#i was unable to find any particularly good ones when i needed them which is why i started writing my own

[metranart]

Jealous! Gojo Satoru

jealous! Gojo who ignores Geto's advice, to give you time to adapt and be friends first before starting to woo you.

jealous! Gojo who practically melts every time you bite the tip of your pencil while trying to understand something particularly difficult in class. 

jealous! Gojo who growls under his breath when he finds you in Nanami's arms after receiving some distressing news. Unable to think straight, gets dangerously close to lash out at the goodhearted blonde just to become an utterly inoffensive kitten, the moment he sees the tears in your eyes.

jealous! Gojo who not so discreetly asks for your number and pretends that it is for another reason other than his torrid crush on you but ends up sending you good morning and goodnight messages and all kinds of cat memes where he replaces the head with Suguru's photo.

jealous! Gojo who goes through your socials as soon as he has the chance and can’t help but grin like a maniac when he sees a picture of you. You have him at your mercy. You’re gorgeous, no! you are perfect to him! he just wants you all to himself.

jealous! Gojo who always tries to be one step ahead so that your missions are always with him, not with Suguru, not with Nanami, not with Yu...only with him, since if he is honest, he does not trust them around you.

jealous! Gojo who believes that he is slowly making his way into your heart, but he only ends up more madly in love with you, until one day he can't resist it anymore and holds your hand... and to his surprise, you don't ask him to let you go but just say adorably blushing: Your hands are so big and warm, Satoru.

jealous! Gojo who now walks hand in hand with you almost all the time, when you go to class, when he takes you to your dorm at night and even when Geto claims he's delusional, he insists, you guys are already dating.

jealous! Gojo who finally confesses his feelings for you and refuses to let you answer by kissing you, igniting a steamy hot make out session which leaves you breathless, whatever negative reply you had, its lost and even your reluctance goes to the back of your head, in order, to give him a chance.

jealous! Gojo who is over the moon, elated you ‘agreed’ and now you let him hold you whenever he wants. “Satoru, don’t be so clingy” Geto had said but he only stuck his tongue at him, every time the raven-haired tried to latch his hands away from you another came to replace it. Making Satoru smirk, wickedly. “God. Suguru, are you jealous?”

jealous! Gojo who slowly begins to let out his true possessive self, making comments about the most random things, like your skirt: "Isn't it too short, beautiful? I love it but I would hate for you to attract the attention of unwanted people" about your classmates: "I know that Nanami and Yu are your besties but with me by your side, do you really need to be so close to them?" slowly monopolizing your time for himself, after all he is not only your boyfriend but also your upper classmate, surely he only wants the best for you.

jealous! Gojo who literally breaks Naoya's nose when he blatantly hits on you at a meeting. "Back off, Zenin!" His eyes glowed ferally, to which Naoya just indifferently wiped the traces of blood with the back of his hand, tsking his tongue, nonchalantly. "She's not even THAT pretty, Gojo." All the available sorcerers had to separate them to prevent them from killing each other. You remember there being so much blood.

jealous! Gojo Who becomes even more jealous after that incident, scaring off any male that gets too close to you but claiming it's for your own safety, only those closest to him are allowed around but not for a long time.

jealous! Gojo who changes your mind with sex feats that blow your fucking mind away. "Nanami is my best friend, I’m going to the movies with him, period!" Gojo is bending you on his knee to spank that attitude out of you and when hears the first attempt of a sob, he pulls your panties down and massages the sore skin gently as he eats your pretty tight cunt until you are a shivering, moaning mess. "Suguru told me he saw you flirting with the girl tending the mochi shop" Gojo's pummeling his hips against your thighs, deep and steady, to make you forget his attempt to get free stuff, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh so loud and lewd that you even forget what you were complaining about, he’s fucking pounding your sensitive pussy till it’s puffy and leaking with his cum. He’s a little toxic like that.

jealous! Gojo who likes having you all to himself, he doesn't want to share you with anyone, not even Shoko or Mei, he loves you so damn much he could explode. He loves having you with him, having you on top of him, under him, against him. He's not your favorite sitting place but sure as hell, he always makes himself the only seat available. You actually don't remember how it feels to sit on something other than his muscular thighs… Shoko once said that he loves you more than is probably healthy to him.

jealous! Gojo who becomes more possessive with each passing day, growing more toxic and more aggressive when he believes that someone wants to take you away from him but loves you so, SO much that you can't help but forgive him every time, since he always promises that his blue eyes only see you, and so it will be FOREVER. You're not sure how you feel about the eternal part of that promise, but it certainly makes you feel like the most protected person in the entire planet.

I MADE SOME SICK SFW/NSFW ARTS FOR THIS DRABBLE, YOU CAN CHECK THEM OUT IN MY PATREON. ;)

[bokunoheros]

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab, reader and kiri are childhood friends to lovers, reader and kiri are in their 3rd yr (meaning they are 18+), uhhh raw sex but reader is on birth control so it’s okay, hand holding, uhm idk what else this is just rlly vanilla and sweet GENRE: smut & fluff SUMMARY: you and your boyfriend have sex for the first time. WORD COUNT: 952 🦊’s A/N: oh how i love you eijirou…

     “eiji…” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

     “shh,” he coos down at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “we can still stop, pretty,” he offers you an out. 

     right now, you and your boyfriend of four months, and best friend since… forever, really, were about to have actual sex for the first time ever. not just getting fingered or eaten out, or sucking him off real nice. the real deal. one particularly hot n’ heavy makeout/heavy petting session led to another, and now here you were, naked beneath him in his bed, already having been fingered to one orgasm.

     the leaky tip of his almost painfully hard cock is aligned with you slick entrance, and he has to bite his bottom lip in anticipation of your answer. he’s ready to pull away should you say no, as that’s what a real man would do—respect someone’s boundaries, even if it might physically pain him to do so. but!! much to his pleasure, you’re quick to shake your head no.

     “no! …no, please— i want to so bad,” you tell him, and he groans at your words, silently thanking any gods who might be listening. “i need you, eijirou, please.” you crane your neck up to press a kiss to his spit soaked lips. 

     he quickly reciprocates your affections as he slowly starts to push into you, something that takes great restraint because holy shit—you felt so good! but, as all real men do, he prioritizes your comfort over his; an act that has him whining incoherently as he tries to take his time for your sake.

     you can’t help but moan at the stretch—goddamn, was your boyfriend hung!—legs wrapping around his hips, crossing at the ankle, to pull him closer, and eijirou thinks he might lose his mind. 

     it doesn’t take long for him to bottom out, pelvis pressing flush against yours as he simply basks in your warmth for a moment—letting you both adjust to the foreign feelings. 

     “mmh, fuck, please move, kiri—need’a feel you s’bad,” you moan, rolling your hips up in attempt to persuade him—not that it was necessary, though; eijirou was doing his absolute best to not start pounding into you, but with your confirmation that he could move, he starts rolling his hips slowly into yours, biting his bottom lip as his dick twitches deep inside you.

    “fuckfuckfuck—” he babbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “shit, baby, y’feel s’good!” his voice is whiny and his breath hitches in his throat as his hips stutter, unable to find a pace or rhythm that felt right. 

    “nnmgh–!” you’re both whiny messes and eijirou ruts into you with sloppy restraint as his hands seek out your own in order to intertwine them and pin them gently above your head as his body presses against yours, and you feel secure under his weight. 

    kissing along your neck, you moan softly when eijirou’s teeth brush over your skin and he takes notice of the goosebumps that rise as a result. did you… like that? 

    nibbling as gently as he can at the junction of your neck and shoulder, you arch your back, pressing your chest into his, at the feeling, and a quiet harder slips past your lips.

     kirishima isn’t sure whether you’re talking about him biting you, or the speed at which his hips move, so rather than ask and potentially ruin the moment, he bites down just a bit harder, being extraordinarily mindful of his shark-like teeth, as he begins to rut into you with more force than before. 

     this was far from what could be considered fucking, though, as he did everything with such a passion and tenderness for you, that this could only be described as making love. 

     “mmmh,” you hum pleasantly when the tip of his girthy cock brushes against your g-spot, and you can’t contain the little moan that slips past your lips. “right there, baby—don’ stop,” you gasp, giving his hands a squeeze as you roll your hips up to meet his. 

     “yeah? shit—” he pulls away from your neck to plant a sloppy kiss to your lips, tongue wasting no time in darting out and into your welcoming mouth as you squeeze his significantly larger hands while your own tongue eagerly plays with his. the two hot, wet muscles swirl around each other, and your teeth clack slightly as he tries tilting his head a little more to the side for a better angle. 

     he hums into the kiss as a little bit of drools begins to pool out from the corners of his mouth—eijirou wasn’t always a messy kisser, but it definitely wasn’t an uncommon occurrence either. for what it was worth, he generally preferred to kiss sloppy style, but he certainly understood if you weren’t the type who appreciated an excess of tongue and spit, but…. sometimes.. he just can’t help himself! he always gets so excited around you!! and what better way to express that than by kissing you until you’re breathless?

     “fuck i love you s’much,” he murmurs against your kiss swollen lips before he starts to suck on your tongue and his swollen tip presses against your g-spot. 

     his words make your heart feel full and you whimper quietly in response, waiting until you both have to break away for air in order to reciprocate what he had said.

     “love ya too, eijirou—more than you’ll ever know,” you tell him, panting heavily as his hips steadily move against yours, working you both up to your first orgasm of the night, where you two would cum in sync with a shared cry of pleasure—kirishima even tearing up from how good it felt.

return to KINKTOBER | 1-A M.LIST

[manicpixiefelix]

love the hand that feeds you {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

One-Shot for head, heart, hand. but can be read as a stand-alone.

Summary: Everyone's always called you Felix's Dog. Felix has always had a problem with this. You've always wished that he didn't. Oliver's never been much of a cat person anyways.

Need to Know: They/Them. NB!Reader. Oliver's POV. Set after the Summer at Saltburn but with a happy, poly ending. Established Felix/Reader/Oliver. Reader's AGAB/sex is never made explicitly clear so hopefully all of y'all can enjoy.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with plot. Pet play, obviously. Demeaning language (dog is the main one, obviously), oral, threesome, unprotected sex, d/s dynamics (all three of you go back and forth but there's mostly Dominant!Oliver), teasing, praise kink (and praise kink by proxy), pet names (ha). Felix & Reader being horny puppies who love Oliver Quick (and each other) very much.

A/N: 9494 words. i told my girlfriend about this fic and how long it is and she said 'at that point is it a oneshot or a cry for help' and idk man it's definitely a cry for something 👀

----

It starts because Felix likes having his hair played with.

Actually, it starts the week before with you, drunk and giggling at a house party, playing with the chain Oliver's always wearing with more fascination than usual, when you admit that Venetia once bought you a collar. Of course you provide the caveat that it was more to piss Felix off, which it had, and that it had been thrown into the fire before you ever got to wear it. Oliver, who'd been watching Felix playing beer pong across the room, has to take a moment to process what you'd said.

"Wish she didn't make it all weird," you sighed a little forlornly, and you give the chain a faint tug, "I'm such a good dog, everyone says so," then you huffed a faint, flustered laugh, "not everyone. Not you and Fi, you guys are lovely, but sometimes I am a bit like a dog; I'm okay with that."

In the next moment you're humming along to whatever trashy pop is playing, and Oliver's pretty sure you've already forgotten what you'd just said, but even in his own state of inebriation, he can't.

The next day, on one of the many lawns across Oxford's beautiful campus, Oliver's sitting with Felix's head in his lap, fingers running through his hair as you and Felix are brainstorming gifts for Venetia's upcoming birthday. Felix has his eyes closed, enjoying the warm afternoon and the sensation of Oliver's gentle petting, while you're splayed out on the grass beside them both, focusing on your notebook.

Yes, you've always been a good dog, but you'd been well trained; the more Oliver thinks about it, the more he finds himself also drawing comparisons between Felix and an excitable, affectionate, pampered pup himself. But there was potential there, Oliver could see it clear as day.

So he'd started to come up with a plan. A simple plan, thankfully; knowing you both it wouldn't require anything too complicated, it wouldn't be particularly manipulative. At least not maliciously.

A simple, two step plan to show the impossibly beautiful, rich, loving heirs how much he loved and appreciated them for all their qualities, especially the dog-like ones, in certain circumstances. Really it's not even his idea; Felix's whole family had drawn the comparison with you before it had even really occurred to him. He couldn't be blamed for being intrigued about following it to its logical end, and showing you both it's not the negative it usually comes across as. At least, that's how he phrases it in his mind when he's justifying it to himself.

And if he thinks you and Felix would both look pretty in a collar, well that's just a perk he keeps to himself.

The first step is submission.

All three of you fluctuated between dominance and submission on any given day, an enthusiastic ebb and flow of control amongst the three of you, in every combination imaginable. Except Felix seems unable to fully commit himself to submitting to Oliver alone; oh he plays along without hesitation, will get on his knees for Oliver at the slightest firm tone, but he always seems more thrilled knowing your hand is on his metaphorical leash.

So Oliver takes his time figuring out what exactly will make Felix long for Oliver's hand on his throat. The solution is shockingly simple.

Praise.

It couldn't be just any praise. He'd lived his life hearing sweet words about how good he looks, or how lovely he was, it had to be deeper than that. Praise only you or Oliver could give, praise that he craved to hear, praise for the parts of himself he quietly put effort into.

Praise for being helpful, for being diligent, for being caring and genuinely thoughtful to the two of you, for being good.

"God, you're so good to me, Felix," Oliver groans in the bathroom of a house party, back pressed against the door while Felix was on his knees, Oliver's cock in his mouth. When Oliver looks down, sees Felix with a faint blush on his cheeks that's far sweeter than the rest of the debauchery of their situation, Oliver cards a hand through his hair, giving him a look that radiated just as much love as he felt for the man himself, "always so fuckin' good to me," he murmurs this time.

Felix, now bright red, all kinds of flustered, pulls back for half a second, unable to fight back a smile as he swears under his breath, but Oliver's hand in his hair tightens. Felix eyes flutter closed as Oliver, tone on his voice like a warning, tells Felix that he didn't say stop.

And Felix seems more than delighted to obey, to be as good to Oliver as he'd just been deemed.

Praise like this always made Felix all smitten and obedient and eager to please. Of course Oliver had always been quick to praise Felix, but this was different, was concentrated and specific. Once Oliver had started with these efforts, Felix seemed to grow more relaxed and eager to let Oliver become dominant over him when the mood struck him, even without the specific praise. Though the praise always helped.

The second step is acceptance.

Considering everything that had happened at Saltburn - the voyeuristic games you'd played with Oliver, the adventurous ways and places in which you and Felix would fuck, the handjob you'd given him after you caught him drinking the bath water that Felix had gotten off into that ended with you also managing to come untouched while Oliver moaned Felix's name in your ear, just to name a few - Oliver knew your sex lives would be more than a little kinky before he even officially joined this relationship. He was not disappointed.

Both you and Felix seemed more than willing to try anything, though Oliver was delighted to discover just how much you'd both already done, and were more than eager to do again.

All this to say that pet play was barely a step removed from roleplay, so he shouldn't have been surprised that you jump at the chance. At first it stays between you and Oliver, for obvious reasons that have everything to do with Felix's hangups about the derogatory way other people had often called you a dog. But when Oliver calls you 'pretty pup' for the first time, you react just the same way Felix does when praised.

Flustered. Bashful. Obedient.

Except Oliver quickly learns that you react far stronger than Felix. It seems not only were you telling the truth about being okay with the title, simply hearing it said so lovingly by Oliver, even in the most innocent situations, was enough to turn you on. It was validation you so desperately wanted, craved, your efforts and constant place by their side acknowledged and appreciated. There are times even when you're in control where you demand praise, and the words slip out.

