#if you comment on this to say something to the effect of

[artistformerlyknownasbutttrumpet]

casual reminder before tomorrow arrives that abstaining or voting 3rd party instead of voting for harris is THE most selfish thing you can do. i know you think you are doing the right thing, but i cannot emphasize enough that these two candidates are NOT "equally bad." palestinians will be in significantly more danger if that criminal shitstain wins, IN ADDITION TO every other minority and less privileged person. if you really and truly want to prove your motivation is to stop the harm of others, then you MUST put your ego aside and do the uncomfortable thing. this is not the time for a boycott. this is not the time to dig your heels in the sand and claim you can't possibly go against your morals. the truth of the matter is that palestinians will be safer if you vote for harris. as a queer woc, with so many friends and family whose well-being is at risk, i will feel more betrayed by you than by the people who vote for trump, bc we are supposed to take care of each other, and yet you'd rather watch us burn than do the uncomfortable thing. abstaining is nothing but a selfish, holier-than-thou, performative act. if you abstain, then you are actively causing harm, and if he wins because of it, those of us who can use our common sense will never forget how much you fucked us over. if he wins, more people (including palestinians) are going to get hurt, and that blood will be on your hands. do the uncomfortable thing. it's a better show of moral integrity than abstaining will ever be

[milkbobatyun]

an eye for an eye

pairing: jiaoqiu x gn!reader

genre: angst

summary: the two of you were always bitter enemies, ever since you were young. but feelings change over time, and you made the greatest sacrifice because of it.

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i have finally gotten around to editing and now posting the pt 2 of save your tears!! to the people who were requesting this, i hope this is up to your expectations ૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა

you remembered now.

your rivalry started when the two of you were fresh-faced students, attending the ranzhi school in hopes of becoming the top healer.

jiaoqiu and you had opposing views, often clashing in heated debates in class. the two of you were like fire and water, fighting tooth and nail to rip the position of no. 1 on the exam billboard from each other. every exam, the title of no. 1 bounced between the two of you.

you detested jiaoqiu’s sly smirk, his teasing voice every time he scored higher or was praised by the teacher. every self-satisfied smile made your fists clench, nails digging into your skin. his proud mannerisms made you want to both punch his face in and bash your head against a wall.

yet what you hated the most was how his sly remarks made your heart dance in its cage, tomato red saturating the tips of your ears when you made eye contact.

jiaoqiu hated your quiet presence, how his eyes would search for you every time he entered a room. your arrogant presence ruffled his fur. your quiet, studious presence made his fur prickle with irritation. whenever the teacher affirmed your comment and you sent an arrogant smirk in his direction, jiaoqiu wanted to claw his own eyes out.

what jiaoqiu despised the most was how his heart would speed up every time he saw you, ears pricking up with interest when he heard your voice.

every class was a battle, the other students only watching in silent mortification as you and jiaoqiu battled with medical terms and theories, words clashing like swords, relentless and unstoppable, each seeking to deliver the final blow.

the climax of your rivalry was during a class discussion, when the teacher posed the hypothetical question–what was the best treatment for someone who had drunk tumbleweed poison?

a hand shot up in the air.

“an eye for an eye. find a willing participant to donate their eyes.” you spoke, confidence and certainty clear in your voice.

the teacher’s remark is cut off by a hand slamming into the table.

“ridiculous. who has ever heard of such a thing?” jiaoqiu jumped up, fur bristling in every direction, ears flattened in anger and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “who would ever want to sacrifice their own sight for someone else? i say that medicine to slow down the poison and its effects is the best method, there is no known cure for tumbleweed poisoning.”

as expected, the debate between the two of you lasts long, the sun’s pale yellow rays deepen into a warm golden, sun sliding further down the horizon, before the bell tinkles in the distance, signifying the end of the class.

it was ironic, that was the last debate that you had with jiaoqiu before your graduation. after, you both went your separate ways. sometimes, you found yourself missing the cunning foxian, with his smiling eyes that held something more.

jiaoqiu often found himself wondering what you were up to, his thoughts drifting to you when he drank a tea you had once mentioned to your friends. he missed your arrogant presence, with the quiet studious nature drawing all his attention every time he entered a room. 

he habitually visited your herb store, tail and ears twitching with amusement as he pushed your buttons. he could see the vein throbbing in your neck, how you would clench your hands on the tabletop, a forced polite smile carved onto your face. a similarly sly grin was reflected on jiaoqiu’s.

when the war broke out, you sometimes wondered if jiaoqiu would be safe, after all, he was the healer for the merlin’s claw, the frontlines was his second home.

while he treated feixiao, jiaoqiu often found his thoughts wandering to you. would you have used a different herb to treat her? or would you have used a completely different method? he found himself almost missing the heated debates and the thrill it gave him, his heart beating faster, tail swishing in excitement.

the sound of the door opening awakens jiaoqiu.

sunlight warmed his body, as he lay in his bed, resting, according to the doctor’s orders.

though his sight had been stolen by the poison, he knows where everything is, the memories and layout etched into his brain.

“jiaoqiu,” feixiao called from the doorway. the mentioned foxian’s ears swivel atop his head, turning his face in the direction he hoped feixiao was standing. “i’ve brought someone to help you regain your sight. we’ll come in now.”

two sets of footsteps pattered across the wooden floors, before stopping at the side of the bed.

“so,” jiaoqiu begins. “who is this mysterious doctor who can cure me?”

“we started on the wrong foot before, jiaoqiu,” your voice floated through the air. “but i believe i can heal you.” you spoke quietly, voice wavering with nervousness.

though jiaoqiu couldn’t see, your eyes were flitting around the room, desperate to focus on anything but the foxian in front of you. your fingers were busy, picking at the bandage wrapped around your hand, from when the shard of porcelain sliced into your hand.

despite his sight being taken away, jiaoqiu’s ears could still recognise the voice of his rival during his student days and the person who he had rudely thrown the teacup at. his body stiffened, tail swishing in agitation and anxiety.

he suddenly recalled that he never apologised for his previous outburst. guilt flashed across his face, though he was quick to quash it down. his eyebrows furrowed, fists gripping the blanket underneath his hand.

jiaoqiu could imagine you, standing next to feixiao, proud and arrogant, like how you were in your youth. now, you had more reason to gloat. you had the upper hand in this moment.

the silence fell heavily between the three of you, feixiao’s brows knitted together, her sharp eyes noticed how you silently winced next to her, face turning more guilty than you were before you walked closer to jiaoqiu.

“feixiao, if you’ve come to taunt me with false hope, bringing along the person i least want to see, you can leave.” jiaoqiu’s voice cuts through the silence, definate in his decision.

you take a hesitant step forwards, stretching out a hand, worry and despair that jiaoqiu can’t see reflecting all on your face.

“stay away from me.” jiaoqiu growls, baring his teeth in your direction. “have you come to mock me again? to rub it in my face that i can’t be the top healer anymore?” spite and hate drip from his voice, like poison.

no, that's not what he meant. he was supposed to apologise, but this, sharp words that only served to harm people, came more naturally, especially with you.

you flinch, snatching your hand back, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. your hands tightened its grasp on your medicine box, knuckles turning white.

feixiao sighed, exasperated at the childish nature of her healer.

“jiaoqiu,” she spoke firmly. “if you want to be able to heal me in the future, then you need your sight back. i know you had history with [name], in fact, i heard about what happened last time, but they’re the only one right now who has a shred of hope in saving your sight.”

hearing feixiao’s reasoning, the fight left jiaoqiu’s body like a deflating balloon.

with an annoyed exhalation, jiaoqiu could only obediently nod his head in agreement.

settling your medicine box onto the mahogany bedside table, you began unpacking your instruments, while explaining the procedure to jiaoqiu and feixiao.

“i’m sure you remember, jiaoqiu, the proposed theory i had about how to treat tumbleweed poison.”

“an eye for an eye.” jiaoqiu echoed, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as he remembered the memory.

“indeed.” you affirmed, nodding your head. 

with a shaky breath in, you picked up the right instruments, beginning the procedure.

when jiaoqiu awoke, the weak morning rays filtered through the window, shining upon his blankets. jiaoqiu marvelled at the success of your operation, drinking in the sights of his familiar abode. he glanced around. the traces of feixiao’s presence were clear, an empty chair pulled up beside his bed, her coat thrown over a chair and her weapon propped up against the wall.

slipping out of bed, jiaoqiu exited his bedroom, expecting to see you at any moment, ready to gloat to him about your genius and how you were better than him in medicinal skill.

yet the house was oddly silent, no life present, the only sound the soft patter of his slippered feet hitting the wooden floor.

confused on where the guests were, he made his way outside, the spray of the sea air sprinkling against his skin.

he saw the back of your figure, whispering something close to feixiao’s ear. the roar of the waves drowned out your voices, not even jiaoqiu’s sensitive ears could pick up what you were muttering.

feixiao noticed jiaoqiu’s lurking presence, glancing at him with surprise and a hint of worry in her eyes. with a curt final message, feixiao left the two of you, throwing a departing glare of warning at jiaoqiu.

pausing by jiaoqiu’s shoulder, feixiao muttered to him a word of warning.

“be mindful of what you say to [name] and be gentle with your words.” feixiao hissed.

jiaoqiu dismissed her words with a shrug of his shoulders, annoyance present on his face. he was the patient, so why was feixiao being so nice to the healer?

with purpose in his step, jiaoqiu stalked towards you.

the tap tap of footsteps drawing closer behind you alerted you to a presence behind you, a simple deduction telling you it was most likely jiaoqiu.

“so,” jiaoqiu’s silky tone broke through the din. “how do you feel, o mighty healer?”

his voice dropped with mockery, a sly smile cruelly curving his mouth.

“i feel the same.” your curt voice was indifferent, not turning to look at jiaoqiu.

his fur bristled in annoyance. the fight in your voice, always present when you talked to him, was gone and it unnerved him.

“which unfortunate individual did you scam, to trade their eyesight for mine?” jiaoqiu pressed on, hoping for some sort of reaction from you. anger, glee, smugness, it mattered not to him, your lack of emotion put him on edge.

silence.

“i’m talking to you.” jiaoqiu growled. “at least look at me.”

only the splash waves answered his question.

jiaoqiu marched towards you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder and turning you around to face him.

almost in slow motion, you turned, the white bandages falling away from your face.

the howl of the wind fell silent, the whole world holding its breath. jiaoqiu’s breath caught in his throat, his thoughts scattering like startled birds, words faltering on his tongue. a numbing shock swept over him, rendering him frozen.

jiaoqiu’s sharp eyes met yours. they were once so full of life and fire, now clouded over with milky white, sight stolen. his heart dropped in his chest, all the mockery and sarcasm ripped out of him.

the final remanants of arrogance melted from his tone, leaving only disbelief and pity. his ears flattened against his head, as he stared at the bandages.

“you–” jiaoqiu’s voice cracked. “why?” he breathed. “why give your eyes away? to me, of all people?”

your lips twisted into a wry smile. “love makes people do stupid things, jiaoqiu.” you whispered, sadness saturating your voice. where tears used to form, beads of scarlet began to pool, threatening to spill over.

jiaoqiu’s sharp tongue, always ready to retort, was rendered useless, staring helplessly at the person in front of him, pale eyes gazing somewhere beyond him, a once fierce rival, reduced to a broken and selfless person. 

jiaoqiu’s throat tightened, reaching out his hand, hovering near your shoulder. an overwhelming sorrow ate away in his chest, guilt gnawing at his insides.

