#it Was the only day when there's Nothing(tm) going on so we can all do stuff/do errands/tasks together

[anintelligentoctopus]

FINALLY getting a full weekend off

[qqueenofhades]

There is no law that prevents a convicted felon from running for and becoming president, nor a law that bans someone from being president in prison. Also, if Trump gets incapacitated in someway, many ultra right republicans who equally despise trans people and immigrants and Muslims would happily take his place

And I ask, with all due respect, what is your point?

Do you think I don't know that?

Do you think I am somehow convinced that everything is hunky dory now and we don't have any work left to do?

Are you just determined to be the first of the gloom-and-doomers who show up like clockwork in my inbox, every time some consequence happens to Trump, to morosely insist that no consequences will happen to him? First it was "he'll win re-election." Then it was "the coup will succeed." Then it was "he will never be indicted." Then it was "2022 will be a red wave!" Then it was "he will never be tried." Then it was "he will never be convicted." Now we've moved on, within less than 2 hours of the first US President ever to be convicted of ONE felony, let alone THIRTY-FOUR, "he'll never be sentenced or face a real consequence or lose the election." The goalposts keep moving RIGHT along without even a single pause to acknowledge the difficulty and the value of the progress we have made thus far, and it makes me CRAZY.

Do you people realize how fucking rare it is, both in the world today and historically, for a former (and would-be future) head of state to be held to criminal account by a jury of 12 anonymous ordinary citizens? When that one person, Trump, is the center of the malignant fascist cancer that has spread through this country ever since 2016, and plenty of his cultists are still insisting that it's Trump or nobody for them? When we've actually reached the stage of holding him legally accountable for (some of) his crimes for the first time in his miserable misbegotten life? I suspect that most of you are so deep in the "America is totally broken and the system is useless and we can only Revolute!!!1" rabbit hole that you're bound and determined to argue away every step we take, however slow, as Meaning Nothing TM. Voting? Fake. Fighting to make real progress? Also fake. Everything is fake except our belief that everything is broken and we need the Keyboard Warrior Glorious Revolution!!! As long as you can keep inventing ever more contorted twists of logic to ignore everything else that's happened so far, this makes sense... or something. I guess?

Now we're onto "removing Trump won't matter :(" when a whole lot of people have been fighting day and fucking night to get all the privileged-princess Online Leftists to get off their Che Guevara cosplaying asses and cast a single fucking vote to keep us from full-on-sliding into fascism. A slide into fascism that, again, has been spearheaded and centered around Trump's toxic cult of personality and which is still tied to him in almost every way. Apparently holding him to account (again, which has never happened to him in his life) already doesn't matter because wah wah he won't suffer any consequences. If he loses this election he's probably going to jail for the rest of his life! We would have electorally defeated the greatest threat to the American democratic experiment in 250 years, and frankly a huge part of the fascist far-right hydra that is currently attempting a comeback around the world! This is, yet again:

THE FIRST TIME ANY AMERICAN PRESIDENT, EVER, HAS BEEN CONVICTED OF MULTIPLE FELONY CHARGES IN A COURT OF LAW BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS

and yet we're still hearing that nothing matters and no work has been done and removing him will have no effect???

Come on. Come on. I know it's tiring and it's slow and it doesn't go as fast as we want. But every single damn time the process goes another step, here you people are in my inbox insisting that we're still at zero progress and it means nothing, and lemme tell you, I am Tired of it. Come on. You don't have to jump up and down (my own feeling is glee and vindication but still not relaxation, I will not relax until he loses the fucking election and goes to jail), but you also don't need to keep myopically pretending that all the effort thus far by so many people means nothing. Come on.

[nohaijiachi]

Why I Think The Fandom Has Been Doing Aziraphale Dirty Ever Since Season 1 And It's Only Gotten Worse With Season 2 And It's Killing Me Inside

Before we get into the subject matter of the title let me preface a couple of things:

1- All that will follow is, big surprise, my opinion and my interpretation of this character. Do I think I am The One And Only Who Gets The Blorbo Right and that my ideas are 100% the way the author(s) intended to convey the character? No.

More likely than not the way I see Aziraphale could be intensely different from the way Authorman sees him, or Actorman sees him, and I don't think that my interpretation is necessarily any more correct than anybody's else.

That said, if I also did not think that I am, in fact, correct on a certain level, I wouldn't have bothered forming such a thought out opinion of Aziraphale in the first place, nor would be sitting here, writing this post that I can already tell is going to be entirely too long and might probably ruffle some feathers.

So I'll be writing the rest of this post with the caveat that I while I do think my interpretation correct, I'm also not trying to change anybody's mind nor to discredit anybody's else interpretation of Aziraphale. We can sit here in the sandpit and hold different opinions and still be able to build sandcastles together, it really isn't that deep at the end of the day; I can assure you, I'm not here to fight nor cause fights with this one.

2- With the above point, comes also the fact that I won't bother continuously saying "In my opinion" for the rest of this post. You already know that. So, if something will come across as a bit caustic, do know that it is very much tongue in cheek and I am poking a bit of fun at general fannish habits that I am also very much quote-unquoute 'guilty' of having partaken into, and will partake into again plenty of times in the future, I'm sure.

So, with that: Here's Why I Think The Fandom Has Been Doing Aziraphale Dirty Ever Since Season 1 And It's Only Gotten Worse With Season 2 And It's Killing Me Inside

A large part of the people comprising this fandom prefers Crowley. There, I said it.

This fandom's preference blatantly skews toward Crowley. Can we admit that openly? Let's admit that openly.

To be clear, this isn't meant to be an accusation or recrimination or any other -ation you can think of, I am merely stating matter-of-factly a phenomena I've observed in the last four years.

It is also not a wrong nor bad thing in any way, shape or form. I adore Crowley myself. I love them both so much it's unreal.

But I started with that because I think it is very much a symptom of the fact that a lot of people don't get Aziraphale.

I remember back with S1 there had been plenty of times when I found myself reading discussions and opinion exchanges about Aziraphale and Crowley, their dynamics, all the things that went unsaid behind the things that were said, and found myself genuinely surprised by seeing how some people interpreted certain moments wildly different from how I personally saw them.

I look back at that and I think "Oh, sweet summer child". Nothing could have prepared me from the onslaught of takes about Aziraphale that make me go "Good lord, what???" in the wake of S2, and the infamous Last Fifteen.

Now because I don't want to be pointing fingers at specific things and risk upsetting somebody more than I already am by being open in admitting that, guys, yes, some of the takes y'all have been sharing make me go "Yikes(tm)", I'll move on the interesting part and what I would actually love to discuss, aka cracking Aziraphale's head open and see what that actual fuck is going on in there.

Another preface: Because this duo is intrinsically linked and woven together it is downright impossible to only focus on Aziraphale without also mentioning Crowley, so... Let me circle back to our fav demon bae for a sec, here.

I think the reason why it seems that a larger part of the fandom favors Crowley is because I feel like Crowley is a much easier character to grasp. He is very open in his thoughts and feelings, at any given moment us, the audience, have a much easier time watching a scene and sort of ruminating in the back of our heads about Crowley's motivations for saying the things he says and doing the things he does.

That isn't to say Crowley is a less complex character than Aziraphale. They are very much equally complex and multifaceted individuals with their strengths and weaknesses, their issues and the way they each cope with them, how differently they approach their existence and so on and so forth.

But whereas Crowley as a character presents itself with a certain dynamism and a far more outward openness about his complexity, Aziraphale does the exact opposite; we can say Aziraphale is downright hermetic about it.

For us, the audience, he presents a challenge that requires a good deal of thought being put into him to see over the facade he presents at a more superficial level; he requires time and effort to fully dismantle him in our minds to try and see what makes him thick (other than his thighs), and thus I think it is entirely natural that more people latch on the far easier to identify-with, and relate-to, Crowley.

And that is the inevitable consequence of everything that makes Aziraphale... Well, Aziraphale.

So, where to start? Let's try and jot down what Aziraphale truly is at his core.

He is a contradiction.

This man-shaped being is a walking contradiction, constantly existing in a state of being coated in three thousand layers of misdirection and obfuscation and double thinking.

Why is that? Well. He's an angel.

Aziraphale loves being an angel. It is a tenet of his entire existence and something he cherishes. He wants, so very much, to be his ideal of what a good angel is: An entity who is kind and loving and understanding and forgiving.

Of course us, the audience, know that is utter bullshit, because we know angels can be individuals just as complex as the humans Aziraphale loves so much, with all their inherent flaws and capability for cruelty. And, on a certain level, Aziraphale knows that too.

So there we have it, one element of contradiction: Aziraphale wants to think that angels are always Good and Righteous and Never Wrong; Aziraphale knows that angels aren't, in fact, always Good and Righteous and, by god, can they make plenty of mistakes, too.

What else? How about Aziraphale sitting there, being in love with a demon, fully knowing that at the end of the day demons really ain't that different from angels, and also desperately hanging onto the concept of Good vs Bad.

And he sits there, existing with these two contrasting idea equally taking space in his mind, neither side ever capable of taking over the other.

What else do we have? Aziraphale loves God and wants so hard to believe in Her love for humanity and Her ineffable plan, and Aziraphale also time and again does things that very blatantly go against Her will, lies to Her face, and Doubts. He Doubts, a lot, and that requires the capital letter because those Doubts are what spur him in going against everything he's ever told to believe in order to do the right thing.

Aziraphale's very existence is a constant push-and-pull of things he wants to believe and things he knows are real; things he's told to do and things he wants to do. That's how we get "My side" and "there's a bit of good in you" and "you are the bad guys".

And nothing he's lived through has managed to break him out of this unhealthy way of existing quite yet; that's why he acts the way we see him act in the Edinburgh flashback in S2, or at the start of S1 when Crowley has to ease Aziraphale into the idea of trying to stop Armageddon with the usual song and dance of "temptation" and "plausible deniability" and "you'd be thwarting me", even though from the start we can tell there's a little part of Aziraphale who is clearly not at ease with the idea of the end of the world, and once he's been given 'permission' by Crowley nudging him, he is all the way in with the whole saving the world business, not take-backsies.

Both the moments I mentioned here are very important for different reasons, but of the two is very much the Edinburgh flashback that gets a lot more flack by the fandom and is blatantly misunderstood, which I think is the inevitable consequence of that minisode immediately following the glorious, beautiful, heartbreaking piece of art that is the "A companion to owls" minisode.

I've seen a lot of people lamenting that Aziraphale acts obnoxiously in the Edinburgh flashback and, yeah. He does. But I feel like the fact that we are seeing this after watching Aziraphale struggle his way through saving Job's children, even being willing to go to Hell for it, is a though act to follow and probably soured Edinburgh-Aziraphale for a lot of people, made them think that the character had regressed instead of progressing.

But, see, the way he acts is wholly congruous with who Aziraphale is and has always been and keeps being up to the very end of S2. Yes, even after what he does for Job's children.

If you get down to it, Aziraphale had been ready to give up and let the children die, in episode 2. For a brief moment, after Crowley told him he 'longed to destroy the blameless children', Aziraphale was walking away, having tried all he thought he could try to do to stop this senseless act. That was until Crowley tested him by making the crows bleat, cuing Aziraphale to the fact that his impression of Crowley wasn't wrong, and the he could count on him to do the right thing.

To be clear, I don't want to undermine Aziraphale's action by only giving the credit to Crowley but... It is, also, only thanks to Crowley cajoling him and giving him the right excuses, that Aziraphale feels safe in doing what he's always wanted to do all along.

He'd wanted to save Job's children, and thought he couldn't until Crowley threw him that hell of a lifesaver. He wanted to save the world and thought he couldn't until Crowley nudged him on the path of plausible deniability.

He wanted to save Elspeth's eternal soul, blinding himself to the hardships she'd have to endure in her not-eternal life, and was smacked right in the face by the reality of human suffering multiple times.

The way Aziraphale acts in that flashback can't be a regression, because there never was a progression in the first place: He'd always walked the line between Heaven's and God's will and his own, personal morality and sense of justice.

By all means, if we look at Uz-Aziraphale and modern-day-Aziraphale at the start of S1, his reticence about the whole saving the world business should, by all means, appear as a regression as well. You mean to tell me that he'd been ready to become a demon for the sake of three mortal children, and then suddenly a handful of thousands years later when faced with the prospect of the whole world going up in flames he'd just be all like "Heaven will triumph over Hell and it will be all rather lovely"? Like, fuck off, Aziraphale, you lying double-thinker, you (/pos)

Aziraphale constantly exist while being at war with himself. Circumstances have allowed him to rebel the will of Heaven and God more or less safely time and again, but he never quite managed to break free entirely. He'd always ended up being reeled back in, being fed the party lines, being made to feel shame for his independent thinking, until it all becomes too much and he is forced to step back from that freedom he'd been inches away from grasping.

Back and forth, back and forth, never stopping.

And all of this, all of what he is, makes it so hard for us, the audience, to truly see him. To truly grasp him. To truly watch any given scene with him and figure out what he might be thinking or feeling.

To understand Aziraphale is to understand what he is not saying when he says something, which is a good deal harder to do than it is to understand and relate to a character like Crowley, who very much revel in saying exactly whatever the heck he thinks whenever he damn well pleases.

All those layers of obfuscation and misdirection and double thinking that Aziraphale coats himself in are as much an armor that makes it harder for the audience to understand him as they are his very own downfall because, good lord, if you exist like that, if you exist forced to keep things hidden from yourself, well... It's inevitable that at some point you are going to stumble into pitfalls of your own making.

And I love him for it.

So, there? I hope I managed to explain something with this post, and that it wasn't just the rambling of someone who spends way too much time thinking about her blorbos. To be clear, I don't think people who haven't spent as much time as me trying to dissect and better understand Aziraphale's character are like, dumber than me or anything. It's just that this pair of angelic-demonic blorbos take too much real estate in my mind, lol.

Feel free to let me know your opinion and if you think I am wildly off mark and my Take Is Bad. I might answer, I might not, it all depends on time and my mood ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. | chapter 23

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: the night of day 163 - also known as the final confession

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - angst, mentions of death, sensuality, levi is sad(tm) but we are finally giving him what he needs! Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

As soon as Captain Levi hauls himself upright on the saddle of his horse, he’s gone.

Like a bat out of hell, his horse takes off towards the direction of the old Survey Corps headquarters.