"You're a good dog," Oliver gasps out, your legs over his shoulders, his head between your thighs. A pleased noises rumbles from somewhere in your chest and you laugh low and heady.

"You're fucking lucky to have a dog like me, Oliver Quick," comes out all lazy and confident, but his nose of agreement isn't enough for you, clearly, as your thighs momentarily tighten around him, trapping him, and he feels one of your heels press insistently against his back, "aren't you lucky," you say pointedly, warning in your voice, "to have such a good dog?" Echoing your words in agreement, they come out sounding like a breathless prayer, one he's eager to chant to see the heady, powerful smile you wear when you hear it.

Fuck he feels dizzy with lust in this moment, desperate to devour you, have his mouth on you, like his life depends on it, hoping you'll grant him the chance to fuck you - there's something about you in control that will always drive Oliver utterly mad. Actually, no matter the situation or who's in control, knowing you and Felix continue to want him, love him, choose him to share these moments with... sometimes he still can't believe he got here in the end.

He never thought he'd hear you beg, let alone for him. It's like fucking music.

When he's got you like this, under him, desperate, eager to please, mind a messy haze caught up in this fantasy being played out with you as his perfect pup - so good, so loyal, fuck you're precious, pet - where he can do or say practically anything to you, where you want him to.

"Fuck I love how pathetic you sound, pet," he mumbled into your ear, pressed against you, thrusting slow and deep, "can't even form a proper thought, can you?" He teases. Your hips stutter up into his in an inconsistent rhythm, desperate. Chiding you for it, he sits back, even as a disappointed mewl escapes you. As if moving out of instinct, you reach out, as if to try and pull him back in, and your fingers catch on the chain he still wears around his neck.

"Drop it," he orders immediately, to which you let go as if the metal had burned you. However, Oliver can feel you clench around his cock, hips rolling, pressing close to him, instinctively, "good dog," he purred, pleased, deciding to reward you by finally fucking you with intent.

So it's not you who still has to come to accept this concept. But Oliver's fairly confident you will be the main reason when Felix does come to accept it. In fact, he doesn't even bring the concept up to Felix himself; he knows you well enough that it will only be a matter of time.

It doesn't take long.

One night at the club, all three of you drunk and feeling indulgent under the lights and haze, you hear a resentful -

"Felix really can't go anywhere without his dog -"

You have to hold Felix back from searching for the girl who said it to start shouting at her, assuring him it's fine, but Oliver then has to drag you both of the dancefloor when you start unexpectedly arguing with each other. He actually genuinely can't pick exactly what the argument is about until he's got you both in one of the marginally quieter side rooms, you and Felix still arguing animatedly -

"- shouldn't even be talking about you like that, they don't even know you -" Felix snapped, while you stepped up into his space, having him in the chest.

"When the fuck have I ever cared what anyone but you thinks of me?!"

"I don't think of you as my dog!"

"How many times do I have to say that I don't mind being called your dog before you figure out that maybe I want you to call me that?!" You glare up at him, watching the confusion and mixed emotions about the idea pass over his face in rapid succession, "I'm getting sick of you taking issue with the title, and refusing to understand why I don't; am I not every fucking thing the perfect dog is to you? I am loyal," with each descriptor you gave an instant push against his chest, as if to punctuate each point, "diligent, protective, you know I'd follow you to hell and back, it makes me happy to make you happy, and yes, Felix, just like a dog, I can be obedient," Felix's gaze is shocked as you lay it all out before him. Your voice lowers, Oliver can barely hear you over the music in the next room, "but unlike a dog, I was not trained to love you, to stick by you like I do; that is a choice I made. That is a choice I continue to make happily every single day of my life. Every other asshole who calls me a dog can see it, most of them are fucking jealous because I am the one you choose to keep by your side. Why would I ever take issue with being called that? What do I have to be jealous of? I am the dog, Felix Catton, and I am yours."

It's... reductive, Oliver thinks, but it has to be to get your point across, so he keeps that to himself. He knows all too well how old this sore spot is between you two, far older than his place in your relationship. Perhaps if things hadn't worked out quite so well for him, or if he weren't so secure in his relationship with you both, perhaps he'd worry, be jealous of how you're speaking once more like you and Felix only have each other. But her knows you're not, knows that you're speaking to the version of Felix who can't let go of his discomfort at the title's implications. Part of Felix would always listen to you above all others, even Oliver, but Oliver himself had in part fallen for the way you two loved each other, he lives seeing that connection still strong, bright and alive, and knowing that you've both still chosen to love him too.

Felix, a few feet away, looks suddenly conflicted, almost upset as he tries to process and reconcile your words. However, when Felix can't seem to give a proper reaction, a look of disappointment crosses over your face, and you turn sharply, stalking from the room, from the club entirely.

"It still feels demeaning to them," Felix has been sulking the entire walk back to campus, he and Oliver having left not too long after you. Oliver bites his tongue on the fact that he knows you get off on being demeaned in the right circumstances; Felix is off course aware of this, but not the true extent. Instead, all Oliver offers is a non-committal hum. Felix pouts, still mostly talking to himself, "'s rude," he mumbled, "'s a mean thing to call someone; dog..." Though it sounds almost like a question.

"So you'd be mad if someone called you Y/N's dog?" Oliver says with a surprising amount of casualness considering he has no idea where his boldness came from. Beside him, Felix goes very quiet. Oliver pointedly doesn't look at him.

"That's different," Felix finally managed after several long, strained moments in which he'd thoroughly considered Oliver's words. Except Felix hasn't managed to sound nearly as casual as Oliver, the poor boy sounds rather abashed at the thought, though he still tries to play it off, albeit unsuccessfully, "Ollie, that's- that's completely different."

"How's it different?" Oliver needles him subtly, still giving Felix a modicum of privacy from his ever watchful eyes.

"Because it is," Felix insists, before blurring out - "because it's never happened!"

When Oliver finally looks over at Felix, he keeps his expression just on the positive side of neutral, only to be met with the sight of Felix, wide eyed, and faintly flush. Oliver blinks.

"But you are," he says easily. Felix's lips press into a thin line, face turning steadily darker with his blush as he finally stops walking. Oliver can read the 'the fuck do you mean by that?' all across Felix's flustered, intoxicated features before the man can even open his mouth to ask, so Oliver stops walking too, elaborating without hesitation, "if we're going by Y/N's metrics for what a good dog is, aren't you one too?"

This conversation was completely unexpected for Oliver too, despite how he was the one who pushed it in this direction. Beautiful, expressive Felix is already growing less tense as he turns the thoughts over in his mind. Oliver, eager to help him along on his path to acceptance, reiterates the values you'd laid out in the club -

"Loyal, diligent, protective," he lists easily, "you know you'd follow them anywhere, and do anything to make them happy," he doesn't have to say that Felix can be obedient to you to know they're both thinking it. Instead, Oliver shrugs, "but you're Felix Catton, of course no-ones going to call you a dog."

"What?" Felix's deliberation finally gives way in the face of confusion.

"Everyone knows Y/N loves you, but they don't want to think about you loving Y/N back."

"But I do," Felix's soft voice sounds so hurt by the very idea, "everyone knows I do." Oliver's own expression softens as he steps forward. Felix's brow creases in what can only be described as disappointed confusion.

"I know," he assures smoothly, "that's other people's problem, its not fair on either of you." Oliver's hand is gentle on Felix's shoulder, but Felix is still clearly bothered, even as they start walking again.

"Maybe that's why it bothered you so much," Oliver finally speaks again when they're back on campus. Felix doesn't speak, but does look to Oliver with an expression of clear confusion, "because you didn't like the idea of people thinking Y/N loved you more than you loved them." After a moment, Felix sighs, making a faint, disappointed hum of agreement.

"Did you think that?" Felix asked softly after a moment, "before you really knew us, is that what you thought of us too?" He sounds almost disappointed at the thought. Oliver, however, has to fight back a smile.

"Not even for a fuckin' second," he admits with a sharp laugh, and Felix immediately perks up with intrigue and something almost like relief, though Oliver's tone is amused as he continues, "I honestly couldn't believe no-one else could see it; never seen anyone quite so dedicated to taking care of their dog as Y/N was to looking out for you."

Felix turns bright red once more, but he's wearing that big, bashful grin Oliver's always loved.

"I am, aren't I?" Felix sounds almost giddy at the thought. Oliver feels like there's fireworks going off in his chest.

"Y/N really can't go anywhere without their dog either," Oliver teases, lovingly parroting the words that had been so cruelly overheard at the club. If Felix were any drunker or happier, he probably would have started actually skipping. As it was, however, the two of them approaching Felix's dorm building, he wraps an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"You know all that stuff they said, all that stuff about being a good dog, you know that's how we feel about you too, Ollie," Felix can clearly tell the minute Oliver's brain short circuits, because he laughs and plants a kiss on Oliver's cheek, "sorry if you're more of a cat person, mate," he teases, as if he hadn't just suddenly rewired something in his boyfriend's brain.

You and Felix. YouAndFelix. Both love him the way a dog loves their owner. It goes beyond even any lewd fantasies he'd had; a year ago he was watching you both through his window, talking and laughing in the afternoon sun, wishing desperately that he could work up the courage to talk to either of you, befriend you.

But you and Felix - YouAndFelix, together, individually, in every single way Oliver can conceive the idea of you - both love him. Our Ollie, the way he's heard spoken so lovingly, sounds so much sweeter than he'd ever even imagined.

"You're both very sweet to me," Oliver hears himself mumble as he and Felix finally find themselves outside of Felix's door. Everything feels like it's spinning, in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and everything to do with the way Felix is smiling at him. Instead of answering, though Oliver's sure there's half a dozen teasing or sappy comments trapped in the tip of Felix's tongue, he kisses him instead. Felix always seemed to know exactly when Oliver was overwhelmed with their shared reality, and always took his time to admire that look in Oliver's eyes. Now was no different.

He's always thought Oliver was so strange, so queer, so different from everyone else in his life, and so clearly loved him for it.

Felix finally is the one to break the moment, knocking lightly on the door, knowing you well enough to anticipate where you'd be despite your earlier anger. As if on cue, you sighed heavily on the other side of the door, before inviting them in.

While Felix barely gives you time to react where you're in your pyjamas, sitting in his bed in the lamp light, not even kicking off his shoes before he throws himself into your lap, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pressed his face against your thigh, Oliver hovers by the door.

"Hi, sorry, hi, love you," escapes Felix in a rush. Despite your conflicted expression, the way your hand comes to rest on his head, carding through his hair is automatic. It's an endearing, amusing sight to Oliver, considering the night that had just passed. He knows you're looking at him, questioning gaze searching for some kind of explanation for Felix's change of behaviour, but Oliver lets himself linger a few moments longer on watching Felix's almost childishly clingy behaviour.

He struggles to kick off his shoes for a moment before he finally managed, and hitch a leg up, over both of yours, still in his jeans and jacket but refusing to be anything but wrapped up in you.

"I'm not staying," is what Oliver finally says, despite the gentle affection in his voice. You frown faintly, but still seem more confused than upset, "I think you two need to talk," he explains. Despite the way your mouth flattens into a thin line, you're still gently petting Felix's hair. Still, Oliver steels himself, giving you a strange little smile, "you're a good dog, Y/N," he says pointedly. This seems to surprise you, but not as much as Felix's sitting echo.

"Such a good dog," he agrees with a fond sigh, half muffled against you. Immediately your confusion, your concern drops in favour of sweet, hopeful shock. But Oliver continues before he shuts the door, smile growing into a grin.

"So are you, Felix," and Felix's head shoots up so he can level a bright, sunny smile over his shoulder at Oliver. Christ, Oliver can practically see his tail wagging.

"Love you, Ollie," Felix beams cheerfully. While Oliver echoes the sentiment back at you both as he closes the door, you can't seem to look away from Felix.

Something warm and pleased and satisfied curls itself comfortably in Oliver's chest on the brief walk back to his own room. It goes beyond any selfish, sexual desires he's had, not that there wasn't an element of that, of course, but he can't stop thinking about the joy in Felix's expression, or the way you'd disbelieving smile you'd been wearing when Oliver had closed the door. An old ache beginning to heal.

The change is subtle at first. At least, from the outside.

After that fateful summer, the three of you had made no secret of your relationship. Felix had always been tactile and clingy and prone to shows of affection, you had always made a point to make Oliver feel included and welcome and like you craved his company, while Oliver himself had never made any secret of whose attention and contact he preferred in any group setting. So he's sure, to their friends, the three of you seem to be the same as you've always been.

Farleigh had once scoffed at the pub that the three of you were insufferably gross, and while the rest of the group at the table had agreed, it had been more teasing than malicious; on one side of Oliver, you'd pressed your laughter into his shoulder, while Felix had throw his arm around Oliver and chided Farleigh not to be jealous, wearing a wide, easy smile.

Oliver and Farleigh still may not exactly see eye to eye, but things had gotten easier between them. Across the table, Farleigh met Oliver's bashful gaze and though he'd rolled his eyes, though he seemed exasperated by all three of you, there was warmth in his eyes. He may not love Oliver, but he still loved you and Felix; baby steps.

So all that to say that at first the change is so subtle that even the ever-watchful Farleigh, who knows you and Felix better than any of your other friends, doesn't even notice.

But oh, Oliver feels the change right away.

He honestly thought the three of you weren't able to get closer, but he's never been more thrilled to be wrong. Never afraid or jealous of each other living your own lives, it just seemed that when you're around each other, you weren't interested in being seen as an individual. More possessive in the most affectionate way. Always in some kind of obvious contact, arguably too close for the comfort of others, not that any of you cared. Oliver, always shadowed by his beautiful guard dogs.

"Can I wear this?" You ask casually one evening, drinking cheap vodka and juice as you waited for Oliver to get ready to go out. When Oliver turns, half dressed after a shower, he sees you holding one of the chains he always found himself wearing. He doesn't think twice before agreeing, doesn't even think much of the request at the time. The significance is missed on him until the two of you meet up with Felix in the line for the club and he pulls you by the chain, in for a kiss. You're still holding Oliver's hand, fingers linked with his. Reading Felix's kiss for the compliment it is, you grin sharply as you pull back, stepping up beside him in line.

"Thanks, it's Ollie's."

"I know," Felix snorts a laugh, throwing an arm around you as he gives Oliver himself a sly smile, "you look good too, mate, how're you going?" You squeeze Oliver's hand, leaning into him for a moment with a coy smile. Your free hand is playing with his chain around your throat. Like you know exactly where his mind has suddenly gone.

Oliver already knows how this night will end, and it doesn't disappoint.

Neither he nor Felix can seem to leave you or the chain around your neck well enough alone, and you're clearly love it. You let yourself be lead around, let them lavish you with affection in dark corners, wearing a smile that's all teeth when you meet the surprised, scandalised gazes of those who gawked rather than averted their gaze.

In the back of the taxi on the way to campus, you're impossibly affectionate, like an excited puppy as you try and split your attention to your boyfriends either side of you.

"Settle down, love," Felix takes your hand in his, keeping you momentarily still, even as you pout.

"We'll be home soon," Oliver murmurs quietly, trying to act casual as he looks out the window, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. A faint, impatient whine escapes you, but you acquiesce, leaning your head on Felix's shoulder even as a fond laugh rumbles from his chest.

The cabbie has the radio on in the front, pointedly ignoring the three of you. But the music is loud enough that he doesn't hear the soft, approving way Felix mutters in your ear -

"Good dog."

But Oliver hears, feels the way your thighs momentarily clench together, hears the breathless, needy 'fucking hell, Fi' that escapes you. His grin grows wider.

