#it’s a one off and he doesn’t really touch on it any more but it’s important to understanding him I think

[reidrum]

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You’re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[etherealmelodys]

Kang Dae-Ho

NSFW ALPHABET

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Have yall seen how this man acted in the show? He’d definitely be a master at aftercare. Thanking you for allowing yourself to be at your most vulnerable with him, making sure you’re not in any pain, hot bath, whatever you wanted this man would do it for you asap. And trust when he’s done making sure you’re okay? Immediate cuddles and praise.

B - Body Part (Their favorite body part on you and themselves)

I feel like for Dae-Ho, his arms or hands would be his favorite body part. The arms he uses to cradle you in your most intimate and vulnerable moments, keeping you safe at all times. His hands are so much bigger than yours as well, always making you feel so so good. For his partner, I don’t think he’d have a specific body part he likes about you more than the others. Everything about you is perfect, so why should he have to choose one thing?

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He’s definitely a big fan of cumming inside you. He sees it as a way to be more intimate and closer to you. If you’re not a fan of that, he’s always down to cum on your stomach and thighs. The way the milky substance coats your abdomen and thighs really gets him going.

D - Dirty Secret ( Self-explanatory)

He’s really into you taking the more dominant role in the bed room. It’s not that he himself doesn’t like to, but the thought of you bossing him around and using him for your pleasure really gets him hard.

E - Experience (How experienced are they?)

I think he’s relatively experienced, not as experienced as someone like Thanos, but he knows what he has to do to get you to cum as much as he’d like.

F - Favorite Position (What positions do they like the most?)

He’s definitely the type to love any position that gives him a good view of all of you, and welcomes as much eye contact as he can get. The best for these would be missionary, rocking horse, or the happy scissor.

G - Goofy (How serious are they in the moment? Do they tease you?)

Dae-Ho would try to be as serious as possible during the act. He sees it as one of the most intimate acts you can have with another person, and he wouldn’t want you to think he doesn’t take it seriously, or you serious. Now if his partner is more playful during the act? He’s all for it.

H - Hair (What’s the hair situation down there)

This might be me being bias, but I think he has quite a bit of hair down there. Now it’s not a jungle mind you, but he just doesn’t feel the need to go bald when nobody’s complained about it before. For his partner he does not care at all. You could be as bald as a Siamese or as hairy as a rainforest, he still gon eat!

I - intimacy (How romantic are they in the moment?)

I feel like regardless of his mood, he’s always going to bring that romantic energy. Whispering praises in your ear while he slowly thrusts up into you, holding you so close to him to the point you can feel each other’s heart beats.

J - Jack Off (How often do they touch themselves?)

If he’s with somebody, he definitely jacks off more than he would if he was single. Just the thought of you gets him so hard and whiny, he never feels the need to jerk off to porn or anything like that when he has you.

K - Kinks (What are their kinks?)

He definitely doesn’t have any crazy kinks, he’s pretty vanilla. Praise, overstimulation, and hair pulling, while be it lightly, are his major ones, he’s not a fan of anything that could harm you in any aspect.

L - Location (Where do they prefer to have sex?)

He’s not into anywhere public, he’s too nervous about potentially getting caught, most importantly anyone seeing you that vulnerable. The bedroom is where he’s the most comfortable at, but anywhere ranging the shower or couch is fair game too.

M - Motivation (What turns them on?)

Just seeing you in general gets him going. Whether you just got off of work, sweaty and exhausted from the days events, or if you just woke up in the morning, bed head and all groggy. He thinks you look sexy no matter what state you’re in.

N - No (What are some things they’ll never do?)

He would never do anything to intentionally hurt or degrade you. Being raised with sisters really instilled his respect for women. Degrading, choking, anything similar to that is out of the question.

O - Oral (How do they feel about oral? Do they prefer giving or receiving?)

He definitely prefers giving to receiving. While he loves the sight of you on your knees gagging on his dick, what he loves even more is the sight of your arched back and fucked out face as he licks and sucks at your clit for hours. He’s definitely a service top, putting your pleasure above his own.

P - Pace (How fast/slow are they?)

He definitely prefers a slow and sensual pace compared to a faster one. He just loves the face you make, one of pure bliss feeling him slowly fill you up and pull himself back out again, the way you look at him as if he hung the stars in the sky, and the way you thank him for making you feel so good.