Dust and dirt from the hasty exit licks at the tip of your boots.

The rest of the Levi squad had only finished settling on their own horses, with you the last to remain on the forest floor.

“He seems eager to get back,” Petra states with a slow apprehension to her tone.

Oluo grunts in reply, and you know.

You can feel his eyes locked onto the back of your skull.

Asking—

What happened between the two of you? 

Why do you remember the outcome of the last mission? 

What aren’t you telling us?

The myriad of questions are not lost on you, because you ask them yourself.

After all, you were barely given a chance to explain.

To understand.

Even before the rest of Levi squad made it to the fall site, the tension between you and Levi was palpable.

The way Levi stared at you, held you, in the aftermath.

Trapped between the before times and what you’ve been reduced to before his very eyes —

“James, are you good?” Gunther asks, softer this time, but it's all white noise.

Figure out if you mean it.

If you really do remember — any of this.

Levi's voice is the only one registering in your mind.

If you think you know me, then say it with your whole damn chest and hold nothing back.

You do. You know him.

Captain Levi.

Child of the Underground.

Captain of the Special Operations Squad.

Though you know him as something else; something profound; something too devastating to lose.

The one who almost got away.

Before you can say a word, your body moves on autopilot: you shove your foot into a worn stirrup and jump up and onto your horse with the reins gripped in both hands.

Snapping them with newfound urgency, you leave the remaining members of your squad behind to bridge the gap between you and Levi.

Go.

Wind sweeps your emerald cloak like wings behind you as you ride, urging you horse faster, faster, faster—

And you inhale.

The more that you breathe, the more that you push yourself forward, your body feels less like a foreign entity. 

Your fingers flex without a detached delay. 

The leather against your palm feels right, like—

…like you’ve finally woken up on the right side of the bed again.

By the time you reach the headquarter courtyard, his midnight horse is already tied to a banister at the stable.

In a rushed dismount from your saddle, your shaking hands hurriedly tie the knot around the same banister and rush towards the open doors.

As you run inside your shoes switch from crunch to click, from dirt to concrete floor.

The sky, once swirling in uncertain grays, opens to a light rain. 

An incoming storm echoes through cavernous hallways, turning grayed stone to black.

Everywhere you look, he isn’t there — the foyer, the rest areas, the abandoned offices —

"C'mon, c'mon..."

As you turn the corner towards the kitchen, your eager ears pick up the leisure pace of two sets of boots.

You move faster, hoping to see that familiar head of raven hair.

To your surprise, you find Hange and Moblit at the very end of the corridor chatting after a meal. 

When they notice your arrival, Moblit gives a little half-smile of recognition while the Section Commander holds out their arms, eager to greet you.

“Hey, hey! She’s back from all the action!” Hange yelps with excitement. “Now tell me, how—”

“Where’s Levi?”

Your sharp question interrupts Hange’s cheerful greeting.

In this light, Hange appears so much clearer to you. Gone is the fuzzy confusion; their outline now just as sharp as their wit and wonder.

(Something like a found safe space, warm and comforting.)

“Levi?” they question. “Huh, I didn’t think he was back.”

So they don’t know yet.

He didn’t say anything.

But he's here, you know he made it back here—

Urgently, you step towards the two.

“I need to know where he is. It’s urgent.”

“Did something happen?” Moblit gently presses.

“I remember,” you state, as if that’ll explain anything. They blink in tandem. “I don’t know how, but it—”

Your hand rises to your mouth, covering it and giving yourself a moment to think.

Except the problem is that you need to say it — thinking, second guessing, slows this down.

Focus.

Your hand drops, and your voice says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hange — you and I once drank Moblit so horrendously under the table that he was bedridden for two days.” 

Hange’s boot squeaks against the floor in an echo as they stop dead in their tracks. 

“And whenever we meet in the city, Moblit and I order dumplings from that one nice old woman just outside the hospital. I think — you get the most basic order and always make sure to bring something back for Hange.”

Moblit’s eyes shoot wide. “Whoa, that—”

You hold a hand out to placate Hange, who looks like they’re two seconds away from screeching with elation.

“I can’t explain to you know I know all of this, and I don’t have time to figure that out right now. It’s just sort of word-vomiting out of my damn mouth the longer I let myself talk — so I don’t want to stop talking, and I’ll figure out the details and the rest with the two of you later, but it—”

It could disappear at any minute.

You can’t breathe.

It’s so hard to breathe, but do your best to gulp an inhale anyway.

“Please, just… I need – to talk – to Levi.”

Before I forget again.

Before he thinks I’ve forgotten him all over again.

Both Hange and Moblit stare in a haze of surprise.

By the time you open your mouth to plead a third time, Hange holds up a hand. 

Their expression darkens with a seriousness they so rarely possess.

“If he’s not by Erwin’s office or with us, then chances are he’s in his bedroom."

His bedroom.

Relief floods your system.

“Right,” you exhale, jolted by adrenaline. “Thanks, Hange.”

With that, you speed off in the opposite direction.

Up the stairwell.

Down the hallway.

Be here, be here, be here.

Fist raised, you lunge forward towards the wooden door—

Yet the door opens freely, and you’re trapped staring into the eyes of Levi Ackerman.

He blinks away his surprise to that evergreen mask of indifference — resignation? 

There’s no edge to his shoulders. They’re sagged.

Lowering your fist, you’re met with silence. 

(You’ve come to hate silence more than anything.)

So you speak first.

“Can we please—”

“Yeah.”

No pleas heard. No begging to be done.

“Yeah, might as well.”

Levi simply agrees.

The hand gripping the edge pulls the door towards him, conceding with an invitation inside.

Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it — you push your way through, only to pause when your mind begins to recognize just how familiar this room feels with the light dance of rain outside an open window. 

Everything is so neat. Clean.

(And in the back of your mind, a voice says it’s exactly how you left it.)

The door locks shut, and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

Levi casually walks past you, pulling a chair from his desk and flipping it to face his bed.

He sinks down onto it, knees spread apart while his arm rests casually over the back.

“Start, then.”

His voice is guarded, shortened, as his eyes watch you from under wet, black fringe.

You stare, twisting your fingers around and against each other to self-soothe your nerves.

Your nostrils expand as you muster the courage to speak.

Yet when you do, your voice is smaller.

(So much could go wrong in one single moment.)

“I’ll start, just…"

"Just what?"

"Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes narrow. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, but this is different,” you argue weakly, wetting your lips.

“Try me,” he flatly goads. “I told you from the beginning—”

“—that you weren’t going to hand us our memories, fuck, I know already,” you bite to chomp off the rest of his statement, tired of hearing him push further distance between you. “Let me talk this bullshit out at you, alright? Not with you — but at you. Because the more I talk, the more things come back — it’s like my fucking unconsciousness is working faster than the rest of my body.”

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

When a few moments have passed, you take several steps forward to meet him — but turn to sit on the edge of his bed.

(Like you know belong there.)

He stops moving entirely, brow knit as he watches you descend.

Start, then.

“Before everyone swooped in, I told you that I thought I knew who I was. But… the more time goes by, it isn't a maybe anymore."

Your eyes remain on your hands, noting the calluses and age-old lines of scars across your fingers and palms. 

"And the longer time goes on, the more I talk, it becomes so much clearer."

Remember.

“I never knew my birth mother,” you continue, “not really. As far I know, she died when I was small. A lot of the details are still fuzzy, but some other sick bastard took her place. I think it's so hazy because there’s not much to remember about her. Mother... cared only about winning money."

Lost in your own thoughts, you drop your chin to your chest and exhale.

"I might have had siblings. None of them actually looked like me. They were just... stuck, too. And so many of them died."

All nameless faces.

All battle fodder for the almighty coin.

“I knew that the only way to live was to fight, so I fought. Hard. Every damn day until I couldn't stand on my two feet sometimes. That’s how we met.”

When you lift your eyes to stare him, he doesn’t react.

His nostrils flare in a twitch, but Levi remains in control of himself.

“My mother pit us against each other for money,” you continue softly. “That’s why I kept seeing this small, skinny boy in my dreams at a pub. For weeks, over and over, it was you. I gave you food — I wanted a friend. And…” 

You trail off, chewing on your next words very carefully. 

“And you gave me that. A friend. A chance to join your gang and live a life that was mine.”

Absently, your hand raises from your lap to your neck.

In the hopes of quelling your budding anxiety, your fingertip runs along the delicate silver chain at your sternum.

An old habit that won’t die, even in a state of memory loss.

Yet you catch him, right as it happens:

Levi’s hardened eyes shamelessly drop from yours — to stare at your fingers.

Your fingertip dips and circles the gray gem, mindful of its smooth texture.

Moments pass.

His eyes do not lift.

A familiar warmth spreads through your chest.

“My necklace.”

Then his eyes raise, as if suddenly aware of where he’s staring. 

“You gave it to me, didn’t you?”

You see him in your mind’s eye: a younger version of Levi sitting there, embarrassed to be offering such a delicate, sentimental gift to another person.

His gangly, teenage self overlaps the exhausted, battle-worn Levi across from you in his chair.

Both fighting.

Both surviving.

You feel so small as you try to remember the finite detail. Hitting a wall the longer the silence stretches, you're unable to pinpoint the exact memory.

Your nose scrunches in frustration, searching for that train of thought like a life line. 

“It was for my fifteenth— No, maybe my seventeenth—”

“Eighteenth.”

His voice is barely a murmur. 

Levi’s eyes do not leave your face.

“It was your eighteenth birthday.”

He manages to capture the memory eluding you before it can float away and dissolve to the wind.

A smile loaded with relief passes your lips.

It’s only a small nudge in the right direction, but it’s all you need for the memory to blossom like a flower on the surface in Spring.

The image of yesteryear blooms— 

White, billowing sleeves rolled to his elbows.

A cinched vest kept his clothes from flying off his small frame.

“With a lot of alcohol.”

“Yeah.”

“And a lot of extra cleaning the next morning.”

He exhales, slow and drawn out. “Something like that.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, emotions overwhelming you.

“Ever since Hange gave the necklace back to me, I can’t help but touch it any time I feel stressed or panicked. It’s like all of those bad feelings, they… go away. Disappear like the way titans do.”

Worries, gone like ash.

A ghostlike sensation runs against your lips, forcing you to reach and run along their seam.

Even if it's far away, you see it: a tilted head; black fringe.

Even now, you feel it: his lips so close; eyes wandering; the loss of reason.

“And you… you kissed me that day.”

Your first.

Both of your firsts.

When you smile, you notice then: his knuckles against the back of the chair turn translucent white.

“Wrong,” the captain tightly states.

Wait.

You freeze, fear settling in your belly.

“What?” you question. “But... but you did.”

He’s gripping the wooden backing so hard it could snap.

“I didn’t,” he forces out. “...you kissed me.”

Oh.

Oh. 

He’s not shutting you out.

Elation sweeps over your mind like a soothing balm as memories of pawing hands and inexperienced desire enters the forefront—

Finally clear as day.

Do you regret it, his voice whispers in the abyss.

“I never regretted that,” you reassure him, like you can finally answer him with absolute honesty. “Though technically you leaned in, and I ran with it.”

He huffs in disbelief. "Yeah?"

You smile with certainty. "Yeah."

Kisses between you two were just the tip of the iceberg. You know that now. 

You’ve seen it, felt it, tasted it—

In this very bedroom.

After a pause, the captain’s voice comes out strained.

“Of all the damn memories, that’s the one that stands out?”

You can’t help but huff with exhausted amusement.

“It isn’t the only one," you reply. "There are a million fragments I’m still piecing together and not everything makes sense, but there are some things that are just so vivid to me now. like…”

“Like?”

“Like our friends.”

Emotion flickers across his expression as he sits up further.

It’s like he’s been waiting to hear the names of your deceased comrades on your lips.

“You remember—”

“Isabel,” you whisper. “And Furlan. Yeah, it’s… bits and pieces just like everything else, but we grew up with them. I remember how we'd all spend hours zipping around that damn stolen ODM gear like we owned the joint. Somehow four kids managed to make an entire home in the Underground. And I wasn’t — I couldn’t be there when they—”

Profound sadness hits you like a ton of bricks, clipping your words.

I couldn't be there when they died.

The picture isn't complete, but you remember the sinking feeling in your belly when he had told you. So much time had gone by — you can vaguely pick out Isabel's wild red hair and recall thinking maybe the sun looked just like that. Furlan's infectious, warm laugh echoes in the back of your mind.

And you nearly joined them as a memory.

(No wonder why Levi was so angry with you at the start of it all.)

The rain continues to tap against the stone walls outside as another stretch of silence befalls the room.

One of Levi’s hands reaches for his face and runs down the length of it, tugging the skin as he goes.

His eyes drop to the floor, his dampened fringe shielding them from view.

“Un-fucking-believable…”

Your brow furrows.

“What?”

“This.”

That same hand sweeps a frustrated gesture between the two of you.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he grunts. “You hit your goddamn head almost a year ago and — and you nearly did the same fucking thing again today, and you’re telling me that’s all it took to suddenly wake you up?”

The harshness of his words cause you to rear your head back. 

Hange nearly ran to you with open arms when you told them you remembered.

You had thought perhaps Levi would do the same once you had proven your mind to him.

Yet he’s reluctant.

Angry.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you retort, narrowing your gaze. “I tried telling you months ago that my memories were fragmented, but you didn’t want to hear it. What, were you hoping I wouldn’t remember?”

Instantly his eyes are back on you. “I didn’t say that.”

“It sure feels like that, Levi,” you snip. “Was it because of our fight?”

The whites of his eyes explode.

“Our what?”

“Before we went on the last expedition,” you clarify under your breath. “When you tried sidelining me with counsel to Erwin. I asked you why you didn’t trust me to fight at your side, but it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me.”

What is the excuse you always, always, use?

It was such a vicious question in the heat of the moment.

Levi doesn’t hide his surprise this time.

Although he doesn’t answer your question, you can see it:

The same turmoil that pushed him to the brink of shouting, coming back to haunt him.

Because if I lose you this time, then that’s it!

The rattle of the storm increases in volume right outside his open window, billowing the sheer curtains from the wall.

You promised.

You promised him so many things that day.

Nothing will happen to me.

I’m not going anywhere.

