#i know they'll repeat the same thing. but i need them to know that i love them okay.

[askagamedev]

You say that gamers should buy something else if they don't enjoy a series or franchise. But to me, this is contradicted by you also saying that gamers would rather get angry instead of leaving. I don't get what you are saying here. Are you implying that gamers are too incompetent to find something else?

It's not contradictory at all. What people should do and what they want to do are often not the same, usually because it is easier and feels better to do what they want rather than what they should. My friends tell me they should go to the gym and exercise regularly, but they want to play games on the couch. They aren't incompetent, they knows how and why to go to the gym. They just don't want to, in large part because it is easier and more pleasant to play games on the couch than it is to go to the gym and exercise. Going to the gym and exercising regularly requires significant effort and actual action on their part. Staying home and playing games on the couch requires significantly less effort and action.

It is a similar situation for gamers entrenched in a franchise. The franchise is familiar and comfortable to them. They've already played it a long time and generally liked it. When things go sideways, it's easy to complain and get angry. It's easy to post angrily and make memes. However, the chances of getting a positive response to these complaints is practically nil. It often takes weeks, months, or even years to address the issues that players complain about if the dev team chooses to do so at all. In the meantime, there are new games regularly getting released that may serve a player's needs better than their current franchise du jour. Trying and playing a new game will achieve better results than complaining and doing nothing. However, this requires more significant effort and action on the player's part - they have to get the new game, install it, try it, learn the new foibles, and see if they like it. If they don't like it sufficiently, they'll have to repeat the process. Instead, complaining about the game they were playing and used to like is much easier and requires almost zero effort. The path of least resistance is often the most popular.

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[bleuberrygliscor]

its something about the misuse and mistreatment of robotics and ai that just gets me going every time.

[dollfacefantasy]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

[comicaurora]

Just saw the announcement about Heartwood Coven, and I'm super excited!

I know that when you're exploring a genre, either for the first time, or just the first time in a while, sometimes inspirations for new Trope Talks emerge, and as a fan of spaces adjacent to Magical Girl media (Kamen Rider, mostly, but Ultraman, Super Sentai/Power Rangers, and Garo also exist, just to scratch the surface), I honestly find it kind of difficult to think of any tropes in the space that don't just devolve into little trivia factoids, or a 'Yup, that sure is a thing they do!', despite being in the space for decades. But I also know you have a keener eye for media tropes than I personally do.

So, all that is to ask, are there any tropes in that space that have caught your attention recently? This isn't even specifically asking about a potential future video, just in general.

The ingredients for a Sentai/Magical Girl story are very distinctive, especially when compared to other superhero genres!

Comes As A Set! Everyone in a thematic team has acquired their powers the same way, and the powers are very minor variants off of each other - one character might have The Specialest Version where their powers are strongest and their heart is Most Pure, but everyone else will be running at the same power level with almost no specialization. This sounds obvious, but almost no other superhero team does this. Even the X-Men, whose powers are all Being Mutants, come across as a seriously varied menagerie with wildly disparate power levels. Everyone being The Same Thing In A Different Color is pretty unique to this space!

Monster Of The Week: Not the only genre this appears in, but one of the only spaces where it's straight-up down to a science. The big bad of a series like this will only make a real appearance in the grand season finale. Until then, the team will be fighting their lieutenants' minions at a rate of one per episode. The big bad doesn't even usually deign to make the minions themselves, since they're much too busy standing in their recycled animation evil lair. The minions will have unique gimmicks, but will share similar levels of thematic and structural closeness with one another that the heroes do - they'll all be kaiju, or walking evil spells, or disgruntled citizens gifted thematically inconvenient superpowers. Where are these minions coming from? Sometimes the answer is "they cook em up at home" and sometimes it's "they corrupt innocent people so the heroes have to go nonlethal." It doesn't make much difference in the execution, so it's mostly dealer's choice.

So Many Wonderful Toys! These heroes aren't afraid to accessorize, and the merchandising department also says we have to. When the formula needs mixing up, just give someone a new weapon or vehicle or mech or powerup macguffin. And unless you're only giving the upgrade to the Designated Specialest Pure Of Heart one, make sure to bring enough for the rest of the team, because this is a good way to bring in a round of powerups for everyone and give them some new stock animations to reuse every episode!

There's Only One Way To Win And It's Teamwork. My personal gripe with a lot of these stories is that, by nature of the formula, the characters usually end up becoming largely interchangeable in a fight, because nobody is allowed to win before they do the Big Finisher they always use. And if the Big Finisher is "the most specialest pure of heart character remembers their job and blasts them with the Friendship Laser" that means the rest of the gang is basically on minion-punching duty and repeating "no way! my attack had no effect?!" Every fight has to run through everyone's big canned moves, usually one at a time, and since none of them will do any appreciable damage then they'll combine their giant robots or wait for the leader to bust out the Friendship Cannon and the fight will be over. I think this one's genuinely kind of a weakness of the format; it's pretty rare for a single non-leader character to get a day in the limelight or end up having the exact ability the week's bad guy is allergic to. Nobody gets an individual chance to shine unless the writers intentionally break the formula to make it happen.

The Sixth Ranger! You thought your team of five color-coordinated thematically linked cool guys was complete, but surprise! There are more colors/planets/dinosaurs than just the starting five, and some powerfull badass with unknown morals and a frightening reputation has just turned up wearing your team's matching outfit! Because the team comp is so ironclad compared to other superhero formats, this is always very disruptive and kind of a big shakeup that could restructure the whole status quo, unlike in typical superhero teams where individual attendance is optional and it's not a dealbreaker whether or not Wolverine is in this week.

And Your Friend Steve: someone's will they/won't they significant other is constantly hanging around the fights, in or out of a secret identity of their own, and their main contribution is to get kidnapped by the big bad, brainwashed by the big bad, or kidnapped and then brainwashed by the big bad. Outside of their busy schedule their main narrative role is to reinforce the Secret Identity concept that would otherwise risk slipping out of relevance. It's easier to remember your identity is supposed to be secret when Your Friend Steve keeps turning up at fights.

Bumbling Minions, Serious Boss - this is just an observation on my end, but it's quite common for the villain's crew of lieutenants to be somewhat more comedic than the main Big Bad - whether they're just a couple wacky minions or the comedy comes from how flustered they get when they inevitably lose, comedy is derived from them experiencing the wrath of their evil boss after the good guys win. But all this levity drains away as the lieutenants get whittled down and the finale approaches, and even if the villain has seemed clownish in the safe confines of their lair, when they actually go on the warpath and become the main present threat, they stop being funny entirely. Or, failing that, they get usurped by a new, worse villain, and they become the cartoonish lieutenant to the new guy. Villain chains of command get complicated.

The magical girl equivalent of the shonen anime Super Saiyan transformations is Pretty Dresses. The escalating ornate-ness of a magical girl's Pretty Dress corresponds one-to-one to the Bigness and Glowiness of a Super Saiyan's hair and reflects the reality-warping power contained within. Sailor Moon in a lacey bridal gown with gauzey diaphenous wings and a tiara is the kind of threat Goku would save in his contacts as "new sparring partner"

[cryptfile]

᪇ꫭ dreamseeker, [ qimir x jedi!reader ]

summary — it all started when you find out he’s alive.

warnings — pure angst, violence, blood, mentions of injuries and tons of tension, sfw.

side notes — 4k+ // English's not my first language so please be kind! went slightly away with this one so would catalogue it as an alternative universe. Heard liking without reblogging makes you fall in an awful curse that breaks my heart in the process so let that sink in, anyway everything it's appreciated!,,, thought about making an +18 second part? dunno,,, thks also for the 110 followers! love you guys sooooo much *heart avalanche*

The air's hot in the room when you woke up.

The sweat made the sheets stick to you body as you got out of bed for the third time that week, a terrible headache forming as you leave the dormitories in the middle of the dark. Coruscant suddenly feels unbearable. You've slept almost nothing through the course of the week, so you surely are in a bad mood when the cold wind of the night makes you shiver at the sudden change of temperature.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

The words are repeating in the back of you head, scratching a part of your brain while you keep on trying to remember who's voice you're dreaming so much lately.

It's all connected somehow, always is. You've learned to trust the force a while ago, learned that destiny's intertwined with an energy field that holds the galaxy together the hard way, so you know, deep down, that you have to trust your guts in this one, something that you know it concerns you but can't quite understand what really is in the first place.

Dreams. Dreams are a cruel thing that you tend to forgot sometimes, the reflection of the mind and soul projected like a high-class transmission in your head. Dreams talk, and they make you think about things you've let in the past, things you've certainly need to come back at some point.

That's why you can't sleep later, cause you know it means something. You know that dreaming the very same dream every single night for the past week means something more than just mere imagination playing around, far from an innocent scenario.

The temple is silent at night even when the city outside seems to be so wake in contrast of the inside, most of the lights out as you crossed the empty hallway hoping to avoid anyone, cause you know they'll ask questions you don't have an answer for.

In all truth, you don't have a clue why are you up so late, why this deep voice kept you awake when you should be deep in your sleep, dreaming about something more than superstitions. You don't have an answer to any superior, don't seem to have an answer for yourself either.

The Jedi trials ended long ago, yet, you don't think of yourself as someone as successful as Yord Fandar, your talent being far from what it should be expected. You never complain about anything and never would, they were the only family you ever knew and you refuse to lose everything you've been working so hard for just for questioning your bare existence.

"Can't sleep?" The male voice makes you stiff almost immediately, checking your surroundings to notice Master Sol approaching you from the left. The Jedi Master catches you by surprise, your hands already on the lightsaber that is hanging on your waist before you notice you're safe, even when you don't want to talk. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

There are things that are worth hiding, but with Sol? Master Sol seems to see through it all, the worries and the dreams that you don't know if you should call nightmares, even when you try to lock them away for a minute. That's the main reason the man stares at you, cause you expel that smell of desperation, the tension in your muscles as you don't sleep in what seems are ages.

"What's troubling you?" He asks, your own eyes betraying you as they can't hold the weight of his gaze. "I know it's not my place to ask, but are you sleeping well lately?"

"Not really, but nothing to worry about" you say almost afraid that it's going to get you in trouble, the lack of sleep making you think the most stupid things as you stop in the middle of the hallway, making sure there's no one around more than Master Sol and yourself.

Not sleeping is a dangerous thing when reality tends to become a feverish version of itself.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

You're unsure of telling him what's really going on, unsure of trusting the people you've been close your whole life out of nowhere. A sudden sixth sense that commands you to keep the dreams to yourself, the sound of the male voice you've been listening like the most important secret you've ever hold account of.

It's almost embarrassing to admit you don't trust a Jedi above your rank, that your sixth sense all of sudden makes you keep the truth when it can be something important, when Master Sol has been like a friend to you after all those years of training.

Things have been weird since your Jedi Master was found recently murdered in Ueda, a heavy weight in your shoulders as it saddened you more than you even expected. Master Indara was like close family, and you find yourself missing her, mostly in moments like that when you wish you have someone to talk to

“I was going to the dormitories” Sol explains soon after, walking by your side. “I needed to ask you for a favor my dear friend, and I’m afraid I cannot wait much longer for you to heal.”

Heal. Are you ever allowed to heal? It’s been less than a couple of days since you found out about Indara, let alone the dreams that were tormenting you the rest of the week and suffer the loss, so it seems funny when Master Sol tells you he cannot wait much longer: No Jedi ever has time to heal.

“What can I do to help?”

It’s all it takes to leave Coruscant after, trapped in space in a small ship with not only Master Sol, but Yord and Sol’s younger padawan Jecki Lon, strange enough, also with Verosha Aniseya, a former Jedi you keep an eye on through time passed.

Suddenly you’re traveling through the galaxy and there’s no time for any more tears. Suddenly you need to toughen up and act like this Jedi Knight you’re supposed to be, even when you keep questioning yourself more than ever.

Maybe it’s because of Indara’s death. Her decease came so out of nowhere it shocked you to the very heart — It’s clear that you’re sensitive, dreaming stuff you’ve been getting tired of deciphering, pure nonsense, but then, the ship lands in Khofar and Sol it’s convincing you to stay inside even you’re perfectly capable of taking Verosha’s twin and his alleged master.

It’s your own mind that plays tricks on you, making you believe you’re not good enough to help. Truth is you felt your training as a padawan was not enough, you’re an easy target now that you’re hurt and it seems to make sense when all of sudden the group of Jedis leave you to fucking rot between white walls and buttons that sparkled.

It’s clear you’re affected. How can you not be affected by it? You’re overcome by sadness and anger both mixed together, and that feeling by itself is a dangerous one when in history, makes people question things too much to the point of no return.

So when you find yourself close to the light of the hologram that you turned on being so bored in the ship, your fingers dim between the white and blue rays as you wondered: Is it honorable to seek for revenge? Is it true to a Jedi to feel this gut-wrecking wrath?

You know the answer deep inside. You know it’s wrong, yet your feet think otherwise, cause when you leave the ship in the middle of the night you still debate yourself if you should disobey, if you should do what you want instead, walking through the woods like you know which way to go.

You never disobey any command, so it’s a new thing to openly doubt about the judgement of your superiors, to walk in an unknown planet despite the orders you were told. The path seems to light by itself as you can sense it in the air, the force conducting you in silence as you walked in a fast pace. You know deep down, know everything went wrong.

The blue light of your sable is enough to light the way, the humidity in the air makes you sweat as concentrated in the sounds of the nature, you run, run until your lungs are burning and your heartbeats are so fast you’re afraid the organ itself is going to jump out of your chest. You run even when the long leaves of the plants hit you in the face, when your legs are getting cramps and you can feel the lack of oxygen: The pain is not enough to stop you.

You can hear it from far away, the heat of the fight. The sounds of the physical effort, the buzzing of the lightsables against the silent night. Adrenaline creeps across your blood flow, and even when you can't breathe properly at all you run to the chaos, driven like a moth to the flame. You let the force conduct you as you close your eyes, jumping and elevating from the floor enough to hold the sable from over your head — You attack.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It’s coming again, the rough sound of your dreams when your blue sable hits the red out of nowhere, force colliding against each other as the impact is enough to send you directly to the floor. You know who the enemy is, the surprise in Jecki’s face and the disapproval moments after

The stranger is fast and he doesn’t hesitate when he strikes, it’s fast enough to hurt in a mortal way and you became aware of it when Jecki’s falling to the ground and the acid in your mouth is enough to make you look away — The anger comes moments after, the red stains blurring your vision as you let out a scream, gathering the force to dodge his deadly attack.

It’s for Indara, the young padawan, and the Jedi’s he just slayed like they were nothing: It stings in your soul yet you stop holding back, stop holding yourself to finally hit harder, to strike faster than he does, to hurt the stranger as much as he hurted you. And he responds, but not fast enough to beat you, cause you let the metallic back of your sable hit his head when he’s kneeled on the floor, and you smile to yourself cause you have no damn mercy when his helmet finally cracks and it’s enough to break apart revealing his face.

It’s all it takes then. All it takes to froze you in that very spot, holding the sable over your head, ready to end his life with no second thought.