“why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice flooding with confusion and hurt.

you laughed, a hollow sound, laced with upset. “you wouldn’t have let me, if you had known.”

jiaoqiu’s ears flattened in shame, his lips pressed into a thin line. he knew, he would’ve argued with you, hell, even fought with you if he could see. but now, it was too late.

“you know, i never really hated you,” your voice broke through the silence, bloody tears trailing down your cheeks. “no, wait, i did, at the start, i really did hate you, with a burning passion.” you let out another sorrowful laugh. “but somewhere along the line, the hate, it turned to love.”

jiaoqiu’s breath caught, all those years of rivalry, it was something more, something simmering beneath the surface, just out of reach, something neither of you wanted to admit.

he wanted to say something, do anything, reach out and wipe your tears, perhaps, but his words and his body weren’t listening, he was frozen. his hand still suspended in mid-air. the weight of everything left unsaid hung between the two of you.

“i’m sorry,” he finally exhaled, voice raw with emotion, regret, barely audible in the wind. “maybe one day, if you wish, no, if you could ever forgive me, would you still give me a chance?”

deep down, he knew, it would be a long time, but he would wait for you, no matter how long.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ��• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[princesskenny1998]

One Piece | Monkey D. Luffy x female!reader ~ Weird

The Thousand Sunny rocked gently with the waves, sunlight sparkling off the ocean as the Straw Hat Pirates went about their usual tasks. You were leaning against the railing, eyes scanning the horizon, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the sound of the waves. Luffy had joined you, his usual goofy grin plastered on his face, but every now and then, he’d steal glances at you with a gleam in his eye.

He stepped closer, casually draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. It was a familiar feeling, something that had been natural between you two since you were teenagers. Luffy’s antics usually leaned on the childlike side, full of excitement and laughter. But you’d come to know that underneath all of that was a side of him that was both surprisingly mature and completely devoted.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, “I’m glad you’re here with me. I’d get bored without you.” His tone was warm, and his gaze softened, catching you off guard with how intense his eyes could be when he looked at you this way.

You chuckled, leaning into his embrace. “Bored, huh? I guess it’s my job to keep things interesting for you, Captain.”

He grinned and tugged you a little closer, and before you could react, he tilted his head down, catching your lips in a quick, playful kiss. The kiss was short but sweet, and when he pulled away, he was still smiling, a boyish blush dusting his cheeks. It was one of those moments that showed a side of him not everyone got to see. And though he would never say it outright, his actions spoke volumes—he loved you fiercely, even if he expressed it in his own unique way.

Zoro, who had been training nearby, suddenly stopped mid-swing, glancing over with a raised eyebrow. “Oi… am I seeing things, or did Luffy just act like a normal guy for a second?”

Sanji, polishing his cooking knives, let out a small scoff. “It’s weird, right? Seeing Luffy acting all… boyfriend-y.”

“Can’t blame him,” Sanji added after a pause, his gaze flicking to you with an approving nod. “She’s got that effect."

Luffy turned to his crewmates, a lazy smile on his face, completely unbothered by their comments. He held you a bit closer, his chin resting on the top of your head. “What? She’s my girlfriend,” he said simply, his words filled with a matter-of-fact confidence that made you smile. “Why wouldn’t I kiss her?”

Brook chuckled, his bony hands clasped in delight. “Ah, young love! I remember what it’s like to have a pretty lady to hold.”

“Doesn’t it make you feel old, though?” Nami teased, folding her arms with a smirk. “I mean, it’s strange seeing our Luffy like this.”

Robin only chuckled, a mysterious smile on her lips. “I think it’s sweet. He shows sides of himself that we don’t usually get to see.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoro muttered, turning away with a huff. “It’s still weird.”

You rolled your eyes at the banter but couldn’t help grinning. Luffy may have been the most unpredictable captain, but he was also the most genuine. Sometimes his crewmates would catch glimpses of the quiet way he’d rest his hand on your back, the intense, heated gaze he’d give you when he thought no one was looking, or the soft, thoughtful way he’d listen to you talk about your dreams.

In fact, those quiet moments often took you by surprise, too—moments when Luffy’s childlike wonder melted away, and you could see a depth in his eyes that went far beyond his usual carefree nature. He had been a pillar of strength for you just as you had for him, and over the years, you realized that he understood far more than he let on.

That evening, as the stars began to dot the sky and the crew relaxed on the deck, Luffy found his way to you once more. He settled down beside you, taking your hand in his and squeezing it lightly. You noticed the warmth in his gaze, the way his fingers intertwined with yours, grounding you both in the quiet companionship you had shared since you were kids.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he replied, but his gaze stayed on you, a mischievous smile curving his lips. “But you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your cheeks, laughing softly. “Luffy, you can be so cheesy.”

He shrugged, unashamed, a proud grin on his face. “Only for you.”

It was moments like these that sometimes left the crew gawking. Luffy, who could be so simple-minded and distracted most of the time, had this way of shifting, of letting his attention linger on you, bringing out a side of him that was, if only for a second, quieter, more mature.

And the crew couldn’t deny that sometimes they caught Luffy looking at you with a longing that seemed beyond his years, a reminder that their captain, for all his innocence and humor, was also just a man in love.

In one of those rare quiet nights, Luffy pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He didn’t say anything for a while, simply holding you and listening to the sounds of the sea. Finally, he spoke, his voice a soft whisper in the darkness.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re safe,” he murmured, his words laced with an unexpected seriousness. “I want you to be with me. Always.”

It wasn’t often that he spoke this way, but when he did, it struck you deep. You knew Luffy would go to any lengths for the people he loved, and he was determined to keep you by his side, through thick and thin.

As the crew prepared to turn in for the night, they watched the two of you with a mixture of awe and amusement, still surprised to see their captain in such an affectionate, even protective light.

Sanji lit a cigarette, exhaling thoughtfully. “Never thought I’d see Luffy so… serious.”

“Believe it or not, even Luffy has a heart that runs deep,” Robin said, a soft smile on her face. “And she seems to be the one who brings it out of him.”

Nami chuckled, giving you a knowing look. “Guess it just goes to show there’s a lot more to Luffy than meets the eye.”

You caught their glances and smiled, squeezing Luffy’s hand, feeling his fingers tighten around yours. His gaze softened, and with a simple kiss to your forehead, he reminded you—and everyone else—that he was your captain, your partner, and your best friend.

The sea stretched endlessly before you, an adventure waiting for you both, and with Luffy by your side, you knew that there was no place you’d rather be.

[azulapunchedozai]

Can we like.. normalize skipping contents that we hate or contents that don't align with our opinion? I've seen the most beautiful ship arts in almost every social media platform and there would always be like

"Love the art! Hate the ship!"

Look, I know social media peeps do their best to stay positive but is it really that important to accompany your compliment with a COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY statement? Can people normalize keeping their opinions to themselves when it's not needed? Girl that is obviously a ship post. Why do you feel the need to say you hate it after complimenting?

THANK YOU SO MUCH for the compliment but I'd rather have you not comment on my post at all if you're just gonna leave backhanded compliments. Is it really that hard to JUST say "I love the art!" and be respectful? And if you hate the ship so much then do yourself a favour by scrolling up or down to avoid the content. Trust me, avoiding negativity would be better for your mental health.

It's not just happening in ship arts. Fanarts in general. There'd be like, a fanart of a character or a redesign and there will be comments like "I prefer them with this-that though." or "This-that suits them better!" or "I don't like them with this-that!".

Or there would be contents that talks about how this character is the best character of this show/game/movie or how this character has the best game effects and there would be like, "I prefer this-that character though." or "I don't see anything about *charactername though." or "Nope, *charactername is the best."

An example of this is when I was scrolling through contents about Furina's c6 plunge attack and infusions and how they are the best and there are a bunch of comments saying "I don't see Raiden though" or "Raiden's plunge is the best"

And I was like NO ONE ASKED??? Look, no hate to Raiden Shogun because she's literally one of my favorite characters. I love her plunge attack and I have an undeniable bias when it comes to purple and pink but the video was OBVIOUSLY NOT ABOUT HER. The video was not a misinformation and simply someone's opinion/preference.

It's like going to a room full of people talking about how they like the color red and saying something like "I prefer blue though!" Gosh why would you do that? It's just so EMBARRASSING and SO ATTENTION SEEKING at it's finest. And then when people call them out, they'd pull the "opinion" card and act like s victim. If you want people to respect your opinion, why don't you do it first?

People need to learn that not everything that appears on their feed is about them and to not take everything PERSONALLY because OMG not everything is about you and not everything revolves around you. People can have different opinions and enjoy any content that they want even if those are opposed to your preferences. Being different from you doesn't make them less valid in any way.

If it's not illegal or harmful just keep your mouth shut OMG is it really that hard?

Instead of wasting your time commenting on a content that you don't like (and by doing so, the said content would just appear on your feed more frequently), why not search for contents you enjoy to satisfy yourself, yah?

Why? Because that's the normal thing to do. People have become so brave on whatever they say on the internet because they know they'd never suffer real life consequences.

[pepperonijem]

II. the song's about to start (can you feel it?) || to.you

"... I'm about to fall for you."

summary: Creative constipation. That's what Levi calls the feeling he gets when he realizes he wants to write about how he feels about you. What does he feel about you? That's... inconclusive, he thinks. pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!reader content: alcohol consumption, levi is a bumbling mess of feelings, cursing songs mentioned: partners in crime - finneas, (only) about love -grentperez, buzz - niki || the title of this chapter comes from the song buzz

A/N: I've never written anything that made me blush and twirl my hair the way this chapter did. why am I the one catching feelings rn. should I post the playlist?

let me know if you'd like to be tagged! comments and rb's are appreciated :)

previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter

Hange Zoe is the worst person to have in the car when all you want to do is think.

The thought popped into Levi’s mind as he swatted at a wandering hand reaching for the volume dial on his dashboard. A groan sounded from beside him and Levi rolled his eyes in return. Hange was a regular in the front seat of his car, and to his dismay, felt much too comfortable touching everything they could on the dashboard. Their chair was leaned back absurdly far and the vents on the air conditioning seemed pointed in every which direction. 

“Levi, I like this song,” they huffed as they reached forward to mess with the volume again. With a sigh Levi gave in and looked forward to the drive home in silence.

He tapped his fingers against the wheel as Hange sang along. Croaked, more like. Hange had a melodic singing voice, but that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone hearing them right now. But Levi was used to this, and although he pretended to be annoyed by it, he really didn’t mind. He liked this song too and he hummed along, quiet enough that Hange wouldn’t notice.

“You couldn’t look any more like a lover Or a partner in crime Or something of mine”

The song ended and Hange reached over to turn the volume down. Levi was thankful, but realized if the radio volume went down, Hange’s would have an inverse effect. They looked over at Levi whose eyes were trained on the dark and empty 3 a.m. freeway ahead of him.

“You know,” Hange began with a smirk in their voice and Levi tensed, steeling himself for whatever nonsense would escape his friend’s lips. “Miche said he saw you dragging Eren’s friend upstairs earlier.” Levi’s hands grew tighter on the wheel and Hange didn’t miss the flush of red that appeared on his cheeks as Levi remembered the brief feeling of your skin on his. Hange’s laugh is grating, Levi thought.

He chose not to say anything. A mistake, really, as now Hange had found an opportunity to fill in the blanks on their own.