“I won’t die on you, right?” you say to yourself, as if in a daze — trapped between the present and the past. “Because if I did, you’d drag my ass from Hell yourself.”

His face twists, contorts in pain, only for a second.

He catches himself at the precipice before he can truly react, swallowing it down—

And then it hits.

You understand what he isn't saying.

“You haven't stopped blaming yourself,” you realize out loud in a bewildered whisper. “Even after saving my ass a second time, you're still holding onto that guilt like it was a choice you had made instead of me.”

You stand abruptly from the bed and cross the room towards him.

Levi immediately jumps out of his chair like a cat that’s been dunked in water, terrified you’ll push him back under.

No matter how compelled you are to be near him, he repels. 

“It wasn't your fault,” you urge, softer this time. “Look at me. Levi — it wasn't your fault.”

His bluish-gray eyes narrow in defense. “Don’t start this—”

“When I fell—”

“No.”

“Levi,” you chastise. “You said we could talk.”

“I did,” he hotly retorts. “Not about that day.”

The air in the room shifts.

“Anything but that day,” he repeats, softer this time. “Please. I just —”

Struggling with what he wishes to say, his chin drops to his chest.

“...despite all my best efforts, despite whatever plans I put in place, I watched you fall in the same shitty forest not once, but twice, like it's a sick fucking dream I get to repeat over and over until I learn.”

All of your facial muscles smooth with sadness. “Except there wasn't anything to learn because you did nothing wrong. Levi, you caught me.”

“But not the first time,” he says simply. “Not when it mattered.”

The way he speaks about himself…

Humanity’s Strongest, reduced to one perceived failure, as if he could rewrite history and control your mistakes. 

Timidly you slide a boot forward, testing his resolve. 

Levi doesn’t move. His head remains bowed.

“You have spent months punishing yourself for something that I chose to do,” you urge under your breath in a damn-near plea. “What is it that Erwin tells us to do? Dedicate our hearts?"

"Don't use that shit against me, James," he warns.

Raising your hands in surrender, you shake your head wildly. "I'm not. Believe me, I'm not, but you need to understand it was my choice. I wanted to save the others. I wanted my life to matter."

You see his jaw clench like he's forcing himself to hold back what he wants to say.

You step another boot forward.

"Six months ago when I first saw you in that hospital wing in Trost, when you tried to rile me up, it was—”

“An error in judgment," he interrupts.

“Exactly what I needed,” you finish over him. 

His head lifts. 

You meet, eye to eye.

“I couldn’t understand why I was so transfixed by you,” you continue softly with the utmost sincerity, hoping he will hear you out. “You walked out of that room and all I wanted was to know you. To understand you, like you held this invisible key this entire time that could unlock whatever the hell it was that I was missing. But all you ever did was pull away from me, hide from me, trying to convince me you were some villain in my life—”

“James.” 

Abruptly Levi steps forward as if ready to walk straight through you—

—like you’re nothing but a ghost’s apparition.

Instead he is met with living, breathing warmth. 

Your eyes can’t leave when his breath tickles the skin of your face.

Levi stares back, entranced by the color of your eyes.

Infected, plagued, by the reality that stands before you both.

One false move, and it’ll be a repeat of the conversation in the tree tops that made him retreat.

“I have tried to keep you safe almost my entire life," Levi murmurs, and you can practically feel the vibrations of his voice rocking through your body.

“And you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Levi, you—”

“I pushed you into danger—”

“Pushed?”

“—and I am sorry—”

Your hand shoots out, turning his cheek to look you dead in the eye. 

“Stop it.”

Levi freezes, looking so much more uncertain now that he did ten minutes ago.

“Stop," you repeat with exasperation. “You're not listening to me. I'm here. I'm right here.”

He swallows to coat his throat, motion thick. His neck bobs.

"I don't know how else to convince you it isn't a fluke," you continue, voice cracking. "You won't let yourself see me. You won't let yourself believe I'm not dead. Levi—"

And just when you think you’ve lost him—

He turns towards the warmth.

His cheek nuzzles your open palm, eyes wearily slipping shut, as if helpless to do so.

You’re holding the first face you remember and the last face you’ve seen —

The partner you left in the forest so long ago.

The man that wants more than he’ll ever allow himself to take.

Levi's confession is barely audible:

“...I don't want it to be too good to be true again."

The floorboard creaks as his foot shifts towards you, angling himself towards you. 

He inhales slowly through his nose, relishing in a private thought, before shaking his head. His hair nearly tickles your forehead.

When he doesn't open his eyes, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

If he won't see you—

Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his hand until yours curls over it.

At first his fingers flinch in your grasp, his blue-gray eyes snapping wide to watch.

Then eventually they relax, surrendering.

Higher and higher, you skim it past your ribcage and pull it up to your left breast. 

His arm tenses, eyes shooting wide. 

You remain relaxed. Focused.

“What is it you feel?” 

“I don’t under—” 

“Just… pause, for once in your life, and tell me what it is you feel.” 

You press his palm harder against your chest, your heart hammering beneath your skin. 

“Please.”

Albeit apprehensive, Levi doesn’t move away. 

His eyes dart to your lips, your sternum, until they lock onto your joined hands.

“You.”

Strained — he chokes on his response.

“I feel… you.”

As if pulled by gravity Levi steadily leans closer, brushing your nose with his.

His jaw clenches, the muscles taut in his mouth, before his palm flattens of his volition against your chest.

Your eyes flutter, relishing in his proximity.

You turn to him, seeking out his body heat.

For the first time in months, you feel it with such certainty.

Familiarity.

His free hand rises to your cheek, cupping the side of your face.

You suck in a sharp breath between parted lips, and he makes a small noise like he’s agonized over being apart from you.

“Every time that I’ve been given the choice, I always choose you,” you confess softly, a mere whisper. “I run right towards you even when I don’t know you. You are the only thing that has ever made sense to me in this world.”

There — you memorize the slide of his calloused palm, running gently along the height of your cheekbone.

Slow, as if mesmerized by your skin’s softness.

Shakily, you continue and choose the point of no return.

“Tell me you don't want me anymore, and I’ll stop running to you. If I have somehow misjudged you and what you might still feel—”

“Say it.”

Levi’s voice engulfs you — the heavy baritone, barely touching your lips.

His expression darkens like he wrestles with two separate trains of thought.

Conflict etched in his brow, he swallows once more and speaks with a tenderness you only remember in dreams.

“Say you remember me.”

After all this time, you've waited for the puzzle to connect.

The pieces that were once scattered now sew themselves together; anew.

He asks without asking.

You answer without uncertainty.

“I remember you.”

As if mesmerized by the curves of your body, Levi’s hand glides from your chest up your throat—

Until his fingers cradle the back of your head.

His other hand remains on the side of your face, holding you as though you could turn into water at any moment.

"Say it again."

You don't hesitate to obey his command.

"I remember you."

To make your point, you turn your chin into his hand — eyes locked — to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

He nearly hisses from the physical contact.

"Again."

Levi's breath slides into your mouth like a phantom kiss of his own.

(Touch starved after so many months apart.)

“I remember you, Levi Ackerman. I remember you, I remember you, I remember—”

You stop talking when he leans in, lips barely brushing yours. 

Your breath halts. 

His is ragged. Soft.

Then he speaks, as if to pray after a long night of war:

“Dirty trick."

That’s all it takes.

Levi reaches out whip-fast, using the palm against your skull to pull you into a searing, life-altering, mind-numbing kiss. 

You go pliant against him, melting like candle wax, willing to take anything he’ll give.

Lips press and pull, his breath hot on your tongue.

His hands search you as if he doesn't know where to touch first — your face, your neck, your shoulder — until he decides to loop his forearm at the small of your back to dip and lift you without ever breaking the kiss.

Your jump until your knees bracket his hips, and he pulls you flush to his body.

Levi hastily kicks the chair out of his way to carry you directly to his bed.

And after all this time, you feel it — know it — remember it.

The absence dissipates.

The world finally starts to turn.

You have found your way home.

.

author's note:

...hehe. So how are we feeling, Levi Nation? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for your patience as I took a little break this summer to write some modern!Levi with Press Four for More Options. To readers old and new, I am so grateful for your encouragement and support. (Every reblog gives this writer wings.)

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Melted

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): smut :))

Notes: Writing this in honor of the 105 degree heat I had to endure a week ago. Also Fierce might be a bit OOC but I want my sexy daddy rn

Masterlist

It was so damn hot.

Blistering heat swept across your skin, practically glowing from the thin layer of sweat, and you sat on the porch and considered your life choices. It was just your luck that your AC decided to die on you in the dead of summer, which is why you were outside in some booty shorts and a bikini top, hair up and popsicle practically down your throat.

"Jewel?" A voice rumbled from the depths of your home, and the Fierce Deity stepped onto the porch, the wood creaking under his impressive bulk. He stopped short as soon as he caught sight of you, eyes wide with some unidentifiable emotion that you were positive had to do something with your current state of (un)dress. Not that you were particularly impressed when you caught sight of his fashion choices.

"Okay, I know you're a god, but how can you wear that," you gestured incredulously to the full set of armor he was sporting. "Why can't you melt like the rest of us?"

The deity gave a short laugh, moving to sit beside you. "I was not aware you would prefer that, though perhaps I can offer an..." his tone deepened. "alternative."

You raised an eyebrow and delivered a sharp, slurp-y suck to your popsicle. There was no way in hell you were going to fuck in this heat, not when you were positive a warm breeze would send you into cardiac arrest. "Nice try, but I fancy my life."

For a second, you could have sworn his expression turned pouty, but it was quickly replaced with a small grin. It was rare to see him so... carefree (even if he was hinting to having sex on the hottest fucking day of the year), and you almost felt inclined to humor him. Almost.

"Of course, but I have taken the liberty of exploring your territory," back was the feral glint in his pupil-less eyes. "are you aware of the springs on the eastern border?"

Aside from the fact that he talked like everything was a military campaign, he did have a point. The only problem was that the neighboring children didn't consider your 'territory' as private as he did, and you had no doubt they were there now. "Thanks, but I don't feel like exposing myself to a bunch of children," you snarked, finishing off your popsicle with one last hearty slurp, blind to how the deity's eyes immediately snapped to watch the spectacle with rapt attention. "Now, we could fill my bathtub with ice cubes, but I doubt you'll fit."

"Inconceivable," was Fierce's deadpan response, and you wondered if letting him watch The Princess Bride was a bad idea.

"Exactly," you flicked the wooden stick into the trashcan and wobbled to your feet. "Welp, I'm going to get naked and hope my skin peels off so I can be cool."

It was almost funny how alarmed he looked at your statement. "You will do nothing of the sort, my vow—"

"It's a joke, it's a joke!" you interjected before he could go all guard dog on you. "The heat's not doing any favors to either of us right now."

A hand sealed itself over your wrist, preventing you from stumbling inside like you hoped. You raised your eyebrow at the deity currently holding you captive, waiting to see if he would explain himself or if it was time for you break out the mom(tm) voice again.

"You need not worry about the children, they would not dare disturb you in my presence."

Of course he had threatened the children. It was to be expected that, whether intentional or not, the Fierce Deity was an imposing figure, and you had no doubt that it had taken nary a cold glance to send those poor kids running for the hills. You pinched your temples with your free hand at the very thought of another encounter with the HOA on the basis of the seven foot deity stalking your land at night. "Oh my god, please tell me you didn't chase them out."

"I did not have to," intoned the deity, as if that made it any better. "They left as soon as the leader caught sight of me."

And by 'left', you just knew he meant 'ran screaming for the hills'. "Fierce..."

"That is my name."

You deadpanned. "No shit, Sherlock."

"That is... not my name."

You were done. Tugging halfhearted in his hold, you whined. "C'mon man, it's too hot for this—"

Without warning, the Fierce Deity rose to his feet, practically casting a shadow over your sweltering form, and hoisted you, butt first, over his shoulder in one quick motion. You gasped in outrage, fists banging on the back of his armor, which did no damage whatsoever. "H-Hey! Put me down!"

Was this really happening? You were half-convinced a fever dream had taken hold of your sanity, because while Fierce was, well, fierce, he definitely wasn't the type to throw you down somewhere and make love to you... or was he? You could count the number of 'encounters' you'd had with the deity on one hand, as you relationship hadn't developed in that way until recently, and he had always waited for you to initiate, though you weren't dense enough to miss the way he glanced back at you with an expression with absolute want. Clearly, this display was him coming out of his metaphorical shell, and you were so here for it. Not that you weren't going to give him a run for his money first.

"Fierce!" You kicked your feet, though they didn't go far with the protective arm slung over the backs of your thighs. "Fierce, are you listening?"

"No," responded the deity honestly. "You would have used the phrase if you truly wanted me to stop."

Fuck, he had you there. You had been the one to suggest a safe word in the early hours of your newfound 'relationship', and Fierce quickly agreed. Though the word 'vow' had entered the conversation, it was quickly shot down, with the deity explaining that his vow to you was a sacred, unbreakable thing, and he had no wish to sully it. You were fairly sure him fucking your brains out wouldn't do that, but relented quickly when you realized just how serious he was.

"That doesn't mean I can't be annoyed with you," you snarked, though it was more playful than anything. Your house had long since disappeared as you traveled further into the forest, though it was hard to tell just how far he had taken you.

"That is why I shall never cease to adore you."

"I, what—" You squawked in abject embarrassment despite the fact that you had seen each other naked multiple times. "Y-You can't just say stuff out of the blue like that!"

"Inconceivable," came the second movie reference of the day. "I would never utter an untruth to you."

The fuck? Sure, he liked call you his treasure when he was balls deep, and there was no shortage of affection from him when you found yourself alone together, but you'd hardly expected such a stoic man to... well, it was as if he was trying to fluster you!

And, by god, was it working. Heat rushed through every part of your body at the thought of him taking control for the first time in, well, forever. Initiating was your thing, but now...

With a face redder than a beet, you muttered. "You better carry me back, dick."

You yelped when something distinctly close to a hand came down on your left ass cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but it got your attention all the same. "I intend to," came the deity's smug promise as you grappled with the fact that he had just smacked your ass.

Before you could muster a response to the insanity that had just occurred, Fierce pushed past a gaggle of branches--making sure they didn't smack you in the process, which was honestly the sweetest--and marched into the clearing where the hot springs resided. You waited patiently for him to set you down, regarding the bubbling spring with thoughtful consideration. The water was cool, that much you were sure of, and the area was blissfully empty of squawking children.