You know that face. You know it when suddenly he’s smiling at you.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It makes sense soon after, lowering the sable to the floor without fully believing it, a ghost in front of you as you feel the air leaving your lungs. Drinking the sight of him like he’s not real, like it’s a sick joke your mind made to break you down, to make you weaker.

You’re pulled by a sudden force, by the force. However, falling to the floor hurts way less than seeing him again, the words stuck in your throat unable to speak. It’s imminent, it’s devastating when the pain catches you by surprise, your back aching against the rough surface.

He’s going to kill you, isn’t he?

It makes sense to die by his hand. The memories you two share, the intimacy that was taken away so sudden, it only makes sense to die by the one you loved before, even if it's a surprise you'll never recover from.

The heat of his red lightsaber against your neck is not enough to scare you, but enough to finally look at his face, to encounter his eyes and reveal the truth that was hidden all along between lies. You experience the intensity of his gaze, how it softens when realizing you're looking at him with that same look you have been doing it years ago.

"You're alive" it slips away from you before even noticing, the sound of your voice wrapping him in a haze he didn't expect at first, to be so devastated by you even after all the time resenting the Jedi's and everything they represented "Qimir you're alive..."

He knows you're shocked, the sound of your voice piercing in his ears as he threatened with the weapon against your neck, any sudden movement would slice you in the second — "Hello to you too."

He's real, when he speaks out loud you know he's real, he's standing in front you erasing all the theories you made about not sleeping enough now making you delusional, he's there, standing ready to kill and take what he wants to feel like he won.

It's a personal vendetta, you know it as you expect any answer, any word at all until Sol's screaming as he's taken away from you once again.

He's not a friend, he's not the Qimir you once knew, and he's not someone you can trust again as he was ready to kill. He's not was he used to be, and you can tell by the way he moves, the way he goes against Master Sol hoping to leave the Jedi in the floor, his anger when he refers to his acolyte as a traitor.

He's the one responsible for Indara's death indirectly. He's not a lover. He's not a friend.

You think he died years ago, never really understanding what really happened to the bright man you met in Coruscant, a secret no one dared to bring up. He has the same fucking smile you know too well, the one that make you crumble completely in the sight, and it sadden you, it saddens you he take that path when you seem to woke up from whatever has you nailed to the floor and finally run to help Sol.

You believe you're in the right side, you've been taught about the light and the dark, and you put your heart out filling your mouth saying how you're doing good, how you're making things right.

It's kill or get killed. It’s clear that Qimir does not seem to care about any connection you shared before, hurting you no longer means whatever it meant before, and as the sable burnt your tight, no one cares when you're fainting in the floor, abandoning the fight when it approaches his end.

Sol's mad, but it's not enough to make the master stop to check if you're alive. So many lives were lost in Khofar, and the fight was so demanding you're soon forgot in a planet when the sun is finally rising.

You know you've always been alone, know the last time you saw your family you were too young to even remember, so it's not a surprise when you're left behind. Jedi's come and go, that's why they keep training them generation after generation — It's expected to lose some percentage in missions.

What's not expected, it's when Qimir is close to your cold body later in the early morning. Still deep induced in the fever of pain when he's betrayed by his own heart, his old feelings resurfacing even when he made sure to bury them in a hole in the back of his head.

He's weak it seems. And he should be ashamed of himself when he's the one carrying you back to his ship when everyone has left you behind.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

Is that his voice? The rough sound that makes you wake up in a uncomfortable place with clothing you don't remember owning.

You're confused for a second before realizing you're in unknown place, a cold breeze shivering your skin: You're in someone's house, using someone's bed.

It's all it takes to make you stand up, leaving the warm sheets behind as your eyes scan the place looking for both a person or a way out. There's a saucepan in the fire cooking slowly, and a smell you can't describe at first.

You move carefully, theories in your mind about what happened that seemed so imposible. You're sure you're far from Coruscant where you should be, yet, you don't feel much danger when you discover you're left alone in what it seems to be a cave, one that lets a windy current enter through a slit between the rocks.

You're unsupervised: Does that mean you're not a prisoner?

You remember fainting in the cold surface of Khofar, the humidity in the air as the air leaves your lungs before entering a state of unconsciousness. You remember Qimir as a ghost in front of you, smiling like he's young again, trying to get to your room in the middle of the night as if it wasn't forbidden.

Was that your dream about? A warning about the stranger being alive?

You don't dare to drink the water, you don't dare to touch any belonging more than the necessary when inspecting. Its more of a hiding than a home itself, so it lacks of belongings as you can't find anything else more than your clothes, protecting yourself from the cold air.

You're not treated as a prisoner, yet you don't feel any safe at all due to the recent events that seemed to say otherwise. You cannot seem to find your sable, and the silence it's making you lose patience.

The cave is a mess soon after, you're searching for your most important weapon, so now the lack of it seems to make you nervous. You search until you're no longer alone, a new presence in the cave as you adopt a pose of defense.

"Where's my sable?" you ask to what it seems the air, acting all tough before noticing who's the person that dragged you to a different planet, the responsable of healing your wounds with a unexpected speed. You know who it is from before, the change in the cave when he's around even when you don't receive any answer back "I'm talking to you, Qimir."

He doesn't talk when he's tossing it over the things he brought from outside, the orange details in the heavy metal shining against the dim lights of the cave. He knows you are not leaving without it, that you're too attached to it for your bad luck.

"Where am I?" you ask soon enough. At this point you lack of patience out of all, you're tired and your body is sore, you're still dreaming that very same thing, and you're not resting enough to keep your mind sane, so it's not a surprise when you're demanding answers, after all, you wanted to know what happened back in Khofar.

It hits you how much you miss him now that he is in front of you in full silence, not in the middle of violence like before, how much you wanted to hug him until he no longer breathes and spat something stupid as a not-very-funny joke. You miss him after all those years of believing he's death, that he disappeared out of sudden without telling nobody, not even you.

The silence makes you mad, and the stranger knows it, sense it in the force when the anger hits you, filling the air of the cave that feels small even when the spaces are big enough. He lied. That's all you can think of, he lied and never bothered to tell you he's alive after suffering his departing so whole heartedly.

Nights without sleeping as you let the insomnia carry you to a state you can't leave, overflowed by feeling you've learnt to deal with in the pass of time. Time heals it all they say, but it just makes things more bearable, help you live with it.

But now. Now it was cruel, it's a wound that opened by itself with the things you saw, the person he was now, embracing his dark side like it was something worth celebrating.

"Talk to me," you say, and you don't know why you're the one asking for answers when you shouldn't. "This is not fucking fair."

Fair.

"Nothing's ever fair," he says, and the sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. Now that you're surrounded only by the crashing sound of the waves hitting the rocks outside, you can hear him without the buzz of the fight. "Your people know that very well. You make the rules after all. You decide what's fair in the galaxy."

It's a knife in your heart. You don't want him to affect you like he does, but it's impossible when it stings like a burnt from the sable, the weight of his words, the hatred on his tone when he spits the words like they're acid in his tongue.

"I've never made nothing" it's a declaration of self-hatred at it most, how you've not been capable of doing much even when you pride on being called a Jedi Knight. "You know that."

There's no response. You're used to follow orders, not question, trust you're working with the correct side, so his look is something new, something that leaves goosebumps on your skin.

"You're alive," you still don't believe it at first, now studying his factions like they were still craved in stone back on your head. "After all these years, you couldn't tell me you were alive?"

It's a bad joke, one that makes you laugh leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth — "You couldn't tell your best friend you were leaving? Nobody talked about you all of sudden, you became a dream. Almost making me sure you never existed at all."

"That's what they told you? That I leaved?" the way he's telling the information makes you furrow your brows in response, trying to make sense of what he was saying: Was he implying they lied to you?

"Please, explain me then" you're not in the mood of fighting, instead, you want information, crucial information to what you were choosing to be "Enlighten me. Tell me why you left me there without saying goodbye. Why it doesn't seem to affect you as much as it affected me."

The stranger has grown cold. He has now adapted beneath this rough amour that separated him from what he was before. So he doesn't give you any answers even when you question him, looking at you without saying a word.

You've changed too. You're not the little padawan that followed Indara around and look up at Torbin, you're not afraid of showing your force anymore, after all those years he has told you you're more than capable of defeating any enemy, you are starting to believe it more that ever. Even when he's not around to see that change happen in front of his eyes.

He's not going to answer, he's not talking nor giving you what you needed.

"Am I prisoner?" you ask again, another question added to the pile.

"Does it look like you're being held?" he asks back, squatting close to the stove in the fire to the stir his soup. "No. You're not my prisoner."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He always was a man full of pride, but now it seemed he thrive in it, in sharing his knowledge he was sure it was so powerful he needed to take a pupil, some kind of dark padawan he wanted to train.

"I don't know you anymore Qimir," you state out loud, hoping to talk to him as a long-time friend, as the person he was in love all those years but never acted on it too afraid of the rules at first. "I don't know who you've become, and i've been mourning you like it's only yesterday you vanished from my life, yet you've been alive, plotting against your family."

"Family?" he asks, hurted by the words you choose. "I've never had a family. You know that very well, it was always me against them, against anyone who questioned their power, their use and knowledge of the force."

"So is that how we are going to act now? Like pride is enough to make you leave and act like we were never a thing? That I wouldn’t die for you without even question?" you seem disappointed as you speak — “Why you didn’t kill me back there when you had the chance?”

He's taken back by your words, the sincerity as you admit what it seemed impossible to say back then. It’s known by him the feelings he had for you were enough to stop the whole galaxy, but he never had the courage to say something about it, to go against the rules and let alone admit to you anything at all.

So to know that you care for him, even when you talked about it like it was in the past, is enough to make him short-circuit, to make his face change in a new look.

“You already know why I didn’t kill you” he says it so casually while cooking, that even when you stand in the middle of the room trying to think about anything, anything more that him and his powerful gravity that made you spin around him, drawn by his pulling force — “Doesn’t matter who you stand with, i���d never do anything to you.”

You let that sink in. You let him say it cause maybe, deep down, it’s what you need. Your eyes are full of tears but you don’t want to let any single tear roll from your eyes the second you feel the sadness, you don’t want to show any weakness whatsoever, anything that will make you look less than what you really are.

“I could ask you the same” he says soon after, looking at you from over his shoulder in a low voice that sends shivers down your spine “Why did you let me live back there?”

It’s a bruise in your ego, to your sense of defense — Walls up, not letting any feeling show at all. His question is left out in the space as you look at him through narrowed eyes, reminding yourself he’s the enemy.

He cannot have the satisfaction. He’s the one behind Verosha’s twin sister after all, the one who send her to seek her own revenge. You know you should kill him with no second though, to cease with the leak, destroy the rebel cause that was so dark and powerful, so dangerous, but as before, you can’t hurt him by any chance, too attached to the enemy to even think about using the force against him.

Qimir. You don’t expect him to be alive, to be so angry at his lies. You don’t expect him to be the threat to peace and tranquility you’ve been so warned about.

Fuck that. You can’t deal with him again.

Maybe you are a coward after all, not worthy of being called a Jedi Knight. Always too unsure, questioning if you’re doing things the right way.

It’s not your fight. It’s not your place to be, you’re not his prisoner so you reach your lightsaber quick enough to leave his side, holding the weapon against your bare hands as you leave the cave, facing the daylight and the ocean in front of you.

You're not his prisoner, so you quickly leave as soon as you can leave, unable to hold his gaze anymore, to answer a question you shouldn't be asked. Even if it's cold outside, the sun still shines and you are sure you're going to find a ship that will take you out of there, as far as possible — Maybe, even leave him there.

But when you walk, you're followed close by in silence. Not a prisoner, but not free enough to leave free whiningly.

Even when you pace fasten enough to try to leave him behind, it seems like it's not a physical effort to follow you near by, to follow the same footsteps you give in order to look for a way to get out.

What's his plan anyway? Follow you forever? He's going to get tired soon enough, the problem is you don't have the patience enough to wait for it, you can't wait for Qimir to be enlightened by mercy, to be rational, to let you leave so you can be as far away from him as possible.

So at any sudden sound, you happen to snap, to turn on the sable in one swift movement, quick enough to pull it against his neck, almost touching his skin, the blue light reflecting in his pupils as he seemed pleased by your attention.

That's what he wants in the end. Even if it's anger, he wants to get any reaction out for him.

"Stop following me around" it's a knot on your throat, a sting in the heart as you threat him, the sound of your voice almost mixing with the loud crashing of the ocean. "You said yourself, i'm no prisoner."

He can sense your anger yet he's devastated by what you've become, devastated by finally being in front of you. Even when you're hesitating to spare his life once again, he's driven by the smell he was so caught on before, the memories you brought, attacked by the lonely life he was forced to live, the perks he enjoyed embracing his dark side.

It seems like forever, an eternity while the energy just flows, while the tension consume you both.

You're caught in a spiderweb you cannot get out, cause when he opens his mouth to speak again, you don't expect to make your world tremble that way.

"I was searching for you."

You know what's coming next, the sound of his voice like a recorder playing over and over in your head, the vibrations of his tone matching the ones you've been dreaming about lately.

"I was searching for you. Even in my dreams."

It's enough to make you lower your sable.

To make the stranger smile.

my masterlist

[agirlwithglam]

how to stop being so obsessed with them.

heyyy bestieees! heres a few tips to stop you from being so obsessed with them cus honeyyy its just not worth it. it doesn't just have to be romantically btw!

"she's literally perfect.. like how??" <- affirmations!

༄ ✬ move on! ༄ ✬

numero uno. move on. okay hear me out! there are 8 billion people in the world. (8 billion freeky deeking people). do yk how much that it? a lot of 0s. and i know for a fact that SO MANY of them would be thrilled to know you, to spend time with you, to love and respect you! if that 1 person out of 8 billion people doesn't seem to recognise your worth, so what?!

"oh but they're perfect and i just love them so much!" ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.... sorry, what do you love again? the fact that they don't care enough to return a text, treat you right, make you feel loved?

"i just want them to love me back and treat me the way they treat others because they are so funny and always seem to make me and other people laugh!" oh ma lawd. ur not serious r u? you are?! okokok i won't make fun of you. i can relate to how that feels. but sweetheart, 8 billion. trust me, you'll find a lot more people who are twice as funnier and caring who will love you to the moon and back and make you feel like the most specialist person ever and massage ur crusty musty toes. jk about the last one- unless u want that?

༄ ✬ not everyone will know your worth. ༄ ✬

so asking questions like "but why can't they realise how great i am? or how funny i am? or how loving i am? i would do anything for them, why can't they realise that and treat me the same way back?" im sorry honey but the world doesn't work that way. if someone doesn't feel or treat you as if you're the most glamorous girl in the world, then you need to stop giving them sm energy and importance.

heres an analogy that i got from simonesquared on youtube: in gilmore girls, Rory has this super rich boyfriend Logan right? (who has the most cutest smile ever i might add) and he buys Rory a birkin bag. now to Rory, she doesn't realise the value of a bag like that! to her, its just another bag. she's grateful of course, but she doesn't fully realise the immense value this type of bag has.

༄ ✬ have a life outside of them.༄ ✬

lemme repeat that. have. a. fleeping. life. outside. of. them. they should NOT be the center of your life or the cause of all your actions NUH UH ABSOLUTELY NOT! its okay to do SOME things with the thought of them, but that part is separate from the rest of your life. your life is your life, not theirs!!

this can mean going to the gym, working out, finding new hobbies, educating yourself, self care, etc etc! but don't go about your life, thinking about them. you go about your life thinking about YOU.