“Mr. Ackerman, I never took you for the frat-party quickie type,” Hange continued, laughing to themselves. “Especially not with people you write songs about.”

“Shut up,” Levi huffed. “It wasn’t a quickie, I was–”

“Oh so you took your time,” Hange cut him off with a playful slap to his shoulder. Somehow he felt his face heat up some more. Thankfully, they weren’t too far from Hange’s home.

“We were looking for those two other brats that hang around Eren,” Levi tried to speak up over the sound of his friend’s guffaws.

“I’m just teasing, you grump,” Hange finally relented. They waited a beat before continuing. “But that new song of yours was definitely about them right?”

Levi thought for a second before answering, even though he knew Hange already knew what he’d say. He simply nodded in response.

“Knew it,” They spoke again. The teasing lilt in their voice was replaced by something softer. “It’s been a while since you’ve written anything new. It felt new.” 

“What do you mean?” Levi asked curiously. He’d always had a particular style when it came to writing songs, and Hange had known him long enough to see it become what it was. He didn’t particularly intend to write anything different, he just… wrote as he always did.

Hange leaned against the window, thinking to themself. “I’m not really sure myself,” they finally answered after a beat. “It just felt more like you, I guess.” 

The last time Levi wrote a new song was when Erwin was still part of their band. 

Last spring, right as the trees were beginning to turn into various shades of light pinks and pastels, Erwin asked them all to stay after practice to talk. It was an unusual rehearsal from the start, and Erwin seemed nervous much unlike his usual calm and collected self. His blonde hair was ever so slightly disheveled and he wore sweatpants instead of his nicer trousers that he usually wore to save time before heading to his office internship after practice.

Erwin clumsily missed notes that he had never missed before, and Levi was more shocked than anyone else to see the founder of their band fumble around like he’d never held a bass before. So when it came time for them to talk, Levi was intrigued and surprised again when he finally spoke.

“I’m getting married,” Erwin blurted out without his usual level of tact.

“You’re–”

“What–”

“Married–”

Hange, Miche, and Levi all spoke at once and Erwin let out a sigh of relief that melted into a soft laugh, as if a weight had finally been lifted off his shoulders.

“Married?” Levi asked again.

Erwin nodded with a sheepish smile before explaining. “You’ve all met my girlfr— fiance before. We’re both graduating next semester. She got accepted to a music conservatory overseas and my internship offered me a position at their branch in the same city, it just feels like the stars were aligning. It all feels like a sign.” In the many years he’d made music with Erwin, learned his cues and learned his melodies, he saw that Erwin spoke with a twinkle in his eye that Levi had only ever seen when he spoke about his fiance.

“I’m sorry to announce I’m leaving the band like this,” Erwin continued. “But I’ll help you find a replacement before I leave. In fact, I already have someone in mind.”

That’s how they found Eren, a friend of Erwin’s fiance who played in the university orchestra with her. They watched his end of year recital and sat through his flawless performance of a cello concerto by Saint-Saëns.  It all happened rather quickly after that and without even auditioning, the passionate but impulsive brat had become their new bassist.

After going out for a round of drinks at the local pub to celebrate Erwin’s news, Levi found himself outside on the patio, resting his elbows against the railing and thinking about all of this until a voice cut through his thoughts.

“Levi,” Erwin called as he moved to stand beside him. “What’s on your mind?”

He turned around to glance over at his friend. Erwin looked happier now, like he was constantly basking in the glow of something bright, and Levi supposed that in a way, he was. “What does it feel like?” Levi asked vaguely, but Erwin knew, as he usually did.

“It’s… hard to explain,” Erwin replied. Levi looked at him and waited for him to continue. “At first, it felt like… well you know, right before a show when we first turn on the amps? There’s a buzz, but it feels electric. It’s a little bit like that, anticipation because you know something good is about to happen.” Levi nodded thoughtfully at Erwin’s response as he continued. “Now it feels so big… like exploring space, if space was safe and warm.” 

After a slight chuckle, a wave of silence washed over the two of them until Erwin spoke again. “Are you going to be okay?” Erwin glanced over at his friend.

“I will be,” Levi answered. “Will you?”

Erwin turned around to face the window and smiled to himself as he watched his fiance laugh at something Hange was saying. “I think so,” he said quietly. “But I’m happy to be here right now.”

“Yeah,” Levi agreed. “Me too.”

When Levi came home to his apartment that night, he reached for his guitar. He strummed quietly as he felt the familiar wash of inspiration take over him. A soft melody seemed to untangle itself into something that made sense in his head and soon, lyrics came along with it.

“Take my hand and come with me to another place We can walk around the universe tonight.”

He hoped he understood what Erwin had told him. Love as a concept was simple enough to put into an analogy, but difficult to really get, but for his friend, he’d try. He sent Erwin off later that spring with the lyrics and sheet music folded neatly in an envelope, a gift from Levi to the happy couple and felt satisfied leaving it at that between the two of them. And so it was, until Erwin asked him to play it at his wedding six months later. It was his first time singing a song without the rest of the band, but it didn’t feel as scary as he imagined it to be. It was like having a conversation, or writing a letter to his best friend. To Erwin.

He hadn’t written a song since then, not until he met you. Hange was right and the realization had heat seeping into his cheeks.

“Something something Halloween party,” Hange recalled the lyrics to his song. “That line about living in a VHS was pretty cute, what did you say to them to make you think of that one?”

“Nothing,” Levi replied and that was an answer enough on its own.

“Oh Levi,” Hange cooed as they pulled their glasses to sit on top of their hair to find a more comfortable way to drift off for the last few minutes of the ride, content to let Levi have a reprieve from the teasing.

After dropping off a drunk Hange and driving the hour back to his apartment, he couldn’t decide whether to grab his notebook and pen or his guitar. This was a rather frustrating dilemma to have. Usually, he’d feel something akin to lightning and either a simple line or a melody would come to him and he’d grab whatever vessel he needed to bring it alive. 

The song he wrote about you two weeks ago began as lyrics first. He had watched you walk down the sidewalk in your pumpkin costume and groaned to himself as he realized half of your entire conversation was him saying, “cool.” He walked back into the party and through a sea of stupid costumes to find his guitar case and fished out the worn brown leather notebook that he always kept with him and grabbed a pen.

“I want to erase the things I said, but I’ll probably say them again. Wish I could hit rewind and not be so in my head.”

With a few tweaks and a chorus, it had become a song, and Levi was proud of himself. It wasn’t until after he had finally set his pen down and saw he’d written the words “I wouldn’t have let you go leave me,” that he wondered if he really felt that way or if it was just a good line.

At the next party, when you told him you liked the song, the song he wrote about you, he felt something else, and he wondered what to call the flutter he felt in his chest. Attraction, maybe? He learned about the feeling of attraction in class, how the spike in your heart rate and cortisol levels can be read as attraction in the right circumstances… or stress in the wrong ones. With his adrenaline running high after his performance, he decided that the evidence presented was too inconclusive to be labeled one way or another.

Now, he decided to grab his notebook to look back at the page he’d scribbled on, to see if something could give that final push for lightning to strike. He scoured the margins, looking through the various doodles and squiggles and crossed out words. It was incredibly frustrating, Levi thought, to have the desperate urge to write, but not know what to write. It’s probably because he still couldn’t figure out how he felt about you. Anxiety? Attraction? It was something new, but not something he knew how to explain. All he knew was that he wanted to write about you.

Nothing came to him even after flipping through his book, so with a sigh, he gave up and flopped onto his bed. His eyes fluttered shut and hoped inspiration would find him in his dreams.

The next morning, Levi woke up feeling unrested and uninspired. He was expecting to wake up with that familiar whisper of a new melody or a new lyric in his ear, but instead he woke up to the sound of thunder outside. He ran a frustrated hand down his face. Creative constipation, he thought to himself.

Then as he settled into his seat for his psych class, he found himself so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice you call his name until you reached out and tentatively put your hand on his shoulder. The contact snapped his attention towards you and he felt a haze begin to clear.

“Levi?” you said his name with concern.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking,” he explained. “Did you need something?”

“I was going to ask if I could sit next to you,” you began before leaning in towards him and lowering your voice conspiratorially. He could smell your shampoo and the perfume you sprayed on this morning. He felt that flutter again. “Some rando took my seat beside Jean. I think they heard we were picking our partners for the project today.” You subtly gestured over to the girl in your usual seat who was staring intently at Jean who was staring intently at a Fortnite stream on his laptop.

Levi let out an amused chuckle before sliding his backpack off from the seat next to him and pulling it out for you to take. He watched you curiously as you sat down, trying to figure you out. Trying to figure out why he wanted to figure you out so desperately. He resisted the urge to look away when you smiled at him. All he could muster up to do was nod back and hope you didn’t notice him staring.

“So what is it that had you thinking so deeply,” you asked as you pulled your laptop out of your bag. Levi paused for a beat, wondering how to reply. He wasn’t particularly fond of letting people into his writing process. It felt too intimate. Even Hange and Miche had only ever looked into his notebook once and then decided it wasn’t worth being on the receiving end of Levi’s death glare (not to be confused with his usual resting neutral glare). For some reason, he felt as though you wouldn’t be too much of a threat to his creative process.

“I have to write about a feeling,” he began tentatively. “But I can’t really figure out what it is.”

“Oh is this for, like, an essay?” You asked. You tapped on your chin as you thought about what to say.

“Yeah, something like that.” “What’s the feeling?” you continued to ask. Levi found himself intrigued at your willingness to help him, but remembered how quickly you relent to offering your notes to Jean and Eren when they miss something. He figured it’s probably second nature for you.

“Honestly, I’m not too sure myself,” Levi answered, nervous that you’d see through his flimsy details. But this was the closest thing he could tell you without divulging his thoughts. He wasn’t even sure how much of a help you’d actually be. Songwriting, Levi recognized, was not something that everyone could do, but it was something he did well. He had a knack for being able to step into someone else’s shoes and write about their feelings. Like some sort of twisted empath, he could write a damn good love song without ever having been in love. He figured whatever higher being created him thought it would be funny to have such a stoic man only be able to express himself through a melody, like he was in some goddamn musical. 

The other members of his band had a bit of experience writing as well, but their styles were different from Levi’s. They had a special knack for writing songs that sounded like them. Hange’s songs were always more upbeat and catchy, good for parties, and a little quirky. Miche’s songs were much more focused on the rhythm and had fewer lyrics. Eren, although only having written a couple of songs so far, definitely had a more angsty, grungy vibe. It was only from Erwin’s leadership that they all learned to blend their styles into something cohesive.

Most people outside of the band assumed that the majority of songs were written by Hange or Miche or even Eren now that he was part of it. But surprisingly, Levi was the real lyrical mastermind behind No Name, although he never opts to correct anyone who thinks otherwise.

“Just write it down,” you replied as if it was the most simple answer. “Even if the feeling doesn’t have a name, you’ll get the point across.” When you looked over to see Levi eyeing you skeptically, you continued.

“Not all feelings have a name,” you went on. “Like the feeling when you’re about to turn a door handle into a surprise party you knew about, or like when you get the first cup of hot coffee for the season because it’s finally cold enough outside for it. It’s like you know it’s the start of something new, something good.” 

Levi could see warmth flashing in your eyes as he watched you list these feelings. It reminded him of Erwin’s words that night. Something about anticipation…

There it was. Lightning. His head shot up as you spoke and you turned to him with wide eyes. You watched as he reached for his notebook and began scribbling into his notebook. Before you could ask him more about it, the sound of the professor’s voice filled the room. Levi, however, did not lift his head.