Q - Quickie (How do they feel about quickies?)

He’s not the biggest fan of quickies, he prefers to take his time with you and wants to make sure you feel good to the fullest potential. But if you’re desperate and beg him for it? Who is he to deny you.

R - Risk (How willing are they to experiment? Do they take any risks?)

Like I said before, he’s not a big fan of taking risks, or anything that might get you caught. He is however game to experiment in the bed room, but he’ll never initiate it himself, you’ll have to do that.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they do? How long can they go for?)

Due to him being an ex-marine, I think his stamina would be extremely good, at least above average. Expect him to do at most 2-3 rounds before he starts to get tired. But before he does, it’s always his top priority to make you cum as many times as you can handle.

T - Toys (Do they have any toys? Are they willing to use any?)

I don’t think he has any of his own toys, but he’d always be down to experiment with the ones you have. He wouldn’t go out of his way to purchase any, especially for himself seeing that he has you already, so what’s the point?

U - Unfair (Do they tease you? How unfair are they in the bedroom?)

Just a tad bit, he loves you too much to do it excessively, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do it at all. Just when you guys are in a more playful mood does he really get into the role of teasing.

V - Volume (How loud are they?)

He’s fairly loud, he doesn’t do a lot of grunting, mainly whining and moaning. He’s always encouraging you to be as loud as you want as well, telling you the sounds you make are so pretty, telling you how it makes him wanna fuck you for even longer just to hear more of you.

W - Weird Fact (Self-explanatory)

He’d definitely want to try pegging, just once to see if he really is into it. But only with a partner he’s been with for quite a while.

X - X Ray (What’s it looking like in those pants.)

Dae-Ho is around 5’11-6’0 tall, and he’s quite beefy. He’s definitely above average, but he’s not huge. I’d say he’s around 6.5 inches, considering the average size in Korea is 5.3 inches. His tip is definitely a reddish pink color, about #EE9B9D, with a slight curve to the left. He had a few veins running along his shaft, noticeably a thicker one on the underside of it.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive? How often do they have sex?)

He doesn’t have a super high drive, it’s about average, about every other day. He’d prefer doing other intimate acts with you, such as cuddling, watching a movie together, or just being around you in general in a non-sexual context

Z - Zzz (How fast do they fall asleep after sex?)

He usually falls asleep after a little bit of pillow talk, and of course making sure you’re comfortable and content with his performance in bed. He’d only be able to rest after making sure you’re fulfilled

(Thank you guys sm for waiting on this, I lwk fell asleep due to being sick half way through but I pulled through! This will be my first fic on this app so enjoy😼)

[ellecdc]

pause to breathe

combination of two anon prompts: yapper reader who seeks out any of the boys and starts talking and then wonders if they find her terribly annoying and she thinks they must hate her combined with part two for Regulus x yapper!reader with the mooncalves

Regulus Black x fem!reader who updates him on the mooncalves [681 words]

p1 | p2

CW: yapper reader, longwinded speech and spiralling thoughts, run-on sentences, reader feels embarrassed

Pandora and Barty were currently busy procuring ingredients to brew truth potions for tonight’s veritaserum-or-dare, which meant that Regulus, Evan, and Dorcas were enjoying a rare quiet moment in the library. 

“All I’m saying is that out of all the poltergeists I’ve summoned, Peeves really is the least of our worries.” Evan mentioned boredly, earning him a snort of laughter from Dorcas.

“Remember Mammon?” She asked in a hushed tone.

“How could we forget?” Regulus responded. “He had first years strung up by their feet from the ceiling trying to get the galleons to fall out of their pockets.” 

“I’m so glad Barty knows how to obliviate; that would have been a nightmare.”

“We would have been expelled.” Dorcas pressed with a laugh, Evan simply nodded at her.

“Like I said, a nightmare.”

Regulus was saved from having to reply when he heard his name being called, albeit softly - this was the library, afterall.

“Regulus! Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.” You chanted your whole way over before sitting down heavily on the bench beside Regulus, breathless and nearly blowing the parchment right off the table from the speed at which you approached.

“It worked! The beast treats from Brood & Peck worked!”

It took Regulus’ brain a few moments to work out what it was that you were talking about when he remembered his trip to Brood & Peck last week. He wondered then if he should ask you how it went, but you carried on before he could.