༄ ✬ stop chasing them. ༄ ✬

"gee, thanks vanilla. thats so helpful! how did i not think about that earlier?" im assuming thats sarcasm, but whateverr. okay so if they know that you're chasing them, that you're obsessed with them, yk what they'll think? they'll think that 'oh! this person is chasing me, so she really wants me. so she'll stick around. i dont really need to try too hard to keep her cus i know she'll stay. i'll explore my options in the meantime :)'

GIRL do not so available like this! BE BUSY (which relates to the point before). once you glow up, work on your life, not taking it so seriously, and just being happy and enjoying this beautiful gift of life, they will start to think: 'oh! this person (you) is actually quite fabulous. i better try to make her feel happy/ be friends with her before i miss this awesome opportunity!'

cus girl, cmon, you've got things to do, places to be, and people to talk to. i've got goals and dreams and my bucket list. you don't have the time to sit here and be crazy obsessed. so like, if they just leave, um okay and? "yes, and?" what about it? am i meant to be bothered? likerrr okay, byee? i mean, i've got a lot of things to do so i could try to fit in a "help i need you" session between my pilates class and my cooking class? jk <3

༄ ✬ give yourself the damn love. ༄ ✬

why are you obsessed with them? why are you head over heels for somebody who literally couldn't care less? its because they have something that you feel like you're lacking.

is it the fact that they always seem so happy and laughing-y with people around them? that they get super high marks on their test? they are attractive? they have a high status? money? what is it?? often, we can actually give these things to ourselves. some, easier than others. but not impossible. if you really wanted to, you would get up, dust yourself up, and give yourself the love you crave. What you want in others, give to yourself first.

More resources:

How to stop comparing yourself & feel fulfilled without needing external validation.

Thewizardliz: becoming selfish was the best thing i did

Lumma Aziz’s videos

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

“Freak's looking at you.”

There's a nudge to his shoulder that makes Steve jerk up, snapping out of the daze he'd been in.

“Huh?” he asks, looking at Aaron with his brow furrowed.

Aaron nods towards a spot halfway across the cafeteria, and Steve shifts his gaze over to see Munson standing on top of one of the tables, watching him expectantly.

Shit.

“Can you repeat that, if you're expecting a response?” Steve asks. “I drifted off somewhere around comparing the swimming pool to a goldfish bowl.”

He's being honest - it's still harder to concentrate, and he saves it for classes and practice and tends to zone out when he doesn't need to pay attention - but it makes the people who were clearly listening in laugh.

Steve catches Munson's gaze and rolls his eyes, giving him an apologetic little shrug.

He's not really sure how Munson takes it, because he just bemoans the attention span of the average jock and clomps down from the table, but no one's looking at either of them anymore, so he guesses it doesn't matter.

Steve's almost disappointed. Might be kind of nice to see what Munson's like when no one's watching them, he thinks.

—

Things are okay, with him and Nancy and Jonathan.

His gaze doesn't automatically seek Nancy out in a crowd or anything - mostly because he'd always been at her side, before, so it's not like it's even something he's used to - but he still catches her gaze sometimes, still smiles and nods and doesn't say anything.

They share study hall together.

He and Nancy shared it before, of course, and logically he knows that Jonathan had it at the same time they did, but now - now they all have it together.

After the first few times of him or Nancy awkwardly veering sharply away from their previously shared table when they'd seen the other one was already there - one day they just didn't.

They don't say much, but the three of them sit together, exchanging class notes and books. Sometimes Steve sees the pinch in Jonathan's eyes and gives him a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, and sometimes Jonathan sees him squinting too hard at something and copies the passage over in bigger handwriting, and Nancy checks over both of their notes, and it's -

The jagged black cut in his heart scabs, fades, scars. He'll always love her, he thinks, but sometimes he thinks if they can get over the hurt -

Sometimes he sits with the two of them and it's the closest he's ever felt to being understood. Sometimes he thinks it's what he wanted with Tommy and Carol, all those years ago.

It's a start.

—

He runs into Munson after school, sometimes.

They don't say anything either, but after practice gets out and after Munson is done with his theater club or whatever it is, they'll see each other.

Sometimes, if Munson's selling, Steve will linger.

He doesn't really think Billy's stupid enough to point fingers at Munson, and most people are too afraid of him to do anything, but it still makes him feel a little better to keep an eye on him.

It kind of feels like no one watches out for Eddie Munson, not the way he watches out for his fellow freaks.

“What?” Munson demands one day, sidling up to Steve and slamming his goodie box down on the bench. “What're you looking for here?”

Steve frowns at him. “I told you.”

Munson's brows furrow. “You were serious about that shit? You think you're protecting me?”

“Why not?” Steve challenges.

Munson's eyes go flat. “And what's this protection going to cost me?”

Steve thinks about being offended, for a moment, before he wonders if other people have tried to make deals before, keep the other assholes of Hawkins High away from him in exchange for free weed or something.

He softens. “I haven't asked you for anything.”

Munson scowls. “Yet,” he counters. “Whatever you're thinking, if you're trying to get me to owe you, it's not happening. Fuck off, man, I don't need protecting.”

His heart clenches as he hears an echo of Max saying the same thing, and before he knows it he's reached into his chest and pulled out his heart.

The scowl melts into confusion for a brief moment before it's back in full force. “I'm still not showing you mine,” Munson retorts.

“I still haven't asked,” Steve counters. “I don't want anything, man, all right? Just looking out in case Billy tries something.”

Or anyone else, now that Steve thinks of it, but even with his heart pumping in a steady truth, he's not sure Munson'll believe that.

“Just like that,” Munson says flatly, after a moment of watching Steve's heart. “And what do your knights of the round table think of this?”

Steve's nose scrunches. “What?”

“Your knights.” Munson waves his hand dismissively, but - his tone isn't mean, isn't condescending. “It's a King Arthur reference.”

It's nice, that he isn't being shitty about Steve not understanding something.

“Right. So that makes me King Arthur, and you're - what was it again, the court jester?” Steve asks, giving him a little smile to show he's teasing.

“If we're doing King Arthur, I'm going with Merlin,” Eddie says.

“The old guy with the beard and pointy hat?” Steve asks.

Eddie puts his hands on his hips, fluttering his eyelashes. “You think I couldn't pull it off?”

Steve plays along, making a show of looking him up and down. “You know what, sure, you've got the right look for gray haired old man.”

“Asshole,” Eddie tells him, but he doesn't sound pissed anymore. “You know you're cutting into my profits, right? People see you lingering and they're less likely to come buy.”

Steve's brows furrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. Only the desperate want to make illicit purchases under the watchful eye of Hawkins High's once and future king.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. “I'll stand farther away, make myself look busy.”

Eddie glowers. “Seriously? You're not giving this up?”

Honestly - Steve probably should. But he's stubborn, and Eddie throwing a fit about it kind of just makes him want to do it more.

“Who looks out for you?” he asks instead of answering.

Eddie looks thrown. “What?”

“That's why you do it, right? Why you started walking on tables and making yourself a target. It takes attention off of the guys younger than you.” Steve's trying to make a point, so he slides right over the fact that they both know everyone's younger than Eddie - this is his second senior year, after all. “So everyone watches you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a little bit of an edge back in his voice. “You watch me, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve replies, blunt and honest. “Not really. Not before.”

“Not before Billy Hargrove tried to blame me for bashing your head in with his fists?” Eddie asks.

“He smashed a plate over it, actually,” Steve shoots back. “But yeah, something like that.”

Steve's heart gives an erratic beat. It wasn't a lie, but apparently it wasn't enough of the truth, either. Eddie gives him a pointed look.

“There's these kids I babysit,” Steve says, slow and careful. “They're into the same things you are. They're gonna be in high school next year, and I won't be here. Neither will you, but it just made me think - I'd want someone like you looking out for them.”

Eddie watches his heart for a moment.

“What are their names?” he asks. “Yeah, I won't be here, but Jeff will be. I can tell him to look out for them.”

Relief swoops through Steve, and he doesn't even care when Eddie gives him a funny look after he includes Mike and Will along with Dustin, Lucas, and Max.

He won't admit it, but it helps.

—

The next day, Eddie sits next to him at lunch.

He makes a big deal of it, hamming it up as he hops over the bench and plops down, pulling out a sandwich and some chips and flattening out his lunch bag to make a plate for them.

Steve's sitting with the swim team today, and he watches some of the guys side eye Eddie like they're not sure what the joke is and who the punchline is supposed to be. He watches some of them look at him with disgust, too, and those he carefully files away to keep an eye on later.

“My liege!” Eddie announces cheerfully. “How fair you and your knights of the round table on this fine afternoon?”

“Your king is doing just fine, as long as you keep your boots on the ground and away from the top of the lunch table,” Steve retorts.

“Is this like when Carol used to call her and Tommy Duke and Duchess?” Jacob asks.

“Are we doing that, are we knights now?” Dorian asks, his eyes lighting up a little.

Dorian gets straight A's, Steve remembers that. English is his best class.

“Sure, why not?” Steve says, shrugging carelessly, even as he shoots a smile at Dorian. “You can be Sir Galahad.”

Michael groans. “Don't encourage him, this is stupid.”

Tanner snorts. “From the guy who calls his girlfriend princess.”

Michael flushes. “Shut up! It's just so Ashley will stop whining.”

“Uh-huh.” Jacob elbows him. “We've all heard you at Tina's parties pledging to be her knight in shining armor.”

They have, apparently, completely forgotten Eddie's existence as they fall back to ribbing on each other.

Steve turns to him, finding him watching the table with a narrow, calculating gaze.

“Eat your lunch,” Steve says. “My knights don't give a shit.”

These ones, anyway, and as long as Steve's there, but he's not going to say that.

They both know it.

Still, Eddie keeps it up. It's not every day, or every other day, or in any kind of recognizable pattern, but he'll plop himself down next to Steve's side like he belongs there whenever he feels like it.

Steve largely treats it like he doesn't give a shit, and most of the people he tends to sit with follow suit, if a couple of them can't seem to resist making snide little comments.

It's always the ones who make snide comments to everyone, the kind of assholes that Steve can't wait to get away from, so he mostly ignores it.

The sixth or seventh time it happens, Steve drops his apple on Eddie's folded over lunch bag.

Eddie stares at him.

“What?” Steve asks. “You're going to get scurvy if you keep eating nothing but bologna and Doritos for lunch.”

Eddie snorts. “I look like an eighteenth century pirate captain?”

Steve makes a show of looking him up and down again. “You look like something,” he replies.

Completely unexpectedly, Eddie flushes a little, picking up the apple and taking a comically large bite out of it.

Steve grins.

—

Steve's at swimming practice after school when Nancy and Jonathan show up.

The second he sees them hovering near the back door, he hauls himself up out of the pool, barely pausing to grab a towel on the way.

“What's happened?” he asks immediately, low and quick.

Jonathan's expression is a mess of worry, like he's trying not to panic, as he says, “I can't find Will.”

“We're supposed to pick him and Mike up from the AV club,” Nancy cuts in. “But they're not there, and they're not at any of their usual places at school.”

“Or at home, or anyone else's place, or the arcade,” Jonathan adds.

Steve's chest tightens. It's stupid, kids go off to places they're not supposed to be all the time - especially these kids - but given their track record, that doesn't mean they're not in trouble. “Let me grab my stuff, I'll be right there.”

Practice is almost done, anyway.

He shrugs into his windbreaker and grabs his backpack, darting out the door to follow them. He's already digging around in the backpack to pull out the walkie talkie Dustin gave him by the time he gets to them.

“Little shit better answer,” Steve grumbles, thumbing it on. “Dustin, you there?”

There's a tense pause as they wait.

“Dustin?” Steve tries again.

Nothing.

Jonathan's face goes a little paler, and Nancy's jaw clenches.

“Hey asshole, you're the one who made me carry this around, the least you could do is respond,” Steve bitches.

This time, the walkie flares to life.

“You're supposed to say over when you're done talking, Steve!” Dustin bitches back. “Otherwise I won't know it's my turn! Over.”

“Are you serious right now? It wasn't obvious enough?” Steve asks - then, because he wouldn't put it past Dustin to be a little shit about it, and he knows Jonathan is beyond worried - “Is Will with you? Over.”

“Yeah, he's right here. Why?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

Jonathan sags with relief.

“Was he maybe supposed to meet his brother somewhere?” Steve prompts. “Over.”

Whatever Dustin had been going to say in response to that is drowned out by a chorus of “Oh shit!” and “You said you were keeping track of the time!” and “Don't tell Mom, we'll be right there!”

Nancy rolls her eyes, taking the walkie from him. “Five minutes,” she says into it. “Or we're leaving without you and you can bike home. Over and out.”

Steve's pretty sure he and Jonathan both know that she doesn't mean that, but the kids don't know it, so he's equally sure that'll light a fire under their asses.

“Hey, Dustin, do you and Lucas need a ride home?” he asks once he gets the walkie back.

“And Max?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

“And Max,” Steve agrees, assuming that's a yes. “I'll meet you out front of the high school. Over.”

He shoves the walkie back in his bag, looking up to exchange a relieved look with Nancy and Jonathan.

“See you tomorrow?” Nancy asks, though Steve gets the feeling it's more to fill the silence that's gone a little awkward, now that the potential danger's passed.

“Sure,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Jonathan tells him, eyes fixed somewhere at his left cheekbone like he's not entirely sure where to look.

“Any time.” It comes out too flippant, though, and Steve makes a face at himself as Jonathan turns to leave.

“Hey.” Steve reaches out, fingers curled loosely around Jonathan's wrist. “I mean it, okay? Any time.”

This time, Jonathan's eyes lock on his. After a moment, Jonathan's cheeks go a little pink, and then he nods before he follows Nancy down the hall.

Steve watches them for a moment or two, then drops his backpack down on a bench a little harder than he probably should, digging around for his sweatpants.

“I don't get it.”

Steve looks up as he's halfway through putting his pants on to see Eddie sidling up next to him in the hall.

“Don't get what?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods towards where Nancy and Jonathan just were. “The three of you.”

Steve shrugs. “We're friends, not a lot to get.”

He goes back to fighting with his sweatpants, wishing he'd dried off a little more before pulling them on over his speedo. They keep sticking to his thighs.

Eddie's gone quiet, though, and when Steve glances back up, he sees Eddie staring at him.

Steve cocks one eyebrow. “What?”

Eddie flushes, looking away. “Didn't figure you'd be so comfortable with the girl who broke your heart and the guy who stole her away, is all. Or hey, maybe she's putting out for both of you, maybe Byers is-”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in, tone sharp and firm in a way he hasn't had to do since he stopped hanging out with Tommy and didn't have to hold him back when he'd gone too far anymore.

But Eddie isn't like Tommy. Maybe he doesn't know Eddie all that well, but Steve gets the feeling he only lashes out when he's feeling cornered.

“Don't be a dick, man,” Steve says, voice softening a little. “They haven't done anything to you.”