On the walk back to your room - always cleaner than Felix's, and with a bigger, nicer bed than Oliver's - you're quiet, seemingly focusing very hard on staying that way, even as Oliver and Felix are bantering easily either side of you. Hands to yourself - well, metaphorically, Oliver and Felix are both holding one of your hands, Felix, feeling particularly joyful swings your linked hands in wide arcs between you - you listen diligently, and chime in whenever you felt your input was needed. Oliver thinks you're being incredibly endearing, but once the door is closed and the rest of the world is cut off from the three of you, Felix softly asks if you're okay.

Surprise lights up across your face the minute the question is spoken. It hadn't even occurred to you that Felix wouldn't understand your behaviour in this moment; this is far newer to him than it is to you. But then you look to Oliver, almost like you're afraid that he wouldn't understand either.

But he does, of course.

There's a faint thrill that courses through him realising that for what is perhaps the first time since he'd met you, he can read you better than Felix. That Felix was yet to understand how far from reluctant or uncomfortable you were in that moment.

Felix had told you to settle, called you a good dog when you had. So now you were trying your hardest to remain settled, to remain good. How delightfully obedient you were in these moments, in this headspace.

Oliver finally gave you a warm smile, shrugging off his jacket.

"They're being good is all," he says casually, drawing Felix's confused attention as you broke out into a wide smile at the praise. Again, Oliver has a flash, a mental image of a tail wagging with joy behind you.

"I'm being good, I'm being settled," you reiterated pointedly, standing carefully by the foot of the bed. Once more, however, you've started fussing with the chain around your neck. Felix looks back to you, as if he still can't quite grasp the full scope of what's happening, and laughs lightly.

"You're so fucking cute," he grinned, "love, you didn't have to stay settled all the way back here."

"I didn't?" Your eyes go wide with confusion, and you look again to Oliver, as if for confirmation, "but I..."

Oliver can feel his heart beating in his throat. Oh, right, he's the one who's done this before, he's the one who started this all, at least this version of this dynamic. You aren't Felix's dog in this moment, you are his.

"You did good, pet, don't worry" Oliver assures you, soothing you with a gentle tone as he steps towards you and takes your face in his hands, kissing you on the forehead. Wearing a grateful little smile, you regard him lovingly for a few moments, before he steps away and you turn your focus back to Felix. There's a hungry kind of intrigue in his big, brown eyes now as he takes the scene in with newfound understanding.

"You really are a good dog," Felix marvels approvingly. Your whole face lights up at that, stumbling a few steps forwards, as if you hadn't meant to move but needed to be close to him. Nodding furiously in agreement, your fingers fidget like you're trying desperately not to reach for him. Felix steps towards you, his smile growing wider as he does so, "mine- ours?" He corrects, wrapping his arms around you, and finally your resolve breaks.

"Both," you assure in a rushed breath before you're pulling him in, kissing him frantically, as all the longing you'd held back since you'd been told to settle floods through you. Once fidgeting hands now start frantically tugging at clothing, both yours and his, but Felix is matching your energy entirely. Oliver gets hit in the face with your jacket as it's flung across the room but neither you nor Felix notices. In his enthusiastic haste several of the buttons on your nice, expensive shirt are ripped off, pinging around the room.

Not that Oliver actually minds.

Still in his jeans, he leans his hip against your desk and watches for a few long moments with both a lewd appreciation, and amusement. Perhaps another day, or when it was just the two of you, Felix would invest himself properly in a version of this fantasy where you truly are his dog. Tonight, however, Oliver sees opportunity in the obvious, messy, needy way Felix is pawing at you. An opportunity for his plan to finally be realised, and he's not letting it pass him by.

When you fall back on the bed, Felix braced over you, your hand finding his fly while the two of you still haven't stopped to really breathe, Oliver sticks two fingers in his mouth to let out a sharp whistle.

Immediately there's silence, the attention of both of you having immediately snapped to Oliver. Shaking his head with faux exasperation, Oliver sighs loudly, as if terribly put upon.

"Can't take you two anywhere," he tsked, crossing his arms over his chest, "pair of naughty fuckin' puppies, you can't leave each other alone."

Felix blinks quickly, as if caught of guard by the shift in tension, the dynamic.

"Ollie, what are you -"

"Ollie, don't be mean, Fi's the best dog, take that back!" You chided despite your wide grin.

"Is he now?" Oliver asks archly, smirking at you both. Felix isn't quite looking at him, expression drawn and thoughtful as he processed this change, turned it over in his mind. Slowly, he looks down at you, at your soft, warm smile. A silent conversation between you both, one of many that Oliver will only ever be able to guess at, and you close your eyes as you sit up enough to press your forehead to Felix's.

Felix visibly relaxed, which you must feel judging by the way you grin.

"It's fun, I promise," your whisper, though in the cool, quiet night, Oliver can still hear it clearly.

"But he called me naughty, I can't believe it," Felix whined playfully, causing you to laugh as the two of you sank back down on the bed. Felix tucked himself up beside you, face half hidden where he was pressing his lips to your shoulder to hide his little smile, "you're so mean to me, Ollie." It sounded as though he was pouting, but his eyes betrayed him, nervous and tentative to be adapting and playing along with the bit, but clearly more than a little excited too. There's also something tearing, almost challenging about the way Felix was running his fingertips up and down the side of your chest.

"You are being naughty," Oliver finally pushes off of the desk, sauntering over to the bed, "both of you acting like I didn't exist."

"Can you blame me?" You actually giggled, sounding downright gleeful, "look at who we get to play with!" Felix flushed at that, pressing his bashful smile against your shoulder. Oliver finds himself really quite taken with how you've chosen to adapt to having Felix by your side in this fantasy.

"If I can't blame you," Oliver says with faint notes of faux warning in his voice as he sits by you both on the bed, "are you saying I should blame Felix? Is our new pet a bad influence." You stumble over your words for moment, searching for a denial, but Felix's head shoots up at that, his eyes wide as he props himself up on the bed beside you.

"Hey, I'm a good influence! I'm good!" He insists, the words coming to him so automatically that it seems to startle even him before he properly focuses back on Oliver's fond amusement. Felix grins sheepishly at his own enthusiasm, ducking his head to look instead at you as he reiterated with a soft giggle, "I'm good."

"I think you're very good," there's love on your tongue, in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Then, in the next moment, you wriggle yourself over to rest your head against Oliver's thighs, gazing up at him with a pout, "come on, Ollie, don't be mean," you practically whined, while Felix himself half draped himself across your middle, his head resting on your belly as he turned his full attention and hopeful brown eyes upon your boyfriend. It was far more convincing than Oliver had been expecting, and he actually feels his hard resolve beginning to falter under the combined force of both your longing gazes.

"We're sorry for neglecting you," you add sweetly, expression earnest as your fingers begin to card through Felix's hair. For a moment, Oliver watches the way Felix's eyes fall closed, leaning into the sensation.

"Can we make it up to you?" Despite Felix's soft voice, his smile was already all kinds of pleased and contented, "we're good at that," he insists. God, Oliver knows all too well that you both are; fucking hell, part of him may never believe this isn't a dream. Except he knows his definitely not dreaming when he feels the delicate touch of your free hand on his knee, moving higher - or as high as you're able given the awkward angle your arm is at.

"Play with us, let us make it up to you," giving Oliver thigh a squeeze you grinned up at him. Without giving him a moment to respond, however, you made a tsk noise in the back of your throat, "you're so overdressed. Fi -" you tap Felix's head gently to get his attention once more, and Felix's eyes open, alight and at attention, "he's so overdressed, don't you think?" Immediately Felix is sitting up, agreeing.

"Think we should help him with that," Felix says frankly, wearing a pleased little grin like he's excited to be helpful. All over-eager and enthusiastic, both you and Felix are suddenly all over Oliver, working together to get him out of his jeans before he can even wonder where he'd lost control of the situation.

Playfully victorious, you're peppering Oliver's face with excited kisses as Felix is kneeling by the bed, tugging the now free jeans down his thighs. Despite the chaos of it all, Oliver's laughing loud and bright, trying his best to get his arms around you to still some of the kinetic love you're showering him with.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix, however, gets caught up halfway through his own job, and presses a kiss to his knee, hands coming to rest, flat and warm on Oliver's thighs, "how'd you expect to get off with those on?" But he sounds so light and joyful; Oliver's heart is fucking singing in this moment.

"Oi, sit," Oliver tries to order between his own laughter and your lips on his every few moments. It takes him another second to claw back some of his composure, "both of you, sit," at least this time you both listen, despite him still radiating breathless amusement.

Felix looks to you for a moment, watches the way you settle yourself, cross-legged and hands in your lap as you fought back a smile, and sits back on his heels, wearing a sheepish grin of his own as he looks back to Oliver. Oliver has to take a moment to compose himself, barely restraining his own laughter, before he kick his pants off from around his ankles. Felix takes the opportunity to then lean in and rest his chin on Oliver's knee, wide, affectionate grin on his face that Oliver practically melts at. He can't help himself -

"Who's a good boy?" He teases Felix, reaching over to scratch at Felix's scalp lightly. Again, Felix eyes close at his nose scrunches with a strange little smile.

"If it's not me I'm actually going to be so upset," he mutters, sounding almost embarrassed by the thought. It takes a moment for his words to sink, and he followed it with a snort of amusement, before all three of you are laughing in the warm privacy of your bedroom, and this moment.

"Of course it's you," Oliver reassures him, coaxing him up onto the bed, shifting to sit back against the headboard with room for you both on either side. Felix looks far less embarrassed and far more pleased now, leaning in when Oliver coaxes him in for a kiss, "my helpful, good boy," Oliver murmurs against his lips, and Felix lets out a breathless, pleased noise as he wraps an arm around Oliver's neck, kissing him back almost desperately. Oliver would always love how Felix was so wonderfully consistent when it came to his praise kink.

Beside him, he can feel you shift on the bed, and in the next moment, your hand is on his thigh. When he and Felix both look to you, breaking their focus on one another, you've settled yourself by Oliver's thighs. Leaning in, you gently nudge at his cock where it's staining against the material of his boxers with your nose, before proceeding to kiss softly up his shaft through the material. Sing when you reach the head, you sit back a little, giving pause as two of your fingers hooked into the elastic of his waistband. Finally met his gaze, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly, want in your eyes that has Oliver's already quick heartrate thundering in his chest.

"Thought I told you to sit," he says wryly. You wet your lips, hips shifting a little.

"I am sitting," you pointed out, which set Felix off, had him pressing his amused chuckle against Oliver's shoulder. You did, however, remain obediently still. Except for the challenging smile that graced your lips, "wanted to make up for ignoring you."

Felix's laughter, however, had died down at that, and the hand that had been around Oliver was now trailing feather-light down his bare chest, past your own, to wrap around Oliver's aching hard cock, still trapped behind a thin layer of cotton.

"Just gotta say the word," Felix murmurs into his ear. His hand begins to slowly work up and down Oliver's cock. Oliver watches you lean down and press a kiss to the soft skin of his belly, by his hip, just above his waistband, while Felix was pressing languid kisses along his jaw.

"Both so good to me," Oliver groaned, gently pushing at Felix's shoulder, though he takes the hint and joins you by Oliver's thighs.

A moment passes between you both, Felix taking your face in his free hand and pulling you in for an intense kiss that only somehow manages to make Oliver even more painfully turned on than he already was. Both still half dressed, you're both practically overflowing with love for each other and Oliver in this moment. The kiss breaks and youre both grinning foreheads pressed together; Oliver's never been truly able to read the exact things that pass between you in these moments of silent communication, but he thinks he sees 'see, I told you this was fun' in the way you smile.

And as much as he adores this moment, he's pretty sure if someone doesn't actually touch his dick soon he's going to die.

"'s there a reason you're keeping me waiting?" Oliver asks archly; Felix's grin grows wider, while you give him a faintly guilty smile, apologising softly before you pull down his boxers. Finally.

Oliver's hips buck the second your fingers wrap around him, leaning down with intent to -

"Hey!" Felix almost sounds indignant that you'd taken his place, a thought which sends a thrill through Oliver. You look up at this, but the minute you're distracted Felix has bent down to run his tongue along the head of Oliver's cock, tasting the precum beading there before he's taking Oliver into his mouth.

"Fi, that's cheating!" You whined, pouting with your free hand braced against Oliver's thigh - "Ollie, Fi's cheating!" You pouted, to which Felix raised his head to defend himself, gleefully and entirely submersed in this roleplay.

"I'm not cheating," he tried to declare, however you dipped down in an attempt to usurp him. Felix, seemingly anticipating this, refuses to move, instead letting you headbutt him, the two of you in a playful stalemate while you attempted to keep up a consistent rhythm with your hand still on Oliver's cock. Tension, with neither of you backing down, breaks only when one of you - though Oliver's genuinely not sure which - seems to realise the reality of the situation, and how close you both are, and suddenly you're aggressively making out.

Not in Oliver's wildest dreams would he ever have imagined that he could have the two of you fighting over who gets the privilege of going down on him. It's going to take all of his willpower if he wants to last much longer. But he needs to last at least a bit longer, needs to take back control, to make sure this plays out well for both of you too.

So Oliver calls your name, and you and Felix break apart. Your eyes are on Oliver, wide eyed and breathing hard.

"No fighting," he chided, and you wet your lips, sitting back a little as Felix takes this as his victory. Oliver coaxes you up to him, part of him sad to lose the feeling of your talented fingers around him, but Felix is more than capable, and more than makes up for it. Oliver wraps an arm around you, his free hand guiding one of yours to Felix's head as it bobbed up and down between Oliver's thighs, "you're going to help him, you can do that, can't you?" His words are gentle, commanding, and even as you still seem to be playing at sulking, you give a small nod. Felix groans appreciatively as your grip tightens on his hair, which Oliver echoes as he feels it himself.

You're beginning to squirm. Good. He's been utterly thrilled by how tonight has been playing out, but Oliver always enjoys when you finally fall into being desperately obedient. He wants to show Felix how good of a dog you really are.

Oliver pulls you in closer, nose to nose, smirking as the playful fight in you was giving way quickly to pure desire.

"Our good boy, isn't he? Our Felix," Oliver's voice is loud enough for you both to hear; Felix moans around his cock, shifting to get a better angle, to take Oliver deeper, as deep as he can. Your breath catches, pupils blown wide. There was something truly, almost sickeningly fascinating about what he could only describe as your Praise-Kink-By-Proxy; you clearly got off to the way Oliver lusted over Felix, that much was made clear that night in the bathtub at Saltburn, and Oliver could see it in your eyes again now.

"Our Felix," you'd mumbled breathlessly, casting your gaze to him as Oliver lazily trialled kisses down your jaw and throat. Felix doesn't stop, your hand on his head still making sure he keeps a consistent rhythm, but he does look up, does meet your lust-filled gaze, does see how your hips and thigh are shifting. Oliver brings your gaze back to him by tugging at his chain around your throat, and it's all you need to kiss him. He doesn't let it go. Sloppy and passionate, he moans Felix's name into your mouth and you whimper desperately at the sound. His hips are rolling, matching Felix's rhythm as his cockhead presses insistently against the back of his throat, and you're panting and whining and unable to find any real relief -

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" Oliver murmured sharply the minute he feels you reaching for the waistband of your own pants with your free hand. You whimpered, and his grip on the chain around your neck grows tighter. Squeezing your eyes closed as you shook your head, traitorous hand moving to dig your fingernails into your thigh, "are you going to settle down for me?" He whispered, lips brushing yours as you squirmed helplessly.

"This is unfair," you moaned, and Oliver's grip around you grew tighter, "Ollie, please -"

"You fucking love when I'm unfair to you," he hissed with an almost cruel smugness as you gasped, hips beginning to roll and rutt against nothing.