"...You may be on to something here."

A chuckle rumbled from Fierce's mouth, and he began to remove his armor. You froze as his breastplate and tunic came off, revealing miles of battle-scarred skin, glistening temptingly in the blazing sun, then scrambled to remove your shorts the second he undid his belt, because damn if you weren't going to get a piece of that. "You're such a bad influence," you teased, tossing your shorts to the way side as his leggings flew to the ground below. While you had the foresight to put on a pair of swim bottoms, the deity had done no such thing, standing naked before you without a care in the world. You were glad to see him so confident, even though it was wholeheartedly unexpected. "Scaring kids so we can play hooky."

But Fierce wasn't fazed, marching forward to scoop you up once again. You laughed in surprise, arms falling around his neck, legs wrapped around his very naked waist, as an arm came under your ass to support you. "I live to serve," rumbled the deity softly, and you pecked his lips with a cheeky grin.

"I know."

You giggled when he entered the spring, tall enough that no water reached you for a few steps. You wiggled out of his grasp as soon as the water touched your bum, paddling away happily in the blissfully chilly spring. The deity made no move to grab you, standing waist-deep with his arms crossed over his delicious chest. You began to tread, swiveling your body to face his. "Isn't it nice?"

Fierce offered you the ghost of a smile, though the softness in his eyes said what he didn't. "It is."

Still treading, you continued: "You know how to swim?"

He nodded, expression flashing to something more grave. "How am I to protect you without?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Chuckling, you paddled back over, leaving a trail of bubbles in your wake, hands outstretched like a child. The Fierce Deity caught you under the arms, pulling you close. His skin was cool, and you snuggled closer, practically purring... until something very familiar poked your prone thigh.

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of heat in your abdomen that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. Glancing up at him through your lashes, you quipped: "Is that a sword or are you just happy to see me?"

Fierce's large hands slid down to cup your rear, covered only by the thin fabric of your swim bottoms. His expression seemed to darken when you arched slightly into his touch

"Fierce..." you breathed, running your hands over his broad shoulders as his hardness slid against your core, and it was then that the deity chose to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pulling you impossibly close. You moaned into his mouth, water rushing past your bare sides as he backed you against a conveniently-placed rock at the edge of the spring. He pressed you to them, deepening the kiss as you pawed at his shoulders.

"--Wait," you all but gasped when he broke the kiss. The Fierce Deity froze, hands stilling. His gaze never left your face, studying your panicked expression as he waited for you to speak. "--What if someone sees?"

A hand came up to stroke your cheek, tender enough that you scarcely believed it had happened in the first place. "No one shall disturb us," your deity soothed, but you knew that if you truly wished it, he would stop without so much as a complain. It was simply how he was.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, averting your eyes for a split second. It wasn't that you didn't believe him, but there was something so taboo about enjoying each other in such a public space. Gaze flitting back to him, you whispered: "...Promise?"

"I vow it," was his response, so sincere that you could have cried. Heart swelling, you gave a shy nod and pulled him in for another blistering kiss. The Fierce Deity's reaction was slow, but purposeful, as his hands stroked up and down your sides, eventually sliding upwards to hold your cheeks. Your legs tightened around his waist, bringing you impossibly closer to his rock hard dick. You broke the kiss, offering him a small, cheeky grin that coincided perfectly with the slow roll of your hips. The tips of the deity's ears pinked and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "I guess you are excited to see me."

Instead of responding, he dove for your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point gently. You whimpered, chin tilting up for better access. His hands roamed back down to your sides, noticeably cautious, and you realized why when they cupped your breasts, thumbs stroking your pebbled nipples through your bikini top.

"Fierce!" You quivered as his tongue lathed over your neck, peppering the trembling skin with featherlight kisses. It didn't matter that you had done this before--it was amazing every time. He tweaked a nipple carefully and you broke. "Ah!"

Your hands grabbed hold of his stark white hair, tugging softly as you struggled to contain yourself. Your back arched when one of his hands slid across your spine to untie your top, tossing it aside as soon as the fabric slackened enough to be pulled off, baring your breasts to the open air. You shivered, half from the chill and half from the intensity of his stare, as though he would never get tired of you.

Almost reverently, the Fierce Deity dipped his head, taking a nipple in his hot mouth. You threw your head back when he rolled the other one between two thick fingers, plucking the tender bud hard enough to make you squeal. His gaze snapped to your face, drinking in every single one of your reactions with such a starstruck glint in his eyes that you could hardly stand to hold his burning look.

"Please," you whimpered, unsure of what you were actually asking for. Maybe it was his body, pressed closer than you could ever imagine, or maybe it was his soul, practically cradled in the palm of your hand. You felt as though would die for those eyes, gazing up at you with more emotion than you knew what to do with. "Fierce..."

Maybe it was the way you said his name, or the way you looked above him, face flushed a deep cherry as you panted for breath, but the Fierce Deity released your nipple to press a sweet kiss to the top of your left breast, directly over your beating heart. A soft gasp left you when his hands cupped your ass and he lifted you onto the rock, laying you down like you were the deity in this relationship.

You craned your neck to watch him settle between your legs, face to face with your undoubtedly soaked swim bottoms. Calloused hands stroked your hips, but Fierce didn't go further, staring at you with a questioning gaze. The tips of his fingers grazed the waistband, and his voice practically rumbled through you.

"May I?"

It warmed your heart that, even now, he was still this soft, this gentle with you, always asking before going further. Every one of his touches was a question that you were all too eager to answer, practically trembling with anticipation. "Go ahead," you whispered, shooting him a dazzling smile. Your swim bottoms were abruptly removed, but you didn't find it in yourself to care when his mouth immediately sealed over your throbbing pussy, delivering a strong suck that had you clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises. A sort of growl reverberated through you and the Fierce Deity was immediately above you, gently removing your hand and pinning it to the stone with his own. The head of his dick pulsed against your entrance, but you weren't able to appreciate it when your chin was abruptly grabbed.

"No," rumbled the deity in a tone that reminded you of the distant crack of thunder, so close that you could feel his breath against your face. "I want to hear you."

You could have cum at that very moment.

Holy. Shit.

You could only manage a wobbly nod, jaw nearly at the floor, and he scooted back down, giving you a pointed look before lacing your fingers with his, holding your hands at your stomach as he reacquainted himself with your swollen clit, suckling the throbbing bud with enough force to make you moan louder that you had in your life. After a few seconds, he pulled back, tongue flicked against the small nub before he dover down to absolutely devour your dripping cunt. Your hips attempted to buck at the overwhelming pleasure, but they didn't go far with your arms in the way. You yelped as that godly tongue licked a stripe from base to clit, then diving down do slurp at the slick of your entrance. If there was any hope of you holding your moans back before, there certainly wasn't now, even as you twisted and shivered. Even so, there was no reprieve from that glorious mouth of his as he chased your every which way, rumbling lowly against your lips when you moved a bit too harshly.

"Fuck, Fierce–" you wailed as the coil in your belly tightened more and more, drawing you closer to the precipice of orgasm than you thought possible. it was all too obvious that he definitely wasn't human, and you were living for it. "Oh god, I'm going to–"

You finished the sentence with a shrill cry when he released one of your hands to push two thick fingers into your pussy, crooking at just the right angle that–paired with the sharp, all-consuming suck he delivered to your clit–made you quite literally see stars as your orgasm crashed into you like a speeding train. Your body shook, back arching with wild abandon, as you screamed your release to the bright, blue sky, too far gone to care whether anyone saw you or not.

Fierce released you when the tremors stopped, removing his fingers from your overstimulated cunt, though it wasn't for long, as he had you in his arms before your knees could drop from their folded position, cradling you to his naked chest as he made his way to shore, carefully sitting against a stone beside the bank with you in his lap, head buried in the center of his chest.

"Are you alright?" came his concerned rumble, and you couldn't help but chuckle, lifting your head to deliver a swift kiss to his chin.

"Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you?" you asked softly, pushing some hair from your sweaty forehead.

"Many times," answered the deity with a small smile, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He tasted sweet, a bit musky, and you couldn't imagine anything better... until you registered the pulsing penis–large and thick, wreathed in trimmed white hair that most definitely matched the drapes–settled against your aching cunt. It was sweet that he was giving you time to recover, but you wanted that in you now.

"Fierce," you moaned, rocking your hips slowly into his dick. A soft groan was your answer, and his hands were at your hips, guiding you up. Panting, you took him in hand, bringing the tip to rest snuggly between your drooling folds, angling yourself to that the appendage brushed heavily against the base of your clit, eliciting a shiver and moan.

Something dark glinted in the deity's stark eyes for a split second, but you didn't dwell on it when he began to push you down on his cock; slowly, as to not harm you, but there was definitely an insistent edge to his guidance that you couldn't help but notice. That, combined with the subtle clenching of his jaw, was all you needed to know on the subject. Gathering your strength, you sealed your hands on his shoulders and slid all the way down in one fell swoop, drawing a surprised gasp of your name from Fierce himself. You knew he wasn't much of a talker during sex, which was why moments like this were so damn delicious.

Gathering your strength, you began to bounce with reckless abandon, drawing more grunts from your lover as he grappled with the newfound pleasure. He always did what was good for you, which made returning the favor all the more overdue.

"Does that– huff, feel good?" You asked between bounces, making sure your grin was as cheeky as could be, reaching up to grasp handfuls of his hair. You tugged gently, forcing him to bend down for a sweet, sweet kiss. His hands tightened on your hips, but no move was made to restrain you, so you continued like your life depended on it, moaning softly as the head of his dick caressed that spongey spot within you with every swooping thrust. "You're always– haa, fuck, doing things for me, s-so I'm going to return the–...ohhh god, favor."

Time seemed to meld together when he kissed you, tongues swirling together in a dance only known to the two of you. The Fierce Deity wasn't a man of many words, but you felt his devotion in the way he pulled you close, his desire as his hand snaked down to play with your swollen bud of a clit, and his love in the way he looked at you with absolute, unadulterated adoration.

There was no doubt in your mind that you were in love with Fierce , which is why you reached beneath you to fondle his balls, large and heavy, in a featherlight caress, drawing another half-moan from the depths of his throat. You joined the chorus when the coil in your abdomen began to tighten once again under his careful ministrations. Your hips and thighs burned as you struggled to keep pace, huffing and puffing as determination flashed in your eyes. he did so much for you, so how could you not return–

As if on cue, Fierce's hands returned to the sides of your hips, gripping your love handles with a conviction. His legs, once straight, curved as he planted his feet on the ground and delivered a harsh thrust into you that had you screaming like a maniac. Over and over, he pounded into your poor pussy, rocking your very soul as you fought for stability, arching your chest into his own, which he told advantage of in the form of his mouth closing in on a bobbing nipple, sucking deftly as he practically hollowed you from the inside out. A myriad of whimpers left your throat, raw from all the yelling, but there was nothing you could do but scratch your nails down his biceps, crying your pleasure to the sky above.

It was then that your climax hit you with the force of a tsunami. You threw your head back with a half-sob when he slammed your hips to his own, holding you in place as you thrashed and babbled in overwhelming pleasure, eventually wandering up to control your upper body so he could press gentle kisses and bites onto your tender flesh. One thrust later and scalding cum filled your overstimulated, drooling pussy, but you were far too gone to react with anything other than a soft moan.

Exhausted, you allowed yourself to fall back into his chest, heaving with exertion. The Fierce Deity held you close, and you simply existed there for a few precious moments, drinking in each other's presence. It was only when his hands stroked over your spine, eliciting several shivers, did you find your voice again.

"W-Wait, I need a–" you tried to sit up–mildly panicked at the thought of him wanting to go again–but a gentle hand kept you down. "–I need a break."

"I know," came your lover's comforting rumble. He sounded weary, but you knew it wouldn't last; he was a god, after all. "How do you feel?"

"Fucked," you snarked tiredly, earning yourself a tender swat to the ass that felt more like a caress than anything. "I'm joking– I'm tired."

"I can tell," sneered the deity, hands coming under your armpits. You did your best impression of a rag doll as he lifted you off his massive dick, standing up and cuddling your prone form to his chest. You loosely wrapped an arm around his thick neck, black spots dancing in your vision when he bent to retrieve his clothes and yours. "Sleep, my dove."

And who were you to refuse? With a sleepy rumble, you pecked his shoulder once more and allowed sleep to take you.

The next morning, there was a note on your front door.

You had awoken in your bedroom, satisfyingly sore, to one of Wild's patented omelets on your nightstand. You grabbed the accompanying fork and ate the still warm creation before traipsing down the stares to greet the boys, though not before exchanging the large tunic placed over you for some regular clothes, because while you loved wearing Fierce's clothes, you had some sense when it came to the other men in the house knowing of your... escapades with the deity, who was nowhere to be found. Time informed you that he was 'out', which was code for 'likely doing something illegal because no one wanted to fight him', but it was far too early to deal with whatever bullshit that scenario would bring.

You saw the note–which was really just a sad piece of notebook paper taped to the center of your door–after getting the mail. Puzzled, you retrieved it, tucked the mail under your arm, and nearly dropped everything when you read the blasted thing.

It was a note from your neighbor, Cindy, a middle-aged woman with either two or three kids–you had fallen out with her after she caught the Fierce Deity stalking over her property line in the dead of night–informing you that your guard dog had struck once again and she was calling the police if she saw his 'satanic cosplayer ass' again.

After taking a moment to gather your bearings–and once again contemplate the insanity your life had become, you crumpled the note, opened your mouth, and bellowed: "FIERCE DEITY!"

That's a wrap! I hope y'all enjoyed the product of my conversation with @h4wari. I'll do edits tomorrow so feast on this unedited sin.

Tag List:

@ash-staff

[undersprite]

2024 Comic Contest Results

Before we get started, I would like to extend a personal thank you to everyone who created an entry for the contest this year. Although we only got four entries this year, those four entries' dedication to telling stories that are novel and interesting for this community to enjoy is worthy of commendation in itself. For a while, I was scared we wouldn't even get enough entries to fill the podium; thanks to your efforts, this has not come to pass.