Eddie looks back at him, a little surprised, before his expression goes contrite. “You're right,” he admits, easy as anything. “Sorry. It's good that you’re friends with your ex.”

Steve's sort of friends with most of his exes, but that's not the same. None of them were ever Nancy. “I do better as part of a trio,” he says instead of anything else, because it's kind of true.

Then, because he doesn't actually want to field any questions about that -

“Besides,” Steve adds. “If you've heard the rumors, you'd know that's not the kind of threesome I'm into.”

Eddie snorts inelegantly, like he's trying to cover up a laugh. “You telling me I should be putting stock in all the rumors I hear about you, Stevie?”

“Of course not. But the ones about my skills in the bedroom?” he shoots back. “Every word is truth.”

It's not, really. Or, well - not the one about the threesomes. Steve doesn't think sitting between two girls on the couch at a house party and going back and forth between kissing them counts as a threesome.

But it'd never been a hardship to combat that particular rumor, not when it meant he could take his time reassuring the girl he was with that no, he didn't want anyone else there, when he could spend a while making sure she felt important, felt good.

He thinks he'd kind of like spending some time making Eddie feel important.

Steve has no idea what the hell he's supposed to do with thoughts like that.

But he does know the way Eddie's eyes have lingered over his thighs and the line of his stomach and chest peeking out from his open windbreaker, and he-

“You want to find out which rumors are true, you just let me know,” he hears himself say.

Eddie doesn't bite, rolling his eyes and shoving him before he heads off, but Steve isn't deterred.

He hadn't missed the way Eddie's hand had lingered, either.

—

Steve and Eddie have free period together.

Well. Steve has a free period, at least. He's honestly not sure Eddie isn't just ditching, but it doesn't really matter.

They hang out together anyway.

They don't really say much, just - exist in the same space. Sometimes in the smoking area, sometimes at the track, sometimes at the picnic table, sometimes somewhere else in the woods.

They sit too close together when they're in the woods, shoulders or knees always touching.

A few times, Steve takes out his heart, lets himself breathe.

Eddie always glares at it, mutters, “I'm still not showing you mine, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs, tells him he still hasn't asked, and that's it.

Steve'll miss it once he graduates.

—

He graduates, and doesn't go to college, doesn't see Nancy or Jonathan or Eddie much anymore, and it's - it's fine.

He still hangs out with the kids, starts putting in job applications, and it's fine.

He's fine.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 5

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt

[shuenkio]

LoserXLover | 희승 헨.하.이.픈. (⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠)⁠ᕗ💨

Paring: Loser!seung X M!reader

Genre: Smut Synopsis: Being such a brat he is, you decided to punish your boyfriend in a very edgy way. Cw: pure smut, cum undone, edging, freaky af, cursing, dirty talk.

English is not my 1st | This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A$N: from an anon request! This is probably my last update this month since next month who knows I'd be busy but I won't accept any requests sooner. Btw 'but' using alot here, ignore it 🥲 I'm having a mental breakdowns trying to make it perfect I'm suck still at writing smau.

Finished schedule for today's promotion is a relief that everything went smoothly yet there's something that has bothered you lately which you have bottled up for sometimes now. Despite being a sub-leader in the big group full of older boys at a young age, it is half bad and half good. The good parts were already doing great the nice ones while the bad part is they're grown boys.

You'd question your own self that it is worth it? In a frustrated good way of course. Not only are all of them a ball of chaotic energy but they're also clingy, teasing, if they'll tease you, all you need was a punching bag sand to Express your annoying. However it gets used to it till it becomes a habit and sort of like everyday shit. And that's not the case for nowadays. Heeseung the oldest hyung is getting on your nerves lately.

One was he accidentally made a small mistake during the finish part today on stage yeah that's forgiven but still driving you nuts as a perfectionist you are. Two, at the dorm, Heeseung would leave his ramen bowl without washing, dishes soaked in the sink for days unless you point it out. It's one of the hell rides having the same floor and dorm with him.

Not to mention Ni-ki says nothing about this as if he is not in the same dorm. Three, the gamer boy is getting out of hand. The nagging, the yelling, the reminding is just an air that went from one ear to another gosh how difficult can he become more. He's not a damn teenager but a 23 year old guy. Did he do all of these on purpose or is it just so unbelievable that you thought this was some kind of joke? Only god knows.

By doing all of the voices won't make him flinch anymore you'd have to come with some other punishment to make him won't repeat all of the childish behavior anymore that could leave him a bit traumatized, for some time in a very good~ way. What if he might love the idea more? Only to find out. Burst in his personal room, leaning against the door way as you are staring at the lazy guy who is on the bed, scrolling on his phone as if he didn't have a busy schedule the next day. Closing the door behind, as you make you way closer before sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Heeseung hyung? We need to talk!" Murmur in a serious tone yet so calmly, request for talking. But in return he just hums in response, rooting to the core as if his body is stuck on the bed which makes you have to control yourself from being violence.

"please sit up, before I change my mind" is another demand yet this time he did as he was told. Sitting up, resting his head on the headboard.

"yes? M/n What do you want to talk about?"

"about your behavior, not to be disrespectful but this is not how I wanted you to act hyung!, you're 23 not a toddler" You claim, explain in as calm a way as possible. However, it seems like it won't work on him ever.

"I am the way I am m/n what are you... Talking about? I know I'm the oldest but I don't act like a child you say, don't just come up like that" Heeseung response, his tone is slightly offensive to your words but that makes him look even more stubborn. How can he even let those slip out. Anger boil almost explodes, trying to maintain your compose while explaining how many things about him that bother you a lot as a sub/co leader that left Heeseung dumbfounded.

But that won't last long when he just ignores the fact, carry on acting like a brat once you finish talking. This is getting out of hand, you force yourself to give him one last chance before a disaster would occur.

"what are you gonna do about me then? I'll like how I am right now, leave my room you're such a headache for me m/n, hyung need alone time" Scoff is all what left your sweet mouth, this is so irritated it's like telling a siblings to go bed time but they denying. What's more irritated? The fact he was your loser boyfriend makes it worse. Heeseung turned away and sat on his desk, opening his computer to play some games. Would you let that happen? Not this time. Stroking away your hair in boil pointed before locking the door tight, making your way to your boyfriend.

This might be the first time you've had to punish your brat lover. Seeing the sock scatter on the floor, you come up with an idea, if you can't punish him emotionally, how about physically? Smirking, like the idea so much. Before Heeseung could wear his headphones on, his gamer chair turned around by your grips. Slightly starlet the next thing he knows, both of his hands are tied up by his own socks. A very lovely sight to see such submissiveness. Yelping, confused running through his head to your new side, he can't help but to be afraid one bit, asked.

"m/n?? What are you doing? Untied me now, this is not funny.." speak in a shaky voice, as he sees your unusual attitude. Meanwhile deep down inside of him, he knows what's going to come for him. Somehow he liked it? Or he just pretends to drive you nuts so he could get this attention of yours?

"You're never gonna like it, and I won't stop until you reflect your own shitty behavior, hyung!" Waste no more time, your body lean close to him as your naughty finger sneaking on his crotch. Fiddle on his pants, around in a circling, teasing to make it rocket hard as you planning to make him so hard, so dry until he begged oh wait, why don't you make him edge? Those feelings are the worst haha.Heeseung squirmed under your touch, in a trembling breath. he was expecting this but This just feels so different, the idea of you would stroking him only to make his soft dick hurt from the tight fabric. And the fact he didn't stop you makes sense that he was waiting for this. Biting on his lower lip he stays quiet, silently enjoying your touch on his meat. He wanted to please you so badly, to make you touch him even more than this, not only to play but to make use of it.

Realized Heeseung is actually enjoying this, making you angry even more, he can't enjoy this, you need to make it hard for him to ever even feel good. In another one swift move, you unzip his pant, let it spring free out a twitching, huge hard throbbing dick that is leaking already. Such a good start,a clean cut tip free is so arousing to look at, and abuse it.

"p- please i... It kinda hurts you have to finish it m/n, y.. you're the one who started this" pleasing, his hand are tied up, it reasonable that he wanted you to finished it up as he leaking so much already ehh those transparent sticky stuff on his head.

"No, let me hear something else. Where is the brat gone hmm? I don't see any"

"but—m/n I'm not in the wrong, I'm just being myself everyday like how my routine, what do you expect from me?" He fired back, getting real pain in the ass . How brave he is to spit those out. Snort out loudly that click heeseung in the head that, he did it for himself just now, he'll be in big trouble.

"you're getting brave for real now hyung I think I might pee myself from it, but I think hmm oh well, you seriously push my buttons" Before hee can react, you hand wrapped on his shaft tightly, stroking him so fast that makes his head spinning to the weirdly speed pace. He moaned shamelessly, filled in the small space with his vocal like he was on the edge to see heaven. His stretchy hairy balls jiggle each movement you jerk him off , making a raw plopping sound mixed with pain and pleasure without liquid. Your bf's chest becomes more hitching and breathless, he wanted to scream so bad in high pitch but he couldn't, afraid the other who was in the same dorm might hear.

He knows and you know he can't do anything but to beg for your mercy. Instead It's the opposite of what you expected, you thought you'd hear him begging, whining, for mercy to stop but he was actually asking for more, and he really wanted to release it off, so impatiently. Knowing his weak spot, what are you waiting for? Masturbating his dick harder, in another brutal speed that left his eye nothing but a white eyes ball. His brain malfunctioned, feeling senseless at the moment. A few more strokes later, Heeseung started to feel jolted as his body signal he'd cum at anytime unpredicted soon.

"H- holy motherfucking shit m/n— I...I'm about to cum please... please I wanted to cum c...can I?" Hearing him beg for mercy and being so submissive for the first time make your body goosebumps, thrilling wash over as you actually found him adorable in this state or did they call that a... Kink? A new discovery kink? No way, you need to see more of this. You want more whimpers from him, making him beg, and submissive ugh so fucking turn on.

Enough with the thinking, his body soon shaking in a sign of soon to explode and your plan was to edge him off, what would he react to if you did it? Isn't it going to be fun??

"Ah...ohh... Fuck m/n I'm cumming I'm cumming I'm CUMIN— NO" he yelled it out, to be come undone but before he can cum you quickly pull your hand away for a good seconds which make him going nut on the spot, finally his body shattered undone in a half satisfied, splashing all his hot sperms on his own sweatpants. His body odor perfume all over the room, the scent of his cum, smells like cow milk, that's crazy. And Nor did he be mad or sad, his expression is clearly he's not satisfied with your action. However at least he did cum.

"why... Why did you do that? For what for??M/N?"

"This is your first punishment, you should remember this from now on. If you continue to act so stubborn again, I bet there's more evil punishment for my loser boyfriend and not just edging you— do you get it?hm?"

"y...yes my.. love I'll be a good boy.. and your good boyfriend I...I'm sorry I'll be better" he was scared ...

"that's what I love about you— very demure very lovely very good boy"

[auroras-zenith]

what doesn't kill you // part 5

you had your whole life planned out for you; start an agency with your best friend, scale the charts and make japan your bitch. but when a tragic accident leaves you incapacitated and out of a job, you find you just need to start fresh. you cut ties–and for two years, you've all but disappeared. until they need you again and come knocking at your door.

bakugo x retiredpro!reader

prologue ✧ previous ✧ next

"Where are you going?"

You stilled. Your instincts were alert as ever, and yet, you couldn't whip around the way you might've had you not been in this stupid wheelchair.

"I can't tell you that." You said quietly, ears trained on who you knew to be Jirou behind you.

But turning would give her the impression that this was up for debate–and it wasn't, so you kept your head facing strictly forward.

"You won't get far."

The scoff that escaped you was angry at the surface, but mostly just hurt below that. "Who'll stop me? They don't want me anymore, Jirou."

You refused to cave, but your shoulders wilted inward slightly at the admission. "My own partner can't look at me anymore."

Her footsteps were quiet as she moved to your desk, picking up a picture frame containing an old photo of you and Bakugo.

"He's just–"

"Processing? Yeah. Shoto said the same thing. And Izuku. And Kirishima. Along with pretty much everyone else we know." You mumbled scornfully. "But you want to know what Katsuki said?"

"Nothing. He's said nothing."

She sighed, staring at your happy faces. She set the photo down.

"Fine." Moving to the door, you assumed that she was leaving.

You returned to packing, a new weight on your shoulders as you did so. "How'd you find me?" You had to know before she left.

"The same way he'll find you, the minute he comes to his senses." She shrugged, making her way to your kitchen. "I'm going to have Chamomile! You want some?" She called.

She wasn't leaving? "Wha- no?" You mumbled, confused.

The clothes in your hands were set down and forgotten once more as you hurried to make your way to her–cussing as the bulky wheelchair refused to move the way your legs used to.

"How's that? And how did you get in?" The wheels turned clumsily as you entered the room, finding her sitting on your counter next to a boiling kettle.

Purple eyes followed you, unreadable as they seemed to analyze your every move.

"You were the fourth ranked hero of Japan, L/n. You think the hero commission doesn't know where you live? I'm the nineteenth ranked hero. You think I can't get a key made?"

That... was a fair point that you had not thought of before.

Would he really change his mind?

Not that that was the point. The point was of course that you now had a new problem to consider.

"But I'm not fourth anymore. I'm just a crippled civilian, as far as the commission is concerned. As far as anyone is concerned. Once I move, their information will be outdated." You challenged with a frown.

The kettle began to whistle loudly. "I can't tell if you really believe that." She said with a shake of her head as she poured her water. "Just because you're out now doesn't mean they'll stop keeping tags on you. The only people they don't have their little hooks sunken into are the people who fought to have them removed."

Hooks of your own were being shot straight into her back–except they were more like daggers because she was so doing this on purpose.

"Dude, if you know how I can get my info wiped, just tell me."

A white cup was in her hand as she turned back around. You fought the urge to flinch.

That was his cup.

The one only he was allowed to drink out of. The one that he had gotten you a couple years ago as a gift to himself. The one that he left here for all the late nights and early mornings the two of you would need a warm glass of tea to stay awake together.

You shoved the thought away, fighting to stay present. Deal with the more important issue.

"You can't." She looked apologetic.

"Wait- what?"

"You can't." She repeated, turning back around and adding her sweetener and milk to the tea. "It... it takes rank."

Oh. Right. Rank. Rank that bestowed authority. Rank like being the fourth prohero of Japan. Rank you no longer held.

You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath. The world was making it very hard for you to run away.

You were both silent for a moment.

"You have plenty of money."

The words were quiet. Tentative. Testing the waters and offering another option.

"You don't need to work another day in your life. You have no need for hero work anyway."

Your head was shaking no before you were conscious of it. "I can't stay here Jirou." Voice shaky, it was your turn to turn away.

A loud sigh echoed through the room.

The silence that followed it was louder.

"I know."

The ceramic cup made a quiet clink as it was set on the table. Next thing you knew, warm arms enveloped you as she kneeled before you.

This time, the silence was not so abrasive. Rather, soothing.

"I'm going to get you out of here." She whispered gently in your ear, not breaking the embrace. "I'm so sorry this is happening to you. And I really, really wish that you could stay. Wish that we could've gotten to know each other better."

When she finally pulled away, the warmth she'd brought stayed with you. Her hands continued to rest on your arms as she backed away just far enough to look you in the eye.