"Ollie, don't be mean," Felix raised his head, hand going still on Oliver's desperately twitching cock, an actual note of warning in his voice. Oliver smirks at him, all lazy, arrogant confidence. He maneuvers you, pulls you back from him to let Felix properly see the way your lip is beginning to tremble with how desperate you were for satisfaction or even just a hint of relief. Still, you tried to press yourself against him, even as your back arched wantonly and your thighs pressed together, shifting in search of friction that was still upsetting absent from where you desired it most.

"You think I'm being too mean right now?" Oliver whispered in your ear; unfortunately for you, Oliver knows all too well how much you love this game. After a moment of hesitation, your gaze locked with Felix's. It's as if you're embarrassed to be seen in this state, the way you'd so willingly let Oliver drive you mad with desire. Averting your gaze from Felix's, you swallow hard.

"No," the single word comes out as a sulky kind of whimper.

"And why's that?" Oliver prompted, adding slyly, "you made Felix worry." He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

"He's -" you tired your head back with a desperate groan as Oliver raked the nails of his free hand up your side, "he's always good to me in the end." You pouted, clearly still thinking it was unfair being denied in the moment.

"You promise?" Felix asks firmly, looking Oliver in the eyes now.

"Promise," Oliver smirks back, whispering against your skin that if you're a good for him, he'll let Felix play with you. The desperate noise that escapes you is incredibly telling, and one Oliver knows all too well as the indication that you were on the edge of being incoherent. Good, he loves getting you to this point, and loves even more the way Felix is looking at you right now.

"You're doing so well, Felix, don't keep them waiting," Oliver insisted. At that you reached out once more, hand coming to rest on Felix's head, petting him gently before he allowed you to guide him back down to Oliver's spit-slicked and waiting cock. Oliver's grip on the chain shifts, the metal loose between his fingers as he carefully, delicately, wraps his hand around your throat. Your pleading expression is so deliciously needy when Oliver pulls you back in against him.

"Good dog," he presses the praise against your trembling lips.

It's like a beautiful symphony, better than any wet dream or fantasy he'd ever had, and he hadn't even fucked either of you yet. He moans Felix's name into your mouth when he finally comes undone, his hand resting on yours atop Felix's hair as he takes it all and swallows every last drop.

"So fucking good, Felix," Oliver's breathing hard as he comes down from the euphoric high he'd just experienced, scratching gently at Felix's scalp as he raised his head, pleased grin on his face. When Felix sits up, out of both of your grips, your hand immediately goes between your thighs, desperate to touch yourself but still fighting the urge, trapping it while still making your intent obvious.

But while Oliver is more than satisfied, you, tucked up against him, are all but a mess as he cradled you close.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix climbs over his legs to be by your side. His smile is warm and fond, and when Felix's hand comes to rest on your hip, your soft, whining noises become more audible, "the poor thing deserves a treat."

Oliver feels the way you shiver and tense with anticipation at Felix's words, nose then bumping insistently against Oliver's jaw, keening noises catching in your throat. You were begging in the only way you have left, now that you'd found yourself deep enough in this headspace.

"Look at him," Oliver murmured, sounding almost proud as you turned your desperate, hopeful gaze upon Felix, "he's even being good to you."

Taking it as a blessing, you're immediately scrambling to your knees by Felix, no longer whining, and clearly overjoyed. One hand pulling him in for a kiss, your other was frantically trying to remove your pants.

"Not ignoring you," Felix insisted to Oliver as you'd broken the kiss if only to pitch yourself back on the bed in an effort to wriggle desperately out of your pants, "just -"

"Settle down," Oliver ordered suddenly, and you suddenly went still, ceasing the way you'd been fighting with your pants around your ankles, "help them, Felix," she sighs with fond exasperation. Of course Felix does, but it's like a switch has flipped; he's back on board, a good dog still, just like you. Once your pants are off, Felix is trailing kisses up your legs, much to your clear glee -

"You puppies are so stupid," Oliver shakes his head, affection in his words, "you're lucky you're cute," but still both of you turn to him with a a sad kind of confusion. Oliver tries not to laugh, he really tries, you're both somehow hot and adorable at the same time, "Felix, you're still wearing pants."

Somehow, this seems to surprise both of you, and again you're up 'I can help, I can help, I can help' radiating enthusiastically from you as you make quick work of finally undoing Felix's fly, as you'd attempted to earlier in the evening. The two of you share soft giggles as Felix's hard cock is freed and his pants are tossed to the side, leaving him standing on the floor at the edge of the bed where you're up on your knees, looking up at him. Like this, he still manages to dwarf you, and Oliver watches with an aroused fascination as this moment plays out.

Felix doesn't speak, it's as if he's matching your energy, understanding your headspace, he's confident and even cocky in a way that Oliver doesn't often see from him. He remembers saying 'if you're good, I'll let Felix play with you' and it seemed some primative part of Felix's mind has taken that to heart as he held tight to the chain around your throat, leaning in with an unmistakable huger in his eyes. It has you practically melting, hands on his hips, not daring to stray further without his approval. He doesn't even kiss you, he holds you at bay with his lips inches from yours and a hand firm on your collar, drinking in your desperation. You begin to whimper again, shifting your weight back and forth, hips rocking in anticipation; Oliver's sure he'll be able to see the marks your nails leave on Felix's hips when you finally let go.

Another silent conversation between you both, but so clear, so loud, so simple Oliver can hear it loud and clear. Felix is telling you, in no uncertain terms, that in this moment you are his, and every part of you agrees. Yet Oliver knows with a smug, self satisfaction, that he with one word you would both be by his side. So he'll let you both have this.

A year ago, he would have paid his entire life savings and then some to get to see you two in a moment like this. Already, he's getting hard again; a familiar, voyeuristic thrill runs through him as he drinks you both in, taking his cock in hand.

Felix barely has to tip his head, letting go of your necklace, before you're moving quickly, a moment vague and indecipherable to anyone else is a clear directive for you to turn. It's a flurry of movement after that, of Felix's hands on you, on your hips to pull you close, your lower back to have you bending, face pressed to the mattress. Your ass in the air, presented to him perfectly, he slides into you, drawing unholy noises from you both after so long spent waiting already that night.

Oliver basks in this moment, can only imagine how good you must feel right now, all tight and warm and completely and utterly desperate to be filled. Felix's groan is its own kind of beautiful, finally finding his voice again as absolutely filthy praise spills from his lips. Hips rocking back to meet each of Felix's slow, deep thrusts, your breathing is shaky amid the low, pleased noises that escape you. Beautiful, a creature of mindless want and desire, you've got one shaking hand between your thighs as the other reaches out, searching blindly for Oliver.

Face pressed into the plush duvet, you link your fingers with Oliver's the moment he reaches out to you. Your grip is tight, and he runs his thumbs in comforting rhythms against your hands, something pleased, loving, and so fucking turned on as Felix was quickly coming to fuck you like an absolute animal. The way you so desperately craved.

"Perfect," Felix moaned, "god you're so fucking perfect for us, pet, aren't you?" Nodding weakly, as much as your able, you clutch at Oliver's hand; his teasing had clearly already worked you up, brought you close. Both of you.

"Our good dog," Oliver murmurs, just to hear you whimper.

Fuck, he can't wait to watch you come undone.

Can't wait to make you both sit, roll over, beg.

[cyber-night]

Fyodor needs help sometimes even if he doesn't want it. No smut today, sorry :(

Content Warnings: Self-neglect, degradation, humiliation, (Neither of which are particularly "sexy" it's more just Fyodor being put in his place through his own stupidity), this... isn't healthy for Anyone...

You sigh as you look at Fyodors pill bottle. You'd recently put a cap on it that had a timer telling when it had last been opened. You suspected that he hadn't been taking his meds. The timer showed that it had been over two days since Fyodor had taken his medication, and even then, he only took it because you brought it to him.

You head up to his computer room where you find him hunched over his keyboard, typing away at lines of code. "Hey Fedya?" He hums as if he hears you but isn't listening. You continue anyway. "You haven't taken your meds in a few days... how are you feeling?"

"Fine," He says without looking up from typing. "When's the last time you got up to eat or use the bathroom?" You ask worriedly. Fyodor sighs. "I do not need you babying me. I can care for myself, you know." He says flatly. "You haven't taken your meds in two days... I worry about you. When's is the last time you slept in a bed and not at your desk?" He stops typing and pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Not all of us get to sit around and do nothing you know some of us have actual work to do." This makes you pause irritation boiling under your skin. "Excuse me? I do plenty thank you very much. I'm the only one who does anything around here." You snap he has never been this expressly disrespectful to you. "You do nothing but annoy me and take me away from my work! I don't need your help! I realize you are too dumb to understand how important what I'm doing is, but you can at least have the decency to let me do it. As for what you do around here, you do nothing but take up space and money!" He snaps angrily you pause your eyes wide, all the times you've made sure he had water and tea as he worked, made sure he was eating, brought him food if he hadn't eaten yet, brought him his meds, all of that to him was simply an interruption? An irritation? Not to mention you took care of most of the chores, though he helped with a few such as the trash ...Fine then if that's how he saw it. "Very well, then I'll stop." You sat icily your eyes narrowed. "Since you will be fine without me helping, I'll leave you be." He seems pleased at that. "Good." Is all he says before he turns back to his monitors. You don't hesitate to turn and leave.

True to your words the next four? Maybe five days? You don't do anything for him. You knew when you two started dating, he needed something akin to a caretaker as he was oblivious to his own health, unable to feel hunger, thirst, or even exhaustion the way most do. It stemmed from his autism and you were willing to help him out of love for him. You never thought you'd have that affection thrown back at you in such a volatile way. You haven't seen him for a few days making no effort to seek him out.

You are sitting in the living room reading a book quietly when he stumbles in. He looks terrible. He hasn't showered in about two weeks at this point, hasn't had his meds in a week, and God knows when the last time he ate was. You only barely glance at him before returning to your book. You watch him lean against the counter as he makes his way to where his meds are stored. Once he get his hands on them, he looks at the caps timer, showing him its been almost a week since he's taken them. His hands shake as he struggles to open the pill bottle, the childproof cap, making it impossible for him when he's this weak. You watch him from over the edge of your book. He is genuinely struggling, but you can also tell he's putting on a bit of a show to garter pity from you to make you feel bad for leaving him to fend for himself. You don't give him any instead of going back to actually reading flipping the page. After quite a bit of time, he finally stumbles over to you and holds the bottle out to you. "Open this." He says gruffly. "You don't need my help. You should be fine." You say not looking up at him though you can see his hand trembling in your peripheral. Your words make him pause.

He tries to open the bottle again with no luck he stands there swaying slightly, his pride not letting him admit he was wrong or that he needs help. He tries to pull your book down, but he is too weak to succeed. You watch him sway again before he crumples at your feet, the pills bottle rolling away from him. You still don't look up from your book as you flip the page. If he wants anything from you, he needs to put his pride aside. He sits there, trembling at your feet for a few minutes before weakly whispering, "I'm sorry..." It's makes you laugh a little inside. "Pardon? I didn't hear what you said. Would you like to repeat that?" You ask without looking up from your book. "I'm sorry..." You nod. "Hmm, that's a start. What are you sorry for?" His eyes are unfocoused, and he's barely keeping himself upright. "I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"And?"

"...And I was wrong."

"About?"

"I was wrong, I do need you..." You nod again as you flip the page. "Yes, you do, don't you." He waits for a moment before he continues "...Are you going to help me now?" You laugh finally closing your book. "And why would I do that? You've done the bare minimum." Fyodors eyes widen, "please..." He whispers weakly. "Please, what?" You ask with a smirk as you watch him sway on his knees. "Convince me." He takes a shakey breath. I'm looking like he might cry. "Please help me... I feel like I'm going to pass out, and I can't... I can't take care of myself right now." You tilt his head back so you can observe him better. "It's almost a pity I have to put you back together... I kind of like you like this. Weak and pathetic, not that you aren't weak and pathetic normally, but... it's just you look pretty when your half way from deaths doorstep." He whines a hint of fear in his eyes. Sure, he could kill you with a touch, but the idea that he is weak and pathetic normally makes him uncomfortable. "I really should make you work for my help... but I'm feeling... Generous. So instead, I'll only make you beg. Sit back on your knees and put your hands up to your chest like a dog. I want to see you beg like one. After all, I have to care for you like a pet."

Fyodor shudders but does it his body barely stable for very long as he holds his hands up in an imitation of paws he looks at you, embarrassment evident in his face. "Good enough, I guess." You sigh idly, he whimeprs, letting his body relax so he doesn't fall further to the floor he rests his forehead on your knee. "Please~" He whispers meakly. Finally, you move him onto the couch and lay him down with a sigh.

You go get his meds, water, and soup since you don't trust him to keep solid food down right now. You come back to him asleep, and you almost feel bad about having to wake him up, but you know you need to. He needs to eat and drink. You carefully nudge him awake and set about nursing your brilliant moron of a boyfriend back to health. You wake him up not as gently as you usually would. You shove the pills into his mouth, then yank his head back and force him to drink, double tapping his cheek once he swallows. "T-thank you... my love..." You help him eat the soup since his hands tremble. "You wouldn't be in this mess if you simply listened to me, you know." You sigh as you pet his hair the soup bowl finally empty "If you had just been a good boyfriend and accepted my care you would fine, but no you have to be a selfish stubborn brat." He looks up at you with glassy eyes. "I'm sorry... I'll try and be better..."

You shake your head and sigh, carrying him to lay down in bed. A shower will have to wait till tomorrow. "Sleep, you can make it up to me tomorrow, Fedya." He nods and nuzzles into you, clinging to you out of anxiety that you'll abandon him again. You kiss his forehead as he drifts off.

[kradogsrats]

I've been kind of hesitant to voice this analysis/theory because honestly even I find it hella depressing, but... here goes.

At the end of s6e5: "Moonless Night," we have this kind of cryptic sequence with Viren:

Now, this isn't exactly subtle. It starts with a callback to Aaravos's "the human mage, already tainted by darkness and destined to play right into my hands," line (and a nice Callum > fake pearl > real pearl > Viren cut sequence) and ends with the kind of spider-and-fly imagery you bust out when you want the audience to really get the point. This sequence tells us in no uncertain terms, Aaravos will inevitably use Viren again... at least one more time.

I say it's cryptic because the eventual payoff is a lot more subtle, particularly since everything escalates so rapidly and is actually presented as a crazy, unexpected twist. Basically, there's no follow-up until s6e8: "We All Fall Down," where we have a highly specific series of events:

Sol Regem, under Phaaravos's direction, attacks Katolis

Viren decides to make the sacrifice of both doing dark magic again and losing his own life to protect the people from Sol Regem's fire

Viren successfully casts the spell and the people are protected

Phaaravos does this:

Once Viren has cast the spell (and is probably dying), Aaravos is pleased and ends Sol Regem's attack.

Aaravos needs three things to free himself: the pearl, the staff, and a sympathetic mage. He can't just possess Callum and free himself at the start of the season, because—whether that would work or not—he doesn't have the staff. He knows, however, that Viren is going back to Katolis, so he can influence Callum to switch the real and fake pearls. Then, when Viren arrives, the pearl and the staff are lined up... but Viren is no longer sympathetic (and possessing him wouldn't really do any good because like, come on... he's in prison).

The way that the attack on Katolis plays out gives him everything: the pearl and staff are abandoned in the chaos, leaving them free for Claudia. Viren, being dead, is also now unable to influence Claudia directly—not to mention that, despite what he told her in s6e1, he chose to do dark magic again.