Since we have very few entries this time around, I'll be providing a link to each comic, with accompanying scores and excerpts from reviews. Now, catch the results under the cut:

Runner-Up: "The Undertale Game Comic" by FutureGamer25

(Average score: 15.5/50)

"As the submitter says, this was made in a day. I can’t be too hard on this out of principle..." - Soufon

"[...it] succeeded at making me laugh multiple times, thanks in no small part to how it deliberately wields nothing looking like it fits together." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"You know, honestly for being made in less than a day and being posted 5 minutes before the deadline, I gotta give you a lot of credit for that. I don’t even think I could have made that in a day [...]" - Mufeet

"The freaking car and the ending got me a good chuckle. I'll give you that. I congratulate you for tossing your coin." - Subna

3rd: "Frisk Visits the Store and Nothing Happens" by Trooper3

(Average score: 34/50)

"I thought Sans and ESPECIALLY Papyrus were super funny [...] I think we’ve finally reached a point where the skele-bros are just consistently characterized properly now, and I love to see it." - Mufeet

"The FunMart[TM] makes an earnest effort to capture the feeling of exploring an area in an actual Toby Fox game, and [...] captures at least a bit of that shine." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"I honestly like your idea, is funny and it works perfectly to show these OCs of yours in this format. I wish there was more content to see about them, I wish to know them [...]" - Subna

"As light as it is, I like having this kind of slice of life look into UT’s world, the comedy focus helping to make the comic feel more breezy than insubstantial." - Soufon

2nd: "Undertale: Pushing On" by Mouse

(Average score: 34.75/50)

"Of all the entries we got, this is the only one that really felt like it captured the essence of telling a story as if it were still part of a game—something I have sorely missed." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"Great story and great teaching from it. Can add up greatly to UNDERTALE’s world and...tbh I’d LOVE to play a full game with Alvia." - Subna

"[...] I like having who [Gerson] is in UT be because of Alvia’s actions, like how the orange soul kid is framed as responsible for the bunny family in Snowdin’s success - having all the soul humans impact the underground like that helps all of them feel real to UT’s world[...]" -Soufon

"I was captivated from beginning to end, and god, the ending [...] it actually made me a bit teary-eyed." - Mufeet

1st: "Knock Knock" by StarlightShores and ToMoChao

(Average score: 47/50)

"I was not expecting something like this out of this contest. Knock Knock is a substantial storyline, not a peek into an adventure, or a silly reprieve." - Soufon

"Even if it’s pretty lengthy, it keeps you engaged, to know where this is all going, all the way to the end." - Subna

"Flowey and Sans pair-ups are so rare, but when done it is ALWAYS such a fun time. They both play off each other so well, and it is no exception in this comic, especially towards the end where they start to bond over dealing with the loss of someone important to them." - Mufeet

"You created a story going on a thousand panels where, while reading it, my attention never flagged [...] You created a webcomic the Undertale fanbase will, if there’s any justice left around here, be obsessed with for years to come. It’s art, I’m afraid." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

Our full score card for the event can be seen here. The full reviews will be available in the Discord server on request.

With regards to prizes: the judge whom was contributing to our prize pool has begun college for the year, and unfortunately they were unable to set aside the money they had originally promised for the cash prize. The illustration prize is still available; winners, please reach out to fmsdraws on Discord to claim your prize.

And that leaves me...with this blog.

I'd like to write up a proper postmortem for this experience, but that can come in another week or two. For now, please enjoy the comics and celebrate the victors!

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

thought to myself u know what. i havent watched falsettos enough. so here's a couple things i noticed in my latest impromptu rewatch (rewatch number 52th probably?? 67th?) + just some nice bits n parallel that are always Good (tm):

"he loves another" "i agree" with ("-man") going unsaid

the chess games following trina's song about stupid men and their little games

"that's the king. please protect him" That's marvin saying "please protect me. don't hurt me"

whizzer moves the pieces randomly in the revival but i like to imagine he's actually beating marvin at the game in the end... and the whole thing was him pretending to not know how to play, and that hurt marvin's ego more than anything

"now marvin, bend" as a sexy moment but later gets re-framed as a "unwillingness to change perspective" moment

"nothing is everything to me / except sex / and money" in that money whizzer is playing to marvin's insecurity that he's only sticking with marvin for his money- is so needlessly cruel (and thus such... delicious character writing lol)

"and he loves me so" that "so" at the end is sort of a "loves me so much" but also a dare. he loves me, so what can you even do about that?"

"ask me if i love him, it depends on the day"// "do i love him?… no"

"son with a brain, and nice bright mother" showing mendel is like marvin (+ many, many men) and wants a wife half just to do domestic labor for him (goes well with the "washing your laundry, washing your socks!" line)

"he loves his father" // "i love things i never had"

"im everything he wanted" here trina finally realizes how she was such a insecure woman for such a long time and why she could put up with so much / settle for so little ("love me for what i am, not what i try to be" etc)

i love that "what ive done to you is rotten" is the slap to trina, is not taking to jason about his sexuality, and is Also telling trina and jason he "never ever, wanted to love" them. triple treat of bad parenting lol (but our man gets there in the end #bless him)

"a man kid, you'll be kid, whatever your song" the kind of reversed coming out metaphor of it all. ugh. so good!! (also i always cry at this bit bc... i will never have this with my parents :) rip haha whoops)

"pretty boys are in demand" just a good line for the whole gay men dying everywhere + the 'dating frenzy' energy of the era

"im not a giant man" /"good" // "one day i hope to be / as mature as my son who is 12 and a half / and this tall… that's all i want to be, that's all"

"we'll spent BILLIONS of dollars" and then the actual thing plays the way it does

"making the most pathetical errors" as a metaphor for marvin's arc…. making constant errors in love but making a homerun at the end

"should i take this new promotion OR should i take this IBM job?" is an amazing, anti-corporate lyric that fits greatly w/ the most explicitly political (likely authorial) song in the musical that, imho, shouldn't have been cut in the revival. in hindsight tho i imagine the revival people felt very proud and """progressive""" when they made that cut lol is very much a typical liberal move: "cant have true emancipation or revolutions but u cant have some \~upward mobility in the job market xoxo". also on the same vein, cutting the line "i'll change my life, and hire a maid" from the og "and fire the maid" like it's this huge feminist moment lol ughhhh hh

(other line-cuts that frustrate me… "it's queer, mr. marvin", "i could use a little drink" and "i just bought a family" . i feel w/ all of these they tooks some "edge" of the OG characters and kind of attempted to make them "nicer". but it really just makes them a little flatter, a little less real) ( and also some scenes just plain make less sense (marvin's drink line leading to his outburst)

(but bc it's not All Bad sdklfj in fairness, i belie the whole "why don't we tell him, that we don't have the awnsers? (…) this is the start to his becoming a man" bit - is SUCH a great part for mendel, it goes so hard and from what i remember is not in the original falsettos? correct me if im wrong but if it was a new addition in the revival, imo it's a huge improvement to the scene flow… and dare i say, brings the whole climax together, and spells out The Aesop for people who hadn't gotten it by the end of Act 2) -"let me go, im not ashamed to have loved you" // "what's the matter trina, darling, why cant you let go?" -"feel all right for the rest of your life" The Message of the play implicit in it.. "even if it's cut short"

"you save lives, and i serve chicken fat / i can't fucking deal wit hthat" / "maybe is not dumb the way this whole thing ends / the food tastes really yummy!"

"it's about growing up, getting older, living on a lover's shoulder" /"but i confess, you grow up, you get old, you hate less"

"the ground shifting, the rules keeps changing" and it's when the set changes for the first time!!! (/eats all my walls)

"isn't it enough i love you every night?" "who?" // "we had trouble parking, just like on our second date" "i hyperventilate"

"good men never fail" // "but i can't help but feeling i've failed " proving once again those machista lessons marvin learned when young were wrong.... it's clear that him showing weakness at that moment to whizzer was The Right Thing To Do. and what the moment called for.

"the last little mountain ill climb" sound of music ref? maybe?

i only wanted to love and not be blamed " // "who would i blame my life on?"

[matt0044]

What we can learn from “The Jaune Arc Discourse” (TM).

Well, to start with, people are really resistant to being corrected on lies at worst or overstatements at best.

Like if nothing else, the Does RWBY Like Women poll was illuminating in how it showed me that a veeeeeery weird myth about Jaune Arc has persisted beyond its true relevancy.

Volume 1 of RWBY features Jaune Arc in the spotlight for… what? Four episodes? The minutes of each adding up to roughly twenty minutes, the length of an average TV episode?

While he was featured in the previous storyline where we are given an eight episode arc introducing us to our eight main protagonists, he was a lot more… ancillary as comic relief. A discount Lavernius Tucker with Felix’s voice if you will.

He's Vomit Boy in episode one. Episode two has him introduced more formally as somebody who helps up Ruby after a bad first impression on Weiss. He later appears more prominently pining over Weiss and catching Pyrrha's attention before falling to bracing himself in being catapulted into the Emerald Forest.

He's bailed out by Pyrrha and it's set up that he's in over his head by not knowing what Aura is or at least wanting to know how it works. An exposition sponge as I heard on fan call it. I could go on but the point is that all signs pointed to a Butt Monkey Ron Stoppable sort who was likely there for cheap laughs.

Amusing enough but I worried if that's all he'd be personally. Lord knows that some movies give the Comic Relief character too much comic relief and, well, not enough character. But after Ruby and Weiss have their leader/lance headbutting, the four episodes that followed reassured me that there'd be more to Jaune than meets the eyes.

But to circle back to the main thesis, it's actually fascinating that the myth of Jaune hijacking the narrative for himself is this pervasive when the offending story in question... is very much a self-contained character piece. It's way less about the wider story involving Ozpin, Roman Torchwick (at the time) and the White Fang.

It has relevance in how Pyrrha starts mentoring Jaune after he deals with Cardin and gets over himself (for now) which trickles down into future stories. Even then, the next story arc right back with Team RWBY with nary a sign of the everyman in question. A story arc that does deal with elements of the main plot, leading directly into Volume 2.

And in Volume 2, Jaune trying to woo Weiss and being ignorant to Pyyrha's advancements was just a subplot scattered in the first half of the story. It very much piggybacks off of Team RWBY's whole deal.

Volume 3 has what I consider to be a reversal of what's been known as Trinity Syndrome.

Namely the sort where a male character goes off the square off with the main villain mano-e-mano after shoving the female character/his love interest away so she won't get hurt. An egrigious example being when the love interest CAN FIGHT and back him up.

However, Pyyrha instead shoves Jaune out of the way after kissing him and goes off to face Cinder in a very fatal battle. It was honestly a brilliant (as much as the term may be disliked these days) subversion of the cliche.

And it’s Ruby who sees her death and gets the trauma induced power up. Jaune only has a scene of angst before that and was the one to call Ruby to have her try and back up the one he just realized he loved.

Jaune from that point on is an Everyman Protagonist who is forced to remember that he’s not THE protagonist. Yet the myth persistently proclaims that he hijacks the narrative from the titular Team RWBY despite only four episodes being wholly dedicated to him and his head space.

How did we get here?

Well… there’s the fact that not everyone finished Volume 1 and that not everybody, well, watched RWBY. And that would be fine on its own. You gave it a shot and it wasn’t your cuppa joe. You saw the trailer but clicked on something else.

I get it. That’s fine. Contrary to popular belief, nobody in the FNDM will really fault you for it. Less fine is when you spread faulty readings of RWBY and from those heavily biased against it no less.

It cannot be emphasized enough that tearing into RWBY is a cottage industry on YouTube. Hbomberguy might have the biggest platform but you’ll find multiple channels with lengthy series on “RWBY bad, here why.” And they are actually amongst the FNDM. They know how the YT Algorithm game is played, how it rewards engagement above all else. And sadly, negativity and rage pay more bills.

It’s why there are few positive videos or at least few that are pushed into the recommendations. Many often borrow the same points from each other born from the V1 days, namely that Jaune is allegedly given favoritism by the writers while we somehow “don’t know who the main girls are.”

From four episodes.

I also think it’s also to do with how it’s not that he actually did steal screentime… so much as many anticipated he would. A lot of shows and movies I grew up with would have strong female characters but any potential they had was hindered by the male lead and his hero’s journey. See the above Trinity Syndrome I referenced.

But Jaune didn’t do that. Even when he was central to an event like his semblance being awakened, it’s a healing/power boost that he gives to others. Weiss getting skewered might’ve brought it out but it lead to her getting back into the fray while he was largely to the sides.

Seems more like he shares screentime if anything.

People cling to these myths despite legit fans actually pointing out, “Hey, that’s not true actually and here’s why,” because that hate being told they are wrong more than being wrong. And because there are many around these who reinforce this “truth,” they feel content with it. No need to challenge it when it “feels” right.

So Jaune Arc stole screentime. Because that’s what “everyone else” is saying. By you need to question popular opinions. You need to realize that sometimes… a fan community is based on lies.

”Trust me, bro” is not the gotcha you think it is.

[everythingelseisextra]

David and Goliath

Part Sixteen: Cain (Tommy's POV)

Description: Tommy fucks up. :) Warnings: references to rape, references to suicide, language, minor self harm Word Count: 3490 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @Majesticcmey  @Optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat  @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist

Arrow House sits in silence, only half sane. The ghosts of the Shelby family haunt the entrance, their shouts echoing in your ears. The commotion in the entryway reached you, even as you sat in the master bedroom, and Polly’s cries and Arthur’s yells and John’s indignant roars fill the quiet room. You close your eyes, and you can imagine the police, Moss in their midst, forcing them into the darkened, freezing cells that you yourself sat in only a few days ago. And Tommy at the edge of it, watching his family taken from him as a consequence of his own actions, an unforgivable choice he made. 

You expect him to join you when he’s ready. It tugs on you, the sense that you need to protect him from himself, but you have to trust that his ability to fight his own mind will hold out. You trust that your presence in the house is reason enough for him to keep the gun in its drawer.

You think that this will be another thing he buries so deep that he forgets there’s anything underground. This will be too painful for him to keep in his hands, and it will trickle out between the cracks of his fingers until there is nothing to hold. His family is his core, the glowing ember of warmth that lives next to the heart he likes to pretend is stone. Now, he’s lost them. Now, all he has is you.

