to be okay

while i wish the whole show lasted longer i'm very happy with the episodes we got. not everyone on the show is going to get together and not everyone is going to be able to decide how things are meant to progress for months. i felt kazuto's decision to slowly explore a relationship with alan after the show ended is very understandable and if he decides to make that public down the line i'll be happy to see it. and if he doesn't, i'll respect that because it's not really something they owe viewers of the show.

small, unrelated thoughts:

i really hope next time we'll get more unfiltered conversations between cast members, especially friend groups. it's so clear that ryota and shun are good friends in the limited b-roll we get, as are taeheon and gensei.

it's very interesting to see how some of the boys dropped their gyaru/party boy sides as the days passed. i think dai, alan (and ikuo) all needed to slowly become more comfortable with silence and giving space to let connections form

the mix of older and younger men benefited the show. i think taeheon, gensei and alan all were able to speak with some wisdom regarding communication, especially in advising shun and ryota (who admitted in the final episode he struggles to articulate his thoughts and feelings)

while usak was not able to stay for the full season i feel he came across as genuine and showed his real self in the episodes he appeared in. of course, it's very interesting that the boys all treated usak with a certain level of deference -- while all of them are attractive they also know that usak is really desirable (despite the chicken milkshakes)

when taeheon cried at the final episode saying that the boys helped give him the courage to be himself i was right there with him. it's so hard to disappoint family and asian parents especially. i hope he realizes he is incredibly brave for being himself and sharing his story. while gay rights are gaining acceptance in asia there's still a long way to go, and his story will really speak to many of us here who hope for a better life but don't know if the cost of being out is worth it.

[betterfettered]

Hello! I hope you’re doing alright! Is it ok if I ask for the brothers’ reaction to their darling dying during childbirth?

Their attitudes towards their darling’s pregnancy is sort of a mixed bag already which makes me wonder, would they obsess over their child and sort of see them as their last piece of darling or would they hate their child and blame them for darling’s death?

Thank you in any case!

Hello hello anon anon! I hope you're staying cool. I have been sweating like a pig since mid may so even wearing makeup is hard because it runs so much.

As I mentioned before I don't have much experience with this topic so I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you disagree with me, I'd love to hear your thoughts <3 (AFAB!reader x AMAB!yandere)(grief)(child neglect/abuse)(absentee parent)(18+ readers only please, mdni)[Abuse and neglect are inexcusable in real life. Children always deserve a nurturing, loving home where they feel safe and valued.]

Yandere!Lucifer is most likely going to torment his child as a result, unfortunately. Much like how he treated Belphie in the first game, when he's emotionally overwhelmed he falls back on what is proper and what can be considered as respectable as possible. So he'd be strict with the child and want them to exceed what every other child is doing at the time. However, I don't think he can maintain this kind of mentality. It gets to a breaking point with him where he has to honor his emotions, so I think that once it's clear this isn't working and hurting everyone including him he'd be willing to try and reconsider how he's been dealing with your death and the child.

Also, because he would probably be responsible for children in a few of the below scenarios (lolll), he'd be much, much more lenient and caring with a kid that wasn't his and didn't come from the death of his darling. He'd be a good surrogate father, even if he is a little distant.

Yandere!Mammon would be very, very unwell and probably not able to pay much attention to the child. His typical way to cope is either crying or making jokes about it, but he doesn't have enough tears to cry and can't find a way to laugh at you passing. I think it would take him a few years to be able to be consistently present with the child, but when he did he would try to treasure them as a remainder of you.

Yandere!Levi would probably not want anything to do with the child for five or ten years. They are a personification of his own hell, because they took your attention and presence from him just like he knew they would. He would blame them, I think, but once the child started to reflect your habits and your looks, he would be drawn to them and try to be in their life more. He's pretty negative but not necessarily bitter, so when he eventually tries to bond with the child I think he will be caring and sweet.

Yandere!Satan wouldn't voluntarily give up his child but would likely revert to only being able to feel rage, so they would be taken from him by his brothers. He's not emotionally articulate in the first place so trying to express the massive grief of losing you would exceed his capabilities and just become a lot of destructive, painful wrath. Lucifer will likely parent the baby until Satan can calm down -- and who knows how long that will take? -- but once he was able to be with the child, I think he would really, really do as much as he could for them, researching how to parent and what to do at every point. Even if he doesn't have the words for it, he mostly would see the kid as a testament to his love for you so he'd try to love them perfectly. At first he'd probably be too harsh and too strict, but I actually think he'd course correct sooner than Lucifer would.

Yandere!Asmodeus is the least likely, in my opinion, to end up parenting because I think your death would actually break him. Yan Asmo has managed to smooth over every part of your unhealthy relationship with him by ignoring or reinterpreting it through his delusions, but there isn't really a way for him to be delusional about you being dead. I think he'd be very deeply, personally changed, and it's hard to tell if or how he would recover from it. I think that in the case he did recover he'd be so different from the experience that he'd be rebuilding his personality in conjunction with the kid's development. He probably would never be the same old Asmo.

Yandere!Beelzebub is the most likely of all of them to rise to the challenge and stay parenting the child. Duty is really important to him, considering how seriously he takes protecting Lucifer and the other brothers despite that not being his job any more. He has always imagined parenting a family with you, so if you're not around to make that happen it means he needs to work twice as hard at it himself. Of course, he'd struggle with the grief of it, but your memory would be motivating to him.