There are several reasons that could be behind Phaaravos's smarmy little smirk there—either he's satisfied that the staff is in play and will be easily accessible to Claudia instead of buried under a castle's worth of rubble, or he's satisfied that Viren is going to die and that removes what could actually have been a very serious obstacle to Claudia's persistence, or... he's pleased that Viren has caved and done dark magic again, whether because that's leverage he can use with Claudia, or for a more insidious reason.

We can stop here, because "Aaravos uses Viren's loyalty to his family and Katolis to manipulate him to his death and to set up his daughter for digging herself deeper in aiding his own return" is honestly plenty of payoff as far as Aaravos "using" Viren a final time. BUT just to get a little tinfoil-hat, here:

How exactly are we supposed to understand the pearl got from the subterranean secret dark magic workspace to outside in the ground-level courtyard... except by Aaravos walking the dying Viren down there to bring it back out, then neatly arranging pearl, staff, and Dad's dead body in close proximity for Claudia's homecoming? Which is pretty fucking grim.

As a counterpoint, the one thing this series sometimes plays extremely fast and loose with is the space-time continuum: like, working out travel times? Good fucking luck—it takes exactly as long to get somewhere as the plot demands, regardless of distance, terrain, or mode of transportation. So "how did the pearl get into the courtyard" could just be one of those "how did Soren and Claudia get up the Cursed Caldera without Lujanne knowing"-situations where the answer is "it's fine, don't think about it."

Sure, the staff, pearl, and Viren's body are all suspiciously accessible, but we also don't have screentime for Terry and Claudia to do an extensive search of the rubble overlaid with sad music and intercut with flashbacks. Sometimes shit just has to be convenient so we can move along... but I'll probably still always kind of wonder.

[drferox]

My MS Diagnosis

So I’m approaching the 2 year mark since my Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis and I thought I’d better document how I got here, because being the patient is a weird experience, especially for a condition that had kind of vague symptoms that needed a fair amount of work up.

My symptoms actually started in early 2020, when I was in the third trimester of pregnancy. The main symptom was mistaken for carpal tunnel syndrome - numbness in my fingers that would progress to increasingly violent pins & needles sensations, that would progress to burning if I tried to push through it. Only this sensation would extend all the way up to my shoulders at times. I stopped performing surgery, because not only was I unsatisfied with my lack of sensation to know what I was doing with my tissue handling, but the pain would get worse quickly in constrictive surgical gloves in the presence of patient warming. So I stopped performing surgery in late pregnancy and was told it would get better a few months after giving birth.

It did not.

So six months after giving birth, finding myself able to use my hands for short periods but still unable to perform surgery to my standard, I went back to complain to the doctor. I also couldn’t play video games properly, my arms would often be numb when I woke up, all the way up to my shoulder, and they were super temperature sensitive. Even hot water from washing dishes would set them off.

They sent me down a carpal tunnel work up - ultrasounds and talking to a neurologist. The short version is they did tell me I had mild carpal tunnel… on one side only.

Which did not make any damn sense considering I had symptoms on both sides all the way up to my shoulder.

The worst neurologist in the world could not explain to me why a mild problem on one wrist was affecting sensation all the way up to the opposite shoulder, and just said ‘it happens sometimes’. Now, I like to think I have a solid understanding of the basics of how a body works, and was really unsatisfied with this answer. They recommended I talk to a surgeon, since I’d already been doing a bunch of physiotherapy, but I decided not to. Surgery could have put my hand in a cast for up to 6 weeks, I had a 6 month old baby to care for at home and a partner who was useless at best, and abusive at worst. I could not afford the time in a cast.

So I went to try something else, visiting an osteopath to see what they could do about my ‘mild’ carpal tunnel, and while I’m there, these headaches I��ve been getting.

She spent a good long while stretching out different muscle groups, and found that certain neck muscle stretches changed the sensations I was getting in my fingertips. So whatever was causing the hand problem was coming from somewhere in the neck, and she recommended I get a CT scan.

Went back to my doctor to get a referral for a CT scan, and explained what was going on. He thought about it for a minute, didn’t voice his concerns, and upgraded it to a neck MRI.

That MRI found a demyelinating lesion in my neck. So went back for a full Central Nervous System scan and found a couple more borderline ones.

That sent me back to a (different) neurologist, had a proper neurological exam that found a few random patches of altered skin sensation in addition to the arm weirdness I had going on. So I was probably a MS case, but not particularly severe as MS goes.

To confirm it I needed a lumbar puncture to look for oligoclonal bands in by CSF. The lumbar puncture was a moderately unpleasant experience which then mandated that I remain lying down for 24 hours so that my spinal fluid didn’t spring a leak. With a baby and a distinctly unhelpful partner, I barely made it to that 24 hours.

And then… I sprung a CSF leak. Which is a jolly weird experience I can tell you.

When your CSF leaks from a lumbar puncture you will feel perfectly fine… when you are lying flat on your back, because your spine flops over the hole and plugs the leak. If you’re upright at all the spine flops away from the hole and it slowly leaks out, and you get more of this weird frontal headache that gets worse the longer you’re upright, standing there talking to the ER admissions nurse. And the info I had explained that it can progress to seizures and similar the worse it gets, but I only got as far as pain and fuzzy vision. I seriously could only be upright for ten minutes without pain, and had to lie down to resolve it.

That required some medicine-that-looks-like-magic to fix, called a blood patch. Doctors took some of my blood, fresh out of the vein, and inserted it into my spine approximately where the leak should be, so that the clot would cover the leaky patch. Self blood magic. It worked brilliantly, about an hour later.

The CSF tap ordeal confirmed the presence of the oligoclonal bands, and then I got stunted into the public health system, in a department specifically geared towards managing Multiple Sclerosis patients. They debated for a little while, at a multidisciplinary meeting, whether I was really MS or a Clinically Isolated Syndrome (which is like Multiple Sclerosis but without the ‘Multiple’ part), but settled on MS. Yes, Tumblr, I was nearly diagnosed with CIS.

The shoe thing took about a year from when I actively complained to doctors, or about 18 months from the first probable symptoms. That’s approximate because some things that were thought to be pregnancy symptoms could have been due to MS, like fatigue and leg weakness. I’m pretty lucky that I’m comfortable in hospitals and with medical procedures, am reasonably medically literate. I think the magic phrase that got things to happen quickly was ‘these symptoms are greatly affecting my ability to do my job’.

I don’t think my MS has progressed since starting the medication (and I’ll talk about the medication in another post). I’ve acquired one additional brain lesion since diagnosis, but I have no clue what physical symptom it’s associated with.

While some symptoms are better, I still cannot perform surgery to the standard or with the endurance that I used to,so I basically don’t any more. I can do about ten minutes, which is enough to bail a new graduate vet out of trouble, but not enough to take over completely for them. I’ve had a few years to think about it but I don’t know what the MS is going to do to my career, only that I can still practice for now.

It’s not great, but it could be a whole lot worse, and that’s how I got here.

[thedovesaredying]

Hi I'm hyperfixated over your zombie! Ghost and I've been reading it every hour since it was up, it's the idea of him only acting upon his own primal urges get me going 🤤 i don't know if your zombie! Ghost is a dead person who became zombie or just an infected living human but either way I'm so down!!

I thought about what if reader leaves the muzzle on him all the time and do the usual stuff, pull him by it when they walk about looking for food and medicine, loosen it a bit when he tries to eat whatever is in his zombies menu and of course tugging it backwards as you ride him 🩵

- 🌋

Anon! Your brain!! 

I’m glad I’m not the only one weak for our Zombie lad. I actually have a bunch more I want to write about him, so feel free to request more for him at any point uwu 

A little snippet for you below the cut <3 

Words: 780

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Teratophilia, PnV, Unprotected Sex, Muzzles.

Reminder, this is an 18+ account!

Ghost has been in quite a huff with you recently or, at least, you think he is. It’s a little difficult to tell given his difficulty stringing full sentences together after the infection ravaged his brain. He’s still cognisant and able to get his thoughts across to you (even if most of those thoughts involve being hungry or wanting to fulfil certain urges).  

However, his attention span isn’t the greatest and he’s constantly getting distracted by things in your surroundings. Wandering off like a toddler at every new sound, checking to see if there’s food or a potential threat hiding around every corner. No matter how many times you ask him to try and focus, he’ll inevitably end up finding trouble.  

The other zombies aren’t much of a problem since he can chase them off with a few well-placed swipes and growls to remind them of their place. It’s the other survivors you’re worried about. It’s a lawless land out here and anyone that’s survived this long knows to shoot first and ask questions later. This doesn’t bode well for your zombified partner. He’s an enemy and when he has his sights on a potential meal there’s little you can do to deter him from attacking.  

Hence, it’s easier to simply keep him at your side. The muzzle works wonders for when you need to gently steer him away from distractions, even if he occasionally gets a little grumpy at having to be pulled around by his face. He can’t nose his face up against you properly when it’s in place which often makes him grumble and sigh a tad overdramatically.  

You take it off when you go to sleep, after all, it wouldn't do you any good to have your guard dog unable to use his best weapons. Ghost doesn’t require sleep anymore, so he makes an excellent protector for when you’re in your most vulnerable state.  

He stays with you all throughout the night, his body pressed up against your back and his arms caging you to his chest. His lips are dry and completely missing in some parts, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to lave every inch of you with kisses. A soft rumbling sound always accompanies his affections, almost a purr.  

But the uses of a muzzle don’t stop at simply helping to direct your companion whenever he starts to drift away. It’s particularly useful for manipulating his face to exactly where you want it, be it away from something he wants or toward the places you require his attention.  

Riding him is only more intense when you’re able to grip at the thick leather straps keeping his muzzle in place. He tries to press his mouth to your throat, but you hold him back, forcing his milky white eyes to stare directly into your own as you slowly sink down on his cock. It’s beautiful, the way his eyelids flutter and a frankly sinful groan escapes him.  

“Good boy,” you coo, earning yourself a rough jerk of Ghost’s hips. He starts rocking his body up and into your warmth, his gloved hands raising to grip at your waist.  

He pulls you down and onto him over and over again in time with his rapid thrusts, snarling and growling all the while. Ghost might not be able to shift his gaze from your blissed out expression, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less in control. The pace he sets is downright brutal, bullying his entire length into your sopping cunt until it nudges at your cervix.  

Even when you gasp at the sensation and one of your hands grips at his hair he doesn’t faulter. Your noises seem only to urge him on, his panting breath heavy as he endeavours to draw out at many sounds from your lips as physically possible. His intense gaze from where you hold his face only heightens the experience, his eyes scrutinising each and every expression you offer.  

You grow close to orgasm almost embarrassingly fast, but all it takes is a raspy, possessive, “mine,” snarled at you to have your pussy clamping down around Ghost’s cock.  

With your body growing weak from coming so hard, Ghost takes full advantage of your distraction, pushing you down and onto your back without missing a single beat in his current rhythm. He keeps going all through your orgasm, the slick from your tender hole only helping to easy his way. He doesn’t let up with his desperate chanting of, “mine, mine, mine,” right up until he spills deep inside you.  

Your attempts to dominate him hadn’t exactly gone to plan. Perhaps next time you should use some handcuffs as well.  

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Levi begrudgingly admitting that he gets a much needed release from fucking but not wanting to ask so instead resorts to huffing and pawing at you until you get the picture. Once he knows you're on board throws everything at you and doesn't stop until his stresses have been well and truly extinguished. send tweet.

we all love needy!levi

also why am i so much faster at smut requests than other requests ajsld;kf

i've written both attention!starved and touch!starved levi but this version of needy!levi is a combination of both

So Needy for Me | needy and touch-starved!levi

✧ word count ➼ 678 ✧ notes ➼ 18+, minors do not interact, needy!levi, rough sex, fem!reader, levi fucking your brains out, this turned out longer than i expected i'm so sorry the words just kinda kept coming (similar to the reader i mean what)

after a stressful day or going multiple days without being able to see you or be intimate with you, levi finds himself needing a much, much needed release. all he can think about whenever he sees you is how much he needs to be against you

but of course, his pride makes him hesitant to ask, which puts him in a sticky situation, especially if you were too busy to pay close attention to the little signs he's giving you. as a result, he becomes even more aloof when he's responding to you (as counterintuitive as that might be), only responding with grunts or grumbles

speaking of signs, when he's this stubborn, levi's not particularly good at communicating them. i don't see him as the type to start brushing up against you or whispering into your ear when he needs a release. instead, i see him throwing snarky remarks at you, such as "what, are you allergic to coming to bed?" if you're taking too long or staying up too late when he's trying to drag you to bed

however, once you do pick up the signs, whether it's from you finally calling him out on his grouchiness or from you simply knowing how he is due to how long you've been together, as soon as you give them the okay, this man is on you

he needs to make sure that he gives special attention to every inch of your body. you're not even able to keep up as his tongue fights with yours for dominance, as his hands roam from pulling on your hair all the way down to planting a firm slap on your ass.

before you know it, he's pinning you down in bed, leaving more than noticeable bite marks on your neck, feeling his hard-on grow more prominent with the more whimpers that he was eliciting from you. as soon as levi hears you call out his name, asking for more, something snaps within him

this man essentially throws you as he flips you over, sticking your ass in the air, a dark and feral look in his eyes as his hands dig into your hips, feeling his cock twitch as you squirm in place, squeezing your legs together in impatience as your wetness begins to drip down your thighs

"so fucking needy for me, aren't you?" he'd say as he gently rubs his tip against you, letting out a small moan himself as he felt your slick on him.

"i'd say you're the one that's needy, lev-"

before you could finish your sentence, he'd slam your hips down onto him in retaliation, his cock entering you fully, the corners of his lips pulling up in a small smirk as he heard you cry out underneath him.

he'd press down on your back, pinning you to the bed and using his other hand to alternate between slapping your ass and playing with your clit, relishing in the fact that he's made you cum for the nth time. any pent up frustration from the past few days of stress and from the past few hours of failing to get your attention was being released all at once, with him drawing closer and closer to his own high with the more sounds that were coming out of you as he continued to drill into you.

the only sounds coming from the room were your moans and the sound of skin slapping skin. he'd continue fucking you well past the point of you being unable to comprehend anything other than the feeling of his cock repeatedly pounding into your sweet spot.

"you can take more, can't you?" he'd occasionally murmur to you. you'd shakily nod as you gripped at the sheets. your legs would be shaking and you'd feel a burn in your abs from the amount of times that you've cum, but you knew that it was long from over. with how stressed levi's been the past few days, you knew it was going to be a very, very long night for you.

god i'm such a fucking ;alkdsjf for rough, mean, dom!levi jahajasdl;kf #: @chaotic-on-main @romantichomicide95 @lovolee3 @svftackerman @levisbrat25 @leviismybby @idkks4m @moonmalice @elnyrae @sleepyfairyxo @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @anviacker @aam1na @luvjiro @noctemys @sixpennydame join my tag list!

[tallulah477]

Please, Mommy?

Kinktober Day 1: Handjob

Pairing: Lo’ak x Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Lo'ak, Mommy kink, Lo’ak is in rut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Whiny Lo’ak, Dom Reader, Sub Lo’ak, Bondage/Restraints, Orgasm delay, Knot squeezing, Tongue licking (is that a warning? Idk, it's here just in case), Hand gag (covering someone’s mouth to keep them from talking)

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This is my first work I've ever posted so I'm super nervous, but super excited! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Ruts can make even the most controlled of Alphas unstable. They can be possessive and dominant and territorial. But not Lo’ak. Lo’ak will go down, but only for you. Only for his Mommy.

Lo’ak’s pathetic whine makes you want to give up on this whole idea and just toss him on the ground and fuck him through the floor. 

But you’ve done that already. A lot. 