“I’m sure that maybe, perhaps, the apples were a help, seeing as they’ve grown somewhat accustomed to my presence. But they came right up to me last night! I even got to scritch the space between one’s eyes! Have you ever pet a mooncalf, Regulus? They’re way softer than they look. It’s almost like a cat except the fur is a touch longer and silkier. Have you ever pet a bunny? Sort of like a bunny, but with thinner and longer hair…like a long-and-thin haired bunny. Oh! And! Last night among the mooncalves was one tiny kitten! Real little, too. I wonder if he got separated from his mama when I was feeding them tuna a few nights ago? None of the other cats were there again last night, just the little bubs. But it seems as though the mooncalves have adopted him! Oh, it was so cute! One was even grooming him! But I was so busy being excited about finally petting them and getting them to approach me that I forgot to take pictures. Maybe I can get pictures tonight? Hopefully the kitten is still there. Well, I guess it would actually be better if the kitten was with its mum, yeah? Maybe just one more night, just so I can get a picture, then hopefully he finds his mum again.” 

You paused, likely to breathe, and seemed only then to register the fact that Regulus hadn’t been sitting at this table alone.

“Oh.” You murmured quietly, moving your horrified gaze from Evan and Dorcas towards Regulus beside you, another “oh” escaping you when you seemed to realise how long you just spent shouting about mooncalves to Regulus Black in front of his friends. 

“Oh my gods.” You nearly whispered. “I’m so sorry. Merlin, this is so embarrassing; I am so embarrassing. I’m so sorry!” 

Nearly as quick as you came did you stand and leave, fleeing from the library without even sparing a backwards glance at your potions partner. 

“I’d be worried she doesn’t get enough air to her head. Merlin.” Evan commented as he finally turned back towards the table from where he’d been watching you leave. “Do you think her brain works that quickly when she reads? She must finish books so fast.” 

Regulus simply smiled to himself as he packed up his notes and books. 

“I’ll catch up with you later, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Black.” Dorcas drawled teasingly as Regulus shouldered his book bag and exited the library, venturing off in the direction you had just moments before in hopes of finding out more about last night’s mooncalves and their little kitten friend.

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Neve (and Tevinter) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Neve:

General:

Neve isn’t rich, and her best coat is a gift from a grateful tailor after she saved his warehouse from an arsonist

Neve’s coat is woven with enchantments to resist fire and lighting 

Neve has never done blood magic. She is against it on principle and judges those who use it 

Neve doesn’t seem to like entertaining extreme hypotheticals since she reacts to Harding’s questions like “What would you take with you to a deserted island?” with asking why she would end up in such situations in the first place 

Neve wouldn’t want gems on her leg, because she thinks they would get stolen within a day of working in Minrathous, and she generally prefers to keep a low profile while on the job

However, she still considers saving up for a new, fancier leg to have more fashion choices. She likes Taash’s idea of getting a ruby inlay for it

Neve never visited Rivain before joining the Veilguard, though she now finds its beaches charming

Ever since she was a baby, Neve was stubborn and asked too many questions (and hated unanswered questions as well)

Neve likes Qunari food but thinks it’s very spicy

Neve likes seafood 

Neve doesn't drink tea

Neve isn’t really close with her family

Neve once tried to use a wisp-repelling artefact the Veil Jumpers found to get rid of the wisps in her room, but it only attracted wisps from the entire Lighthouse

Neve isn’t interested in exploring the mysteries of the Lighthouse because she has enough mysteries on this side of the Veil

(If Rook chooses to save Minrathous) Neve sends civil engineers to assist in Treviso 

On work: 

Neve didn’t want to be a detective when she was a child (not as if in she didn’t like the idea, she just didn’t consider it), though she didn’t have any dream career either 

Neve got into detective work by picking up odd jobs and building a reputation of being good at finding things. Eventually, she was hired to find someone’s brother, a case nobody else wanted to pick up, and her career took off 

Neve agrees that she is cynical and married to her job, but doesn’t consider herself ‘serious’  

Neve allegedly has a system for sorting her papers (Emmrich and Rana are sceptical about its existence) 