“It’s the feeling of the first coffee run in autumn – can you feel it?”

The last part was a question  for himself.

Sure enough, today was the day project partners were being assigned and although Levi spent the majority of the class writing madly into his journal, his ears perked up at the announcement.

“Since you’re all adults and there’s over 60 of you in this class, it’s easier for everyone to just partner up with their current desk partner.” Levi turned and met your eyes and you both let out a sigh of relief. He was glad it was you.

He managed to set his pen down as the professor continued to explain the assignment. “This project is about relationships,” he announced as he walked down the aisle to hand papers out to the class. “For the rest of the semester, you’re going to be getting to know your partner and hopefully yourself, quite well. Hopefully, if nothing else, you can leave the class with a new friend.”

The both of you turned your heads at the sound of Eren groaning as he looked over at Jean. Jean looked wistfully at the girl who stole your seat – unfortunately, she was in a separate desk cluster. Levi was thankful that things worked out the way they did.

Levi watched you stifle a chuckle and pass him the worksheet. He scanned over the paper. It was mostly blank, save for a few sentences of instructions and two sections of items to note. 

Under the first section were three items: First impressions of your partner? Who do you think you are? How do you think others see you?

The second section simply stated: At the end of this project, reflect on your earlier impressions and see how they’ve changed. What’s changed about how you see your partner? How they see you? How you see yourself? What social theories or effects do you believe may have affected this change?

“You get out of this project what you put into it,” the professor stated. “The more time you spend with your partner, the more change you’ll see in any or all of the criteria. However, if you decide not to spend any time with them after the initial meeting, you still have some theories to write about.” He chuckled to himself as he scanned the students’ faces.

He continued on. “There’s no criteria for how much or how you spend time with your partner outside of being safe and respectful. But I suggest you do things together that mean something to you. Be intentional with the time you spend together.”

Levi’s previous feelings of relief had suddenly dissipated as quickly as they came. This was a rather intimate project, and although the questions seemed simple enough, being in this class for the semester taught him nothing was ever psychologically simple. He snuck a quick glance over at you, busy writing your name on the top of your paper and writing down quick reminders to yourself in the margins of your notebook where you had neatly organized your notes from class. Your cheeks were pink, and so were the tips of your ears. He was sure his were too.

He looked down at his own notebook, filled with nothing that could help him on an exam. But he had half a song written down. 

It wasn’t until the professor had dismissed the class and Levi was setting his things back in his bag that you finally turned up to look at him with your phone out towards him. “Before you head out, can I get your number?” you asked.

“Sure thing,” Levi reached out for your phone, accidentally brushing his fingers against yours in the process. There was that flutter again, but Levi was ready to chalk this one up to stress. Until he caught a glimpse of your tinted cheeks and suddenly he was at a loss once again. He focused back on the phone long enough to put his number in before handing it back to you, letting his fingers brush yours once again. For research purposes, he had said to himself. Results still inconclusive.

That afternoon, Levi sat at his desk with the worksheet in front of him. The first question seemed easy enough to answer. He didn’t need to think too hard before writing a response.

First impressions of your partner: 

He thought back to his first time seeing you in class. Did that even count? All he ever saw was the back of your head and the way you would raise your hands to rub at your temples at the end of class as you slid your notebook for Jean to take pictures of. He picked up his pen anyway. Begrudgingly kind, he wrote.

The first time he really saw you was that night at Eren’s party. You were quick to laugh at his jokes, and quicker to add on. And later, he watched as you danced with Jean, who Levi watched get shot down by a blonde girl who was clearly more interested in the girl with her, even in your stupid pumpkin costume that stood out like a sore thumb. There was something about you that drew people in, he realized. Charming, good friend, obnoxious.

He thought about when you finally left that evening to go study. Hard-working, warm.

The next questions were a lot more difficult to answer.

Who do you think you are?

“Annoyed, mostly,” he muttered aloud as he forced himself to try to think. Although he had a knack for writing about other people, he wasn’t a huge fan of introspection. A musician, he wrote simply. I’m good at what I do, and I do what I’m good at. Simple. Blunt. Clean. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, he thought.

How do you think others see you?

This was such a dumb question, Levi thought to himself. He never really cared about how other people saw him. Hange always said it was one of his charms, especially on stage, and he agreed. His Twitter DMs seemed to agree as well. But a question was a question, and he wasn’t going to hurt his stellar grade over a dumb question. Charismatic, quiet, intense, cold. 

He finally set his pen down and picked up his phone to see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Levi, are you free this evening?

Before Levi could feel confused at who the hell would be so bold as to message him like this, you quickly sent a follow up text with your name and Levi scoffed. He was amused. He saved your number before replying to you.

Levi: Sure Levi: Did you want to do something?

He didn’t wait long for a response as you quickly texted him an address and a time. The campus cafe, which thankfully was near his apartment, at 7 p.m. so he still had a few hours before he had to meet you. He pulled out his lyrics notebook and looked back at what he’d written during class. It felt like it was coming together and Levi felt content as he grabbed his acoustic and began to strum absentmindedly, trying to figure out what his words sounded like in a melody. It was something simple, but he was happy with it. Hange was right, this song felt like him.

For the first time in a long time, he was writing about himself.

When Levi walked into the cafe promptly at 7 p.m., he let out a soft sigh. The smell of pastries, cinnamon, and coffee wrapped around him like a comforting embrace and he took a moment to appreciate the smells of autumn. He scanned around the cafe and found you sitting at a booth by the window, staring out at the street. Now that October had passed, the jack-o-lanterns and skeletons had been replaced with the warm glow of fairy lights and other various holiday decor. As he walked towards you, he found himself catching his breath at the warm glow the lights left on your skin. Pretty, he thought to himself. When you finally turned your head and caught his eye, you smiled at him with a wave. As pretty as he thought you were looking away from him, it had nothing on the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him. 

“Hey Levi,” you greeted as he finally made it to your table. He unwrapped his scarf from his neck and slipped out from his coat, setting them both neatly beside him on the leather seat of the booth. “I went ahead and ordered a little bit before you got here. Figured you’d look forward to something warm to fight the cold.” You gestured at the cream colored mugs that sat on the table and Levi cautiously inspected the one in front of him. The steam still rose from its contents and the smell of Earl Grey tea made his shoulders relax. He wasn’t a coffee person.

“Thanks,” Levi replied softly. “How’d you uh, how’d you know I prefer tea?”

You blushed as you looked away. “I was a little nervous,” you began, your attention once again on the sights outside. “I texted Eren on the way here and asked what kind of drink you preferred.” 

Levi felt himself blush and was thankful that you weren’t looking directly at him. He scoffed before taking a sip of his tea. Seems like Eren pays attention. “Nervous, huh?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as teasing as it did.

You finally turned your attention back to him. “Yeah,” you chewed your lip. “This is kind of an intimate project. Did you see the questions? It felt like some sort of first date survey.”

He nearly choked on his next sip. You were right, and now that you had pointed it out, Levi couldn’t help but fixate on the idea. A first date, he repeated to himself. He hoped the mug hid his blush.

“We don’t have to think of it that way,” you quickly added. Levi let out a soft chuckle at your panic. “I mean, not that it would be terrible, but this is for class so I think we can keep it professional and then be friends, which I guess would not really be prof-” 

“You’re rambling,” Levi cut you off. He felt relieved that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous about all of this, but he also took note of how you said it wouldn’t be terrible for this to be a date. He let out a sigh and set his mug down. “There’s no pressure at all. We can spend as much or as little time together as you’re comfortable with, and how we spend that time doesn’t have to be anything in particular. We could study, talk, or just sit here in silence too, if you wanted.” He hoped of course, that he’d see you more often, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. He knew people saw him as somewhat unapproachable. Even people who scream his name at performances seem to tense up and freeze when they see him on campus. He didn’t want you to be one of them.

To his credit, his words did seem to have an effect on you and he watched your shoulders begin to relax as you reached for your own mug to take a sip. “Thanks,” you began. “Sometimes I get too in my own head. But you’re right. No pressure.”

Glad that you were finally more relaxed, he let a beat of silence sit comfortably between the two of you. When he first met you at that party, you seemed a lot more sure of yourself, not that you seemed unconfident now, but more that you handled interactions with new people in a charming, easy way that he couldn’t. It made him relax knowing he wasn’t the only one who tends to overthink things. He made a mental note to write that down for his assignment later.

It was much easier to just talk after that. Levi felt he had finally redeemed himself after that night where all he could say was “cool.” He was a man of few words… but not that few.

You told Levi about how you’d met Eren, Armin, and Mikasa. How Armin had come up to you at recess in elementary school after you had just moved to town and asked about the book you were reading. He was the first to speak to you, and Mikasa was the first to drag you along to their adventures. Eren, who was your next door neighbor, had declared himself your older brother when he found out you didn’t have one. “Everyone should have a big brother,” he had decided at 9 years old.

Levi told you about the band, why it was called No Name in the first place. He had started the band in high school with his best friends and kept it going since they somehow ended up at the same university. Hange wanted to call themselves The Titans “because it’s funny. Because you’re short.” And when Levi pounced across the table, Miche suggested The Walls which Levi hated even more. It wasn’t until Erwin dragged him back to his seat on the couch of Erwin’s apartment that Erwin decided, “If we can’t decide on a name, then we go with No Name.” And that was that.

Levi had found himself smiling at the memory, and chuckled at how long ago that was. Now, somehow, he had become the leader of the band, filling in Erwin’s role as a singer and at times, a mediator.

It was easy to be nostalgic with you, but maybe it was the tea, or the fairy lights that set him up. It wasn’t until both your mugs were halfway empty after a refill that Levi remembered to ask. “So why a cafe?” he asked curiously. 

Your eyes lit up as you began to speak. “Oh, right,” you began. “Remember how we were talking earlier about feelings that don’t have a name and I mentioned the first coffee run in autumn?” Levi nodded. “Well, I finally had some time today, and I thought I’d invite you to join me so you could feel it firsthand.”

Now that it was November, it was well past Levi’s first run to the cafe. In fact, he’d been here at least twice a week since September.

“I know that it’s really late into the season,” you spoke again as if you knew what he was thinking. “And I’ve had plenty of coffee since September. But I’d just been so busy that I hadn’t had a chance to actually sit down inside a cafe and enjoy a cup of coffee.” You smiled as you looked down into your mug.

This is nice, Levi thought to himself. “So what are you feeling?” Levi probed as he recalled your words from earlier. Something new, something good. This was definitely that.

“Like life is about to fall into place.”

Later that evening, Levi found himself itching for his phone to text you.

It had only been an hour since the two of you parted ways after he walked you to your car, but he already found himself thinking about when he would see you again. You were easy to talk to but you didn’t mind when he only had a few words to say either. It felt easy. He hadn’t been on many first dates but he knew that none of them had him feeling this way afterwards.

Levi: Hey Levi: Are you free tomorrow? We can meet again if you want.

Tomorrow? My place??  Levi had sent the message before he could think too hard about it. He shoved his phone under his pillow and walked out to the kitchen of his apartment. He grabbed a glass of water and leaned against the island, running a hand down his face. He took a sip and began to pace back and forth.

Like a phone toss when it’s risky but you hit send.