"But I'm here to help you. You just have to trust me, okay?"

Could you really do that? In your current state? When you had just lost the person you had trusted most in the world and the scars were still so fresh?

You stared at her, searching for any sign of dishonesty or reason for mistrust in her eyes.

"Okay." You decided when you found none. You could.

a/n: sorry i missed the update yesterday 😭 ily all 🥺

taglist: @floverisland @biancatomlinson @rosaryia @highlandhyena @sarashu @rednicotine @emmaiscool22 @your-mum3000 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @sikuthealien @thefirst-ofus @harryzcherry

permanent tags: @phtmmsqrde @pikachuzhc @stabbygabyy @frosted-flakes @didibanini

[heartfullofleeches]

Ride or Die

Yan 🌽star + Stoner Reader

Summary: After a deal gone wrong, you text your roommate for help.

[Mentions of Weed]

-

Thursdays are pizza night.

It isn't much in the grander scheme of things, but to Brie it is the domesticity of the relationship blossoming between you. Not exactly just friends, yet still barely pushing the limits of the platonic bond you already shared before moving in. You've kissed him before, allowed him to sleep in your bed- Then again, the "kiss" was a conducting force for a mouthful of smoke you gave fair warning for him to prepare himself for; the night in your room being the outcome of him spitting up a lung moments later.

Brie didn't know what to do anymore.. Continue this little game of cat and mouse, praying somewhere deep down you feel the same way about him. Or move onto someone else, never able to give them the entirety of his heart because he knows a part of it will always belong to you.

"Why can't I cry anywhere else but the produce isle!" Brie bitterly whispers to himself as he swabs the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. Your sweater to be more precise. He'd rather not have a repeat of last week- That sweet lady was only trying to console him, but his face gets red as the tomatoes he used for his sauce crying over what may never be.

Whatever.

As far as Brie was aware, you didn't have a partner nor anyone you were really interested in, and you practically told each other everything. Maybe somewhere along the line, he could find happiness in this in-between stage in your relationship. Even if you weren't his partner, he still had you as a shoulder to cry on and the best roommate he could ask for.

"Get over yourself, Brie- You're going to make them the greasts pizza they've ever had, and if they haven't already fallen in love with you - they'll met someone who's a shitty cook and realize what they're missing!"

Isn't that the dream? These days, it feels like you're the only thought on his mind. He can hear your voice now.

"Brie? Brieeeee~ Pick up or I'll use your full government. Heh, you know I'm messing with you. But, seriously, pick up."

Oh. That's... your ringtone. The message was one of the first voicemails you left him when he purchased a new phone. He's missed plenty of calls from you hearing it out to completion.

"You rang, babe?"

That got a good chuckle out of you the first time. It was a total blunder on Brie's end, but you insisted he keep the nickname if he wanted to. There's no jovial air coming from your end of the line. Not even a snicker as your voice picks up over the silence.

"I need your help."

Never in your years long friendship had he heard you sound so serious before. There were glimpses - swiftly desected by your infections laughter or the change of topic, but never like this.

"I'm, I'm on my way." Brie switches his phone over to his left ear, propping it up with his shoulder. "What's wrong? Are you sick? Did you hurt yourself?"

"I think I killed a guy."

The line goes dead.

Brie gazes upwards at the tiled ceiling, phone slipping from his grasp as his thumb hoovers where the end call button once was. He regains his grip on the device as a text message comes in.

Its a picture of the body. Sprawled out with their arms and legs angled in different directions.

He can't catch his breath. Brie has always tried to drill it into your thick skull he'd do anything for you no matter what - and he meant it. Taking someone's life... It's unforgivable in most people's eyes. Especially the law's. If you got caught. If he lost you- What would that mean for him? The future you had together?

Racing through the aisles like a chicken without its head, Brie makes several stops on his way to the cash register. Cleaning, household goods, cutlery. He grabs items as soon as they're checked out and stuffs them into his backpack as he pays, evading his ritual of fishing through his wallet for the exact cash and change.

Brie isn't crazy enough to run red lights. He does, however, forget his seatbeat as he floors his car home; flying just beneath the legal speed limit for the area. He speeds up the tiny flight of stares leading to your apartment - bursting through the already unlocked front door.

"Babe! Baby, in here- I brought bleach, and trash bags, and- and.... These knives should be sharp enough to cut up their limbs- We can even move closer to my parents if we have to!"

Tripping over his own words and feet, Brie dumps the the contents of his backpack on the living room floor. It's then he notices how clean the floor actually is. No blood stains, no evidence of a fight. His eyes search the room, falling upon you in an unbothered state - seated on the couch next to a shivering man nervously sipping from a glass of water.

"Brie!" Standing, you make short work of the distance between you as you swarm Brie with a firm hug. "Missed you, pretty boy. You're back a little sooner than I expected not gonna lie."

Adrenaline depleting, Brie points over your shoulder at the stranger. "I thought he was..."

"He? Oh, right!- Brie, this is Nicky. Nicky, this is Brie. He came to buy some of my stash since his med card just expired and he doesn't like buying full price. Normally I would've done it elsewhere since I don't want to bring strangers into your space, but he's heading out of town once he leaves.... If he still can."

Nicky offers a timid wave to Brie, placing his cup down seconds before collapsing on the couch.

"Don't worry, he should be fine after a little nap."

Air flows freely through Brie's lungs as he clings onto you. You aren't a murderer. There isn't anything jeopardizing things between you- besides himself.

"You're such a jerk."

Pulling away from your embrace, Brie was torn between slapping or kissing you as you grin back at him. "What? Didn't actually think I killed the guy, did you?"

"Yes?! Because of your little prank I wasn't able to get everything I needed for dinner! I was ready to throw my entire life away for you! And it's all just a big joke to you!"

"Thanks, Brie."

Tension building behind his eyes, a soft kiss to his forehead keeps the tears at bay just a little longer.

"It's nice to have someone I can depend on for anything. That's rare to come by these days. If you're ever in the same situation, but for real- you know who to call."

Sniffling, Brie rests his head on your arm.

"You're damn right I do."

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- the day you and the stars disappeared.

summary: the discovery and aftermath of your disappearance. what do your beloveds do in your absence?

tags: obey me characters (lucifer, mammon, levi, asmo, satan, beel, belphie, diavolo, barbatos, solomon, simeon, and thirteen) x gn!reader, angst, spoilers for the first chapter of obey me! nightbringer.

When Lucifer wakes up, the left side of his bed is cold.

It's not the most unusual thing. Lucifer was much less of a morning person that you were. He glaces to his bedside table. 8:30; it was too early for you to be out of bed on the weekend. Even if you woke up early, you'd still be tucked into his arms, or scrolling through Devilgram on your D.D.D.

Lucifer sits up, a pout on his face. You couldn't have strayed too far in such a short time.

"Beloved?" He calls, hoping you could hear him if you were in the bathroom. Lucifer says your name, this time a little louder, but again gets no response.

It wasn't your turn to be on breakfast duty... Perhaps you had a bad dream? You did tend to hide those things from him.

He closes his eyes and thinks of you. Usually, he would feel a faint warmth, like the fluttering of a moth's wings underneath his skin; it was the feeling of your soul connected to his through your pact. But now, even with all his focus, the feeling of your soul connection is nothing but a cold static.

Lucifer swallows the panic welling up in his chest and stands, quickly throwing on his clothes and rushing from his room. He starts in the basement, looking in any place a human could possibly squeeze into, desperately calling out your name. The ever-composed Lucifer, reduced to tearing the house apart when his human isn't in his sights.

He hopes that he is overreacting. He hopes that he'll find you curled up with Mammon, or on a walk outside the house.

He hopes that you are still somewhere that he can reach.

"Oy, Lucifer, what's going on?" Mammon. Lucifer takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself. If he let himself be emotional, his brothers would take that as a sign that something is very, very wrong. He would have to hold himself together, for now. "You're waking everyone up."

"Mammon, have you seen MC?" Calm enough.

"I haven't seen 'em since last night, they were with you, right?" You and Lucifer stayed up late to finish paperwork for your new student council role. "You didn't make 'em angry, did you?"

Lucifer's pout deepens. He's sure he'll age a millennia faster with how much he worries over you. "No, nothing like that. We finished up the assignments and then went to bed." Lucifer sighs, "and then when I woke up this morning, they weren't there. It's unlike them."

"You sure they just didn't go for a walk or something?" Mammon checks his phone to see if there were any messages from you.

"Mammon... try to connect to them with your pact."

Mammon closes his eyes, and repeats the same action Lucifer did only a few minutes prior.

Nothing.

Mammon instantly shifts into his demon form, fear evident in his eyes.

"I'm gonna go drag Solomon over here. He'll be able to track 'em if they're nearby, right?"

"He should be. Bring Simeon too, if he's there.". Lucifer straightens himself out. "I'll wake Leviathan and then go get Diavolo and Barbatos. Maybe they'll know more about what's going on."

Mammon nods, out the door before Lucifer can even finish his sentence.

Lucifer doesn't allow himself any more moments alone, he rushes upstairs to shake Leviathan awake.

-`♡´-

"No need to pound on the door, Mammon." Simeon smiles, but Mammon can tell he's annoyed. Giving Simeon a minute to open the door was Mammon's idea of being patient, he had half a mind to knock the damn thing off its hinges. "Is there anything—".

"Where's Solomon?" Mammon cuts him off, pushing past him and into Purgatory Hall's living room. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air; just how early did these guys wake up?

"He's still sleeping, I believe. Why are you in such a rush?" Simeon asks.

"MC's missing. Need him to find them. He in his room?"

"What?"

"You heard me!" Mammon can hardly keep it together. He didn't want to talk about it, he knew that if he started talking he wouldn't be able to stop.

He hadn't felt your soul connection so cold since... since...

"What's going on?" Solomon steps out of the hallway, still in his pajamas. "I heard Mammon yelling. What happened to MC?"

Of course he'd have been listening in. "Lucifer woke up this morning and they weren't there. Can't hardly feel their soul at all, it's like they're—".

"What do you mean?" Solomon's eyebrows quirk up, clearly not expecting to hear that. "What does it feel like?"

"Damn it, Solomon, it feels like it did when Belphie... y'know." Mammon can't bring himself to say it. It was too awful, what he did to you. "Enough talking, do your magic thing and find 'em!"

Solomon and Simeon exchange worried looks. "Alright, let me get dressed. Then we'll head off. But Mammon...".

"What?" Mammon huffs, already heading towards the door.

"I'm sure they're fine. You know how capable they are. Perhaps they just wanted some alone time."

"Yes, MC has survived a lot. I'm sure they just popped back up to the Human World or something... We'll probably be laughing about this with them at the end of the day."

Simeon smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Mammon tries not to let the thought that they might be trying to placate him bother him.

-`♡´-

"You want me to watch over our brothers? Why? What's happening?" Levi sits up in his bathtub bed, disoriented from being shaken awake so suddenly.

He had heard the commotion earlier, but assumed that Mammon had done something to warrant Lucifer's ire. Lucifer searching through Levi's room while he was sleeping wasn't the strangest occurrence. Mammon did hide things in here from time to time.

"Levi, don't worry over this right now. I'll fill you in once we figure out what's going on."

"No, Lucifer, tell me now!" Levi stands, suddenly very awake. "You're worried over something, and you're never worried, not like this."

Even standing up straight, Lucifer was still looking down at Leviathan.

"Telling you would only make the situation worse." Levi hates how patronizing Lucifer sounds. He hated it when they first fell and he hated it now. "Make sure the others stay put, I'll be back soon."

Levi moves quickly to stop him from leaving. "If you don't tell me, I'll... I'll summon Lotan!" Lucifer steps forward, but Leviathan doesn't budge. "I'll really do it, Lucifer! I'm serious about this!"

It would probably take Levi a few hundred years to muster up the courage to stand up to Lucifer like this again. But watching the cold pity fade from his brother's eyes and turn into something more akin to pride was worth it.

"MC is gone, and I'm going to the Demon Lord's Castle to seek Diavolo and Barbatos's help." Lucifer says it with such a barely-maintained calmness that Leviathan knows this is serious. That you weren't sucked into a silly game or hiding out in Purgatory Hall for the weekend.

Levi feels his heart sink.

"Now, can you do as you're told and stay put? I'll be back soon." Lucifer squeezes Levi's shoulder, forcing Levi to listen. "If anything happens, call me."

He nods, but once Lucifer turns to leave, he quietly falls back into bed. Levi watches Henry swim around in his goldfish tank; you had just fed him yesterday, how did things change so much in just a few hours?

No, he can't shut down here. If something happened to you and he wasn't there to help he would never forgive himself.

You had saved him so many times before, it was time for him to be your Knight. (God, he sounded like a normie).

-`♡´-

When Mammon arrives back to the House of Lamentation with Simeon, Solomon, and Thirteen (Solomon had called her for help), the front door is blown off its hinges. Levi peeks through sheepishly at the four of them, waving for them to come in.

"What the hell happened here?" Thirteen tries to shut the door behind them, but it slowly starts to creak back open as soon as its closed.

"I told Satan what happened." Levi sighs, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. "He went out to calm himself down. Said he'll be back by the time Lucifer gets home."

"Have you guys found anything here?" Simeon asks Leviathan. Just past Levi in the living room was Asmodeus, who was anxiously staring down at his phone.

Beel descends the stairs at the same time Belphie comes up from the basement: "I checked all the rooms upstairs, they're not up there."

Belphie shakes his head: "They're nowhere in the basement, either."

"I've been texting anyone that knows them from R.A.D. No one has seen them yet." Asmodeus blinks back tears. "This is crazy, you know! Why does this kind of thing always happen to them?"

"Well, they're not dead. So stop acting so sad!" Thirteen chimes in, sprawling herself out on the living room couch. "I checked their candle this morning myself. I can check again but trust me, I would know if they died. I'm a reaper, y'know?"

"You checked their candle this morning? Isn't that quite a walk from where you sleep?" Despite the situation, Solomon just can't help himself. Thirteen sits up and throws a pillow at the sorcerer, cheeks flushed.

"I just had some business over there, that's all." Thirteen huffs, sinking back into the sofa so she doesn't have to see Solomon's smug face. "Anyways, aren't you supposed to be doing your thing?"

"Yeah, get to it, Solomon." Mammon tugs on the back of Solomon's cape, pointing him towards Lucifer's room. "They were last seen in there. See if you can find anything."

-`♡´-

Simeon stands near the doorway to Lucifer's room with Mammon, watching as Solomon searches for traces of anything that might give them a clue as to your whereabouts.

Simeon had thought that he had accepted being human. He thought the feeling of powerlessness that was so overwhelming to him at first had finally settled; there was nothing he could do to gain his grace back after what he had done, after all.

But now? He knew even as an angel there wasn't much more he could do to find you. If he had become your Guardian Angel like he had teased so many times, he could at least feel out if you were in danger.

Cautious Simeon, always so scared to make that final jump.

He says a prayer for you, quietly. Simeon hopes that his Father would still lend his ear to his own child, no matter how far he had strayed.

"There's one strong concentration here." Solomon frowns, gesturing to an area a little above shoulder height, right beside the left side of Lucifer's bed. "but that's all I can sense right now."