(If Neve becomes Dock Town's protector) Elek is implied to visit the Lighthouse again multiple times. Taash mentions seeing him poking around the library. Neve explained that he thought he could grab some fade-touched items to sell, and told him to run the plan by the Caretaker (one would think they did not approve)

On life in Minrathous: 

Neve was born and raised in Minrathous

Neve has never been inside the Archon’s Palace

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve doesn’t regret letting Aelia live because she got information on Venatori out of her, and her death wouldn’t change the past

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve gets to take a break for once in her life because Rana keeping an eye on the Dock Town actually helps

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) People gossip about Neve and Rana after they start their agency :)

Neve describes the rain of Minrathous as "cold fingers down your neck", but she misses it now that she's away from the city. The sound helps her fall asleep 

Neve’s entire apartment could fit inside villa Dellamorte’s dining room 

One of Tevinter papers referred to Neve as "Dock Town dirt-chaser," and to Emmrich as "sinister foreign necromancer”

A Tevinter paper called The Minrathous Herald once wrote that Neve should be exiled. The same paper called Shadow Dragons “traitors to the Empire” 

Neve never runs out of ink because she's on good terms with Minrathous ink sellers 

There is however one banter where she runs out of ink (I think it was with Davrin). Make of that what you will. 

On the Shadow Dragons: 

Neve didn't know Dorian personally until she joined the Shadow Dragons

Neve figured out the Viper's identity even before joining the Dragons. Her not revealing it to the public is one of the reasons he recruited her

Tarquin calls Neve a pain in the ass 

Relationships with companions: 

Neve calls Manfred ‘Fred’ (he seems to like that)

Manfred learns to say Neve's name (likely only happens if you revive him at the Necropolis, though I am not sure)

Neve introduces Lucanis to a spice shop in Dock Town

Harding describes Neve’s tastes in coffee as “made of gutter water filtered through an old sock”

Lucanis once showed Neve’s coffee to Viago. He found it “unsettling” 

Davrin thinks drinking Neve's coffee is worse than the Joining

Neve spoils Assan (but denies that accusation)

Neve is rather quick to consider questioning corpses with Emmrich’s help for her cases 

Neve is very apprehensive about lichdom and the perspective of Emmrich eventually turning evil (just like Emmrich isn't thrilled about her taking over the Threads for similar reasons)

Lucanis is concerned about Neve taking over the Threads. Mainly, about how much they are paying her

Neve has multiple banters with Taash discussing her relationship with Lucanis. Taash initially thinks of it as some sort of predator-prey dynamic, but Neve says she is not into that and explains that they are taking it slow and cautious. They both went through a lot of pain in their lines, which they tend not to show for different reasons

Neve's relationship with Lucanis is also more than she usually looks for with people

Neve takes Taash to Hal’s fish fry stand. Taash loved it :)

Taash offers Neve help on ladders in case she may need it/it gets stuck on steps due to being hook-shaped, mentioning they knew a Lord of Fortune who lost a hand and whose shoulders hurt while climbing because of it. Neve seems to appreciate the gesture, even though she can handle herself

Neve thinks Taash is nice to work with, offering help without being overbearing like some people are

Neve asks Taash to teach her Gold Thief (a Lord of Fortune dice game), so she can play it with the Shadow Dragons, and then subsequently gets beaten by the Viper

On Tevinter: 

Fashion is important in Tevinter because a good outfit lets people know you are under the protection of someone powerful

There aren’t many mages in Docktown, which is one of the reasons the government doesn’t care about it 

The big red cat near Halos’s stand is named Ferdinand

Stains on clothes can be cleaned with magic

You can get pineapples anywhere in Minrathous 

Neve calls the magic used for the lights in Minrathous a party trick, but Emmrich considers it a high-level enchantment because of its quality and duration

Tevinter doesn’t regulate the charms sold in the market (which is why there are a lot of scammers who sell fakes) 

[pucksandpower]

Nothing to Prove

Charles Leclerc x Vettel!Reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time — every female sports fan has been told to “prove” her fandom at least once in her life — but the man quizzing you quickly learns the error of his ways

The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the bustling paddock, your destination the familiar red and white of the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with pre-race excitement, mechanics and team personnel darting about like worker bees in a particularly colorful hive.

You’re so focused on navigating the crowd that you almost don’t notice the young man who steps directly into your path, phone held aloft. His grin is a touch too smug for comfort.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, voice dripping with false politeness. “Mind if I ask you a few questions for my TikTok?”