He ran to his desk, momentarily forgetting about the phone, and wrote down the line. And another one. And another one. Until finally, he had a song. He took a deep breath before reaching under his pillow for his phone.

Coffee Addict (psych): I’m not busy :) where do you want to meet?

He thought for a second before an idea popped into his head.

Levi: You know the music studies building? Meet me on the basement floor.

And so the next day he found himself sitting on the floor across from you in a cramped practice room with his hands clasped on his lap. He’s not really sure what had come over him last night after asking you to meet him, but he can’t say he regretted inviting you either. In fact, he woke up bright and early, feeling that flutter again as he thought of seeing you.

“This is cozy,” you joked as you looked around. The room really was cramped, and with a standing piano against one wall of the room, it made it feel even smaller. He wasn’t used to sharing this space with other people, but he didn’t really mind sharing it with you.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry it’s cramped, I know,” he acknowledged. “I just… I wanted to show you something.”

“Oh?” you asked. “What is it?”

Levi looked up at the piano before standing up and offering his hand out to you. A buzz in his fingertips. A flutter in his stomach. He sat down on the piano bench and patted the space beside him to his right. The bench was wide enough to fit both of you, but Levi didn’t miss the feeling of your leg pressed against his. Before he could overthink himself into a panic, he stretched his fingers over the keys and began to play.

“It’s the anticipation when the amps turn on Just cables and crackle. It’s the first flicker of the neon sign It’s the words stuck in your Adam’s apple.”

He glanced over at you before continuing on to the next verse. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, but you watched as his fingers moved across the keys.

“It’s a bumblebee on a blossom The first coffee shop run in autumn.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide as you recognized your own words.

“The song’s about to start, can you hear it? The door’s about to open, can you feel it? The flower’s about to fruit, can you see it? I’m about to fall for you.”

A buzz. A flutter. He knew what this was.

“About to fall for you.”

a/n: some more fun facts! This chapter was so fun to write. 1) Eren, who'd never admit it out loud, actually knows all his friends' go-to drinks. He often brings his bandmates drinks as apology for being late to practice 2) Armin is the biggest social butterfly of the group. He's just really kind and disarming. 3) I gave myself butterflies writing the scene where Levi is playing on the piano with you beside him.

[rosyandraw]

Please write the damen thesis

I fucking love a good Captive Prince meta and as you didn’t give me any direction or specific topic that you wanted to see I’m just going to have a play around with the narrative themes and Damen's arc, so here’s a 3k late night caffeine induced ramble about Damen that might not be 100% coherent:

Damen and the Sword of Damocles or: The Burden of Duty.

In the legend Damocles made the mistake of commenting about the apparent happiness of the tyrant king Dionysus. Dionysus who, in actuality, is terrible and a big fat emo, figured he’d invite Damocles to dinner where Damocles was pampered, spoilt, and treated to a good time. However, Dionysus had hung a big ass sword over Damocles, hanging by a single hair and it could fall at any moment. Once Damocles noticed, he realised he couldn’t enjoy any of the dinner any more or any of the amazing things happening to him and around him.

The sword of Damocles has come to mean imminent danger. In the legend it was a symbol of the price of power. Power is a burden and as long as you have it you must constantly be vigilante, no desire or earthly pleasure will come without the knowledge that at any moment it can disappear, it might even mean very little because of it. Almost as if the ultimate price of power is the sacrifice of the things you might want.

And therein lies the central themes of Captive Prince: power, and duty vs desire.

Damen, much like Damocles in the beginning of his tale with Dionysus, was completely blind to the danger that was hanging over him. Damen didn’t so much notice the sword hanging over him as Jokaste pointed a big neon flashing sign at it in all its horrendous glory.

Damen is, for the first time, confronted by the idea that power is not a stable or steady notion. Or state of being. And he had, until this point, taken it for granted. Blind to the reality of what it meant and the sword hanging over him.

That’s not to say I think Damen is completely naïve. He knows power has costs, but his own specific psychology allows it be far away, it just is what it is for him. Something he just has to do and so locks it away. It’s the battle at Marlas: a job to be done. It’s being separate from others both personally and professionally (separate from his men, separated from Nikandros and not being able to serve at the Kings Meet, no close connections etc), it’s having to be perfect (clearly extensively trained and educated) and working hard and duty above all. But the threat?

The throne lies in the shadow of the gallows and Damen is for the first time recognising how precarious power is, how poisonous, how close the threat can fester.

Damen’s entire journey from then on, he is in a continued state of fight or flight, and that sword hanging over him does not get any lighter or any less perilous. (I could likewise talk about Damen and Laurent’s super interesting fight or flight reactions but that is a topic for another time lmao)

Damen’s journey, and his arc throughout the trilogy, can be stripped back to the notion of power and his attempt to regain his own. It’s loss, it’s meaning, how he defines himself and the world and what he understands of it: all of these relate to Damen’s understanding of, and struggle with, his own power. In its most basic form Damen loses his crown and his journey is about retaking it. The crown, we know, is the ultimate symbol of power. It’s all very blatant. Especially when coupled together with power in its most physical sense as one of Damen’s most frequented attributes from scene to scene. Damen is powerful, strong, and wilful, people listen to him, he has an unshakeable determination and has a pretty astounding effect on those around him even when he is unaware of it. Damen, we are told, is a King. Not just by birthright but in action. He has all the makings and markings of a leader. Because of this Damen always has some sense of power.

We see it over and over in a myriad of different scenes: Damen’s true sense of power is innate to himself and his abilities. Especially with a sword in hand. Damen is all wrapped up quite obviously in the theme.

However, though Damen’s journey to regain his power is the main focus of the narrative, it’s not his arc. Damen’s real journey, his internal struggle, is all about his identity.

Again, at its most basic, it seems heavy handed to say so: Damen spends the mass majority of the books hiding his identity after all, so of course it’s a theme, of course his slow decisive fight for his own power walks hand in hand with clawing back his identity. However, as we know, by the end of the trilogy we are very much aware that Damen’s identity journey was never about the crown. It was never about coming clean or using his real name and title. It was never about the unveiling of himself to all of those around him to be known. It was about discovering himself. Damen the man and not Damianos the prince.

And this dichotomy sets the stage for the real journey of Captive Prince: duty vs desire.

Damianos of Akielos: the rightful king, the son and heir, The Noble Man. He is the consummate Crown Prince, a military commander, an astute -almost legendary- warrior. The Perfect Son. The man who cares what people see of him, who is bound by tradition and expectation. The face of power and duty.

Damen the man: gives no fucks what people see of him, desperate for affection but afraid to ask for it, lost and full of doubt, empty no matter how he indulges himself. Almost self destructive and negligent with his own safety as if he has something to prove, as if he’s always striving for something, mad at his father, confused by his brother, indulgent of his own wants without thought because it’s easier than questioning. His dead mother’s son, his father’s hope. Compassionate and protective and innately aware of other peoples vulnerability. This is his internal face, the man and not the crown. Full of desire and emotionally broken.

Damen has, for a long time, kept himself at arms-length. Nikandros is his only real friendship, his tragic family life is nothing but duty and trauma. His love life is full of sex and no emotional intimacy. He never, not once, considered Jokaste as anything but his mistress. It wasn’t Jokaste that broke his heart, it was Kastor. She is explicitly his mistress; someone he is intimate with only during sex. She’s not his future and she knows this. She will never be Damen’s queen; it never even crosses his mind.

I assume Damen, like most princes, thought he’d marry for duty. A political marriage that would ultimately not be his choice, so why bother getting close?

This is where the masculine culture of Akielos would come into play and we could spend hours here playing around with the heteronormative aspects of both Akielos and Vere (normalised queer sexual relationships aside there are deep underlying mentalities here surrounding the themes of submission and masculinity and what is Acceptable. I liken it to Rome in this respect: totally cool to stick your dick wherever if you are a citizen, not so cool to take a dick unless you are in a category Roman's viewed as inferior, but that's an entire essay unto it self). This is yet one more place wherein Damen struggles and where his wants don't necessarily align with the expectation of him. Bottom line: Damen doesn't really personally give a shit, but Damianos does. And we see this by the Akielon (Nikandros and Makedon) reaction to Damen's cuffs, scars and circumstance and how Damen reacts to these things both as his own person, and as a man who knows how Akielos will perceive it.

Segregation, compartmentalisation, and separation. These three are the main components of Damen’s trauma manifesting in his personality. I could talk about his psychology, his trauma, how and why this happened. But that is a different discussion for a different day. Right now, all we need to be aware of is that Damen does this in every single aspect of his being and within the narrative.

He does it with sex (separating the physical and the emotional), his trauma (stowing it away and dismissing it instead of feeling it, as if acknowledging and feeling were one and the same), with politics (slavery, Akielos vs Vere), with his father (the king vs the man), with his brother (the resentment he is aware of vs the desperate want of his brother), what he thinks he needs vs what he wants.

Damen never sees himself as a slave. Never not once, does he doubt himself in this regard. He doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it. Not truly, there is never a breakdown, never a moment in the first two books where this terrible tragic traumatic thing gets the better of him.

This is because Damen has always split himself in half this way. We see it again and again, explicitly, and implicitly, Damen is a man of two faces.

Damianos the Crown and Damen the man. This is how he keeps himself so separate from the shackles he finds himself in. Because it’s not him, not really, and only someone used to compartmentalising aspects of themselves could do what Damen does in Vere as easily as he does.

It is no surprise that the real meeting of those two faces is what causes Damen to (finally) spiral. Not well, of course, Damen’s too controlled to spiral fully, but Damen only loses his shit a handful of times in all 3 books (and considering his chronic fight or flight is popping the fuck off it's actually super impressive but I digress).

I’m talking the out-of-control kind of loses his shit, and almost all of them are for Laurent. These are: the kidnappers in Vask when they lay suggestive hands on Laurent and Damen reacts to Laurent’s innate sense of vulnerability in this regard, it’s not jealousy, it’s because Damen is, at heart, a protector.

The Kings Meet, where Damen’s rage for Laurent sees him absolutely lose it at one of his Kingdoms most sacred places. Again, it’s not jealousy, it’s not even something he digests because fundamentally Damen already knew. He just hadn’t confronted it, allowed himself to think of it, so when it’s spelled out for him he doesn’t question, he just reacts. With rage. For Laurent.

There are only 2 other times Damen really loses it on page where it comes out as pure Viking Berserker rage: Charcy and with Makedon. Both of these times he has been pushed to the end of his emotional tether and he snaps.

Which is odd for Damen, who has so much control. It’s no surprise these things occur after the clash of his two faces when Nikandros and an Akielon army kneels for him at Ravenel. Charcy, where the man in love is determined and worried and willing to hope for Laurent. Where the Rightful King is very fucking aware that he should be heading south and this battle is not tactically something he needs to do or even that he should do and that his men are certainly not on board with.

Makedon, we know, is a target for Damen’s rage because he is there. But he’s not really attacking Makedon, it’s everything, the accumulation of hit after hit that breaks because, again, Damen is at the absolute end of his emotional tether. With Laurent, with Kastor, with Jokaste, with his position, with the future opening up before him where he knows he can’t win the way he wants. Because at that point, his real wants are impossible. And the prospect opening up before him is cold and empty and a crown he should never have had to fight for, against a man he loves even now despite everything. Abusers, we know, are good at getting that response from their victims.

If Damen had had those two aspects of himself confronted before he fell in love with Laurent then nothing would have changed. He could have walked away safe and sound and kept his world view and his deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms entirely intact.