It’s been almost a full 24 hours since he’s been hit by his rut, turning him into a sad little horny mess who’s putting off pheromones that smell so good, it makes you want to eat him alive. Your pussy throbs at his smell, at the sight of him sweating and panting and begging ‘Please, Mommy! Please, please, please,” - and you want nothing more than to push him down, straddle his hips, and slide his beautiful, thick, perfect cock back inside you where it belongs. You want to ride him until he’s screaming, yanking against his restraints, desperate to get free and touch you.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Focus. This is about Lo’ak, not you.

Besides, you’ve fucked him so many times already since his rut began that your cunt is already sore. Poor girl’s been beaten and pounded so much by your gorgeous mate that she deserves a little break. Plus, you want to savor this.

It’s rare to have two Alphas become a mated pair. They’re territorial, possessive of their things and the people they’ve decided are theirs. They’re dominant and demanding, always needing to be in charge - to be the leader, particularly when it comes to their romantic relationships. Too much of the same energy can clash, causing fights and all out brawls which is not ideal for a mated pair.

It’s not impossible, obviously. You and Lo’ak are a perfect example of that. Two Alphas: both headstrong and stubborn in what you believe to be right, ready to lay down your lives for your loved ones and for each other. And you both just work. You’re territorial of the things you share, possessive of each other in a way that lights both your souls on fire thinking “this person’s mine. Only mine”. Somehow, in most matters, your shared headstrong and demanding attitudes don’t frustrate each other too much. Your communication is swift and direct, firm yet kind, and you find that you agree on most matters anyway, which helps avoid any potential heated arguments.

You let him lead when he feels like he needs to, and you stand beside him, fierce and proud to defend him at all times.

And when it comes to sex: the compatibility is something you never thought possible. You play with each other so well. Submitting to each other when the other wants to dominate, switching your roles so seamlessly in the moment that you almost forget your instincts are supposed to be led by your second gender. You and Lo’ak just fit with one another, two puzzle pieces coming together to make each other whole.

And during his rut, when he should be at his most controlling and unstable, he goes down for you instead. Hard.

“F-fuuuuuck,” He groans, deep and guttural as he tosses his head back against your shoulder.

You smirk, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple. “What’s up, baby? Something wrong?”

You have him pinned to you, his back against your front with your arm wrapped tightly across his chest to keep him against you. His arms are tied securely behind his back, unable to move or get free. Unable to touch you like he really wants to, but he loves it all the same. Loves you being in control right now, loves that you love him like this. This other part about him that anyone else might find strange or disgusting if they knew about it, like some people do with his more human features or ‘demon blood’ - but you love it, love it so much - love him so much, love pleasuring him . . . tormenting him.

And wow, is he beautiful when he suffers.

His cock is hard and warm in your palm, an excessive amount of precum and your own spit coating both his length and your hand as you work him slowly. “I asked you a question, Lo’ak,”

He whimpers when you squeeze the tip, head tipping forward to watch as you force more precum to flow out of the swollen and reddened head. You scoop it up, finger circling the tip teasingly before dragging your hand back down to wrap tightly around the base.

“Faster,” Lo’ak moans, head leaning back again against your shoulder as he pants against your neck. “Wanna cum,”

You click your tongue in disappointment. It’s too soon for him to cum. If he cums now, he’ll be ready to go again in a matter of minutes - and the goal right now is to give him some reprieve, allow him to sleep or relax for a while before the next wave hits him. 

And besides, he knows the rules. “Hm, doesn’t really sound like you do. Where’s your manners?”

Lo’ak whines when he feels you loosen your grip around his cock, hips rocking desperately to try to get back the friction. He leans in to press a sweet kiss against your jaw. “Sorry. Sorry, Mommy. Please? Please can I cum?”

The hand wrapped around his chest reaches up to grip at his braids, and you pull his head back slightly to press a passionate kiss against his lips. Your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, biting down and pulling enough to make him groan in pleasure before soothing it with your tongue.

“Good boy,” You mutter against his mouth, and Lo’ak preens at the praise, a pleased noise escaping from the back of his throat. Your hand tightens again around his cock, and you stroke him faster than before, but only slightly, working him up towards another orgasm even as you say, “But no. Not yet, baby. Mommy’s not done with you yet,”

“P-please,” He begs, lips brushing against yours. His eyes are heavily hooded, dazed and hazy from the intensity of his rut. “Please, Mommy. Need to c-cum. Need to--”

He cuts himself off at the brush of your tongue against the seam of his lips, breath shaking as his own tongue lolling out of his mouth, pleading. 

“What, baby?” You ask, teasingly. “You want to taste Mommy? Taste my tongue on yours, huh?”

Lo’ak nods frantically, dilated pupils swallowing up his eyes underneath his hooded eyelids as he stares at your mouth. Your hand strokes his cock faster, wet noises echoing through your shared hut as your fingers slide over his heated skin. You can feel his knot beginning to swell each time your fist slides over the base of his cock, and you know he’s close. But he’s such a good boy for you, and his head stays where you want it: turned towards you and tongue staying out, waiting for you to grace him with your own. 

So you do. You press a gentle kiss to the flat, wet surface before sliding your own against it, letting the taste of his spit, sweet like the yovo fruit he managed to eat before his current wave of rut hit him, explode on your tastebuds.

“You taste so good, Lo,” You tell him, licking across the appendage again greedily. You squeeze his knot roughly and you can practically feel the vibrations of his vocal cords from his cry through his tongue. “Like a delicious little treat all for me,”

“P-please!” He wails. Your hand leaves his knot to cup at his swollen balls and he jumps, thighs shaking from where they’re hooked underneath yours. “I’ve been good. Your good boy, Mommy. I need it. Need to cum. Need it so bad. Fuck, fuck! Please can I please, please, please, please,”

Your hand clamps tightly over his rambling mouth, silencing his pleas to mere moans and grunts. Your lips trace along the point of his ear, softly kissing the sensitive skin and laughing when his eyes squeeze shut and his ears twitch and press tightly against his head. 

“Look how swollen you are down here,” You whisper against his folded ear, gently rolling his balls in your hand and rubbing against the tight skin with your thumb. “So big and heavy. Just filled up so much, huh? Ready to burst any second now. And all for me, right?”

He groans against your palm and tries to arch his back against you, tries to get you to move your hand back to his cock. But instead, you go lower. 

Your fingers trail down to the strip of thin skin between his balls and hole, and rub against it firmly. You know the sensation drives Lo’ak insane, and he whimpers desperately against your hand, feet digging into the ground as he tries to close his shaking legs around your hand. But your legs that are hooked around his have his own trapped, and you delight in spreading your thighs more just to drag his own wider with them. 

“Nuh uh,” You giggle, fangs pressing into his skin as you smile against his cheek. “Good boys don’t run from Mommy’s touch.” Your wet fingers press harder into the skin and you’re just barely able to keep your hand over his mouth when he tosses his head back and forth in ecstasy. “ I know it’s overwhelming, baby. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

He shakes and cries against your hand, amber eyes wide and clouded with overwhelming pleasure, staring at the ceiling even though you’re sure he’s not actually seeing it, as you continue to torture the sensitive nerves along the strip of skin. 

His cock is dripping like crazy, a steady stream dribbling onto his belly and leaving a small puddle. You have to bite your lip when you stare at it, torn between wanting to push him on his back and greedily licking it all up, and leaving it there to enhance the beautiful vision of your mate all tied up and helpless with his cock drooling with want. 

In the end, there’s really no option. So you leave it there, letting the puddle grow and grow as your fingers rub against his sensitive spots.  

When his moans and whimpers are a constant force against your restraining hand, you pull your fingers away from his fun little strip and scoop up his precum from his belly. 

“Alright, Lo. I think you’ve had enough for now,” You say, removing your hand from his mouth and placing your other one directly under his chin. “Let’s finish this. Spit,”

He’s panting, chest heaving from the desperate need to cum and he’s mumbling so incoherently you can’t understand a word he’s saying. He’s long gone, so far away from his own body that he can’t even focus. You can tell by the dazed, faraway look in his eyes, and you nudge your face against his to call him back. 

“I said spit, Lo’ak,” You demand and watch as he shakes his head slightly, as if trying to clear it. 

His mouth has to work for a bit before he’s actually able to spit in your palm. With a satisfied grin, you place one hand on his cheek to guide his face towards yours for a lazy kiss, while the other moves down to wrap around his cock, smearing the combination of precum and spit onto the purple head and down the throbbing shaft. It twitches in your fist as you stroke him roughly, hand sliding down over his swollen knot with each pass. 

“You can cum whenever you're ready, baby,” You tell him, and almost instantly he’s gasping against your mouth, cock pulsing in your hand as the first spurts of his release shoot against his stomach and down the outside of your fist. 

You swallow his cries eagerly, fist pumping his length, working him through his orgasm, before you're closing your hand around his thick knot and squeezing it relentlessly. 

He howls, hips bucking frantically into your hand, and his head falls back as he screams in pleasure. You take the opportunity to latch your teeth onto his neck, scraping them against his pounding pulse point and marking him as yours - the dark mark finding a home next to the others that you’ve littered all over his throat since his rut started. 

When he’s given you all he can, he slumps down against you, head resting in the crook of your neck as he tries to calm his breathing. You let go of his knot and slide the flat of your palm lightly up his still twitching cock, loving how he jumps in your hold and moans desperately against your shoulder. 

“Look at you,” You praise, pressing gentle kisses along his hairline. “So pretty for Mommy when you’re all fucked out like this. You did so well for me, yawne,”

You pull your hand from his now softening length and tug his lax upper body up just enough to be able to undo the restraints on his arms. There’s bright red marks and indents along his skin when the rope falls away, and you lightly massage the skin, helping to bring back some feeling into the limbs.

He falls back against you as soon as you let him, and you both lay on the floor of your hut, cuddling up to one another and intent on enjoying the moment of respite between waves, however short it may be. His eyes close and almost immediately his breathing evens out, fast asleep.

“No, wake up,” You say, nudging his shoulder. “You have to eat something first.” Silence. “Lo’ak,”

But he’s dead to the world. You sigh and place your head on his chest, making a mental note to make sure he eats something the moment he wakes up.

Even if that means he has to choke down his food while you choke on him.

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

[anthurak]

How do you see Lilith being portrayed as a character in the future? Particularly when it comes to her relationship with Lucifer and Charlie as well as whatever deal she had with Adam and her potential connection to Alastor? I for the most part view her as a morally grey sort, having genuine love for her family and wanting what’s best for them but also willing to do some messed up shit do what she feels is best for them and herself.

Oooh, yeah this is a good one. Mostly because it lets me talk about a few theories I’ve never gotten around to discussing :)

I think Lilith is basically going to end up being Charlie’s big ‘Ideological Antagonist’ and ‘Shadow Archetype/Foil’ for the story. Note that I specify ‘antagonist’ and not full on ‘villain’ because I think Lilith is NOT going to be a character Charlie needs to ‘defeat’, but rather prove wrong.

The key thing about Lilith is that I think she ultimately wants the same thing Charlie does deep down: To protect Hell and its people and stop heaven’s extermination/oppression of Hell. I think we’re going to find out that just as Charlie has HER plans and ideas to help her people and stop the extermination, Lilith has her own ongoing plans. Indeed, I think this is EXACTLY what led to Lilith disappearing seven years ago and is tied up to what exactly she’s doing in Heaven now.

However, whatever plans Lilith has will not only directly conflict with Charlie’s, but also represent a dark, much more ruthless foil to Charlie.

For example, whereas Charlie might be working to establish some kind of peace with Heaven via working with sympathetic angels like Emily and Serpentious, Lilith is at the same time scheming to undermine and ultimately DESTROY Heaven from the inside. Which in turn is what brings the two into conflict.

And of course, it’s also made clear from the outset that Lilith is doing all of this out if love. Love for her people, love for Lucifer and most of all her love for Charlie. But at the same time, Lilith is unable to forgive Heaven for what they did to her, Lucifer and her people in Hell.

Ultimately, I think Lilith is going to represent the darker, more ruthless foil of Charlie. Driven by the same good-hearted motivations, but twisted by guilt and trauma that she’s never been able to let go of. Which incidentally would make her a very nice foil to Vaggie as well, continuing the trend of both Charlie and Vaggie having parallels and foils to both Lilith and Lucifer.

Speaking of which, I imagine Lilith and Lucifer, as well as their estrangement, will likewise be acting as a foil to Charlie and Vaggie. Showing us that Lilith and Lucifer went through similar relationship problems that Charlie and Vaggie had/will-have. And not only showing Charlie and Vaggie pointedly NOT repeating the mistakes of their predecessors, but also helping Charlie’s parents get back together.

Basically, as I’ve said in other posts, I think Hazbin Hotel is setting up a major theme of ‘children/next-generation not repeating the mistakes of their parents/predecessors’ with Charlie/Vaggie to Lucifer/Lilith, and potentially the rest of the ‘Eden Quartet’ with Emily and Lute as parallels/foils to Eve and Adam.

As far as how Alastor factors into all this, at this point I’ll admit that I’m now thinking the one holding his leash isn’t Lilith, but rather Roo/Eve. That being said, Alastor having disappeared at around the same time Lilith did is obviously NOT a coincidence, though I’m thinking it hints less to any connection between Lilith and Alastor, and more to some kind of connection/collusion between Lilith and Roo/Eve.

[ghostdice]

CHREON WEEK 2024 - Day 3: Rescue/Whump (+ Day 6: "I thought I was going to lose you." "You almost did.")

SYNOPSIS: Incapacitated after a mission gone wrong, Leon laid in a hospital bed- Chris, all the while, by his side.

➷ angsty but heartfelt, hurt w/ a special side of comfort, & a special guest star. era not specified, but i did envision it around post-ven, pre-re7 :] ➷ 1.4k words!

A/N: sorry that this is late! i know chreon week is over, but i still had ideas. this was actually meant to be shorter, and then longer, and then shorter again, so i hope the pacing isn't too jarring for anyone! thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoy <3

now on ao3!

⁀➷｡⋆ ༄

The doctors said he’d been too close to the blast radius. Seared right through the skin of his abdomen. Metal scraps and shards of glass littered his body, having filleted the flesh, embedded in various levels of skin and fat and muscle. Not to mention how a few particularly impacted sections of bones had simply burst, unable to bear the weight of all the pressure, sending calcium shrapnel tearing through his insides.

Code blue. Critical condition.

Chris didn’t need to be told any of that. He’d been the one to find him, carry him half a fucking mile to evac. “Stay with me, Leon. You’re gonna be alright,” he’d said through grit teeth, trying to convince himself more than his unconscious counterpart. The longer he’d walked, the colder the tacky stream of blood had become against Chris’ warmth, leeching him of any semblance of calm he’d managed to steady himself with until his words had become a mantra of, “Don’t leave me.”

Days turned into weeks as the time continued to pass, blurring into an ugly without. There was the time with Leon in his life and now- this limbo of here and, yet, not.

(Chris vaguely recalled something Rebecca had once explained to him, just before he’d been deployed at Kijuju: Schrödinger’s cat, both dead and alive.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s about perspective,” she’d said, closing her laptop. “You can’t observe the cat or whatever happens to it while it’s in the box. Whether it lives or dies depends on a subatomic quantum event that might trigger the poison, which you also-”

“Can’t observe. So you don’t know whether it’s dead or alive.”

“Basically. It’s all about quantum superposition.” Rebecca took off her glasses, placing them to the side as she watched Chris’ arms fold over his chest, eyebrows furrowed. His plight was clear as day; she smiled at that.

“The cat might be alive, Chris.” She placed a comforting hand on his bicep. She gave him a knowing look. That’s all that matters to you.)