It’s some time before he enters the room. He doesn’t look at you, just sweeps past, heading into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and water runs softly from behind it. You wait in silence, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes, listening to the impure silence. The water stops, the door creaks open, and his footsteps slowly walk across the room. You open your eyes to find him heading towards the door, eyes set on the wooden floor in front of him. Your eyes narrow. There’s a hesitation to each step he takes, a slight pause, a tilt of his head. You’re waiting for him. He’s waiting for you. 

“Tommy.” You stand and walk over to him, your bare feet cold on the wood. Part of you wants to inject some playfulness into your words, but the rest of you knows that, after something like this, that might be his breaking point. “Hey, come sit. Take a second to talk to me.” 

His gaze stays on the floor, but, almost imperceptibly, he nods. You step back and lead him over to the chair you’d been sitting in, in front of a small desk that you’d claimed as yours the past few days. You sit on the bed, facing him, hands on either side of you. Soft light flows from the window next to you, and the sunrays seem to gentle your gazes on each other, creating a sort of barrier. It’s warm on your face and reflects in his eyes, which refuse to look at you.

“I would give you a pep-talk,” you start, nervousness slowing your words. “I would tell you that you’ve had high highs and low lows, and that the pendulum will swing back up again, but I won’t. I respect you too much for that. You and I both know that life tends to kick you while you’re down. We know that there’s no such thing as rock bottom, it’s always possible to go lower. So, all I’ll say is this; I’m here. I’m not leaving. As complicated as I’m learning your life is, I’d like to try to be simple together. If you want to be alone, that’s okay. If you don’t, I can be with you.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing. Exhaustion tightens his skin over his bones, his face drawn, his eyes a little glassy. “You’re not leaving.”

“No.” You furrow your brow, confused. “Why would I?”

“My family is gone. My boy is back. I’m a new man.” He slides a small metal container from his pocket, opens it, and pulls out a cigarette. “I have no room in my life for a woman who sets no store for a man’s needs.”

You nod slowly, almost incredulous. “You’re telling me that, after all this, you want me to leave because I won’t fuck you.”

He inclines his head, reaching out to offer you a cigarette. Your jaw clenches and you ignore his hand. Your next words are clipped. “My horses are literally in your stables. I’m not sure what kind of crisis move you’re making here, but it feels like one that’ll be… how should I say this in a way you’ll understand? Bad for business.” 

He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. He speaks on the exhale. “Bad for business is a woman I can’t explain living in my house. You’re not a whore, you’re not my wife, you’re not the mother of my son.” 

You chuckle. “So you’re telling me I either become your whore, marry you, or become a nanny for Charles.” 

“I’m telling you to leave.” 

“And then, months later, hear that you’ve blown your brains out, because no one, including me, would pick up the phone.” 

“Curly will start moving your horses in the morning. I’ve covered the cost of transportation.”

“How kind of you.” 

“In the meantime, you’ll pack. You’ll prepare yourself to leave.” He wiggles his cigarette at you, eyes dull. 

“And what if I say no?” You lean forward, almost mocking. 

“If you say no, then, unfortunately, I may have to get the authorities involved.” 

“‘Yes, hello, I’d like to report that a woman who I said I’d protect and invited to live with me is living in my house. Has she committed a crime? Yes, she won’t fuck me when I want, because I’m a teenaged boy who needs to get off every thirty minutes.” You let anger slide into your voice, let it bite. “Jesus Christ, listen to yourself.” 

He blinks blankly at you, then rises with a soft groan. “There’s work to be done. Please collect your things.”

“Thomas.” You stand, hands curling into fists, then relaxing. “You send me away now, you’re sending me back to the life I used to live. If you understand that, you’re as bad as the men who sold and raped me.” 

His eyebrows raise in an infuriatingly bewildered expression, then he shakes his head. “I am. I apologize if that wasn’t clear from the start.” 

—

Night falls. Fog fills the air around you, rises from the warm bodies of the horses. Unlike your own barn, Tommy’s is lit, and you can see the confused, wide, liquid eyes staring at you from within the stalls. Draco nickers quietly, throwing his head. He’s been your rock, your shoulder to cry on, the only comfort to you on nights where your body felt as battered and broken and abused as it had during those awful years of horror. 

It’s not him you stand with, though. It’s not his mane you bury your tears in, not his warm body you lean against to carry your shivering weight. Iris had one more month of recovery before he would be able to be ridden again, and now, you have to apologize to him. You have to apologize to all of them, in time, for being unable to care for them. For forfeiting the safety you thought you had. For failing. 

You would be brought back to your own property in an hour. Your horses would trickle in after you. You’d feed them, slip back into the routine of caring for them, and the timer on your life would start to count down. You could fight. You would fight. You’d fight tooth and nail, use every bit of strength built up over years of manual labor, shoot straight and fast and confident, and still, you know you’ll lose. 

Iris turns his head to blink at you as you stand by his side, leaning your weight on his shoulder. You wipe your face of tears and draw yourself up, pulling your shoulders back and squaring your legs to your hips like a soldier. You stand strong. Right now, you’re a survivor. Your quiet claim to life is that you fought for it. Like David with Goliath, you stood against a gargantuan opponent and managed to live to tell the tale. And, here you are, with your bags packed, ready to walk yourself back to that Goliath and allow him to smash your skull. You have no slingshot. You have no rock. There is no God on your side. 

Your fingers gently pull through the knots in Iris’ mane. You should be angry. There should be a burning anger in you that threatens to overwhelm. You should feel it in your bones, in your heart and veins, and you should act in some sort of way on it. You should set fire to his garden, release his horses to the wild. 

Truth is, you don’t know how to be angry with someone. All your life, you’ve been taught to stand down, to take whatever comes without question, and to continue despite it all. You’ve been trained to cower, to take each hit without protest. A cornered animal will always bite, but an abused pet will flinch away, fearful, all the teeth beaten out of it. You weren’t meant to fight as hard as you do. 

You close your eyes, and like Tommy said for you to do, you prepare to leave. 

Your body has a master and it is not you, and it is not God. Caged by a twisted form of humanity, you will be an animal at a zoo. You will gawked and stared at, poked and prodded, and, behind the scenes, you will be used for all your worth. This body you were born in ripples with scars from the years of prostitution and mental torture, and it’s a cold sort of hell. So much touch and so little care. You are only worth so much. You know the literal price of your life. You know how much this body of yours sells for. 

When you open your eyes, the world is in black and white. You will not see the blood they rip from your veins. You will not see the color of their bare skin. Your hand moves from Iris’ mane to your upper arm, and you press down on it, your fingernails biting into your skin. There’s an echo of pain somewhere in you, but your skin is so thick that it’s separate, a step away from your consciousness. You will not feel the penetration. You will not feel the hands grabbing at your flesh, you will not feel their bodies pressed against you. A horse calls and the sound bounces away from you, not quite touching you, and you take a deep breath. You will not hear their moans or the heated lies they tell you in the dark. 

This body that is all you have will no longer be yours. It is only a matter of time. 

The rest of the night crawls past you as a blur. You know you are steady. You know that you step with purpose, your head held high, with no connection with what you feel or how you will survive this. You lift your suitcase and walk down the elegant, well-lit stairs, the portraits of Tommy’s late wife staring down at you with a gaze that tells you that you are lesser. You haven’t seen him since he left the master bedroom. There’s a murmur of emotion in you when you think of him, but you brush past it in your mind. There is no room for you in his life. 

A car waits out front for you. You take a deep breath and look up at the stars. When you were younger, before the world turned against you, you thought you would reach out and touch them even if it burned. Now, you know you could, and the fire would eat away at you, and you would feel nothing. You thought you’d been as close to death as you could be without dying, but this emptiness in you, this blurred vision, this hollow chest is proof that you can stand hand in hand and not die. Maybe, you think, maybe you would rather die than become a commodity once again. There is a gun in the kitchen drawer. 

You slip into the back seat of the car, and, at least, it is warm. The driver glances back at you in the mirror. He says something that washes over you and away, and you turn to look out the window, then twist to look back at Arrow House. A single light shines from the drawing room, the curtain pulled back, and you know he is watching. Despicable and traitorous, he watches you crawl back to a life you said you would never live again. 

You turn back as the car begins to move out of the driveway. You close your eyes and a tear rolls out. You sit in the darkness and shrink into your mind, sitting in the back of it, watching through as your body breathes and shifts and lives apart from you, without you. You wipe the tear and, eyes still closed, you melt into the atmosphere and become nothing. 

The car jerks to a stop and you open your eyes. The driver lets out a slow breath and glances back at you, then looks back through the windshield. 

Lit by the headlights in sharp relief, Tommy stands, breathing hard as if he’d run to stop you. You watch him, expectation in his eyes, and you see a spoiled little boy who enjoys playing games. 

“Keep driving,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Ma’am, I can’t. He’s—”

“Go around.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hesitantly, the driver inches the car forward, turning to move around Tommy, who’s eyes widen slightly. 

He reaches underneath his coat and pulls out his gun, pointing it at the driver. 

“Ma’am, I—” Panic fills the driver’s voice. “I’m sorry, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay. Stop the car.” 

He does as you say, and, slowly, you open the door and step out into the night. 

You stay where you are in the darkness, letting Tommy stay in the light. You wait for him to speak first. 

“You forgot something.” His voice carries over the sound of the engine. 

You cross your arms, trying to warm yourself from the cold. “Oh, did I? Please, enlighten me.” 

“Come into the light, and I’ll show you.” 

“No.” 

He looks up at the black sky, then steps out into the darkness, coming within a few feet of you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small square box, rounded corners, velvet wrapped. Your heart goes cold. He opens it and holds it out. A sleek, silver ring glints in the light from the headlights, golden highlights sparking. You shiver and look up at him. 

“Not a whore, not a mother.” He smiles faintly. “Yet.”

You slap him. Not hard, but enough to make your point. Then, without a word, you turn and walk down the long driveway back to the house. In your periphery, you watch him reach up and touch his cheek where you hit him, then slowly close the box and place it back in his pocket. 

—

He waits an hour before he seeks you out. You’re curled in the fetal position, lying in one of the spare bedrooms. You stare blankly at the wall across from you. There’s no color to your vision. The pillow has long since dried from your tears. 

He knocks on the door, waits a full minute for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he quietly lets himself in. His footsteps are bare and light. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, sighing, and you close your eyes again. You’re not sure you want to hear what he has to say. 

“I’m not a good man.” His voice is quiet, almost shameful, and he speaks to the ground, faint to you. “I’ve made that clear tonight. You never heard about me cause you were never in Birmingham. If you had, you’d know, I’m not a good man.”

You clench your jaw and stay quiet, wait for him to say what he thinks will make up for the pain and terror he’s caused. 

He clicks his tongue, almost wincing. “Lost my family today. Decided that meant I needed a fresh start. Needed to move away from all this— this Peaky Blinders shit and focus on more gentlemanly matters. I felt possessed to get away from it all. From any reminder of it. That included you.” He takes a slow breath, sighing it out. “You reminded me, as you should have, that a better man would never send you away. I would be sending you and your horses to death or worse. It took me far too long to remember that, and for that, I am sorry.” 

You open your eyes, blinking hard, trying to stop tears from rolling out once more. 

“You saved my life. I can’t return the favor, not in the same way, but I can preserve yours. That I will do. I won’t try to send you away again. I understand now how misguided that was.” You feel his gaze on your back and you try to smooth out your breathing, steady yourself so he can’t see that you’re human, that you’re affected by him. 

He’s quiet for a moment, then, voice weak and childish, he manages two words you never truly expected him to say. “I’m sorry.” 

You sniffle and croak out a short, shaky sentence. “Am I worth anything to you?” 

“Yes.” His response comes immediately. “You are.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” 

“I told you that first night. Something in me has been broken since the war. Maybe since my mum. I don’t have the words for it. You’ve seen it, now. You’ve seen it.” 

You nod shakily. “You were ready to watch me drive off to my death.” 

“I would never have let you leave the driveway.” 

“But you let me think you would.” A tear leaks out and you angrily wipe it away. “You let me think that you cared so little about me that you would watch me go back to a life I couldn’t survive.”

“You know what I think?” He shifts towards you, turning his body so he faces your back.. “I think that you’re the first person to see the fucking rotten part of me and still stay in this house.”

“I have nowhere else to go, Tom.” Your voice breaks. “You realize that. I have nowhere else to go, and you can’t decide whether you want me or not, and I’m worthless unless I sleep with you or marry you.” 

His voice drops to a mere murmur. “I want you.” 

“You didn’t an hour ago.” 

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough!” You sit up, fully crying now, and face him. “You fucked up, and I don’t know where there is to go from here.” 

“I do. I know where to go.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out the ring box. “I—”

“Stop! Stop with the fucking ring! I don’t want to belong to you, I don’t want—”

“Listen. You can say no. Just fucking listen.” His hand shakes slightly as he holds it in his lap. “I’m not a good man. I try to be, but I’m not. But you— you make me think I can be if I try. That’s a rare fucking thing. You will never belong to me. You will never belong to anyone. It’s a shot in the fucking dark, and things like this come and go as they please, but if I can, if I could, I’d like to be that shot in the dark. If it’s up to me, it’ll be us in the end. I’m not a good man, but I promise, I will be good to you and for you. Love is far, far away, but it gets closer when I’m with you. So, I’m asking you, because I need you with me, to look past the way I hurt you and see that I do care for you. I do think you’re worth something.” He reaches out and gently wipes a tear from your cheek, hand trembling. “I’m asking for a selfish thing. I’m asking for you to see the blood on my hands and love me anyway. I’m asking you to marry me.” 

He is broken promises and shaking fists, and you know, he did not mean to be cruel, but that doesn’t mean he was kind to you. So, you take a breath, trying to stay steady, and you open your mouth to reply.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What do you think L thinks of the successor program?

Previous Thoughts on Wammy's and How the Concept is both Bonkers and Toxic

Well, what we see is pretty damning.

L... Doesn't Talk About it Much and Other Bad Signs

L brings up the successor program once in the manga (this line is removed from the anime adaptation). It's a very one-off line in which he tells Light (while still in the college arc) that "you know, even if you were to kill me, L is legion and I'd just be replaced by the next L" and Light sort of stares at him.

Neither touch on this ever again.