But that’s not what happens. Damianos the Crown and Damen the man can no longer hide from each other by the time reality comes calling at Ravenel.

Because he does fall for Laurent and he recognises that it is directly in conflict with his mission, with his duty and his crown. Damen’s narrative journey to regain his own power is tied explicitly and irrevocably to his identity struggle and his love story. His love for Laurent is the trigger that bursts the dam in his head and he sees himself, finally, as a man split in half. Is forced to confront the dissonance within himself as Laurent’s lover and as his own man.

In the end of the legend Damocles decided he would never want to trade places with the King, realising that power was, in fact, a burden, and he would rather enjoy his life.

But Damen is the King. Unlike Damocles he already has power. His struggle then, is not only about recognising the burden that comes with power, but reconciling his world view to include the sword he had been fortunate enough to never really notice.

It becomes a struggle between the opposing wants within Damen: duty and power vs love and desire and how to reconcile them.

In other words: A kingdom, or this?

Damen, like Damocles, learns his lesson. Hard and fast but it takes a while for him to frame that in his reality. More importantly, to frame Laurent in that reality.

Because Laurent is not blind to that sword. He has been painfully aware of that sword for a long time. His though, his less of a burden and more of a threat, he lets the sword hang or he dies. There is no alternative for Laurent.

Laurent’s struggle, similar and yet so contrasting to Damen, is that he has ignored the feast entirely. He indulged once, saw the sword and concentrated on nothing else from then on. Laurent’s reconciliation between duty and desire is not the same as Damen’s, in fact it is much more blatant. He doesn’t let himself feel desire but for life (power) to mean anything he has to let it in eventually or else it’s empty. Nothing but the constant anxious vigilance of waiting for danger and despair.

It's no life.

A kingdom or this then, duty vs love, becomes a motif for Damen reconciling the parts of himself that are newly discovered to him with the man his father, Nikandros, Akielos, wants or needs him to be. To Damen, duty and his fight for the crown is Damianos the prince. It’s his birth right, it’s who he is, who he was raised to be and Akielos is his home. His everything. Except Damen, the man, knows that it’s empty, that being perfect meant nothing in the end and as a man, he wants love. Would throw everything else away for it.

Reconciling those two opposing but equally as devastatingly consuming wants becomes the focal point of King’s Rising.

The merging, of course, narratively, comes at Ravenel. When Damen watches Nikandros and his men go to their knees for Damianos. The internal merging however, the reconciliation, comes at Karthas. With Laurent, when he uses, for the first time, both of Damen’s names in bed. That is the moment we see Damen stitch himself together, realign himself, a camera coming into focus. Damianos the King, the representation of duty, meeting Damen the man and the representation of desire. Quite literally, coming together.

We know this is the moment for Laurent too, for vastly different reasons, but Laurent makes his choices here too. He already knows what he’s going to do here, and so does Damen. The choice has been made, the stage is set, the final ball is in motion.

The readers are, of course, rooting for both. For Damen to win his crown and keep Laurent. We know there will be a choice now and when it does finally come to that choice Damen and Laurent are on the same page and make the same choices. Winning their crowns was a happy accident. Because they both choose this.

Laurent gave himself up for Damen without hesitation. He chose love. Damen throws himself on the mercy of the court knowing he was likely going to die just so that Laurent would not be alone. Those are not the choices of Kings. It’s not duty. Those are the choices made with love and with little regard for anything but that love.

Laurent, we know, knows that Damen can beat the Regent. The Regent has not won against him yet. It’s somewhat tactical but it’s hypothetical, a conciliation or justification of the sacrifice he’s making. Getting the Regent out of Akielos, giving himself up, makes Damen safer, because Laurent knows that Damen retaking the throne in Akielos is a matter of time, they won’t stand against him for long, he knows this. The Regent muddies the waters. But Damen is, canonically, the only person who has baffled and beat the Regent from day one. Laurent is that confident in Damen. But, as I said, those are his justifications. Not his reasons.

Damen doesn’t even try to justify it; he goes so that Laurent is not alone. That’s his choice. Winning their crowns was an afterthought.

Damen doesn’t do it blindingly, he is painfully aware of the sword hanging over him, the consequences of those choices, but it is the moment where Damen decides that the feast in front of him is still worth it. If the sword falls it falls. It doesn’t matter what he does, if it’s going to fall it will fall regardless but if he doesn’t take what’s in front of him then the rest will mean absolutely fucking nothing. It is, for them both, a very conscious decision.

It does, of course, end with the bells. A two-fold symbol we all have been conditioned to accept as an ending: a Disney inspired Pavlovian response. It’s the hero’s arc complete, it’s the journey’s end, the signal of both a victory, and in every fairy-tale ever: a wedding.

Or: a kingdom and this, the real merging.

So there we go, hope you like it dear. You're lucky it was this and not word vomit about the sword throw scene because it very nearly was my dude.

[bitethedevil]

If you’re taking writing prompts consider-

Raphael reacting to Tav/Durge confessing they’re in love with him

I made it a Durge because I haven't written a lot of Durge stuff (fun fact: the first longer fic I ever wrote was with a Durge warlock that had Raph as a patron, but I never released it). Raph is being a bit of a manipulative dick in this one, but what's new. Also, I'm slow as fuck at replying to my asks (especially prompts)

Love

Clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack.

His office was deadly quiet except for the sound of his claws tapping on the hard mahogany of his desk, a dangerous rhythm that she knew immediately what meant the second she heard it. The rhythm echoed her heartbeat as she waited for her patron to say something. She was in trouble.

He was leaning against his desk, looking at her and keeping her in suspense. A cruel smile stretched over his face, as he saw how she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She had defeated monsters, mindflayers, gods…even the biggest monster of them all, her father. Still, nothing made her stomach churn more than the thought of Raphael’s wrath.

The feeling humiliated her as much as it thrilled her and drew her closer to him. She had been a god in her own right with all the lives she took under Bhaal and the cult she had led in his name, but this mere cambion brought her to her knees.

She was like a moth to his fiery flames. Everything about him excited her: his cruelness, his gracious mercy at times, his power plays. He felt like home. There was something safe and known in that cruelty that drew her closer. It was something she understood the rules of.

Click clack…

“I have always questioned your loyalty,” he finally said and moved his claws up to his face to look at them as he spoke. “It is no secret that I am prone to play favorites, but perhaps I made a mistake when I took you in…”

His yellow eyes looked up at her. His comment hit her like a punch to the gut and she knew as well as him that that was the intended effect. She hated the feeling of disappointing him. She hated that she felt that way about it even more. She cleared her throat.

“What is this about?” she asked quietly.

That was the wrong question. She could see it from the way his tail flicked in irritation. She had taught herself every one of his physical cues. They were subtle sometimes, but easier to read in this form. The man had total control over his body, but the devil was just a tad less composed.

“What is this about?” he repeated his question in a smooth, even tone. “Many things, my dear.”

That was another thing she had learned: it was never just one thing. Raphael held grudges. He archived every little mistake in his head in neat files, so he could throw them in your face when you stepped out of line.

“You came crawling to me after your father spat you out, after defying me at every turn and without a crown for me. You begged me to take you in, and yet I question your devotion to my cause. You owe me a grand debt when it comes to loyalty. A debt you have not yet paid back with your services, and one that I now question if you will ever pay back if you keep associating yourself with the wrong people.”

She had wanted to give him the Crown of Karsus. She had liked him even back then. Her companions had fought her every step of the way, and with her dealing with Bhaal, she had too much on her plate to fight them on it.

“It wasn’t my choice, Raphael,” she pleaded. “You know—”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off impatiently with a wave of his clawed hand. “I have heard all your endless excuses…and I graciously forgave you, didn’t I? You would have been a bloody stain on my carpet long ago if I had not. What I cannot forgive is disloyalty.”

“Raphael, please,” she pleaded quietly. “Just tell me what I have done. I’ll make it right.”

Another flick of his tail. His nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, but he quickly schooled his features back into one of indifference.

“What were you doing in Waterdeep?” he asked slowly, each word as heavy as a brick.

That was what all of this was about. She had visited Gale. Gale who had been the very reason that the Crown of Karsus did not go to Raphael. Gale and her had started out as friends, but it evolved to something more along the way. It did not work out. Gale was too perfect, too functional for her. She broke his heart, and she would be lying if she said that this fact wasn’t taken into consideration when she gave up on trying to give to the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.

“I was just visiting,” she admitted. “Nothing more.”

“Just visiting,” he repeated with a hint of venom in his voice. “Just visiting an old flame that snubbed your patron of what was rightfully his, is that right? Is he well, our dear Gale? Does his new unburdened life suit him?”

“We are friends—”

“Friends,” Raphael said with a cruel laugh. “How awfully sentimental of you, dear. How soft you have become. I remember a ruthless woman who murdered her way through Baldur’s Gate. That woman, I could have used. It seems that your father has stripped you of everything that once made you interesting.”

That comment made her furious. It made her blood boil, but then why was she on the verge of crying instead? Why did she find herself pleading instead of yelling?

“Gale and I have been through hell and back,” she said. “It doesn’t change my loyalties for you. Please, Raphael.”

“I will NOT be made to look a fool!!” he roared with a sudden fire in his eyes.

The sound boomed through his office. She flinched. His tail flicked from side to side now. He looked her up and down. It seemed to please him how she was turning pale at his words and tearing up. He returned to his calm and collected demeanor as quickly as he got angry.

“Why are you crying?” he asked without a shred of sympathy in the question.

She tried to stop, but she couldn’t. She just wanted him to understand that she was devoted to him, and that this was all a mistake. She had not meant to cross him or make him angry, but merely to visit an old friend. His nails started tapping on the table again as he waited for her to speak.

“Can’t you— can’t you see that I’m only loyal to you?” she sobbed. Clack, clack… “I made a contract with you because I wanted to work for you. I’m yours, and only yours.” Clack, clack, clack. “Can’t you see how I only want to please you? How much I love you?”

Clack.

He froze for a moment at the oddly heartfelt confession that escaped her lips. She had not meant for that to come out, but he was great at pressuring her into saying things she didn’t want to admit. It was a humiliating confession. She hated being so vulnerable and weak. She wished that she could stuff the words right back down her throat. He wasn’t supposed to know.

A smile spread over his otherwise frozen face. He looked her up and down and let out a small huff of laughter. He looked like a man who had just been handed the perfect weapon. His hand left the table and beckoned her closer with a finger.

She walked over to him, unable to look him in the eye. He tilted her head up with a claw under her chin. He towered over her in that form.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

She looked into his yellow eyes. He was smiling at her.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated.

The humiliation in the confession was more apparent this time, and he was eating it up like it was the best meal he had had in centuries. He laughed her straight in the face.

“Oh, dear,” he said with a chuckle. “A creature of habit, aren’t you? You poor girl…”

She swallowed hard. She should have just shut up. His thumb ran over her jaw and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch set her aflame, despite the excruciating embarrassment she was feeling.

“Do I remind you of your dear old papa?” he asked, still smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Is that what this is about? It is always the fathers, isn’t it? Still searching for the approval of a cruel master, even now. Perhaps you haven’t changed at all, my dear…”

She kept quiet. He leaned closer as if sharing a secret. She could smell wine and tobacco on his breath. His thumb rubbed circles on her jaw.

“Tell me,” he whispered to her. “Where did your dear Gale fit into this picture? I’m awfully curious.”