You hesitate, torn between ingrained courtesy and a gnawing sense of unease. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry-”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he insists, already hitting record. “So, tell me, what’s your favorite thing about Formula 1?”

The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something in his tone that sets your teeth on edge. Still, you decide to play along for now. “Well, I love the strategy, the technology, the way the whole sport pushes the boundaries of what’s possible-”

He cuts you off with a laugh. “Come on, be honest. It’s the hot drivers, right? That’s why most girls watch.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his blatant misogyny. “Excuse me?”

“No judgment!” He says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it, they’re all rich and fit. But let’s see how much you really know. Who won the 1976 World Championship?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he barrels on.

“What’s the difference between understeer and oversteer? How many points do you get for fastest lap? Come on, if you’re a real fan, this should be easy!”

Your initial discomfort has morphed into full-blown anger. “Look, I don’t have to prove anything to you. My knowledge of the sport isn’t-”

“Ah, so you can’t answer,” he says, triumphant. “Just as I thought. Another pretty face here for the-”

“Is there a problem here?”

The smooth voice comes from just behind you, followed by the warmth of a familiar body pressing against your back. Strong arms wrap around your waist, and you instinctively lean into the embrace.

The TikToker’s eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in the newcomer. “You’re ... you’re ...”

“Charles Leclerc,” your boyfriend finishes for him, voice deceptively mild. “And you are ...”

The young man sputters, clearly thrown off his game. “I’m ... I mean... I was just asking your girl here some questions about F1.”

Charles’ arms tighten fractionally around you. “Is that so? Because from where I was standing, it sounded more like an interrogation.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting Charles’ gaze. His green eyes are blazing with a protective fury that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “He was just leaving.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the TikToker, who’s looking increasingly desperate to be anywhere else. “You heard the lady.”

But the young man, perhaps realizing his video is about to become internet gold, rallies. “Wait! I mean, no offense, but how do we know she’s not just with you for the fame? Can she even name your teammate?”

You feel Charles tense behind you, but before he can speak, you’ve had enough. You step out of his embrace, squaring up to the TikToker.

“Carlos Sainz Jr.,” you say, voice hard. “Currently P4 in the championship. And since you’re so keen on quizzing people, James Hunt won in ‘76, understeer is when the front of the car doesn’t turn enough while oversteer is when the rear steps out too much, and you get one point for fastest lap if you finish in the top ten. Any other burning questions?”

The TikToker gapes at you, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. Charles, for his part, looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“I ... but ...” the young man stammers.

You press on, building up a head of steam. “Oh, and fun fact — my brother has four World Championships. But I’m sure you knew that, being such an expert and all.”

The TikToker’s face drains of color as realization dawns. “Your brother? You’re Sebastian Vettel’s sister?”

Charles can’t contain his amusement any longer. He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I tried to warn you. You’ve awakened the beast.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re not helping.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Far be it from me to interfere with your righteous fury. Please, continue.”

The TikToker looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “I ... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“That women can be genuine fans?” You interrupt. “That we might actually understand and love the sport for its own sake? Or just that you shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on their gender?”

He winces. “All of the above?”

Charles steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch is gentle, but there’s steel in his voice when he speaks. “I think it’s time for you to go. And delete that video while you’re at it.”

The young man nods frantically, fumbling with his phone. In his haste to retreat, he trips over his own feet, sprawling ungracefully on the ground. Charles moves to help him up, ever the gentleman, but you put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Let him sort himself out,” you mutter. “A little humiliation might do him some good.”

Charles chuckles, pulling you close. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

As the TikToker scrambles away, face burning with embarrassment, you allow yourself to relax into Charles’ embrace. The adrenaline of the confrontation leaves you feeling a bit shaky.

“You okay?” Charles asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Just ... frustrated. Why do people still think like that?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew. It’s not fair, the assumptions people make.”

“It’s not just about me,” you say, turning to face him fully. “It’s about all the female fans out there who get treated like this. Who get quizzed and belittled and have their passion questioned at every turn.”

Charles nods, his expression serious. “You’re right. It’s a bigger problem than just one idiot with a TikTok account.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it will ever change,” you admit, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

Charles cups your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. “It will,” he says with conviction. “Because of people like you who stand up and call it out. Who refuse to let ignorance go unchallenged.”