Worse, when the torch is passed, it's only because Watari happened to be in the room where he could push The Big Red Button (TM) that sent information to Wammy's. And yes, while there was clearly a protocol in place to let the successors take on L's legacy, it uh... sure wasn't L pushing that button and the fact that it's a secret button in the security room where Watari hangs out (and certainly not L) leads me to think this is a Watari idea (the orphanage where people compete for the title of L, being in fact, Watari's weird fucking idea).

Most tellingly, L doesn't even bring it up when he knows he's going to die. He doesn't even think to himself "ah yes, those bratty twelve-year-olds in England will get vengeance for me and then Light will be put to justice". L doesn't think about the Wammy program at all in his last day, in fact, he knew for several hours he was going to die and he didn't seek out any means to bring his successors in or even think "oh woe that Light is right there or I could inform my secret successors of everything we need to know".

We learn later that Near and Mello never actually met L, in fact, and if they ever did speak to him it was... brief and impersonal. This leaves them both with weird complexes about the man and their relationship with the role of successor.

In fact, L blatantly says "Light is my successor" and seems to mean it. True, L knew Light was Kira and was perhaps doing this for the mind fuckery, but on the other hand he had no reason to do this and again, had time to take it back once he realized Light was Kira again (which he did very quickly after Light got his memories back). Had L not done this, he could have either a) directly had a Wammy's person take over and explain the whole successor thing (he does not) or b) left it such that Soichiro was in charge. He has nothing to gain by even hinting that Light could take control over his title after he left. And the fact is... Light does do it. He's the power behind L for six years while Near and Mello do... well, Mello joins the mafia and has a time in Nevada, Near does who fucking knows what.

Basically, L couldn't be less supportive of the Wammy's orphanage unless he actively shut it down and fired Watari (but then who would bring him snacks?)

But Why?

L's in it for personal victory. L wants to beat Kira himself, he wants to do it on his own terms, with his own ingenuity. It's not so much about beating Kira but the fact that he will be the one to beat Kira. His 'successors' doing so would be less than meaningless to L.

Leaving it to some twelve-year-old to solve, hand-picked by Watari because they solved puzzles good and read good too, would be worse for L than fucking Matsuda or Misa making a major break in the case (and canonically, both those things happen, and canonically L handles it fucking poorly).

Worse, Watari is not even implying, but outright saying, that L is not so special a super genius snowflake and that Watari can cultivate another one simply through hard work and careful selection. "Congratulations, L, you are irrelevant and superfluous!" And worse, those replacements are little kids and I imagine L finds their quirks... annoying. (I'm not convinced L's not just s troll).

And if we take LABB into account, all L sees them do is kill themselves or make trouble for everyone (through murder). L does not want to deal with these people (and so he doesn't and makes Naomi do it for an entire hilarious novel).

TL;DR

L hates those fuckers.

[lastoneout]

I don't really know exactly why I'm posting this, I guess I just want to share my joy, but y'all...the nerve block worked. My migraine went down a little over the night so I was only at like a 1.5-2 but I swear to god the second they were done EVERY SINGLE PART of my head stopped hurting. The only pain I'm feeling rn is at the injection site and a smidge in my jaw, but that's not a huge deal bcs I know the steroids take a long time to do their thing and I usually have pain around the injection site when they do this in my back, plus I did already suspect something like 10% of my migraines aren't entirely due to my neck, but like...it worked. It fucking worked.

I've been living with chronic migraines my entire life, and in the last five years, they've gotten so bad that I can't work and have to cancel streams and hangouts with friends all the time. I have migraines more days than I don't and I've never been able to find out what my trigger is aside from not sleeping well and eating lays potato chips(rip I miss them so much) or gluten or being on my period?? and on some days I'm in so much pain I can't even feed myself or shower. 8-10 is the norm, they don't go lower on their own, they NEVER go away on their own, no matter how much time I spend lying in bed in the dark with icepacks on my face. My migraine rescue meds don't always work, or they work for a day and then it comes back, and I seem to be fucking Immune(tm) to Excedrin and ibuprofen. All that together has legit been ruining my entire life.

And I am not even a little ashamed to admit that once they were done and asked how I felt I broke down sobbing in the exam room because it WORKED. Instantly. Years of pain and agony and no help from my doctors, of blaming a medical condition that treatment hasn't fixed, telling me to limit screen time and lose weight, forcing me to try 50 different medications none of which help, of spending long nights in the ER hoping they can fix me even though it's typically a 50/50 chance....and now it's over. I don't have to do that anymore. They fixed it. They fixed it.

I'm crying right now as I write this. I never thought this was possible. Like I believed that it was my neck and my doctors agreed, but I was so worried that this would all be for nothing, I didn't think it would work, I know most disabled people dream of finding the One Thing that's causing all their problems even though most of us never do, but I guess luck decided to smile on me this day, this is what's causing my problems and it's treatable. It's over. I found the path out of this hell and it was the right one. I don't even know what to do, what to say. I'm so happy I can't even be happy, all I can do is cry because the hardest part is over.

There's still work to be done, but the path is clear. And honestly @ any gods that are listening, please grant this to my fellow disabled people. They deserve to feel this, we all do.

[msfcatlover]

Nightwing!Damian would still be of the Corruption, though he has so many healthy relationships in his life that its influence on him is slipping. His swarm is smaller now than it’s ever been. His power fades day by day. He might even manage to be human again someday (he doesn’t know how he feels about that, when his swarm are so beloved & his monster side has always been a source of pride for Damian.)

Tim was always going to be of the Eye, being Oracle only doubles down on it.

Cass in the TMA AU is basically Agnes Montague, but for the Stranger. That wouldn’t change either.

Steph was only just starting out when Damian took her under his wing. She never fully got caught in the spiraling fixation on destroying her father by any means necessary, she couldn’t pursue one goal to the exclusion of all others, and as the first fully human (non-Alfred) member of the team, everyone would be doing their best to protect that humanity, monitoring her for any sign of supernatural influence and guiding her away before it could get its hooks in her (they are still Bruce’s children, after all.) Until she came out of the dirt, unsheltered & unprotected, already marked so many times over, with fear & rage boiling in her blood. Until Talia gave Steph her mind back, gave Steph a purpose again, and the rage boiled over plasmatic hate. Until Steph laughed like a roaring maelstrom, sparks crackling in her wild hair, something bordering on madness in her eyes, and Talia thought: Oh. I have made a mistake. (The storm would be leashed, eventually. Steph does have self control, she has goals to achieve, plans to make, and power alone could not do that. But in that moment, when Steph realized her killer was still killing people despite everything that had happened, in her pain & fury, she gave in. She stepped backwards off that invisible ledge and plunged headfirst into what she knew she was Becoming. She embraced it, wholeheartedly. In that moment, it almost wasn’t Stephanie Brown in that garden, but the Cataclysm itself inside her skin. Almost.)

Duke… I’m still struggling to think of a good match for, but honestly in this AU… His ability to connect, to make people listen to him, his desire to step up & save the city himself if he has to, and the fact Duke is the eldest/first batkid in this AU (giving him & Bruce even more in common when Batman had only ever fought alone) all make me want to say Web. BUT with his powers, his ability to lead a crowd, the sheer scale of his potential, I also want to say Vast? What little I know of Gnomon also says Vast, ALTHOUGH…. …we could play off their shadow control, invert Duke’s light powers for this AU, and say Dark. Which would make Duke borderline antithetical to Web!Bruce, but hey, maybe Web!Bruce wants to prove to himself just how much choice he still has—that the Web can make him as uncomfortable as it likes, but he’s still going to take care of a child in need. (Assuming he is going against the Web’s wishes, of course, and it isn’t reverse psychologying him…) (My gut says Web!Duke, though. The more I think about it, the more I like Web!Duke conceptually… but I am worried that it doesn’t fit him. That Duke’s all-or-nothing “if no one else is going to, I’ll do it myself” attitude & raw charisma is not close enough to the Web’s need for control. I don’t like it when people just assign characters an Entity for the Aesthetic(TM) or for shallow, surface-level reasons—it has to resonate with their own personal failings, or else what’s even the point?)

Jason was human when he joined the family, and they’d want to keep him that way… but I think by the time he gets back from the Red Robin arc, Jason would’ve been claimed by the Hunt.

Dick gets scooped up by the family almost immediately in this AU, and Cass does her best to temper in his early-days bloodlust. With Cass as his Batman, I think Dick would be tempted by the Vast, but ultimately chase after her by embracing his own Otherness. (Or Dick was already a Stranger when his parents fell. But honestly, I like the arc of Dick learning to love himself & following in his mentor’s footsteps so much more than making him a Stranger because Circus.)

[evilminji]

Back on my DpxNaruto ideas cause there's room for SHENANIGANS~!

You ever go on a BIT of a road trip? To a Really Good Restaurant you've heard exsists waaaaay that away? And it's far... but not Unreasonably Far(TM)? You could make it a day trip! Maybe check out the surrounding area! Buy some other stuff or see the sights.

You got a long weekend.

And you heard it's REAL good.

Imagine~! If you will! Broke ass, scruffy, Built Like His Father, Feral Like His Mother, "just here for the snacks, man" type College Student type Danny! A GIANT. Perpetually reeks of engineering oils and the unplace-able yet universally familiar scent of Ectoplasm. And? Probably whatever high-end self care products Sam's mom sends her, since Tucker can't use um.

He eats like a bottomless VOID because somehow he's STILL growing. Will be for centuries. Long after his HUMAN half stops? His ghost half is gonna keep going.

Sucks, man. :/

He hungy.

But he already SPENT his monthly budget on that part he desperately needed. And cheap ramen sucks after the fifth meal in a row. And it's not like he can go fishing or anything. So what to do???

Visit... lunch lady? Maybe? He considers?

He figures "Why Not?". Makes a portal and lazily floats towards the Box-Lady Lair. But? So deep in though is he? He doesn't look where he's GOING and *gentle bonk* oop! Oh man! He's so sorry!

Some giant dude in armor with a HUGE mane of hair. The guy just laughs good naturedly, says it's fine. And turns out? They're going the same way! He's part of Lunch Lady's Cooking Club. Oh, sweet! Danny's heard she started one of those...

But wait! If he's heading over? Is the club NOW?

No, no! He's assured. The guy also watchs Lunch Box for them. He's good with kids, comes with being part of a big clan.

They get talking. Danny fascinated. Ninjas, huh? Cool. And that's when? The guy drops, with no small amount of pride, the little tidbit.... that oh by the way~ no big DEAL~☆

But WE produced some of the BEST cooks in the ENTIRE known world.

:O

Okay now he HAS to try this food. This guy is waxing poetic about it. Descriptions that make him actively drool. Mentioning how this aunt ran THIS stall and that nephew was learning at THAT restaurant. And Danny just? W... Where did you say this was?

Hell yeah! Direction? Achieved!

Danny gonna get him some FANCY BBQ! \( ^ - ^ )/

Smash cut to him making a day of it. Finding the right area. Asking around. Trading some stuff from the Speeder to a dude for not only the location body but permission to take his wallet. Guy says he can have it in return for a travel chess set and a proper grave. Nice!

So he locks up the Speeder, squeezes past the weird "Summon Realms" bubbles, dodges the SUPER cranky Shinigami, aaaaand? We're in! BBQ here we come! It's takes like? Basically nothing to find the guy's body. He's supposed to burn it, put it in an urn, and deliver it to one of some Deer clan near the BBQ shop. Along with his stuff.

Hope they don't mind ice urns.

Just? Imagine A Void. Like Vanta Black. A hole in the world in the shape of where a man SHOULD be. Where ANYTHING should be. You can see through it, the color of simple existence fighting to make your eyes overlook What Is Not. Were it 2D, you know you would be able to see it clearly, but in the presence of a third dimension?

It's Not There.

You are LOOKING at it... and everything it is, is Empty. Void. A perfect Nothing.

Not hot or cold, neither light nor dark, just... Not There. With Chakra being present in all life. Air, the soil beneath you, all of it. This is? A perfect shadow upon the world. No suppressed Chakra, no hidden bloodline trick.

It's like the Patron Spirit(s) of the Ino-Shika-Cho decided to come and visit.

Or, more accurately, the SON of one such spirit decided to sneak off and visit. He has the height, the hunger, and the gregarious nature. The perfect shadow, the black hair, and the incredible intelligence. And those blue eyes? The ability to dive into bodies and take them over? (He wanted to see if he could do it WHILE his "new friend" was doing it to someone)

Most terrifying, though? APPARENTLY his mother? Was some Uzumaki Spirit. Red hair, purple eyes, his dad fell in love with her at first ass-kicking defeat. Terrifying women and Nara's, man. Good to know it even transcends biology. Even their GAURDIAN SPIRITS fall to it.

Now the question?

What sort is THIS one? And can they, POLITELY, make it leave?

@babbling-babull @lolottes @ailithnight @nerdpoe @hdgnj @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

[dairy-farmer]

My Thought(tm) of the Day! A Do-Over Verse! (o.o ) oh?

Yes! Tim. Glorious, brave, sexy. Dies in battle. It's the Big One, ya'll. A doomed timeline. Worst case scenario. Falling cities, few struggling survivers. The works.

Thing is? For each of them? That worst case scenario is DIFFERENT. Maybe one gets zombies. Another an alien invasion. A hell gate. Regardless, they survive. Fight and live on. Find The Rewind Clock.

A stopwatch that ticks backwards. One use. They.... they have so many regrets. Enemies are closing in. Bloodloss getting to them. They just want to see their family again. Be... better. Nicer to Tim. Save the world.

Click.

Time Rewinds ⏪.

And suddenly? Bruce is... sore. Not burned, parched, and cornered by literal cackling demons as the world burns. Not on his last leg. The last Wayne. The last hope of humanity, a species soon to finally die.

No. He's... exhausted. Wearing clothes he never wanted to see again. Stubble on his face and the ache of recent weeping in his throat. These are his mourning clothes. He's sitting at the Batcomputer. And checking the security feeds?

There is a determined, baby faced, young Timothy Drake... walking himself up the drive. A folder of damning evidence under his little arm.

Jason is dead and soon won't be. And Tim... he... he can start over.

He gets up. This time, he answers the door, instead of Alfred. Is serious when Tim lays out his case. Nods at the right moments. Tells him he's right.

Makes him Robin.

He's better this time. Gives feedback. Doesn't play mind games. Nurtures his brilliance. And Tim? Soaks it up. It burns Bruce, how easy it all could have been. The WARMTH Tim so freely offers. After so many mistakes? Bruce craves it like an addict.