Her eyes flicked to his lips for only a second, but he didn’t miss it by the way his smile widened.

There was only one acceptable answer and she prayed that she would choose the right one. She shrugged.

“He didn’t,” she said quietly.

That was the right answer from the way his smile widened.

“No, I would imagine not,” he said. “Too…boring…wasn’t he? He was not enough of a challenge for you, so you discarded him.”

There was a hint of guilt in her eyes at his words. He tutted gently and caressed her cheek.

“Who could blame you?” he cooed. “People like us won’t concern ourselves with boredom. You were right in choosing to focus on greater things. Gale was easy. Pleasing him was easy. He would not make you fight for it like I will.”

That promise made a shiver go through her. Raphael grabbed her arm and tugged her even closer, until she was standing between his legs with her chest pressed against his. His hand came to rest on her hip. He pressed his forehead against her, his nose touching hers. He was tantalizingly close.

“You are mine then, aren’t you?” he asked. “Only mine.”

She nodded. He gave a dangerous smile.

“You want to please me,” he said. “To make me happy…”

Another nod.

“You love and adore me.”

Another nod. His lips were so close she could almost taste them. His thumb was rubbing circles into her hip. His tail was flicking side to side, but not in rage. It was more like a cat that is ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey that it had been sneaking up on for a while.

“You will write a letter to Gale Dekarios and say that you are unavailable for any future visits,” he whispered against her lips. “That you have already done plenty for him and that you never want to see him again.”

His lips brushed lightly against hers before he pulled away, stealing her breath. She chased his lips, but he only smiled and pulled away further. She knew she had to earn it.

“Go. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” he said with a smile and let go of her.

[chaos-chloe]

Playing w/Fire - Pezzy x F!Reader

Summary: Taking Pezzy serious when he says something as a joke

TW: Established relationship, kissing, cursing, sexual not smut, female pronouns, lmk if i missed anything <3

“YEAH Pezz lets get this dickhead for killing us!” I screamed into the mic as my character was charging the undead boss in Sea of Thieves.

“T-Uh I thought you were going to say “Get that dick” and i was gonna be like “Fuck yeah, tonight?” Sorry.” Pezzy explained but at the end he started laughing, he started leaning his head on his mic, hiding his red face.

“BABY! BRUH! NOT ON YOUR STREAM!” I screamed in shock at him while my face started growing red as fire. I hit my hand on my desk and backed away. I got up from my desk heading to his office to confront him on stream/camera.

“Oh no, guys, I hear her walking to my office right now. Be prepared to clip, cause I don't know what she has in mind.” Pezzy comments to chat. 

I slam open the door and hear him gasp, I look at him with an innocent face and smirk growing. He is holding a hand over his heart pretending to be scared of me. He looks over at me with his chair fully turned to me, giving me his full attention.

“Hi baby, whatcha doing?” He questions me wearily

“Oh you know, doing what you said.” I said back to him like it was riddle

“What did I say?” Pezzy answers back with a question

“Getting dick tonight.” I stated bluntly, while walking over to him. I climbed onto his lap while turning us around so chat could see us.

*OOO pezzy is getting lucky tonight*

*OoOoo*

*GET SOME PEZZY*

*PEZZY HAS THAT RIZZ WITH HIS GF*

*should i leave? Shits getting spicy now*

“Hi Pezzy’s chat, as you know I’m ___, his girlfriend, now after what someone said. I think its time to shut off the stream.” I said like the plan was full in effect, while on his lap I felt something hitting my inner thigh.

“So I love you all, he will see you tomorrow, probably around this time. Not gonna lie to yall. Byeeeeee, Pezz shut off your stream.” I demanded, i watch as Pezzy puts his hand on the house and hover over the ‘End Stream’ button. Once he clicks it and we both triple check that the stream did really end. He picks me up, my hands behind his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on my ass. He starts walking out of his recording room, towards our bedroom.

“I can't believe you really came in on stream and did that.” Pezzy says surprised

“Whattt? I'm only doing as I was told” I shrugged as I started attacking his neck with kisses and giving him hickeys.

“Definitely show this off tomorrow on stream” i commented 

“Baby, stop, I have a group session tomorrow.” Pezzy whines, hiding his groans.

“Nope, you gotta make me stop.” I said kissing him on the lips.

“Oh you’re in trouble once I get your pretty ass to our bedroom.” He taunts me as I giggle, looking at him with full eye contact. 

[90s-suplex]

Okay..this might be a bit of a crazy one but I can’t help it with how huge his biceps are (especially in the early 2000’s) could you please possibly do a one-off about the reader asking Stone Cold to put her in a playful chokehold? Like she’s seen wrestlers do it so she wants to see what it feels like?

But then she quickly realizes how much she actually likes it type deal? And Stone Cold can absolutely tell she’s enjoying it?? 🫣 all safe and sane of course! I just- his biceps man. I can’t help but imagine that scenario when I see those things 😶 especially because I just know he’d be smug about it 🫠

Anon, trust me there’s nothing crazy about this - in fact it‘s 100% perfectly reasonable to want to be put in a chokehold by him!!! 😵‍💫😩

Tw: afab!reader, choking, size difference

nsfw, mdni

“What?“ Stone Cold asked you. "You want me to put you into what?"

You giggled before restating your request.

"A chokehold," you grinned as if you had just asked him a completely normal question. 

"Oh, you know… I‘ve always wondered..,“ you paused. „I’ve seen it so many times, I just wanna know what it‘s like. That‘s it.“

„You sure?“

You nodded a bit too fast, and Austin snickered at your enthusiasm. He wondered how long you had been thinking about asking him this. Eventually, he sighed as he got up and motioned to you to rise to your feet as well.

You stood before him, lifting your head so you were able to look into his eyes. He put his hands on your shoulders.

"Well, first," he spun you on your heels, "I need you to turn around.“

Next, he placed his right arm loosely over your shoulder, while he pulled you closer into him with his other arm until your back was pressed tightly against his torso. 

"As you know, a sleeper hold is pretty effective when you‘re trying to make your opponent tap out."

He angled his right arm, encircling your neck. Your chin was lodged in the crook of his arm as he towered over your body from behind. You felt tiny in his embrace. 

"And there are actually two ways to go about this," Austin explained and put his other hand on the top of your head to hold you in place.

So far, this wasn't too bad, you thought to yourself. You still had some room to move.

"Instead of straight up cutting off someone‘s airflow, you can try to cut off their bloodflow," he said while putting his other hand on the top of your head to hold you in place.

"Kinda like this." He flexed his arm, squeezing the sides of your neck in the process.

Oh. 

You gasped at the snug hold of his arm around your neck. Austin was right; he wasn’t directly blocking your air passage this way, but the applied pressure somehow ignited something in you. A weird, sudden mixture of adrenaline and arousal flushed through you. Before you could‘ve fully realized what was happening to you, Stone Cold decreased the pressure, but still kept you trapped with his arm.

You gulped.

Applying pressure again, he continued. "If applied for too long..." 

His display of strength while being pressed against his strong frame made you feel dizzy and light-headed. He remained like this for a couple of seconds before decreasing the pressure once again. 

".. it can get pretty dangerous,“ he warned. 

Even though you registered what he was saying, you didn‘t want him to stop, curious about the reaction he evoked in you.

He squeezed the sides of your neck again, this time a little harder than before, causing you to let out the faintest of moans. With widened eyes, you couldn‘t help but feel a bit ashamed.

You expected him to comment on this, but he didn’t.

Instead, he readjusted his hold on you by lowering his arms and clasping his hands together right next to your face. This way, your chin was no longer lodged in the crook of his arm, but his forearm was resting against your throat.

Your breath got caught in your throat and your mouth fell open.

"Usually it’s pretty hard to reverse this grapple.."

You began to struggle and dug your hands into his arm. 

Stone Cold decreased the pressure on your throat just enough for you to let you catch your breath.

Breathe in. 

Your chest burned as it filled with cold air.

Breathe out. 

The adrenaline made you feel as if your heart was about to jump out of your chest.

"..so, normally, people wouldn‘t wanna be caught on the receiving end of this hold.“

He released you from his grip and you whined.

"But for some reason,“ he husked, still standing closely behind you, "I don‘t feel like this applies to you, hm?“ 

You honestly didn‘t know what to answer. You wanted nothing more than for him to put his hands on you again, but the your foggy mind only allowed you to stutter out nonsense.

Still, Austin seemed to understand. Moments later, he reached for your right hand, putting it behind your back, while his other hand found its way back to your throat. 

He didn‘t apply any pressure this time around, just holding your neck - rough, calloused fingers on delicate skin.

"I hope this lil‘ demonstration answered your question," his voice was low and you could feel his warm breath on your face. You shuddered.

Suddenly, he dropped his hand, releasing your neck and your heart skipped a beat. His other hand still had your hand behind your back in a firm grip.

Slowly and almost tentatively, you reached for his hand, placing it on your throat again. Your hand slid down his arm, feeling his veins.

Voice hoarse, you asked, “C-Can you do it again?“

He chuckled into the shell of your ear.

“Careful what you wish for.“

[chasm-side]

This is a great post!! I'm going to add a couple additional thoughts.

1. Authors are also commenters, so we know how tough it is to write comments. Cut yourselves some slack! The only type of comments I don't like are the ones that are negative or possibly negative. (Possibly negative = I can't tell if the comment is legitimately negative or is trying to be funny using sarcasm/irony.) You get a passing grade at commenting if you write literally anything that doesn't make the author think you're criticizing them or the fic.

2. You can also comment using only emojis. This is a great first step if the idea of writing a comment terrifies you. Get used to the process of entering something in the box and hitting the button, and then figure out the part with the words.

3. If you gush about a fic in your AO3 bookmarks but don't leave a comment... copy and paste your bookmark comments into the fic comment box. I've seen this happen on some of my fics.

4. I tend to start longer comments with something like, "There are so many things I loved about this fic - way more than I can list here! But my favourite thing was..." The purpose of this lead-in is to give myself permission to write a less-than-perfect comment on an absolutely perfect fic. I used to get overwhelmed by the belief that I had to write the kind of comment the fic deserved. That was not true! I just had to write a comment telling the author that their story had an effect on me. I can accomplish this by picking 1-3 things I liked about the fic and telling the author that I liked them. If I want to get fancy, I can say why I liked them.

5. I can't speak for all authors, but... at the end of the day, all I really want to know is if my story made you feel something. As much as I love commenters who analyze fics for their themes and tone and characterization (and my god, I do love them), the thing at the heart of every comment is this and this alone: "Your story moved me". Maybe it moved you to laughter or to tears; maybe that movement was soft or sweet or sad or forceful. The specifics don't matter as much as you'd think. If reading my story changed your day for the better - well, that's all you have to tell me. Tell me with paragraphs or two sentences or a string of emojis - but just make sure you're telling me that.

6. Thank you for commenting. Really. It's hard, and I appreciate you. My stories are a gift to you, and your comments are a gift to me and every other author who posts on AO3. Thank you <333

my musings on how to leave longer & more regular comments on fics:

We all know comments are good - readers have probably heard authors on tumblr talk about how valuable comments are for ages, and I hope most of the authors reading this have felt that validating joy first hand.

But we also all have lives, and only so much energy in a given day. Maybe you have worries about leaving a comment that's too "weird", or "awkward". Maybe you LOVE a fic, but have no idea how to put those strong emotions into words. Maybe you leave short comments, but wish you felt comfortable crafting the paragraph-long detailed comments that some readers gift to their favorite fics.