A vegetative coma, the doctors had explained. From all the violent bodily trauma, the carbon monoxide in his blood. There was a chance of waking, they’d reassured, but really it was a waiting game.

Chris wasn’t a praying man. For Leon, though, he could be.

“He’s lucky, to have someone like you,” the nurse had commented as they updated Leon’s IV sheet. They paused, turning to face him properly, and for a moment he assumed they were going to correct themself. Say they meant that he was a good friend, wave off the impossible implication with a nervous laugh. But their expression was something soft, circles under their glassy eyes like bruises. Sincerity that they couldn’t quite say aloud. A quiet knowing.

They hadn’t given it a label, but they had given each other a spare key. A drawer full of their own clothes in the other’s bedroom. Shared the bed, since the couch was too cruel to send the other off to. Occasionally helped one another “relieve stress” as Leon would joke, despite the crushing gravity of his touch against Chris’. Helped with bathing, when the task was too daunting, too much of a strain on their aching joints.

Was the other’s emergency contact. Apparently. Chris hadn’t known until Leon had been rushed in, sent straight to an operating room; the hospital had confirmed it with him. It had never been this severe- never so bad that Leon felt he needed someone to check up on him. (It had been that way for a long time. Longer than Chris could guess.)

Leon’s condition seemed to be improving, though. The doctor’s consciousness evaluations indicated progress in waking- he was beginning to respond to stimuli. So when Chris received a call, officially a month and four days since his initial check-in, he’d had higher hopes for the news he’d receive. The doctor’s words sent him reeling, hands trembling as he reached for his car keys.

Leon had momentarily flat-lined.

He was stable again, but the possibility loomed overhead. Chris officially called out for an indeterminate amount of time. A family emergency, he’d insisted- and if anyone at the BSAA questioned it, they didn’t say anything.

“I’m worried about you.”

Chris idly traced a finger over the creases of the blanket, just around the outline of Leon’s body. As the fabric rustled against him, Leon’s fingers twitched at the sensation. He adjusted his phone with the other hand.

“I’m fine.”

“You can’t bullshit me, Chris.” Claire’s voice was firm, but not punishing. “I just-” There was chatter in the background. Someone called her name. Her quick phone break was up. (The world didn’t let up for them. For anyone. All it knows is the axis it spins on.) She sighed; Chris could imagine the way she smoothed her hand over her forehead.

“I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

“I know,” Chris responded. He trailed his hand upward, sliding palm up underneath Leon’s. A beat. Leon’s fingers curled around his, not quite intertwining but connecting nonetheless. An inarticulate noise. (Chris wishfully imagined that Leon had been trying to call his name.)

“I’m not alone.”

Two months since hospitalization, and Leon had cleared into almost definite consciousness. Sure, it wasn’t usually for long, and he was never truly lucid, but progress was progress. His wounds, too, were healing well. Chris felt like he could almost let go of that breath he’d been holding in.

The door to Leon’s room opened, and to Chris’ surprise it wasn’t medical staff- rather, a blonde woman with a mousy, sweet face. She strode across the room, over to where Chris had been sitting, half-asleep.

“Chris?”

He stood up, rubbing at the back of his neck- she seemed familiar, somehow. He extended a hand politely. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

She chuckled, tilting her head to the side as she glanced at Leon before her gaze swept up to greet Chris’. Her eyes sparkled, a subdued green with hazel flecks.

“No, we haven’t. But he talks about you enough.” She clasped her hand with his. “Ashley. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Ashley.” That rang a bell. Leon had mentioned her in passing; last he’d heard they were trying to get together whenever their schedules might permit it. He shook her hand, smiling. “Glad I can finally put a face to a name.”

“Really? We take a picture like. Every time we see each other.” Ashley frowned, feigning offense, swiftly unlocking her phone. “He seriously didn’t show you any?” Just as she had swiped to the album titled ‘Kennegramz’ Leon groaned, hands flexing at his side before he attempted to reach up and wipe at his eyes.

Ashley shot Chris a look. Does he do that often?

But he was too busy watching as Leon’s blue eyes seemed to focus on him, the ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“What happened to what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”

“Leon,” Chris tentatively called out, palm cascading over the sheets, resting gently on an unscathed portion of his thigh. He was weary- from the constant back-and-forth, the fleeting tide of consciousness. For all he knew, this was just another moment of clarity before Leon was swept under the waves again.

But he couldn’t deny the way Leon peered up at him, baby blues twinkling with something unspoken.

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Not gettin’ rid of me that easy, Chris.” Leon’s voice crackled slightly, strained with disuse. His hand traveled to meet Chris’, trembling with effort as he interlaced their fingers. He gave the lightest squeeze. I know. You almost did.

“Who said anything about getting rid of you?” Relief crashed over him. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Leon’s temple. He dropped his voice lower, just for Leon to hear. “I missed you.” I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

“Mm,” Leon hummed back. Hey- you beat me to it. I love you too.

As Chris pulled away, Leon glanced back at Ashley, who had been looking on quietly. He chuckled to himself. “What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A pause.

“…Too soon?”

[cethlyarlo]

Shin's Belt

I really rather like that the symbol on Shin's belt is that of the alchemical symbol for chaos. Let me tell you why:

Chaos represents the concept of everything doing everything all at once; existing together, in tangent, or not at all. It represents all paths and what lies beyond what was made to believe is set in stone. The definition of chaos is not particularly the opposite of order in this circumstance, but it can be used that way.

More clearly, chaos provides an opening for new beginnings; to disrupt what is stagnant or what doesn't feel right to present alternative pathways. Chaos is needed to undo pressures, expectations, norms, etc. so that an individual can learn to be themselves; to grow and change as needed.

It's very much not the evil or negative symbol pop culture and Hollywood would have you believe. I've even seen it used to refer to Satanists, which is very much not true. Dark practitioners can and do use this symbol, but this symbol does not represent them. They don't own it nor can they control it/assume authority over it. It's not exclusive to one group either: anyone can utilize it however they see fit and like with most things, that could go in any direction. We will be focusing on the balance between the negative and positive aspects of chaos here in this write up.

That being said, on to why this symbol is important for Shin's character arc:

Firstly, Shin is devout and loyal to Baylan; her Master and depending on how you look at it, potential father figure. He's everything she's ever known and his own views, teachings, and opinions have been pressed on her since she was young. There's nothing particularly wrong with that, seeing as that's usually how parenting/teaching goes, but it isn't allowing her to see beyond that. The box is small and she finds herself unable to think outside of it due to her loyalty to him.

When Baylan begins to refuse to tell her crucial details about his plans and goals, she begins to question him and her idea of him. This is the beginning of chaos' disruption over her life and as the show progresses, this disruption continues to grow. It's a butterfly effect, if you will; the seeds of disarray have been planted and they have the potential to grow into something exponential.

She comes into contact with Sabine Wren, who has lived a very different form of life compared to her own and I believe the simple interactions between them helps to spur the questions she suddenly has about her life in general. There are things and people that can and do live outside of the box in her mind and while she's probably aware of this, she hadn't truly understood what that meant until this point. With her master's increased elusiveness and the lack of answers, plus the eye-opening revelations that witnessing bits and pieces of Sabine and Ahsoka's relationship (I.e Seatos), the seeds of distrust and further questions begin to take root and sprout. Her mind is opening to other things; the walls of the box are beginning to crumble.

By the time they're on Peridea, Baylan's motives are entirely unclear and somewhat unpredictable to her. She's confused by him and what he wants. Chaos is taking greater hold of her now; her life is changing so quickly and in directions she can't forsee like the arrows of the symbol that gesture to all directions simultaneously. The seeds begin to uncontrollably grow into trees regardless of her attempts to reconnect with him.

Then he abandons her.

Without a word on where he went, Shin's found herself alone. The walls of her box have been destroyed, the wound made worse by Ahsoka's offer to help. Chaos has upended her normalcy, her comforts, her mental and emotional stabilizers, her trust, her view of self; her life. What began as seeds have rapidly grown into a sprawling forest and now she has to deal with the wreckage.

The change is for good though. With Sabine and Ahsoka stranded with her, she has the opportunity to step into her own person. She now has the opportunity to find herself; to make her own decisions, to spend some time with other people like her. She has the ability to learn and grow free of her box and the restrictions that had been pressed on her since joining Baylan, however long ago that happened to be.

Shin gets to be her own person now, and she can do whatever she wants with that :)

Edit: I realized I forgot to mention the little dots within the wheel!

Symmetrical to the Norse story of Hati and Skoll [who were sons of Fenrir (and Fenrir is the son of trickster God Loki and Jötunn giantess Angrboða)], the wheel of chaos on Shin's belt sports two little dots which I believe represent the sun and moon [and thus the wolves that chase them; Skoll (the one who mocks) and Hati (the one who hates) respectively]. As it goes, the celestial bodies rise in the East (right quadrant on the belt) and set in the West (left quadrant on the belt). The little dots are doing just that. The dot on right I believe represents the moon, or Shin, and that the dot on the left represents Baylan. The moon is rising and the sun is setting, showing that Baylan's time in her life is ending and her own time is just beginning.

Either way, it's a very hopeful symbol in my opinion :)

[prince-koda]

Under the Weather

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1105

CW: They/Them/Theirs used for reader, reader is on unspecified medication(s) for depressive traits, no physical descriptions of reader, avengers compound or bust.

AN: I have returned to bring another insanely self-indulgent post. I have been moving, still unemployed, and recently dealing with the physical effects of not taking care of myself while on medications which is no good. I'm also posted a little tip sheet with some of the things I try to do to help myself stay afloat when I'm feeling particularly down and unable to do anything.

Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Some days it feels impossible to get out of bed. With what felt like the weight of the world on their shoulders made their back ache and their stomach churn. The feeling of being a burden filled them with dread, terrified of losing everyone for being ‘too difficult’, ‘too distant’, ‘too hot and cold’.

Another night of restless sleep, hips hurting from all the tossing and turning. Left side, stomach, back, left side, right side; it never stopped. It wouldn’t be long before the familiar ache behind their eyes came back and made it hard to do anything without causing their head to pound. Too tired and nauseous to eat consistently only fed into the sad cycle.

The hole was getting deeper and harder to climb out of and it was frightening. Being tired and having a headache only works so well and for so long before it rings empty as a lazy attempt to avoid work and socializing.

They sat on their bed, attempting to push through the fog in their brain by rubbing their eyes and face. They needed to get up and at least go to the kitchen and get water so someone in the compound could see they were still alive, but even a short interaction made the task feel like a full blown mission.

2 knocks and a “hey” from the other side of the door was all it took to clear the fog. One deep breath and then they finally stood, pushing all they could into the back of their mind. The pit in their stomach was impossible to push away.

Once the door was opened, Bucky’s pretty eyes and low bun peaked in.

“How ya feeling? Any better?”  A small smile rested on his face as his eyes tried to subtly scope out the room, looking for any red flags. He had to make sure his paranoia was just that: paranoia.

“I didn’t sleep very well, but I feel a little better.” A partially truthful answer quietly slipped from their lips.

Bucky quietly hummed in response, pausing for a moment as he struggled to find his words. What neither party expected was for the door to open wider, ushering Bucky inside. Both hearts fluttered at the reality of finally seeing one another face to face. It was time for them to take baby steps.

“Sam was telling me about this movie, I don’t remember the name, but he texted it to me and I was thinking we could watch it together. I can get snacks and everything.” He offered as he stepped into the room, allowing him to continue his search for any clues; anything that could help him understand what to do.

Like he normally did, he took a seat at the desk in the corner, spinning the chair to face the entire room. It wasn’t his space; even after being invited plenty of times, he feared coming off as too comfortable. 

“I’m not sure I’m feeling good enough for a group thing.” Was the quiet response, hoping that would suffice. After closing the door, they shuffled slightly to sit at the end of the messy bed. 

“Oh.” He had noticed the room was the same. It looked the exact same way it did last time he was over. Nothing in the room seemed to have been used since then other than the bed. He figured they’d done nothing, but lay in bed. He clear his throat quietly. “I meant just you and me, but there’s no pressure. Sam had said it was something you’d probably like.” Another partially true statement. He slyly omitted the part that he had been the one to reach out to Sam about what was playing in theaters.

“It’s just-” A sigh followed by a short pause. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Finally, no more half truths.

“It feels like I just can’t… feel, I guess.”  They played with their hands in their lap, eyes downcast. “My meds are supposed to help, but there must be something wrong with me.” It wasn’t a secret they had their ups and downs, but Bucky had never experienced a down like this. Unreturned messages and calls happened sometimes, seemingly being asleep anytime someone came to their door and the secret, quiet sobs after they thought whoever was at the door left; those were new.

“How can I help?” After hesitating, he pushed the chair closer to the end of the bed, slightly shortening the distance between the two. Earnestly, all he wanted was to help. He’d set the world on fire to help.

They felt their throat tighten. It felt as though the second they opened their mouth, they’d sob. Instead, they chose to shrug.

“Do you want me to leave? I can head out and maybe drop off some food if you want.” He didn’t want to leave for even a second.

Shakily, but quickly they said “No.”  They tightened their grip on their hands, wringing them now. “I-” their voice cracked, “You make me feel better.”

Now Bucky was sure he was going to cry. Before he could find his word, they had finally stopped strangling their hands, quickly pressing the heels of their palms into their eyes for a moment, before finally looking at Bucky.

“I’m probably just tired from not sleeping very well.” They tried giving a chuckle, downplaying the days and days of not having the energy to do anything besides get up to use the restroom or grab some water from the bathroom tap.

“You take care of me when I don’t feel good, the least I can do is return the favor. We can call your doctor and-?” Bucky pushed forward in his chair again, his knees almost bumping into theirs.

“You don’t owe me anything Buck.” They scoffed, eyes falling again from his conviction.

“That’s not what I meant. I’d help you even if you punched me in the gut every day.” He knocked his knee against theirs. “Maybe I can con Sam to bring us some food and we can make fun of some low budget films.” Dipping his head for any eye contact.

When they peeked up, they gave a little nod. “I’d appreciate that.” Bumping Bucky back with their knee.

“Maybe some sandwiches? Plain enough to upset your stomach?” Bucky wasn’t unfamiliar with trying to eat after an extended period without food.

A soft smile, the first real one in what he felt like was centuries, graced their face.

“I really appreciate you, Bucky. Don’t tell Sammy, but you’re my favorite.”

“Like he doesn’t already know that.” Bucky smiles back.

Baby steps.

[geminialchemist]

More Shadow of the Erdtree discussion, because I seriously cannot shut up about it.

God damn, my posts must make it seem like I loathe this dlc, when it’s one of the best I’ve played in my life. Screw this just being a good DLC, this was an amazing Fromsoft GAME with the title of DLC attached to it.

With that said… I still have complaints to air, because I’m a whiner baby, and I find it easier to construct my thoughts around my criticism of things rather than my praise for them.

I’ve seen the idea floating around that some people think that some other people don’t care for the ending because they don’t like that Fromsoft made Miquella a villain. I’d like to utterly dash that idea. I don’t dislike that they made him a villain, I dislike that they made him a bad villain.

What’s Miquella’s motivation? We know his end goal. Become a god, make the world a compassionate place via brainwashing. We know how he put his plans into motion, convoluted and brow raising as the writing choices for that was. But what is his reason for doing it?

Messmer’s motivations, we know. He is, at least outwardly, a brutal tyrant. He leads a genocidal crusade against the Hornsent and any Tarnished he crosses paths with. We also know his motivation. To take the blame off of his mother for these actions. He doesn’t particularly like being so brutal, but has become the figurehead for the worst actions of his country, and has faced a willing exile with his loyal followers to shift the blame way from his mother, who he loves and cherishes, even after she has abandoned him to his fate. His villainy is his complacency in his mother’s conquests. This actually makes him a sympathetic antagonist, which is why everyone paints him as a soft boy in need of hugs. I’m simplifying this a lot, because outside of no plot for Melina, I have no major issues with Messmer’s side of the story in this DLC, it’s good stuff, great writing.