But nothing could ever just be free, could it?

That damn end of the world scenario. He finally tracks it down. Has a MONTH left before Jason should be back. Only to get dragged into literal Hell along side Constantine and have to fight his way out. They close the damn gate. Forever.

It takes two months.

He's in pieces. Injured and still reeling from the horrors he's seen. But he has to try. Try to go get his son. Tim stops him. Keeps him from killing himself, trying to invade the heart of the League while half dead. But after the fires... all the fires... he's so cold. They JEERED and mocked him with his failures.

Like an Addict.

He needs to be closer. Closer and closer. Needs to cherish and be kind and SHOW Tim how much he means to him. But he can't! A lifetime if words trapped, refuse to break free, even now. The only time he's EVER been so intimate and soft is when he...

Wires not so much cross as long ago corroded. He NEEDS. He's kissing Tim's neck. Hands gentle. See? He CAN be gentle. Be tender and good. Not even taking for himself, just massaging muscles loose. Stroking soft, soft skin. Pulling close to cuddle, warm and precious, as he rubs and rubs until Tim comes apart under his gentle hands.

Tim clings so tight. Is punchdrunk and twitching. A first.

His Robin trusts him. Loves him. Is a curious, insatiable, lad. What new, unexpected, and pleasant thing is THIS? Tim let's him have so many firsts.

But what of Dick? Brother and Protecter of Timmeryly Innocence? He faced Vampires. Because of course it had to be sexy, sexy, Vampires. Frankly, he half expected it. But as they close in? He stands atop the hoard of every explosive left he could salvage and wonders if his family would have proud.

If this stupid stop watch will even work.

Where, exactly, he would have taken Timmers for a "Yay We Won!" Celebration dinner if they had, indeed, actually won. He misses pizza. And his friends. But most of all? His family.

Eat several hundred tons of chemical reactions, fuckers.

Click.

He's just finished unlocking a door he is VERY certain he sent a vampiric Deathstroke face first through. The door swings open aaaaand.... yep, that's his old apartment. What day is-?

Tim squeezes by him to start poking around.

Oh.

Dick stops caring. Tim is ALIVE. Smiling at him and joking. Dick feels floaty and far away. Let's Tim do as he pleases. And just... let's himself breathe. Feeling like he's wound too tight beneath his skin. Like at any moment a vampire will crash through a wall and ruin this beautiful dream.

Eventually, Tim notices.

He climbs into Dicks lap to hug him. Ground him. And... and something in Dick snaps. That heartbeat. That beautiful, beautiful heartbeat. Alive, alive, ALIVE. He's rolling them before he can think about it. Tim melting into his kisses. Then jerking and grabbing hold for dear life as he slides of the couch to his knees.

All but ripping anything that keeps his mouth from its goal. Spreading legs and holding them tight, so he can't wiggle free too escape how overwhelming it feels. Dick couldn't hold back if he wanted too.

And he really, really doesn't want too.

Tasting and swirling, sucking and fucking his tounge as deep as it'll go. Pinching and rubbing at that cute little clit. Sliding fingers DEEP to fuck and find and rub mercilessly against all his good spots.

If the apartment wasn't soundproofed, his neighbors would think he was murdering someone. Slowly.

He's so hard it hurts and can't bring himself to care. It's so GOOD to see Timmy sobbing on his tounge. Writhing on the fucking of his fingers, incoherently begging. The only thing that convinces him to STOP is when Tim's whines start sounding the wrong kind of desperate.

Fumbling blindly with a wet hand he jerks his sweats down and crawls up. Bends his sweet boy in half. He slides in so easy, after all the fingerfucking and orgasms. Timmy is so WET. Gushing.

It's perfect. He's perfect. Doesn't have to do a thing. Dick can lift him up easy, still impaled all precious and perfect on his cock, and carry him to the bedroom. Lay him down and work his cock in and out, sweet and gentle, of that poor over toyed with hole, until it becomes too much and he spills DEEP.

You just doze off, Tim. Let your big brother take care of clean up.

And so it goes~ Jason? Zombies. The jokes got old REAL fast. He blinks awake one step into Titans Tower. Changes plans. Catches his successor masterbating. Changes plans AGAIN. Since when was Tim-Tam capable of being horny? Who cares. It's been years by his view point and this is Hot.

He Dramatically Unmasks and pounds Tim through the mattress. Exits stage left, pursued by drugged up Half-Kryptonian.

Damian? About to die in the cold vacuum of space. Took the fight to them. Invade HIS planet, will you? Well uno reverse card mother fuckers. He's gonna invade YOU. ALARMING successfully too, they might add. That was their entire battle fleet.

WAS.

But, well, all men must die... etc etc. Death soliloquy. Or... you know... this stupid magical watch Jon insisted he bring. Meh. Might as wel- Click.

Mother Fucker. Jon was RIGHT. He must never be informed.

And... he forgot how Competently Sexy his Rival was. Shit. He was caught loo-! But Tim just? Grins? Says something about him finally "deciding to get along, huh"? W-what? What's happening. Why is he being pushed down onto a bench? Is this hazing?

Tim rides him dry. He may be a changed man. He can't feel his toes. What in the name of all that is small and fluffy is GOING ON!? Wasn't this supposed to be time travel? And of course, that's when he clocks the others acting Clearly Off.

The fuckers Be-Hornied his RIVAL! He's... something about that! He'll tell you when he can move again. Contemplated the virtues of matrimony with his long time Rival. But rest assured! There will be yelling!

-🐼

😍😍😍😍!!!! them all going back in time at different points and making their moves on tim, treating him nicer, more tender, not letting themselves be held back because they've denied themselves for so long and lost their tim already!!! bruce being the first followed by dick, jason, and damian who indulge and fuck tim and love him! and tim!!! loving his family so much and loving them in every way, letting them make their moves on him because this time around they love him and aren't afraid to show it!! all these versions of the bats who have lived through the loss of everything in an apocalypse and getting to live peaceful and happy lives with their tim!!!😍

[satureja13]

It's the day Noxee spends at Tartosa. And it's also raining in Brindleton Bay beyond the Veil.

Before breakfast, the Boys are already diligently learning and doing their homework. They can't afford wasting any time here. And they are grimly determined to finally find out if Ji Ho's grandfather put a spell on him to seduce Vlad to get a grip on Vlad's powers. The Boys need to be prepared for everything and get the most out of their education here. And for who knows what their future will bring. Kiyoshi is gone again. They hope that Noxee's negotiations with the three witches will be successful and Jack and Kiyoshi can be mates, just mates, to bring Kiyoshi back to their reality.

Poor Jack still suffers from the aftermaths of the stroke from the lightning in his chest. He fell in a restless sleep after tossing and turning the whole night long. At some point during the night, Sai and Jack had to change beds. Jack moving around kept Ji Ho in the bed below him from sleeping. Ji Ho is taking a bath. His senses got so much more sensitive too after he got his feelings back. The feeling of the water on his skin, the scents of the essences - everything hitting on him so much brighter and deeper! Bathing is a whole new experience for him, so he's taking his time. He wonders how it would feel if Vlad would touch him. It would be so much more intense, now that he loves him. And then he cried again for a while. It's still too much to handle.

Saiwa sighed. He's sitting inmidst Jack's menagerie, reading out loud for Ji Ho, and he hopes that Jack also catches a few bits, but he's doubting that this will have any effects. Skully: "Don't worry. I'm listening. And I'm going to fill in Jack and Ji Ho later." Saiwa sighed again. In addition to all his worries, he now also has to deal with this talking (and singing) skull. They are still wondering how he made it out of the Therapy Game. But this is a problem for future Saiwa back home again... TMI: Jack named the axolotl Sai bought him, Axl, after Guns N'Roses Singer Axl Rose. (Jack playing Welcome to the Jungle -> here)

Then it knocked - and Jeb came in! Jeb: "Uhm, hi. Can we talk?" Finally! Saiwa is so glad Jeb is making the first step so they can be together again. He was too afraid to reach out for Jeb - in case he'd reject him after all that happened... too afraid of the finality of that knowledge. Better not to know. Saiwa: "Sure!"

Jeb: "Ok. We are waiting upstairs." Saiwa: "We?" Jeb: "Eh, yes. Vlad and I." Oh. It's not about Jeb and him then. Just Boys business as usual. Is Jeb only seeing him as their leader now?

Saiwa sadly went upstairs. Sai: "So, what is it?" Jeb looked expectantly at Vlad. Vlad: "Uh, yes. Did you, by any chance, notice something odd regarding Jack since he got struck by that lightning?" Saiwa stopped in his movement. Something odd - about Jack. Saiwa: "Are you kidding me? Everything is odd about Jack! Where shall I even begin with? He's the damn epitome of oddness! The inventor of Perma Weirdness TM. The..."

Vlad interrupted Sai: "No. Nothing of the usual. A.. eh - how shall I adress this? A weird pull towards him? As if he's suddenly ... gods, this is so weird! As if he's suddenly strangely attractive?" Sai: "Is this a prank?" Vlad: "No! If it were just me I wouldn't even talk about it. But Jeb feels it too. And we are having a really hard time keeping Kiyoshi away from Jack. So he must feel it too." Jeb feels it too. Jeb feels attracted to Jack - again... This had lead to their first break up. Saiwa shook his head - and tried to act professional. Sai: "Uh, no. I don't feel anything. We need to talk to Noxee about this when she's back. And I'll ask Ji Ho if he feels a weird pull towards Jack."

And then Sai quickly left and went downstairs to their room. What's that again now with Jack? Before Saiwa woke Jack, he asked Ji Ho if he feels something odd and explained what Vlad and Jeb noticed. But, just like Sai, Ji Ho felt nothing .. That's even odder: Why should Jeb and Vlad (and Kiyoshi) feel it and he and Ji Ho not? They even live in the same room with Jack - and spend more time with him. They were finally having breakfast - that was all a bit much on an empty stomach! Jack and Kiyoshi still don't eat... It's about time Noxee comes back - hopefully with some good news.

Ji Ho is worried. So Vlad feels attracted to Jack... Now that he finally has his feelings back, Vlad feels attracted to someone else? Maybe it's for the best for Vlad - and Jack? They are best friends. Ji Ho only ever brought Vlad pain. And Jack and Kiyoshi already proved they don't match...

And suddenly Ji Ho felt a tear rolling down his face.

'Now everyone of us was made to suffer Everyone of us is made to weep We've been hurting one another Now the pain has cut too deep So take me from the wreckage Save me from the blast Lift me up and take me back Don't let me keep on walking I kept on walking on Keep on walking on broken glass'

Walking on broken glass - Annie Lennox

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[lonelylonelyghost]

Re-watch of The Spirealm. Episode 23

Nature in all its ominous glory

As far as the last images you see before you die, this is pretty good actually

RIP girl

Nice picture btw. I wouldn't want it on my bedroom wall, but if it was hanging somewhere near the entrance door, to scare the guests and myself occasionally - that'd be pretty cool.

"You stand on the bridge to view the scenery,

and people who view the scenery look at you upstairs.

The moon decorated your window,

and you decorated someone else's dream."

Nothing quite like a piece of cryptic poetry to start off your day

I need to see more of the Mistress's dress, it seems to look amazing. I want official full-body posters...

The Sun, the Death, the Noble Jester, The Giant and the Ghost

A gang

Jawline.

shut up.

He's so worried for his Lingling...

"You should let me leave this world. Me appearing in the game is equivalent to cheating. If you get caught you'll be punished severely."

"As long as you're here with me, I'm not afraid of any punishment!"

The ride or die!...

"I'm offline now. I'll die if I go out. I'm content to just be here with you. I played this game because I was lonely. But I met you. And now I'm not lonely anymore..."

ಥ_ಥ

The red string!!!

I noticed that the show treats Xiong Qi' and Xiao Ke's story is in some way similar to Nanzhu' and Qiushi's, in that they don't state clearly about the nature of their relationship, but make it as intense as possible. Ready to do anything for each other, literally tied together with a red string of fate, so who cares about the labels? They are each other's person, and that's enough. This is by far my favourite kind of m/f dynamic. GIMME MORE

Not to ruin the moment, but I think this is the only instance when the drama can legitimately show on screen Nanzhu getting on top of Qiushi

The RAGE!

Nice

"We both are women. I know how you feel. Many women have been hurt by love. We are easy to be bullied and mentally controlled. I've acted many eye-candy roles. None of these characters are divorced. I envy you. You're going the wrong way, but you've been looking for a way out."

"Is improper behavior also worth to be envied?"

"Of course! One day, you'll reach your solution. The Twelve Sufferings you drew is dreary. I don't like it. I like this one the best. Art and insights don't matter at all. What really matters is your choice."

Tan Zaozao is terrified but still reaches out to the Mistress with kindness. Have I told already that I love her?

The portrait is beautiful

(It looks a bit like it was drawn by Shen Yi)

And she's starting her life anew 🥲

"See you in the next Door"

😭😭😭😭

"Thank you." "And how exactly are you going to thank me?"

"Tell me, what do you want me to do?" "...I haven't decided yet."

"Have a rest. You can think it over once you've recovered."

Well, Qiushi walked right into that one, didn't he

"Don't leave. Stay with me a little longer." "Alright."

COME ON!

"Tan Zaozao, do you think that I'm too weak now to teach you a lesson?"

"Lingling-ge, calm Ruan-ge down, he wants to beat me!"

"What tool do you want to use? The fruit knife?"

You asked the wrong person to defend your honor, Zaozao! ehehe

OK, alright, ok, so....

[unholy screeching]

First of all, I officially will be reminded of THIS moment every time the lychees are mentioned in ANY context for the rest of my life.

Second of all, WHAT. WAS. THAT. Like seriously. How was that filmed? How was that supposed to have any heterosexual explanation? Just bros being dudes, hand-feeding each other fruits sensually? Like, be for real.

And third of all, Qiushi's face???????? Oh, he knows what he's doing and what kind of effect he has on Nanzhu, the amount of power he wields over him. And he uses this power to just take care of him!...

This one (and the Bite Scene TM) are the most homoerotic moments in the history of forever.

I rest my case.

what the FUCK

"Cheng Yixie? How did you know we were here?"

"I could smell you."

I...😳I did NOT remember this bit of the dialogue...