"Yeah, there's gotta be something else you missed." Mammon anxiously looks around the room, checking to see for himself if anything was out of place. "Keep looking."

They both follow Solomon as he does just that. He checks Lucifer's bathroom, in the closets, in the halls by his door... Nothing.

"I just don't get it." Solomon says, eyes closed in thought. He leans against the low table in the hallways. "If someone went through all this trouble to kidnap MC, why would they leave such an obvious trace behind?"

"Who gives a shit their motive right now. Tell us that you found something that can lead us to them, Solomon." Desperation drips from Mammon's voice. Mammon needs some hope to hold on to; Simeon empathizes with that feeling.

If Thirteen hadn't assured everyone you were still alive Simeon is sure he'd be snapping at Solomon too. Solomon was a good friend, but there's something about how casual he is with everything that makes Simeon angry. Did he not love you too?

"I did, don't worry, Mammon." Solomon pats Mammon's shoulder, "Once everyone gets back, I'll explain what I found."

-`♡´-

Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer arrive shortly after Solomon is done with his search.

The anxiety in the room is palpable; any news at all could set them alight. Especially Satan, who seemed to be trying to remember old breathing exercises to keep back his demon form.

"Solomon, they're here!" Asmodeus announces, and Simeon, Solomon, and Mammon come out from Lucifer's room to join everyone in the living room.

Lucifer doesn't comment on the broken door, he doesn't much care if the house itself was destroyed in the process of finding you.

"Tell us what you've found." Diavolo asks; Lucifer had informed him and Barbatos about what had happened on the way back from the castle. It had been a long while since Diavolo had seen his old friend look so grave.

Solomon comes around the couch and takes a seat by Thirteen. She scoots away.

"Well, there wasn't much left behind to find.... Which is good in its own way." Solomon crosses his legs. "Time magic was used sometime in Lucifer's bedroom last night. It appears MC has been taken to another point in this timeline."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, all eyes go to Barbatos. Even Barbatos looks stunned, eyes widening in shock.

"Time magic?" Satan stands, hands clenching at his sides. "I would like an explanation then, Barbatos. Now."

"I... am afraid I am as in the dark as you all are." The hesitation in Barbatos's voice does little to persuade the brothers. Beel stands and keeps a watchful eye on Satan. If you were here, you wouldn't want anyone to get hurt for your sake.

Diavolo stands in front of Barbatos. "Now, you all know Barbatos isn't the only being capable of time magic."

"Is it possible that someone else used your portals?" Thirteen asks. "You leave those things wide open, don'tcha? Seems like an easy target."

"I would know if anyone other than myself used them, yes. But I did not feel any abnormalities last night."

Belphie turns to Solomon. "Wait, you said time magic, what time period did they get sent to?"

"Ah, well that's a little tricky." Solomon answers with a sheepish smile. "The residual magic was strong, but you would expect more to be left behind if they went to the future. Future magic is highly unstable, anyways. It's more likely they were sent somewhere into the past, probably around the time of the Celestial War based on my analysis."

Belphie shakes his head. "You can't say 'probably', you have to be certain about this."

"Then, yes, I am certain that is where they are." Solomon answers smoothly.

The second the words leave Solomon's mouth, Mammon speaks up:

"Okay, so how do we get them back?!"

-`♡´-

With lots of loud disagreements, and a few almost-fights, they come to terms that it has to be Solomon that goes after you.

No one particularly likes that idea, but he was the only one who wouldn't completely disrupt the timeline. His past self wouldn't be in the Devildom, so he could avoid paradoxes, and he was more than strong enough to protect himself if need be.

That same day, Barbatos prepares the portal for Solomon to go through after you. But not before one last warning from Diavolo:

Diavolo's eyes are stern, hand gripping Solomon's shoulder tight enough to where it would be painful. Solomon takes a step back, but Diavolo's body follows him.

"You bring them back safe." A warning, "And bring them back swiftly. Whatever you must do to get them back... do it."

Solomon, frankly, had had enough warnings from the demon brothers, and from his old friend Thirteen to understand that his life was forfeit if he came back without you.

He supposed he couldn't fault their protectiveness, however. If your safety was left alone in the hands of any other, he's sure he'd do worse to guarantee you came back alive and well.

"Of course," Solomon rolls his shoulder, shrugging off the Prince's hold. "You know I want them back just as much as you do. Perhaps even more."

Diavolo pats his back, his usual genial smile returning to his face, and he laughs. "Oh, I doubt that."

Barbatos gestures to the two, indicating that everything is ready for Solomon to step through. Solomon doesn't feel anything but calm, for what did he have to be anxious about? He was getting to see you again.

Was it selfish of him to be happy that he would be in a time period where the one you would rely on the most would be him?

"Bring them back to us," Is the last thing he hears before he steps through the portal, and into the past.

-`♡´- Lucifer

Lucifer busies himself with his work. If he fills his schedule enough, he doesn't have time to worry about you constantly, doesn't have time for his mind to cycle through the worst of what could happen with you out of his reach.

He volunteers to take on all of your duties that you were newly appointed as R.A.D.'s newest student council officer. Lucifer doesn't want anything to get in the way of you spending time with him again once you get back.

When he isn't working, he takes care of his brothers. The House of Lamentation always becomes a little quieter when you're not around, but the silence this time is more somber.

Lucifer doesn't scold them as much, gives them more leeway when they skip classes or forget to turn in assignments. He knows they're struggling and he doesn't want to add to that burden.

He hardly sleeps unless he passes out from exhaustion. When he does, his dreams are of blame. Why didn't he just wake up when you were taken? You were right there.

-`♡´- Mammon

Mammon had to be held back by Levi and Beel to keep him from going into the portal after Solomon.

It wasn't fair that that guy got to go and he had to stay behind. He was your first man! Mammon wasn't even sure that Solomon didn't play a role in helping you disappear. He never trusted that guy.

But all he could do now was hope that he would bring you back, right? It didn't matter anymore who saved you, just the fact that you were alive and safe and in his arms would be enough for him.

Mammon misses you ardently.

He texts you about his day every day. He knows the messages won't deliver, but he doesn't have anyone else to send them too. Sometimes he'll even call your phone so he can hear your voice in the voicemail. It helps him sleep.

-`♡´- Leviathan

He's just so tired of this. He thought once your trials at R.A.D. were over, you could settle down in the House of Lamentation forever.

If anyone deserved a life full of peace, it was you. You had endured way too much hardship on their account to keep having these things happen to you.

Levi tries to maintain a normalcy for you to return to. He buys games that you had on your radar for you to play with him once you got back.

He likes looking at the pictures you both had taken together. Cosplay pics, photobooth strips, candid polaroids... precious memories that could never be replaced.

And, when he really misses you, he takes one of your school uniforms, hanging up neatly in your closet and takes it to bed with him. It still smells like you, and if he closes his eyes, he can picture you're there with him.

Though, waking up and seeing you weren't there is like losing you all over again.

-`♡´- Satan

Satan worries.

He knew what he was like right after the Celestial War. He knew what monstrous things he did when he couldn't control his anger; before he made a conscious decision to crawl his way out of his emotional stagnation and to be more than he was created to be.

He gets into a habit of hanging out with Thirteen. Satan never really cared much for her attitude, but she's the only one who would know if you were still alive.

She's tolerable, in that when they get together they always end up talking about you. Satan doesn't tell her the best stories about you, no, those were reserved only for himself.

When he is alone, he often drifts towards your room. He knows his brothers often sleep there when you're gone, so he washes your sheets and makes your bed back up when they're not there.

Satan even tidies his own room just enough so that you would have room to sleep in his bed with him when you returned.

-`♡´- Asmodeus

To have both you and Solomon taken away from him in the same day, it seems a bit cruel, doesn't it?

He's thankful for all the consolations from his friends and his fans; the well wishes are nice, but it isn't the same as hearing it from your voice.

Asmo tells anyone who will listen about what happened to you in hopes that they'll spin stories back at him. Even if most were lies conjured to make him feel better, there always are some true stories in the mix. He hears a few rumors of ancient, powerful demons that he hands over to Satan and Belphie to look more into. He was glad he could do something.

Asmodeus starts collecting things that remind him of you. Flowers that never wilt, lamb plushies, silk pajamas — there's a box in his room of gifts to give you once you get back home.

He writes down everything that you've missed since you disappeared, he has so much to catch you up on, after all! And if there's a lot of 'I love you's' and things he misses about you in between topics, he's sure you won't mind hearing them, too.

-`♡´- Beelzebub

Beel feels a little lost without you there.

You were so ingrained in his daily schedule that he doesn't know what to do with a lot of his time. You, Mammon, him, and Belphie would always hang out after school, since the four of you had the same last period.

There was no sun in the Devildom, but he didn't need any to feel warm sitting next to you three. Mammon would bring cards, and you would take turns picking out games to play.

You would usually win; he loved seeing your smile as you asked for praise for winning. Belphie and Mammon would pout, but Beel was always happy to tell you you did a good job. He keeps an ongoing score sheet somewhere in his backpack:

MC - 102, Mammon - 16, Belphie - 59, Beel - 20. He didn't care much for winning as long as everyone was happy.

He makes his way to the gardens and finds your usual spot empty. Beel waits there for a long while, but only Belphie shows up.

Beel thinks that maybe in the past, you were waiting for him in the same spot too. The thought makes him feel a little less lonely.

-`♡´- Belphegor

Belphie misses you, of course, but he really finds this whole situation odd.

Time magic. Diavolo had said that other beings were capable of it, but Belphie had never heard of anyone, besides Barbatos, that had mastered it enough to send someone back that far. Belphie wasn't the most well-connected person, but he thinks he would've heard about them by now.

Satan thinks the same thing, and so the 'Anti-Lucifer League' is postponed, and in its place the 'MC's Detective Agency' forms. Beel sits in on most meetings, and the rest of the brothers join in occasionally.

But with so few leads there was only so much they could do. But still, Belphie is determined not to give up. If you were in his shoes, he knows you would do the same thing.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he wants to hear you say that you're proud of his work. To feel you pet his head and tell him he did good, to kiss him on the cheeks for working so hard.

...And, of course, making whoever did this pay for what they did would be good, too.

-`♡´- Diavolo

The last note you left him is still taped to his desk:

A chibi of you fist-pumping is drawn on the side of the yellow sticky. There's a big speech bubble that reads: "You can do it, Dia! Knock out that paperwork!" He can't help but smile every time he sees it.

It's silly, but when he looks down and reads those words of encouragement he feels your loss even more strongly. He's sure Solomon will be back with you soon, but as the weeks roll on, he starts getting impatient.

He sends all his best men to search for whoever did this to you. Without any solid leads, it was like chasing the wind, but it helped settle his mind, if only a little.

He supposes you did spoil him too much. He forgot what it was like to be so lonely when you were around. And unlike the brothers, he couldn't just curl up in your bed whenever he wanted to be reminded of you.

Would it be so improper to move you into the castle once you got back? At least here, he would know you were safe. Nothing like this would ever happen to you again on his watch.

-`♡´- Barbatos

Barbatos knows that all eyes are on him.

It isn't hard to figure out that the brothers are suspicious of him. Mammon's crows perch outside his bedroom, Satan takes extra trips to the library in the castle, Belphie "gets lost" wandering the halls after dinner... Even Lucifer asks him pointed questions about that night.

He understands that it comes with the territory of his powers, but when has he ever done anything to jeopardize the exchange program? If he wanted to send you away would he not have done it when you first arrived? Would he not have let you die at the hands of Belphegor?

The him of today would never think of such a thing. Barbatos cared too much about your safety to let you wander too far from his sights.

He knows it is an indulgence that only he is afforded, but he can't help but steal looks into your life back in time as you try to find your way back to them.

Perhaps the others would like to hear about how you are doing, but Barbatos thinks these things are best kept to himself. He was never a fan of sharing, anyways.

-`♡´- Simeon

Luke cries and cries and cries when Simeon tells him what happened to you. Simeon holds the boy in his arms tight, rocking him back and forth to soothe his troubled heart.

He had done this many nights in the past, and he's sure he'd do it for many nights in the future.

The last time it had happened it had been when Simeon had told Luke about losing his powers. You had been there, then, and had cried as soon as you saw tears well up in Luke's eyes. Luke was less sad and more angry at Simeon for not telling him sooner. He had held you both in his arms that night, and before long the three of you fell asleep together.

Simeon wishes you were here now to hold him. To tell him it was going to be alright. But he supposed if you were here the both of them wouldn't have anything to cry about.

Michael allows Luke to stay in Purgatory Hall for as long as it would take to get you back. Simeon is thankful for the company; with Raphael and Solomon gone, and the Hall silent, it was easy for Simeon to start blaming himself.

He hears Luke pray every night for your safety, and Simeon slips back into the habit as well.

-`♡´- Thirteen

Thirteen spends a lot more time in her cave when you're not around.

What's the point of going to R.A.D. if you weren't there? It's not like she cared much about anyone else that went there. And to hear the brothers cry about missing you... She couldn't take it.

She cared about you too, but you didn't see her moping around about it!

But even worse was the fact Solomon got to go back in time to save you. Just thinking about you spending all that alone time with that shitty Sorcerer makes her blood boil; he could live a thousand lifetimes and never once deserve you.

She goes and checks your candle every morning to see if the flame is going strong. Thirteen breathes easy when she sees the bright orange flame light up the darkness.

Reapers weren't supposed to interfere directly with mortal's lifespans, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt if she poured some of Solomon's melted wax onto your candle. It's not like he would need it anyways.

Besides, this was her making up for lost time. Every day you were away shouldn't count! You didn't choose to go back in time, after all!