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a small smile. “When did you get so wise?”

He grins, some of his usual playfulness returning. “I have my moments. Don’t tell anyone though, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laugh, the tension finally starting to dissipate. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Charles leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “The way you handled that ... it was impressive.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Absolutely,” he says firmly. “You were brilliant. Fierce. Passionate.” His voice drops lower, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Incredibly sexy.”

You swat his arm playfully. “Behave yourself, Leclerc. We’re in public.”

He affects an innocent expression that doesn’t fool you for a second. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

You snort. “That’s what worries me.”

Charles laughs, the sound bright and carefree. It never fails to make your heart soar. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Come on, let’s get to the motorhome. I think we both could use a moment of peace before the craziness really begins.”

As you walk hand in hand through the paddock, you can’t help but reflect on the incident. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but there’s also a spark of hope. Because for every misogynistic TikToker, there are countless fans — of all backgrounds — who love the sport for what it is. Who appreciate the skill, the strategy, the sheer spectacle of it all.

And maybe, just maybe, standing up to ignorance one interaction at a time is how change really happens.

Charles squeezes your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

You smile, leaning into him slightly as you walk. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. To be here, doing what I love. To have people in my life who support me and believe in me.”

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “The luck goes both ways, mon cœur. You make me better, on and off the track.”

As you approach the Ferrari motorhome, its bright red a beacon in the sea of team colors, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. There will always be challenges, always be those who try to tear others down. But with love, determination, and a refusal to back down from what’s right, anything is possible.

Even changing the world of Formula 1, one small interaction at a time.

[palmerzy]

wait it’s funny you say that bc i’ve been in need for some fluff too!! i wrote a spencer fluff post on my side blog a couple months ago abt how he’d act and comfort you on bad days and i just need some fluffiness bc my period is acting up again :(

a little tmi but i’ve been bleeding for 3-4 months straight and the pain never goes away, so i’d like to imagine spencer being so prepared and so sweet when it’s time for your period, because he’d understand when you’re moody, get your pads and your heating pad and your comfort blanket, agh

love love love! spencer is soooo attentive for sure. also, anon, that sounds AWFUL and i hope it clears up at some point 😭

spencer would just be the sweetest when you’re on your period. he’s definitely memorised your cycle, purely because he wants to be prepared and make sure he has everything at his apartment for you.

he 100% has a drawer in his bathroom full of sanity products just for you, and they’re there month-round for whenever you may need them. he remembers what foods you like, the genre of movie you prefer during your period, even what smells throw you off, and he’s sure to only put out candles he knows you don’t mind.

the first time you’d forgotten your favourite blanket and a hot water bottle when at his place, spencer made the journey back to your apartment to collect them - and he was sure to buy exact replicas to keep at his home in case of another emergency like that.

nothing to do with your body could disgust him, and he’s very familiar with blood given his line of duty, so any laundry he has to do when you’re there isn’t a bother to him at all. he allows you your free time, letting you bathe in his bathroom for hours at a time, and he’s also happy to sit with you whenever you want it.

usually when you’re lying in bed, he’ll put your heat pad over your tummy, and then lay his head atop it, hoping to give you some comfort with his presence. it’s definitely soothing, getting to run your hands through his long hair whilst the pressure of his body soothes your cramps.

he alternates between talking a lot to keep your mind distracted and saying nothing at all, letting gentle touches convey his care and concern for you. when he’s talking, it’s mostly just him reading to you, or rambling about something he knows you enjoy, because he’s aware that the sound of his voice is soothing enough to you.

he’ll watch movies with you that he usually wouldn’t enjoy, or read a cheesy romance novel so the two of you can giggle together. when he’s reading to you, you’re both laying on your sides, pressed together with your face nuzzled in his neck as he peers over you to recite the words. his free hand gently caresses your waist and your back, thumb rubbing soothing circles until you’re falling asleep in his arms, pain forgotten.

if spencer’s on a case, he’s checking in with you pretty often, calling during any free time. he calls you a lot normally, so it’s doubled when he’s concerned over how you’re doing. usually just short conversations, but it’s comforting nonetheless. “hey, baby, just wanted to let you know i’m thinking about you,” “have you drunk enough water? if you’re dehydrated, your cramps will hurt more, take care of yourself,” and “i’m buying you takeout, it’ll be there in 30 minutes,” even when he’s on the other side of the country.