If you've ever thought about trying to comment more often, or trying to leave longer comments, then here are some ramblings of mine that will (hopefully!) bring comment-inspiration your way.

A quick table of contents:

Lower the mental stakes

How do I comment on porn?!?!?!?

My approach to paragraph-long commenting

My call to action: challenge yourself to go one step further

Lower the mental stakes:

When I first joined a writing discord, I was genuinely blown away at the amount of support and love the HRPF community contains. I was also blown away at the amount of people that were actually reading my works and messaging about them!! It is still one of the coolest feelings ever.

In my mind, this is an example of a "lower stakes" ways to talk about fics: messaging a friend, or a group chat, or a discord server.

It takes a lot less energy for me to type a rambling text about how much I love the fic I'm currently reading vs. typing a cohesive, well-thought out comment for the author themselves.

One of those two options is much more intimidating!

I want so badly to tell the author how much I love their fic, but I'll never find the time to write all the things they deserve to hear!! So the tab sits open on my phone for months, and the comment never gets written.

If you relate to this: try to lower the "mental stakes" of writing your comment. Remember: this is a fun thing!! Fic is fun!! And I promise, you don't have to write the "perfect" comment to make an author's day.

A potential solution: treat the comment box a bit more like a message to your group chat. Not in a rude way - let's stay polite to the writers in our community, and recognize when unsolicited feedback isn't wanted.

But instead of forcing yourself to always have the "perfect" comment, think of something lighter. Think of what you would text to a friend if you were going to send them a link to the fic: maybe "dude this fic is so funny you need to read it", OR "this is INSANELY good", OR "i've been reading this all morning you need to check it out right now".

Then write that!

Comment: "this fic is so funny oh my god. love it!"

Comment: "this is INSANELY good"

Comment: "SCREAMING. I LOVE THIS"

Comment: "i haven't been able to put this done all morning! sooooo good!"

Comment: "i read the first chapter of this fic and instantly knew i had to send it to all my friends. i love this so much!!!"

Also, this might just be personal preference but: a discord message can get lost to time. AO3 is an archive, and comments there are much easier to look back on!!

So send that discord message to the author in a server you're in - they're going to appreciate it so much!! But consider copy-pasting that as a comment in AO3 as well, no matter how short it might be. It means a lot!!

How do I comment on porn?!?!?!?

PWP fics are known to have a large number of hits, with less kudos and even less comments.

Listen. I get it.

Especially in a fandom like HRPF, where many fics are user-locked, it can be intimidating to comment with no chance to hide behind anonymity.

But remember this: anybody who might "see your username" has also clicked into that very same fic and gone alllllll the way to the end. We're all in this together!!! I promise!!

Maybe the actual logistics are difficult for you - how do I leave a comment on an 8k porn-no-plot fic?? how do I explain that I love this fic without making the author uncomfortable?? - so in that case, let me give a few brief ideas for you to work off of.

Some words I like to use a lot: dirty, nasty, HOTTTT, sexy, intimate, vivid.

If you're feeling especially blindsided by the Everything of it all: i like to throw in a good "stupidly hot". "my brain is melting out of my ears". "soooooo dirty nasty hot". "WHEWWWW this is making me feel insane".

Don't overthink it!!!! Speak your truth!!!

And, final point: don't be afraid to highlight specific favorite parts, like you would with any other fic! Say it with your chest! If you liked the frottage, then say "the thigh riding was sooooo stupidly hot". I promise, the author put it in because they also thought the same thing!!!! It's going to make their day (and maybe result in more fics with that same favorite part of yours).

My approach to paragraph-long commenting:

I just want to reiterate: there is no right or wrong way to write a comment. But here's the general breakdown of how I think about leaving more detailed comments, if you want some ideas.

I copy snippets from the fic that call out to me as I read

I go into my clipboard to paste them all into the comment box

I write 1-2 sentences about WHY i copied down that specific snippet

Sometimes, it might be hard to know exactly why you were so affected by a given line. Here's some things you might especially appreciate in a fic:

Characterization: maybe the dialogue felt especially realistic. maybe the character's decisions made a lot of sense to you. maybe the way two characters interact is just exactly how you picture it. write that down in one sentence!! done!

Prose/writing style: maybe the line was a really gorgeous metaphor, piece of dialogue, etc. copy and paste that shit into your comment + add some "!!!"s, or maybe a single sentence like "this is so so gorgeous" or "INSANE metaphor" or "beautiful prose i'm chewing on glass"

The plot: "I have no idea where this is going next, and I can't wait to find out" / "OH MY GOD THE CLIFFHANGER"

The emotions you felt while reading it: this one's an easy one I promise! "the way you wrote [CHARACTER]'s pain hurt sooooo good" / "this is making me feel ill" / "i actually gasped out loud on the bus" / "i'm so nervous for the next chapter" / "i'm SO excited by where this fic is going" / "i teared up reading this"

A long comment will come organically & very easily, even if you only have 2 copy-pasted snippets!! And the author gets to hear very specific feedback about exactly what you're enjoying - that's SO unbelievably rewarding to hear.

So, my personal call to action: challenge yourself to go one step further!

If you don't usually leave comments: try leaving one or two one-line comments this week. Throw in a quick "i love this!!" next to that kudos!

If you usually leave one-line comments: try leaving a couple sentences! describe one specific thing you liked about the fic, or one specific emotion you had.

If you often leave comments on the fics of people you know: try going outside your comfort zone and commenting on a stranger's fic. you got this!

Push yourself one step further, whatever that means for you! It's such a beautiful thing, to be able to read and love and discuss fic in a shared community, and it's worth the effort!

If you've read my ramblings the whole way through: thank you!!!! This was mainly an outlet for me to put all my thoughts into real words, and I sort of can't believe you read all the way through. <3

I welcome any and all additions to this post!!!! The more we talk about commenting, and the more we comment, the more this community grows - and that's a positive thing for all of us, readers and writers alike.

[tariah23]

oooooo white people in my replies really saying ‘I can excuse racism but I draw the line at homophobia’

Not surprised since this is the site that only talks about racism and thinks it’s a big deal when they see it demonstrated in the cartoons and comics they like *coughs* dungeonmeshi *coughs* (for example at least. I haven’t seen THIS many white ppl talk as in depth about racism on here as much as these fandom nerds, man. I stg. Like “Ohhhh, so you all DO acknowledge that racism is real? Just not in real life even if you could feel it slapping you in the face at high speed. Gotcha.” It’s crazy.

Tumblr is like, 90% white and is extremely centered around them. That’s why you barely see stuff that’s important to black and brown people ever trending here or being talked about. It has to be something incredibly huge to the point where even white people can’t ignore it like they usually do, to talk about it here.

They only talked about George Floyd here because the topic of his death became world news. Even people in other countries were talking about it. Before him, it was probably Ferguson and Trayvon Martin… most of them are still trying their best to ignore the genocides because it’s a “touchy subject.” What do you expect from white people who live in their own bubbles of comfort and refuse to pop it with a needle??? They find comfort in their privilege and faux ignorance (they love playing stupid to avoid conversations about important things outside of fandoms like, are these mfs born with half a brain dedicated to fandom or what.) That’s literally all these mfs make a big deal out of, especially on this annoying ass platform. The ao3 mfs will go to war for the site that allows racist ff and cp like it’s no big deal. I wonder how many people here even donated to the site while actively scrolling past dono posts from folks who really do need help. They act like they’re doing a civil service by defending this site that makes over the amount of it’s intended dono goal in minutes.

Then you already know as soon as you even bring up racism in the stuff they like, they start ganging up and harassing black bloggers especially, calling them TERFs and the whole nine. Anything to make that person look bad for being concerned about the racism that they have such an intense aversion to. God, it’s absolutely exhausting knowing that these people would have no problem choosing a cartoon character over your entire existence if they COULD. Isn’t that fucking sad, man?

[spywhitney]

How I sleep knowing I'll never trust anyone that hates Sydney but worships Richie:

[marcsnuffy]

re: those posts, I will never understand how passionate some cishet male manga fans get when describing two male characters fucking to criticize the media they're talking about

[hauntingblue]

Inept 8 year old boy dragon tries to save floating island is such a concept

[icedille]

there's this one dude i keep seeing whenever i use youtube without being logged in whose main thing is playing the guitar while adding something that will most likely completely ruin the instrument and it just. makes me so angry. so far i've seen him put fireworks inside one drill holes into another and drown two (three?) different guitars. it's obviously an incredibly wasteful gimmick but worst of all it's useless it doesn't even sound good or special it's so blatant that he just adds a ton of reverb afterwards and emphasizes the additional noises (water splashing around the fireworks burning etc) a little bit but that's it there really isn't anything gained musically from him just. wasting a perfectly fine guitar for one (1) video. and i'm aware that dramatically destroying instruments for some sort of statement has been A Thing for a long time but there really isn't any statement here it's just clickbait content and it WORKS everyone eats this shit up i hate it so much

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

The rescent riots in the UK are despicable (but sadly not surprising).

Yes, what happened to those little girls is a tradgey, but the person who was responsible wasn't an asylum seeker, and even if he was, that would NOT excuse the racism displayed these past few weeks.

The people taking part clearly don't care about the safety of children as they're, scaring other people's & indoctrinationating their own into perpetuating racist acts.

Seven years is a lot, though! Then don't fucking join a hate group.

But the non white people are being violent too! Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you attack people. I'm not going to hate on people for standing up for themselves.

They're taking our jobs! Why do you believe that those jobs are YOURS? Are you actually qualified & able to make a good impression on bosses, or do you think just being white should be enough.

They don't work! Well Asylum seekers litrually aren't allowed to until their case gose through but plenty of other POC have jobs (I know you've seen them though it must be hard to make them out through that fog of hatred) & I've met plenty of white people who don't want to (no hate to those who can't because of disability or mental health issues) or loose jobs because they're just overall terrible employees (some of the shit I've seen middle aged white people do at their jobs is crazy).

They're all criminals! Well, that's just not true now is it plus it's been proven multiple times that the biggest factor in crime is poverty, NOT race & again I've encountered plenty of white people who've broken the law yet most didn't seem to get more than a slap on the wrist (if that). Strange, that isn't it?

Well, "those kinds" of men hate women! Ahh, yes, because there's never been white rapists, woman killers, stalkers or harrasers. Its been proven that hating women is a problem in all races & and sadly, the biggest threat to us is usually our own partners or family, not some random aylsum seeker (who if they do hurt women tend to go after the ones from their own community).

They're not from here! Ok, so I don't know if anyone told you, but you can actually be born here without being white and you can't ban people from a country just because of the colour of their skin. Also, neither was half my family, yet we never get told to go back to our own country. Hmm, I wonder if our white skin could possibly have anything to do with that.

They can't speak English! A lot of them are multilingual, actually (& you make fun of their accents) & for the ones who can't well you seem to hate them getting anything (such as English lessons) for free. Also, how many Brits go abroad despite refusing to learn absolutely anything about other countries (there's a reason we're known as disrespectful, violent, sex obsessed, drunks by most of the world).

Also sooner or later we are going to have to accept that a lot of the issues that make immigrants flee their home countries are caused (or at least made worse) by ours & other Western governments.

This country definitely has problems, but we should be taking them up with politicians & their rich mates. Who are the ones actually hording wealth made from the exploitation of the poor, not random people of colour who are just trying to live their lives.