[felassan]

Shinobi602 comments on ResetEra:

"If Anthem was a runaway success, you'd be seeing a very different BioWare right now who'd be all in on the live service model. They're running uphill because they've got goodwill they need to earn back after the fact, but its failure (plus Fallen Order's success) is what allowed them to pivot right back to what they're good at: single player character driven RPGs. Silver lining but still." [source]

User: "I don't think its unreasonable to have hoped that a Dragon Age game would have similar gameplay to previous Dragon Age games." Shinobi: "Veilguard does have similar gameplay though, just not the exact same gameplay." [source]

"Open world doesn't automatically mean better. Inquisition's open world zones were basically Bioware's response to Skyrim and anticipating that's what players wanted. The big zones were cool but they were also bloated and full of uninteresting quests. Andromeda also took Mass Effect to huge open world zones and they had the same result. It was ass and the game benefited nothing from it. It's better for Bioware to stick to what they do best which is tighter, more structured play spaces." [source]

"they'll do what they think they're good at. Inquisition was highly rated, but the big open areas were also flawed. If they felt that's not what they'll excel at, that's fine. There ARE larger open areas in Veilguard though. If that's your very strict definition on what will make the game good apparently." [source]

"If you're sole definition of a Dragon Age game is that you can take direct control of companions and a tac-cam, it's understandable. But I think it's completely false that this is somehow unrecognizable as a Dragon Age game. There are tons of different aspects that define the series outside of that." [source]

"It's been evolving and changing for over a decade." [source]

"They did say there are some "killer cameos" they're keeping secret. My mind's going to several different possibilities..." [source]

User: "Yeah, they need to wrap up this story in this game. I'm already a little annoyed that we are getting another "the veil is torn and demons are wrecking havoc" story. They cannot stretch that to a third game." Shinobi: "It's a lot more than that. It's not a repeat of Inquisition or anything." [source]

"This might genuinely be the most in depth CC in a mainstream RPG that I've seen." [source]

"Yeah this is more like Inquisition, though you could still change out companion helmets in that one." [source]

"They did confirm tavern songs are back so that's good news, and The Swan (Minrathous tavern) has a bunch." [source]

"Yeah there's a good amount of veterans working on Veilguard. Though I always find that to be such a weird qualifier, and it seemingly always comes up with Bioware in particular. As if there aren't tons of talented non-Bioware devs from across the industry who could join the team and still write and design a great game. Like nah, it can't be a good game unless it's got people who've been there for 20 years! 😄" [source]

"There are also rune items you can equip that provide different effects and act as their own abilities basically, plus ultimate attacks for each class specialization (so 9 total), plus finisher moves and things like elemental combo detonations for extra damage." [source]

"there are definitely 'open areas' you can explore around in. It's not more linear than ME2." [source]

User: "Is my reading of "mission-based" it being like ME2/3 correct?" Shinobi: "Yeah, in that regard, it's more structured like Mass Effect, which I think is to its benefit. DAI just suffered way too much from open world bloat. I think the tighter, handcrafted structure works a lot better." [source]

User: "How big are the areas? Like the first game where you open the map and pick a location?" Shinobi: "Don't know exactly. But that's what I was told. There are several open ended areas that are explorable in the story. Plus a hub area." [source]

"I think if fans have been yearning for a quality Bioware game like they were used to before, this is that. Tight design, great character models, environments, animations have gone next level, combat fluidity, etc...it's all here. I compare it to the jump from ME1->ME2. [re: the jump in quality/fidelity/presentation.] This isn't a spoiler, as Game Informer said, it's a full on action RPG, and you can still pause and issue commands. But this is not DAO. Preferences put aside, Bioware's moved on from that ages ago. This isn't BG3 at all. But they've put a huge emphasis on making combat feel good to play. As in engaging the player, more real-time, more Mass Effect. It's a meaty, single player RPG with lots of systems going on inside. Also, like they said, this is the prologue, the beginning of the game. Keep that in mind if you don't see everyone's powers unlocked or intense pause and play. If you keep all that in mind, I think you'll really like this." [source]

"But it's a big jump for Bioware. [re: animations]" [source]

"[rogues are] flashy, jump around a lot, etc." [source]

"Party members can definitely get knocked out in battle" [source]

"It's important to note that what was shown was completely level 1 combat, and likely on easy mode for demo purposes. There is way more to it in more advanced battles. When it opens up with way more abilities, unique momentum attacks, ultimates, and other...things they haven't shared yet, on higher difficulties, it will look and feel way different." [source]

"It'll be rated M. It's got its share of nudity lol." [source]

User: "should we expect a comparable level of dialogue role playing as we had in Inquisition? I don't mind the changes to combat but there seemed to be more auto dialogue here than I remember from Inquisition or Tresspasser." Shinobi: "Yeah. That was just the intro. They just like to keep the pace going for a big start to the game." [source]

"This isn't accurate at all though, and it keeps getting perpetuated. Yes, there's been departures like Casey Hudson, Aaryn Flynn, Mike Laidlaw, etc, but I could easily list dozens of people at Bioware right now that have been there for 10-20+ years, some even longer. Do they just...not count for some reason? The entire core team building Mass Effect right now were OG leads on ME1-3, been there for over 20 years. And even outside of that, like, does this really matter? Do you know one of the game's premier VFX/lighting designers worked for ILM? Or one of the cinematic leads is an alum from Blizzard? Or one of the creature animators was a senior creature animator on Horizon Forbidden West? Talent is talent. And if we look at the industry through that lens too, sure, tons of studios are just "X, Y, Z studio in name", in many ways. There's no studio in the industry that holds on to their entire team for 30-40 years." [source]

"They do have that data. And I think even this thread would be shocked at how tiny of a % of players took direct control of other companions. Or went into tac-cam. Not just Inquisition but the whole series." [source]

[xoxoavenger]

What Is This Feeling?

pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N and Dean are certainly feeling something for each other, they just can't exactly put their finger on it. In the meantime, they'll rip each others throats out and annoy Castiel and Sam.

word count: 3003

warnings: a small mention of alcoholism, intense enemies to lovers, based on 'What Is This Feeling' from Wicked, you may think this is isn't Christmas themed but there is a grinch reference thrown around a couple times (I couldn't help myself)

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

Dean had never felt this way about anyone before.

It was surprising, because he had been in a lot of relationships with a lot of women. But something about this woman made his head reel in a dangerous way. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, at least not until he talked to Sam.

"I swear, ever since the moment I saw her I've felt this way." He tells Sam as they drink beer in the library.

"Hm," Sam says, still looking at his book. He clearly is not too interested in what Dean has to say, which causes him to be a little upset.

"I'm being serious! I don't understand it." He knows he's whining, but he wishes there was a way for him to know what this feeling was. It's been driving him crazy for months on end. 

"Are you sure it's not love?" Sam asks as he looks over, and Dean makes a face.

"Definitely not love. More like," It's on the tip of his tongue, and his mouth turns down as he figures out what makes him dizzy about her.

Y/N and Castiel are having the same conversation in her room, just down the hall, at the same time.

"He makes my heart race. I've never felt anything like it. I can literally feel the blood leaving my face just talking about this." She tells him, swirling her wine in her glass. Cas frowns.

"It sounds like you're in love." He says in that stupid low voice, and she wants to hit him at just the word.

"Absolutely not. It feels more intense. Like," She narrows her eyes, because she knows exactly what the feeling is.

"Loathing."

~

After the two of them figure it out, their relationship somehow gets worse. Sam and Castiel can only sit on the couch of the hotel room, each holding a beer. The only thing that would make it picture perfect is if they were eating popcorn. Sam would get up and pop it if he didn't know that Dean would deck him for even thinking about standing and interrupting their argument.

"How could you let it go?" Y/N yells from her side of the room. Sam and Cas swing their eyes over to Dean as if this were a baseball game.

"Let it go?" Dean repeats, barely able to stop himself from sputtering. "What, did you want it to kill you? Or maybe I should have shot you and hoped the bullet went all the way through?" He yells, because the stupid werewolf had been able to run after they'd been track it the past couple days. Everyone knew the likelihood of them being able to find and track it again, especially so soon.

"I'm sorry, is your aim that bad that you couldn't shot it without shooting me?" She knows, deep down, that the werewolf was wrapped around her, that it would have been hard to get a clean shot with then way he was holding her like a shield. Cas had been able to swing and slice a chunk of the werewolf's arm with his angel blade, and the werewolf had made it's escape while Y/N fell to the ground and Dean had gone to her side instead of shooting at it, like Sam had been.

"Seriously? You know that thing was wrapped around you like a freaking slinky. Do you have a death wish?" He shoots, and she turns, putting her fingers to her forehead in annoyance. "Why are you turned around now?" He asks, and she explodes.

"Your face is annoying me!" She says it far too loud, and Sam and Cas exchange a look of surprise before looking to Dean. This has officially gone from arguing about the hunt to personal attacks.

"Ugh!" Dean groans, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. "I need alcohol just to deal with your voice." He says, and she turns back around, steam practically coming out of her ears.

"Are you angry because they didn't have a new jacket at army surplus? Too bad the old one has a knife shaped whole in it. Although, that probably made it look better." She's going after whatever she can think of, and she knows this isn't going to stop any time soon.

"Alright," Sam stand, putting his hands up. It's gone on a little too long, and he's sure any minute now they're going to get a call from the front desk because neighbors started complaining about the noise. "Let's just say you two hate each other and call it a day, yeah?" He suggests, and Y/N shakes her head.

"It's so much more than hate." She's staring daggers at Dean, who is chugging his beer.

"Finally something we can agree upon." He says as he pulls the bottle away and wipes his mouth, and she just rolls her eyes.

"He makes my skin fucking crawl, Sam. I can't stand him." She says, as if Dean isn't in the room at all.

"What about him makes you so angry?" Sam asks, and she doesn't even need to look at him to answer.

"Everything. All of it." She says, and Sam takes a deep breath.

"Okay," Sam is trying to keep his cool, but he kind of wants to laugh. This entire situation is childish, and he can't believe the two haven't figured their shit out yet. "Y/N and Cas, you share a room tonight."

"I couldn't handle her being in here anyway." Dean says, finishing the beer and throwing it in the trash before immediately grabbing a new one.

"Is it wrong to call him an alcoholic?" Y/N asks as Cas grabs her arm and starts to walk her to the door. "Because personally, I think it's just saying the truth, but I know some people,"

"Please stop," Cas begs quietly, opening the door. Dean has fire in his eyes, and she's lucky her back is turned when Dean starts to stalk toward her. Sam has to grab him and pull him back as Cas pulls her out the door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Dean?" Sam asks finally as the door shuts and he lets go of his brother.

"Me?" Dean asks incredulously. "She's the one who started it!" He argues, and Sam just shakes his head.

"Y/N is a nice person. She gets along great with everyone else, and she always makes friends with people on cases. She even somehow has demons that like her more than you do. So yes, I think you're the problem." Sam tells his brother, and Dean just gets even angrier.

"She hates me too! There's not much I can do here, anyway." He argues, grabbing his stuff and walking to the bathroom.

"Maybe she wouldn't hate you if you weren't such a dick to her." Sam says, because he knows his brother can be a little rough around the edges, but Dean usually isn't this rude or upset with someone. There has to be a reason why they loathe each other, and Sam doesn't think it has anything to do with loathing.

~

"So, why do you hate him?" Cas asks Y/N as they pack up the next morning. The angel had let her off the hook the night before, but he needed answers now.

"Well, ever since the beginning, there's just been something about him. And I usually get along with everyone. But he doesn't make it easy, exactly." She says. She doesn't like talking about it, because she doesn't have a good reason for the feelings that bubble up every time she sees Dean.

"It sounds like you don't hate him." Cas tells her simply, and she just blinks.

"You're right, Cas. I loathe him. Entirely." She frowns, zipping up her bag. Cas doesn't know what to do about this. He just wants Y/N and Dean to get along, because he's getting so tired of them fighting so much. It's every time they see each other, every time they're together. It doesn't even matter if they're on a case, or who's watching.

A point proven when a couple hours later, on the way back to the bunker, they stop at a diner and a fight ensues.

"Just because you're the one who lost the werewolf doesn't mean you have to take it out on us by making us stop at the shitiest place." She tells him after they'd ordered. True, this diner didn't exactly live up to any standards, but she was overreacting slightly because of her feelings.

"I'm sorry you're just so entitled that you have to have a five star meal, but we don't exactly have the funds for that. Maybe, if you put in a bit more of your own work, rather than just joining all of our hunts, we'd have more money for better food." Dean goes off, voice raising. Instead of sending him a glare to quiet the argument like she normally does in public spaces, she doubles down.

"We have plenty of money, you asshat! You just need the greasiest burger you can get your hands on, because it reminds you of life on the road with your dad." She shoots back, and some people near them have started to stare. She doesn't have it in her to care anymore, and can only barely stop herself from telling Dean that their cards are fake and so is their money.

"Seriously? You think you can read me? Well, you're not a closed book!" Dean yells, far too loud for the small diner. "You're only with us because you're lonely and terrifies you. You've lost everyone you've ever cared about, which keeps you from caring too much now even when you're nice to everyone. And if it were up to me, you wouldn't even be here." The words are barely out of his mouth before Y/N launches across the table, legs underneath her on the chair and arms out to choke him. One hand grabs his head and she's able to push it to the table once, hard, before Dean gets his bearings and puts his hands on her wrists.

"You think you're so smart, Winchester? You're a boy who grew up too fast and never had a childhood. Your whole adulthood has been you acting childish, because around your dad you were never allowed to. I get you had a bad life, but you think you're the only fucking one?" She grumbles into his face, fingers still twisted in his hair. He scowls, because she hit the nail on the head.

"I don't give a shit about what you think happened. I know a lot of people who were dealt a shittier hand than me. But at least I'm trying to make the world a better place. You act like you owe everyone you meet something, as if you're the reason their life ended up the way it did. News flash, the world doesn't revolve around you!" He yells in her face. She moves to get up onto the table to get better grip and maybe even choke him with her thighs.

"Okay!" Castiel grabs her leg as she tries to move, pulling her back. She's still got a grip on Dean's hair, so she pulls him too.

"Ow!" He yells as she grabs her fingers and unwinds them from his head. Y/N ends up on her back in the booth, Castiel holding her legs.

"It's time." Cas says as he looks at Sam.

"Time for what?" Y/N asks, getting up on her elbows and trying to kick her legs out of Cas' grip. He just holds on tighter, then nods at Sam before sliding out of the booth, his hands still gripping her ankles.

"Let go of me!" Dean yells, definitely causing a scene. And then, Cas gets up and pulls Y/N's legs with him, holding them over his head so she doesn't hit anything. Curse his stupid fucking angel strength.

"Cas!" She shrieks, grabbing her shirt to keep it from falling and revealing her stomach and bra to the entire diner, all of which were watching now.

"Which way to your bathrooms?" Cas asks calmly, as if he's not carrying a full grown woman upside down. The server points to the side, and Cas and Sam drag Y/N and Dean into the bathroom. Y/N's laid down on her back, confused out of her mind, and Dean is yelling at Sam as the younger Winchester pushes him into the small one-hole bathroom.

"What the hell?" Dean yells. Y/N turns on her stomach, and Dean turns toward the door just in time to see it slam closed.

"Fuck," She mutters, getting up and moving to the door. She tries to open it, but the handle won't even budge. "They're holding the door closed." She tells Dean, who instantly moves to where she had been to try and open it.

"Let us out!" Dean screams when it becomes clear that he won't be able to open it either.

"Nope!" Sam yells out, sounding far too excited. It makes Y/N even more mad than she is right now.

"You two need to work it out. And until you do, you aren't leaving that bathroom." Cas says through the door. Y/N wants to pull her hair out.

"Ugh!" Y/N screams, taking in the bathroom. It's old and a little dirty, and she hates the smell.

"You have no room to complain. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here." He tells her, leaning against the wall as he crosses his arms.

"Me?" She asks incredulously. She cannot believe the gall of this man. "You've got to be kidding."

"You started the whole fight!" He throws his arms out, and she thinks her eyes may pop out of her head. She takes a deep breath, because she wants to get out of this bathroom before she's forced to pee in front of Dean.

"Why did you let the werewolf get away?" She asks quietly. It's the softest tone she's ever used with him. He sighs, unable to look at her.

"How many times do we have to go over this? I didn't let it get away. Sorry your hunting standards are so high, but it's not like you were helping either." The way he says it, the tone so crisp and the words practiced, she knows he's lying.

"I'm not trying to make fun of you." She tells him, grabbing some paper towels and wiping off the water on the counter. "I just know you're lying, and I want to know why." She tells him, throwing the towels away before sitting on the counter.

"How would you know if I'm lying?" He asks defensively, and she rolls her eyes as she tries to tamp down her own snarky response.