when you get snappy with him, he remains entirely patient. he doesn’t really try to mediate you, because he knows it’s probably best to just let you get it all out - and you’ll apologise anyways. you’re never actually mean to him, just irritable over simple things. by now, he’s learned what ticks you off, and he ensures his place is free of any annoyance whenever you’re due on.

no matter what, though, he’s there. one way or another, on the phone or in person, he wants to check in on you, especially during that week.

oh lord i definitely need to brush up on my fluff writing skills HAHA

[fandom-go-round]

Hello! If you're still taking requests, I'd really appreciate it if you could please write some headcanons about Emmrich, Lucanis, Neve and Bellara dating a Rook who has pretty significant burn scars, particularly on their back, stomach, legs, arms, hands or feet. The scars are healed now, but they still consider them unsightly so they try to cover up as much as possible. I'd love to see your take on their reaction to Rook's scars being revealed to them for the first time.

Burn scars also come with a lot of complications like having to keep them out of sunlight, they often get pretty itchy and since skin regulates body temperature you can get cold super easily if you have significant burns. So if you want to include any of those factors feel free!

As someone who legit cannot be trusted around hot liquids and has scars from 2nd degree burns, I'd appreciate it, but if you don't want to write something like this I understand. Thank you, and I hope your day is going well!

Thank you so much for a Dragon Age request! I had a lot of fun with it!

Warnings: Burns, Talk of Burns, Previous Injuries, Implied Low Self Esteem, Implied Body Issues

Emmrich Volkarin:

As someone who usually wears layers when out and about, Emmrich doesn’t notice right away you’re covered almost always. He thinks of it as a personal style, at least until you’re exposed to the cold. It only takes one instance of fighting a desire demon and your hands to shake so bad you can’t hold your weapon for him to wonder. He won’t ask you of course, especially when Harding asks if you’re alright and you deflect.

The first time he sees your burns himself, Emmrich has a lot of thoughts. He can tell that you’re uncomfortable, not meeting his eyes as you continue to make dinner. It’s the first time he’s seen you in short sleeves and without gloves; you had thought you were alone at the Lighthouse. He wonders where you got the wounds and how but instead, he apologizes for starling you and asks if he can help. You agree to let him help and it takes almost a full hour for the tension to leave your shoulders. Emmrich is happy to wait as long as possible for you to trust him.

The longer the two of you are together, the more you open up about your scars. Emmrich is willing to listen to anything you say and go at your own pace. He’ll go out of his way to buy you embroidered gloves that you adore and has no issues steering the others away from the topic. He’ll hesitate to touch your scars because he doesn’t want to hurt you but once you assure he can touch, he loves kissing your everywhere. Scars are a part of you but they don’t define you.

Lucanis Dellamorte:

He’s one of the first companions to notice, mostly because he has some burns himself. Not as wide spread as yours but Crow training wasn’t kind to him and he sees the way you favor warm over cold and how your legs get itchy after being in Rivani. Lucanis makes sure to cook warm meals and uses ingredients that help with itchiness. He’s a silent supporter from the beginning.

The extent of your scars makes hm angry. He has no way of knowing (at first) where your scars come from and assumes them to be a battle gone wrong. Spite often speaks of hunting the people down who hurt you and he’s inclined to agree. If he finds out the burns are because of an accident he’s going to hover more. If you’re this accident prone he’ll be your silent shadow so you don’t get hurt again. Tell him off if he hovers too much; Lucanis will find something else to help with.

He has no issues touching your scars but will make sure you’re alright with it first. He never wants to make you uncomfortable and watches for your verbal and nonverbal ques. Lucanis will do whatever he can to help you feel better; putting on ointment, buying you new clothing, whatever you’d like. He won’t let anyone talk down to you. He’s protective on a good day and if someone tries to say anything about your scars? His knife is already at their throat.

Bellara Lutare:

Bellara doesn’t realize you have burn scars until you take your coat off, wet from being slammed into the lake. It took her and Davrin combined to pull you out and you’re swearing up a storm as you strip. Davrin just teases you about losing your footing before going to find firewood. Bellara doesn’t catch herself staring until you turn away and she busies getting the camping set out.