What’s Miq’s motivation? What made him wake up one day and decide he was going to be a god, and use mind control to pacify the entire world? I realized as I was theory crafting that I… don’t really know? I certainly have headcanon and ideas, I just can’t remember it ever being stated in canon. Just that he wants to do it. Did I miss something? I can’t have missed something, could I?

Was he evil all along? Is he doing this to control everyone just for laughs? Is he a broken person, who witnessed the horrors of war during the Shattering, unable and unwilling to fight due to his body and pacifism, showing up after battles to tend to the wounded but knowing that for every living person he found, a hundred more were corpses, and that for every one he did manage to save he was forced to leave a dozen others to die in agony and so decided to end the cycle of violence by any means necessary?

Did he simply want power and a complacent population? Did he want to fix all of his mommy’s mistakes(no, couldn’t be that one, fans would have woobified him to the same level as Messmer)? Or was it overpowering grief that drove him to tear his too-soft heart out and cast it aside? We don’t even know! Or at least I don’t. I’ve scoured the wiki’s for NPC dialogue, and item descriptions, but unfortunately those are still incomplete, and are missing huge chunks. I’m in the middle of my second run of the dlc, too, but haven’t come across anything yet.

Can anyone tell me what I’m missing, if I did miss something? Or is this just another example of the second half of Miquella’s questline being terribly written? If I did miss something, let me know, and make sure to shame me and call me an idiot, it’s the only way I’ll ever learn!

EDIT: Thanks so much for giving me some answers! I’ll go look more into Ymir’s dialogue, I’m curious to if reversing Marika’s Sin is his motivation, or just another endgame goal to add to the pile to ensure “World Peace(tm).” For instance, Hornsent still doesn’t trust or accept anyone in the group for what Marika did, even under Miq’s charm, so fixing that could make his charm sink in easier for the Hornsent population? I’ll go check it out in my NG+ run, I actually haven’t spoken to Ymir yet in that run.

[greatwesternway]

Traintober Day 12: Something Borrowed - Toad

This was originally supposed to be, like, three different essays ("Brakevan Decorum", "Top 3 Smartest Guys on the NWR - #2 Will Surprise You!", and "The Great Western Mafia") but @littlewestern and I decided Day 12: Something Borrowed was a great day to talk about Toad.

Why "Something Borrowed"? Because on the NWR, Toad so often is.

While we most often see Toad working with Oliver, upon his arrival in Sodor, he declared that he'd like to be Douglas' brakevan. Sir Topham Hatt does seem to approve of this and I think that suggests something about how he'd like his railway to run. However, in practice, the NWR seems not to have enough brakevans that Douglas could have one all to himself.

I think that Toad assuming he could just be one engine's brakevan is because that was a more common arrangement on the GWR and perhaps to an extent on British Rail. We do see an example of a mainland engine having a dedicated brakevan in Samson and Bradford. If they have the stock, it's probably a very good idea to pair engines with brakevans for the same reasons one might assign an dedicated crew to an engine. Having established rapport between an engine and his brakevan can only make them work together better. Particularly when it comes to engines who need more guidance and insight into their work like Samson, pairing them with a brakevan who has a compatible personality can really make things run more smoothly.

Unfortunately - no matter how much Hatt may admire the Great Western Way of doing things - the NWR does not have enough stock to allocate Toad to Douglas only. Still, Toad can be Douglas' brakevan in spirit... and given that Douglas has been known to smash less mannerly brakevans to bits, I doubt Toad has much trouble finding himself available when Douglas needs him.

Toad's manners are also, I think, a relic of Great Western sensibility. It's really quite fascinating though because if Toad's decorum is typical of GW brakevans, it would seem to indicate a delicate balance in priorities that other railways seemed unable to hit.

That is to say, Toad always refers to his engines with an honorific (always Mr. Oliver or Mr. James or the rare Miss Marion) and is mostly soft-spoken and deferential to their leadership when back-ending their trains. He treats them in a way akin to a butler, as though his presence is a service he's providing them. That Duck and Oliver are both seen to be somewhat dismissive of him would point to their being an observed hierarchy of command on the GWR that places brakevans beneath engines.

However, Toad has also quite often put his brakes down when his engines are trying to do some foolhardy shit. He resisted both Gator and James' attempts to flout regulation citing safety, which is the precise point of a brakevan. I think this too is part of brakevan decorum on the GWR, although I also think it rarely had to be employed there. GW engines are generally quite safety conscious on their own, but part of good safety procedure is redundancy. Having your brakevans prepared to intercede in the unlikely event your engines want to trade safety for expediency is good preventative measures.

This is a hard line to toe though and the NWR up to that point hadn't done a very good job if the Spiteful Brakevan is any indication. A brakevan who uses the limited autonomy he's granted and the necessity of his presence to leverage in his interpersonal problems can become such a detriment to his engine.

And while Bradford is a perfect brakevan to pair with an engine like Samson who can't be fully trusted to work independently, his strict adherence to regulation at the expense of common sense makes him a nuisance for engines who are more capable.

So it stands to reason that when Douglas rolled in with a GW engine, a GW autocoach, and a GW brakevan, Hatt might have wishfully thought some of that GW decorum was going to rub off and was all too happy to entertain even purely ceremonial gestures towards the Great Western Way of assigning brakevans.

You know what that also tells us though?

If Toad asked to be Douglas' brakevan, it almost certainly means that he was not Oliver's, particularly since it is stated that Isabel is Oliver's coach. That little notion paints a much more interesting picture of the escape from the scrapyard. Rather than it always being the plan to bring him, Toad may instead have been a late addition to the consist. And if that's true, another suspenseful possibility emerges: that Oliver and Isabel might have had enough coal to make it all the way to Sodor had they not brought him along.

But they wouldn't really have had a choice about it: they are all Great Western and must stand together.

Luckily, thanks to Douglas, they do all make it to Sodor and Toad is able to return the favor quite a bit over.

Toad's shown on several occasions to be a clever little sumbitch. He understands resource allocation (giving Gator one of his lights in "Toad's Bright Idea"), he can solve problems by looking at the bigger picture (using the crane on the other side of the island to get the whale back in the water in "Toad and the Whale", he's even got a touch of the silver tongue (lying by omission about James' speeding and directing the conversation to the branch on the line instead in "Toad's Adventure"). He might very well be the smartest guy on the railway and he's not even an engine. It would be a waste if he weren't as assertive as he is.

And so we reach my favorite thing about Toad: Toad is the one who comes up with the plan to rip Scruffey apart. And what's more, I don't think he actually told Duck and Oliver the whole plan. Three can keep a secret if two don't know they're doing so. 'Cause see, Toad never says they're going to rip Scruffey apart; he tells Oliver the plan is to bump him if he makes trouble.

When they're arranging the trucks, Toad also suggests in a way worded to sound like he thinks Oliver had already thought of and decided that he ought to be placed at the end of this train:

"I expect, Mr Oliver, you'll want me on the middle road as a stop-block, like."

"Er- Yes, please."

Oliver marshalled the worst trucks two by two in front of Toad.

"This way, Mr Oliver, takes longer, but they can't give trouble, and if you leave that Scruffey till last, you'll have him right behind you. Then you can bump him if he starts his nonsense."

Toad just settin' some fuckin' dominoes up right here.

And this is the beauty of it too. If Scruffey don't start no shit, won't be no shit. It's all so plausibly deniable, so brought upon himself!

Duck's presence is also important to the plan, even though he seems incidental. He and his also GW coaches are there as a matter of the schedule, but Duck came to the station with the ulterior intent to cheer Oliver on. As to just what he was going to be cheering specifically he may not have known (he looks quite unsettled by it), but this is Duck's branch line so it's important that he personally be seen condoning the execution about to happen on it, where all the other trucks can see it.

So now the trap is laid and of course Scruffey walks into it. He tells the trucks to hold back and they do. And when Oliver puts every bit of his boiler into pulling them anyway, Scruffey tells them to loosen up. Whether the rest of the trucks did or not, it doesn't matter. It's too late. Toad has his brakes on.

And then Sir Topham Hatt - who loves engine (and probably brakevan) bullshit - comes upon this scene. He can probably guess what really happened here because this ain't his first rodeo, but it solves the larger problem of truck behavior on Duck's branchline and you have to admire the craftsmanship of this scenario. Even Oliver doesn't know this was the intended result. When Hatt asks him about it, he's nervous.

"Well, Oliver, so you don't know your own strength. Is that it?"

"N-n-no, Sir," said Oliver.

The Fat Controller inspected the remains.

"As I thought," he remarked. "Rotten wood, rusty frames - unserviceable before it came." He winked at Oliver, and whispered, "Don't tell the trucks that - bad for discipline!"

He strode away, chuckling.

It might have even been so good a plan, so engineered to absolve all invested parties of blame, that Hatt might not have considered that Toad was involved at all. He knows damn well this wasn't Oliver's plan (he's not that clever), but no one really suspects a brakevan either. At the end of the train, a brakevan is so removed from the action, so far down the line and out of sight as to escape notice entirely.

Fkn consigliere shit right there.

[starlightandsouls]

Hand In Hand, We Live

A/N: I cannot seem to get off the fluff train you guys, all the sweetness is rotting my brain. I hope you like this small thing. Do let me know what you think of my writing. Please please comment, it keeps me going

Takes place in the 1+1=4 universe but can be read as a standalone

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Azriel POV...

There had been few things in his long, long life that had been able to bring Velaris’s infamous Shadowsinger to tears. His ruthless attitude and stoicism was what made Azriel so good at his job. There were few people who saw through that mask of his; his brothers, his mother. But even they were always kept at a distance. Then, you came into his life. And oh so slowly you began to chip away that cold exterior of his until he surrendered his heart to you completely.

And just when he had thought his life couldn’t possibly get any better, the Mother had blessed the two of them with twin children, Mikhail and Annalise, their little miracles. Not only because of how rare it was for Fae to conceive, but also because of the hardships they had faced afterwards, mainly Beron and his plotting, miserable ass. Thankfully, that pig had been disposed off soon after. With Eris as High Lord and his alliance with Rhysand, Azriel was assured that their children would grow up in a somewhat safer world.

Their little blessings were almost two years old now, the darlings of not only their parents but also of the entire Inner Circle. Therefore, they were no less spoilt. Like today, Mikhail has been whisked off with Cassian and Rhysand. The two of them often kidnapped their children to buy them more toys than they had space to keep. Anna, however, had been a little moody today, unwilling to go with the uncles she usually doted on. Like her father, she was often overwhelmed with people and needed time to recharge. Since he had nothing to do for the day, he had stayed home with his daughter, even sending you off for some shopping with Feyre and Nesta, knowing you also deserved some time to relax.

Now, as we return to the matter at hand, Azriel rarely cried. The last time he remembered crying was at his mating ceremony and then when his precious children were born. The most recent case of tears, it seemed, would take place today.

After bathing her and feeding her, he had taken her to his room to try and get her to sleep. His little angel seemed particularly restless today. So now Azriel was sitting against the headboard in bed, with his knees pulled up and Anna's back resting against them. No matter, how much time passed he was still amazed by his children, unable to believe that someone like him would be blessed by such perfect miracles. Every time he held Mikhail or looked into Anna’s eyes he teared up.

As he cooed at Anna’s babbles, he tickled her tummy which caused her to erupt into a fit of giggles, the sound more beautiful to him than any symphony ever could be. As he laughed along her, Anna grabbed his hand in hers. The sight made his breath catch. Anytime he saw his marred hands against her smooth, soft skin, he felt like collapsing. The memory of what he had done his entire life resurfaced as he held such innocent children in his arms.

He’s pulled back from his memories as Anna ran her hand across the scars and ridges that riddled his hands; the hideous sight not deterring her one bit. She pulled his hand up with both of hers, turning it over as if seeing it for the first time. Completing her inspection, she put his hand up against her face and rested her hand against his palm, all the time smiling up at him.

Her glistening hazel eyes, mirroring his own, gazing up at him with that gorgeous smile of hers, was enough to bring Azriel to tears. His heart had never felt as full as it did now. He had hated his hands his entire life, finding them too ugly, too sinful to ever accept. Regardless of what his family and his mate had worked to reassure him over the long time he had known them, Azriel still harboured some resentment for his burnt hands. But in this moment, he could swear he had never loved them more than he did now, with his daughter resting against them.

Seeing her father’s tears rolling freely down his face, Anna flicked her head to the side, trying to figure out what was ailing her dad. Being unable to understand, she took matters into her own hands, and crawled over on her father’s chest. Reaching him, she wiped her tiny hands on his face, rubbing away any tears left. Anna then once again smiled up at him, feeling proud of her work. Azriel only shook his head, and pulled her against his chest.

You had come home to find both father and daughter snuggled up together, fast asleep. And when Mikhail returned, the two of you joined them as well. With his family in his arms, what more could Azriel want.

.................................................................................

The next time little Anna made her father cry was when she had turned eight. Even still so young, both his children were exceptionally bright, a fact he took much pride in. Both had their own hobbies that they loved partaking in.

They were currently at the House of Wind, visiting Nesta and Cassian. Mikhail was off play wrestling with Cass while Anna was busy being doted on by her Aunts. Just as he was about to go find Rhysand, Anna ran over to where he was sitting and jumped to his lap.

“Dada I made you something,” Annalise said, gazing up at him with her big, doe eyes, her sweet smile adorning her face.

“Did you, my little star?” he offered in return. Anna nodded her head as she went on,

“I made them with Auntie Gwyn.”

From the pocket of her jacket, she then procures two friendship bracelets. Both of them were identical, consisting of blue (presumably for his siphons) and pink, which was Annalise’s favourite colour. She took his hand in his and tied it around his wrist, putting her own on as well.

Anna then took his hand and put it side by side with hers, admiring her work.

“See, Dada. Now we’re the same,” his little angel said, as if the most obvious thing in the world.

Azriel only wiped away his tears and gave his Anna a reassuring smile,

And the simple statement from his innocent, brilliant daughter was enough to bring tears to his eyes. It was shocking to Azriel how his children found his scars to be as much a part of him as anything else, never finding them hideous or scary. It was true as well. Little Anna had never found them ugly at all. And there was a simple reason for it as well; to her they were just her father’s hands. The same hands which would comfort her during a thunderstorm, the same hands which taught her how to walk and then fly, the same hands that helped her tickle her brother whenever they all sat together. Deep down she knew, even then, that those hands would be the first to catch her whenever she would stumble in life.

“Yes, darling. We’re the same.”

From that day onwards, Azriel wore that bracelet that his daughter made for him every single day. To trainings to meetings to dinners to missions. It was a reminder of his family that waited for him at home, of his daughter who he loved more than his own life. It was a rather disconcerting sight; seeing the feared Shadowsinger wear around a pink bracelet. But the few idiots who had ever questioned him about it, now warned everyone else. Because no one made fun of his daughter’s work and got away with it.

So Azriel continued wearing it, often taking it to Gwyn for repairs when the threads started to fray, because he trusted no one but the expert with this precious item. Seeing it on his wrist everyday would remind him of the unconditional love his children had for him, and the eternal devotion he had to them. Anna and Mikhail taking his hand in theirs for comfort made him slowly let go of his resentment of his scars. Hand in hand, he learned to love and accept them, forever grateful for you and their children for teaching him that everyone deserved to be loved; even the scarred and broken.