"Dean," She groans, taking a deep breath. "I know that we aren't exactly close. But we aren't going to get out of this bathroom until we tell the truth, and I'm actually kinda hungry." She says, and she sees his exterior crack a little bit. He breathes out a long sigh, then looks from the ground to the wall.

"I did let the werewolf get away. You were right. I could have helped Sam go after it. I probably would have been able to shoot it." He admits, and it honestly surprises her. She didn't think he would tell her, at least not until they had been in there for an hour. She was about to push when he starts talking again. "I just saw you fall to the ground, and your eyes rolled back into your head, and I thought that you were more hurt somehow. I just needed to make sure that you were alright, and finding the werewolf was the furthest thing from my mind." It's silent in the bathroom, and Y/N is sure that Cas and Sam are listening. Dean looks at her, and they lock eyes for a few long moments.

"Why would you care?" She asks quietly, but it still echoes in the tiled room. Dean clenches his fists, rolling his eyes and walking towards her.

"I don't actually hate you." He says, standing far too close to her.

"Loathe entirely?" She asks with a small smile, heart racing. She's not sure why, exactly, but she can feel her face heating as well.

"No," He chuckles, shaking his head. "But I think it may start with an L." He walks even closer, his hands going to each side of her hips. She can smell his body spray, the smell of him that hangs around the bunker and usually infuriates her.

She realizes that maybe now she isn't infuriated with him. She's infatuated.

"I think I feel it too." She tells him, voice low as her gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

"I'm sure you do." He says with a smirk.

"Alright." She chuckles, throwing her head back in fake annoyance. He grabs the back of her head however, and pulls her into a searing kiss. All their emotions, all the heart racing and dizziness and blushing has all lead up to this kiss, where their lips move in tandem and their teeth clack as they both open their mouths. Y/N's pushed against the mirror by Dean, one of his hands slamming against it. She moans as her body arches into his, and her groans into her mouth as he puts one hand behind her back, pushing her impossibly closer.

"Do you think they're physically fighting?" Cas asks from outside the door. Both him and Sam have their ears pressed the door, however Sam is slowly starting to lean back.

"They're physically doing something." He replies, frowning. Cas jerks back, letting go of the door handle as he realizes what Sam is insinuating. 

"I'm not sure if this is going to be better than them fighting." The angel says, and the two go back to their table, where food is waiting for them.

"Worse." Sam says, trying not to imagine all of the shit that's about to go down in the bunker. "Definitely worse." 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @king-of-milf-lovers @lyarr24

[alexa-fika]

hii!! i love all your writings btw im giggling to all of it (i've read the x child!readers its so cute help)

i was wondering if you could make whitebeard pirates x child! with mist df reader that is moody oorrr that kind of child who likes to play pranks. if you could make it use they/them?? thank youu!

Naughty Bratty (Whitebeard pirates x gn!child!reader)

A/N: HERE WE GOOOO I COOKED, once again most part of this is based on interactions either my own students, so I hope you guys liked it, decided to combine these two requests since they are of the same nature and also it made the creation of this the more easier and also slightly longer ✊🏽

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Dokucha Thatch is almost done with lunch; we’re gonna head down to the mess hall, so you need to put your stuff away before we do,” Izou called

“No!” They screamed, kicking their feet

“We can play with them later; right now, we must go to the mess hall and get lunch before food is gone.”

“I don’t want to!”

“That is quite alright, but do know that you won’t get to play with these then,” he said, gesturing to the building blocks in their hands

“Noo!” They cried

“Then pick them up,” he repeated

The small child scowled but obliged, grabbing the blocks from the ground and putting them in the small basket they originally were in

“Thank you”

“Hmph”

He sighed, shaking his head as he followed after the child towards the mess hall, following after them as they grabbed their food

“Dokucha, don’t hold it like that; you will spill it all over,” Thatch called out to the child as they balanced the bowl of food in one of their hands

“I don’t care”

“Well, I do because it’s my kitchen and my responsibility,” he snapped back

They grin at him, smacking the bowl to the floor, laughing gleefully

“Okay, that’s it, you’re done.” He stated, walking towards them

They stick their tongue out at him, turning their body into mist and making a quick exit out of the mess hall and into the deck where they glided over the ship, close enough to remain between the huge sails but high enough to where the crew could not reach them

“Dokucha come down.”

“Nope!” They laughed, accentuating the p as they twirled around in the air

“Dokucha, if we have to come get you, you won’t like what’s going to happen,” Ace called, having followed after the commotion in the mess hall

“Ha! Ha! Can’t catch me!” They mocked the two, pulling at their eye and sticking out their tongue out at them

“No, but I Can,” a voice piped in behind them as a force brought them to the ground

Once they had gathered their thoughts together, they glanced around them, noticing the talons caging them, following them up to the owner only to meet up with the disappointed look of their brother in his hybrid form

They frowned, turning their body into mist once again only to find themselves unable to, noticing how their brother had gotten ahead of them and covered the talons in haki to keep them solid

“Let me go!” They screamed, punching at the talons, trying to slip free from their confinement

“No, can do; you are done for today; we are not doing this.”

They glance at their wrist at the feeling of something surrounding it,only to spot a sea stone bracelet now locked around it, Thatch kneeling next to them

“Take it off, Take it off! ” they hollered

Ace sighed, taking a hold of the child and nodding to Marco as they lifted them, keeping a tight hold on them as they walked into the ship

“Where do I take them?”

“You can take them to my room; we can talk to them there; they'll probably keep trying to run and throw things if we try to talk to them here,” Marco answered, transforming his body back to his human form

“No! Let me go, asshole!”

“We’re not using those words,” Ace sighed

“Fuck you!” They screamed, trashing against him

He shook his head, tightening his hold on the child, and they entered the first mate quarters, placing down the child in the corner of the room

Marco followed after them, closing the door behind him after assuring Thatch they had it covered as he headed back to feed the crew

“Nope, you’re not going anywhere until you calm down and talk to us,” Ace said, blocking their way as they tried to slip away

“Fuck you! I hate you!”

“You can keep talking like that all you want; it will just make you stay here longer.” Marco shrugged

“Fuck you!” They sobbed as they began screaming at the top of their lungs, screams echoing across the room

“You’re just going to hurt your throat doing that,” Marco pointed out

Dokucha ignored them as they simply began to scream louder, kicking at the walls around them as they kept trying to slip away, only to be stopped by Ace each time

After a while, the child’s screams settled down; only small sniffles escaped them as they sat in the corner

“You ready to talk?” Questioned Ace softly

“Yeah,” they muttered, looking up at them

“So? Why did you do it?”

They stayed quiet, not looking at them

“Look at us.”

They ignored him, staring at the ground

“Dokucha, look at us,” repeated Marco sternly

They glance up at them at his words

“Why did you throw your food and run away?” He questioned, kneeling next to them

“I don’t know,” they mumbled

He sighed at this

“You think Thatch liked that?” He questioned

They shook his head

“Okay, so here is what we are going to do: we are going to go back to the kitchen, you are going to apologize to Thatch, and then you’re going to go talk with Pops about what happened,” he explained

“No! Don’t tell him!” They cried

“It’s too late for that Dokucha, we’re telling pops,” Ace told them

“No!” They whined

“You should have thought about that before you did it.”

They frown at that

“Are you ready to go apologize to Thatch?”

They nodded, taking hold of Ace’s extended hand as the three of them made it back to the kitchen, quickly finding Thatch, who, upon seeing them, stepped out of his cooking to approach them

They stayed quiet, fidgeting with the bracelet on their wrist as they shook it around

“Dokucha,” Marco called, a warning tone to his words

“If you are not ready to talk to Thatch, we can take another time-out in my room.”

They glance up at Thatch at the words, muttering a small ‘sorry’ their way

“Sorry for what?” Ace asked, prompting them to continue

“I'm sorry for being mean and throwing your food on the ground,” they finished

“That’s quite alright, pumkin’; it did make me sad to see you were acting like that; you think we could listen to my words next time?,” he asked, kneeling down in front of them

They nodded, giving the man a hug

“Thank you, Pumkin,” he said embracing them

“Alright, thank you for apologizing Dokucha, are you ready to go see pops?” Ace asked, picking them up and placing them on their hip

The child nodded, placing their head against his shoulder as they began walking to the Captain’s quarters

“Pops, you have a second?” Marco asked, knocking on the door, opening at the affirmative response from the older man

Whitebeard glanced at them, sending a questioning look, spotting the child in Ace’s arms

“They are having a rough day today, been rude towards everyone,” Marco elaborates at the unspoken questioned

Whitebeard let out a grunt, waving the two men off as the fireman put them down and walked out of the room, Marco following behind him

“Why are you being a brat today?” He questioned, cutting to the chase

“I'm not…”

“Really? Then what would you call what you have been today? Cause it sounds like you have been a petulant child all day long.”

“Sorry”

He sighed, gesturing them to come closer, plucking them into their lap as they did

“Dokucha, we are not your parents; we don’t have any plans to abandon you.”

“I know”

“You're not showing it,” he quips back

“When you want our attention, you just have to ask us; we are not like them; you don’t have to waste yourself away trying to do the impossible just to be praised; you need just ask, and any of us is thrilled to be with you, so instead of acting like this talk to us, alright?”

“Thank you, Papaw”

Okay I know that that end is kinda suddened but honesgly the other one I had went too deep into the education sode of things and was too messy, so I just decided to stop there, hopefully it makes sense

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[little-annie]

Catching up on my @strangerthingswritersguild prompts today

T (Mentions of blood and dying) | WC 711 | Steddie

Like wildfire above, the sky dances in the colour of flames between the blackened clouds. Bright and blinding with every flash of lightning and every strike of energy into the ground. The thunder rolls and the monsters roar and where flesh was ripped from bone, Eddie burns.

“Look at me.”

A voice comes faintly through the constant whorl in Eddie's ears. Bat wings, and screeching, screaming cries from Satan's own spawn.

The fuckers.

He'll die because of them.

“Eddie, god dammit look at me.”

That same voice breaks into his consciousness again, though with this time accompanied by a strong jerking grip to Eddie's jaw. With force his head is turned and his gaze is pulled away from the blackness it'd been staring into. 

Somehow, some time he was moved from the heap of gore that was himself and a pile of Demobats that surrounded him. No longer laying in a pool of his own blood, but now prompt upright with the bite of bark to his back and the dampness of a forest floor beneath him.

In front of him is the bruised, battered and bloody face of Steve Harrington.

Even in his dying moments Eddie thinks Steve's beautiful.

“You're going to be okay.”

And delusional apparently.

There's no way he's going to be okay. 

Eddie accepted as much, what felt like hours ago.

He'll die here in hell and they'll leave him here to rot. 

It'll be better that way.

Less dead-weight to lug around and drag through whatever portal they can manage to find.

At least Steve's hazel eyes are the last thing he'll see.

The grip on his jaw squeezes tighter and Steve repeats himself giving Eddie's head a small, sharp shake. “You're going to be okay.”

Eddie wheezes a breath and his lungs feel weak.

“You ever had stitches before?” Steve asks 

Furrowing his brow, Eddie nods, thinking of that time he was dicking around in the scrap yard and ended up catching his leg on a stray piece of metal.

“Good.” Steve nods, “Good. I'm going to stitch you up, okay?”

Eddie's about to protest, but thinks it's pointless, a waste breath just as the stitches will be a waste of perfectly good medical equipment.

They don't need to use it on him.

He's still looking at Steve. Watching the way his eyes roam and his nose scrunches and the gash above his brow continues to bleed. 

His eyes look glassy.

“Tell me.” Steve says, begs nearly, “Come on. Say it. Say, ‘I'll be okay.’”

Those beautiful hazel eyes search Eddie's with a sort of desperation. 

God he can't lie to Steve.

He can't bear to disappoint him either.

With a cough and a sputter, Eddie wheezes, tries his fucking hardest to do as Steve says.

“I-” he coughs up what he's sure is blood, reaching forward to brace himself holding Steve's wrist, “I'll… be okay.”

Staring at Eddie's lips for much longer than necessary, Steve grits his teeth and without so much as a breath of notice Eddie feels Steve's lips crashing into his.

It's fast and urgent. Tasting of copper and the spoils of war.

But it too gives Eddie a goddamn will to live.

He tries to lean into the sensation even more but quickly Steve pulls away, replacing his lips what to Eddie's tongue feels like a fucking stick.

What the fuck?

“Bite.” Steve instructs, harsh and demanding, digging in a backpack that's been thrown down by his side.

Soon enough there's what looks to be alcohol, and needle and thread in Steve's one hand.

*Bite* Eddie remembers, feeling the warmth of his own drool pool around the stick in his mouth. 

*Bite*

Responding to Eddie's silence Steve looks up. “Harder.” He instructs, “It's going to hurt and we don't need you screaming so loud that whatever the fuck is out there can find us.”

He wants to ask about the kiss. The there and gone press of Steve's lips to his own. Mostly he just wants to know why. Why now? Why him? Why in the hell here of all places?

But Eddie bites down harder instead.

He can ask those questions later.

He'll be okay.

Steve reminds him of as much again as the first stitch pierces his skin.

[hiskillingjar]

Can you do hypnosis headcanons >:)

alright freaks log the fuck on

ren 🦊

as well established by every headcanon post i've written, ren is a cum brained hentai addict (positive, sexual)

mans is a Gooner (negative, sexual)

so yes he likes hypno. yes he likes mind break.

he'll be all about the pink swirlies, flashing text, sissy/forcefem hypno too

he'll be like "noooo i know it's not real, it's just a hot idea, okaaaaay?" but also. he wants it to be real so bad.

he lies awake at night wanting so much for hypno to be real. he wants it so bad

this is a switch fetish, also!!

he would find the concept of hypno like. weirdly affirming and comforting in the "i can desire without feeling the shame of desiring" kind of thing

he won't do it often but. like. he'll plug himself in and start jerking off, feeling the pleasurable slur in his mind and pretending that it'll be permanent…so he doesn't feel bad about liking the things he wants <3

we support you ren. we do.

law 🥀

law likes it too lmao

i mean they're not as insane about it as ren is.

like if you showed them a hypno video, they'd think it was weird and offputting

law's interest in hypno is definitely a mindbreak thing, supported by gaslighting, conditioning and coercian <3 yayyyyy

like they want your brain to blur and break into sludge so that they can remold you and make you exactly what they want

(and they'll treat your body the same way too <3)

so if they have to repeat orders, or tell you to behave a certain way, that's what they're going to do

they'd love a needy little drone doll puppet slave pet to play with, who depended on them, who needed them to be kind and gentle when nobody else will be

you're lucky that it's me doing this, isn't it? if it was someone else they'd take advantage of you

you think i'm going to do that? no, i like you like this…docile and sweet and useless

don't fight me, baby. you're not going to win. i've made sure of that

(anyone else feeling a little turned on?)

strade 🔨

strade's a normal fucking guy and not a gooner, so if he even heard about anything to do with hypnosis, he'd probably just laugh it off because it's not real lol

that isn't to say he wouldn't rip the shit into you (or ren) if you liked it

and he would absolutely offer to torture you to madness to replicate the feeling you want so much <3 how nice of him!