Yandere!Belphegor would try his hardest to take care of the child, but he likely wouldn't be able to do it all by himself. He's spoiled and not used to doing anything really difficult, so when he gets really overwhelmed by grief he'd have to rely on the others to help him. Because he'd always be doing his best, as the years passed and the grief became easier to handle, he'd be a better and better dad. I think he's the most likely to use it against the child in an argument when they are older, but he would try to apologize almost immediately (and then probably need help to actually properly apologize).

A little somber, but I hope you enjoyed it!

[atopcat]

What do you think of Emma's opinion on Rhaenicent?

Has Emma commented on Rhaenicent? I haven’t seen anything in regard to this particular ship one way or the other.

It doesn’t matter anyway, actors can ship what they want, my only hope is that it doesn’t come at the expense of their characters. For Emma I doubt this would even be a problem as Rhaenyra is more popular than Rhaenicent, the exact opposite of Olivia’s situation where she has to deal with the fact Rhaenicent is more popular than Alicent.

I honestly love how much Emma loves Rhaenyra, they respect her strengths and tragedy, the writers may treat her with disdain but Emma doesn’t. This is highlighted perfectly by the contrast in Ryan’s dismissive attitude towards Luke compared to Emma expressing Rhaenyra’s pain in such a profound manner people still quote it.

Ryan’s treating Luke’s death as nothing more than a minor inconvenience, something Rhaenyra will simply get over to maintain the idea “there’s still hope” for Rhaenicent. Emma’s doing the exact opposite, emphasising Rhaenyra has never felt this level of indescribable pain before, not even after losing both parents and Harwin. They perfectly articulate how “losing Luke tells her she knows nothing about grief” because their priority is Rhaenyra, not a fabricated ship which only exists on account of HBO not wanting an openly bisexual leading lady who would be romantically involved with a black woman.

So unlike Olivia who is more than happy to throw the entirety of Team Green under the bus to continue the illusion that Alicent’s no.1 priority will always be Rhaenyra, Emma knows there isn’t a universe in existence where Rhaenyra would abandon her family for the woman who stole her throne. I can also see why Olivia’s pushing for a Rhaenicent reunion at the end of Season 2, but I honestly don’t see Emma being in favour of this as it does absolutely nothing for Rhaenyra.

Who knows, maybe Emma does like Rhaenicent or maybe with the introduction of Sabitha Vypren and Black Ally they’re hoping Rhaenyra gets a brand new love interest all together. Either way I don’t think their opinion was even considered because Rhaenicent 2.0 isn’t for Rhaenyra and Team Black, hell you can even argue it’s not for Alicent and Team Green either. It’s solely to continue Ryan’s fanfiction, which is coming at the expense of good writing, and for Olivia to hold onto fan support by warping Alicent into a shell of a woman who has no personality outside of secretly longing for the woman who orders the killing of her grandson.

To be clear I’m not criticising Olivia for liking Rhaenicent, my criticism is with her prioritising it over Alicent.

It just seems to me when you compare and contrast the Rhaenicent they’re hoping for in Season 2 to Emma’s emotional insight into Rhaenyra’s actual character they are on opposing ends. Ryan isn’t able to quite grasp the longterm repercussions of Luke’s death whilst Emma is fully aware that any shred of affection Rhaenyra may have still held for her stepmother died with her beloved son.

[mikuyuuss]

Hi Everyone | Unni | 20s | she/her | 🇵🇭🇨🇳 | Designer and Illustrator |

I made a pinned post for newcomers. I might edit this more as I go along.

This blog is very mixed, multifandom and semi-personal, but my main tags are:

My art | My post | My Commissions

Kny OC Tag

About my tags:

My art:

My drawings, crafts and some cosplays. I mainly draw lots of fashion related illustrations. I grew up spending most of my youth in uniforms. Being able to wear different clothes helped me with my self esteem and gave me the freedom to express myself. That's why my art often features characters in different outfits. It's not just about looking pretty. I see it as a story in itself, where characters could express themselves in different ways.

I especially find Kny to be a very fashionable series so it gives me a lot to work with. I love to imagine what their preferences in clothes would be based on my understanding of their characters, and with respect to their original designs.

Beyond that, I also draw other things. I mostly love to draw characters bonding and being happy in their element.

I usually tend to draw wholesome moments between Kny characters. The series itself is tragic, but the happy moments also stood out to me and gave me comfort. I want to express that happiness I felt when I first read the manga, the happy moments they could have had, and the fleeting ones they had in between. I like almost all the kny characters, but Giyuu and Mitsuri are my absolute favs. I hope people who come to this blog can appreciate them as well.

My KNY OC Akari is also a love letter to this series. I love Kny a lot that I wanted to explore it further through the lens of my character, and to have her interact with my favs. Expects lots of her in my art tag, but I also talk about her in my...

My post:

My random thoughts and sillies. I post video game pics and yap about my fandom thoughts here. Some of them can be opinionated. I talk more about Akari's lore here too.

I'm not an expert by any means, but I also post meta and analysis of my favs (keep in mind that some of the wordings on my old posts are a bit messy. English technically isn't my first language and It can be hard for me to articulate my thoughts, but I try)

I might organize this tag more in the future.

My Commissions:

I'm also accepting commissions! I would really appreciate the support. I'm open to any fandoms and this is an oc x canon safe space.

You can check out this tag if your interested. I'll update my commission sheet every now and then. I will write on my profile if my comms are open or not. If you wish to clarify or have any questions, feel free to reach out to me via dm. I usually reply within the day.

This blog is mostly sfw but I might occasionally reblog posts that aren't, so I'll do my best to tag it accordingly.