She doesn’t bring the scars up until the two of you are alone, checking in. Mostly she wants to make sure you’re not in pain and if you are, she can make burn cream. Someone in her clan had burns like yours that bothered them. You’re surprised by her practical offer and kiss her cheek, thankful for her support. You take her up on the offer, especially when you end up on the coast. The hot air makes you super itchy.

It becomes a habit for her to help you put the burn cream on your back since it’s hard for you to reach. It’s a soft moment inside the normal day to day chaos. Bellara loves that you trust her enough to let her do this and gets to touch you. Her face is red by the end and you tease her but its worth all the teasing to see the soft look in your eyes. Once of these days she’s going to get her nerve to kiss you, she promises!

Neve Gallus:

Neve figured you were using clothing to cover up something. Most people don’t wear as many layers as you and it a toss up between scars or you really are that much trouble. The truth is, as always, a little bit of both. You naturally run cold but it’s more than that. The first time she sees your scars, she’ll admit she wasn’t expecting them. She knows that jobs can go wrong, she just wishes you were luckier.

She won’t talk about the scars unless you bring them up. She understands how it feels for others to judge you based on old wounds; she’s almost punched people because of her leg. Neve does go out of her way to get you warm drinks to hold and buys you long pants as yours get ruined. The detective side of her wants to know how you got the scars but she does her damnedest to keep those thoughts to herself.

Neve can’t help but kiss the scars when she can, almost without thinking. Clothes on or off, she’ll kiss the palm of your hand or rub your shoulder. Let her know if the touching is too much and she’ll back off. She accepts every part of you, scared or not. She likes the flustered look on your face, it isn’t often she throws you off. Neve can and will use it to her advantage.

[loveandleases]

THAT HOSPITAL ASK GAVE ME A NEW IDEA FOR CHRIS SUFFERING!! Would Chris and Jade have the nerve to visit MC in the hospital? How would they react to MC getting hurt and subsequently if they were thrown out, either by MC or the RO?

I had to think about this for a bit, and I keep coming back to thinking Chris would be more willing to visit than Jade. I spewed out the scenarios, left it vague on the Ro but below the cut ~

💀 Jade - There’s a part of Jade, buried deep, hidden behind her need to be the center of attention, that still cares about her sibling. How much, though, is anyone’s guess. When she hears MC is in the hospital, a wave of discomfort surges in her chest—not out of worry, but because her spotlight has shifted. Her parents' attention is no longer on her. Chris' focus is pulled away. She thinks MC is probably just making a mountain out of a molehill; they're probably not even that hurt. But still, she'd go—not just out of curiosity, but to play the role of the supportive sister, if only for appearances.

She barely steps into the room, but she can't even fully process what MC looks like—just the drip of the IV, the steady beep of the heart monitor. Before she can really take it in, the door is slammed shut in her face. Voices rise, then fall silent, and someone steps into the hallway before her.

"You need to leave before I call security and have your ass hauled out," they say, their tone firm, offering no space for argument.

Jade, however, doesn’t back down that easily. She scoffs and reaches for the door again, but this time, no one’s surprised when security is called. Her face flushes red with rage as she begins to berate them, trying to smack their hands away. Her feet stomp as if the force of it might make them relent. "You have no right to touch me, no right to tell me what I can or can’t do!"

She had suspected her actions would draw attention, but this? This wasn’t the attention she had bargained for.

💩 Chris - Kara's text was short—just four words, but they had Chris brushing off the clients in front of them and throwing on their coat. "MC's in the hospital." That was it. No explanation. No details. Just a curt statement, as if it wasn’t the most critical information Chris could ever receive.

Chris read it again, then again. Each time, their jaw tightened. Their first thought wasn’t concern. It was indignation. Why didn’t MC call me directly? Why didn’t the hospital call? Chris was still listed as their emergency contact, wasn't they?

Chris glanced at themselves in the mirror, ignoring the questions thrown their way as assistants rushed them out of the room. Their reflection showed no cracks, not a single sign of the tension they felt building in their chest. Hair in pristine condition. Shirt collar perfectly set. They needed to look their best when they saw MC… The thought of MC lying in that sterile hospital bed made Chris’ chest tighten—but not for the reason anyone would expect. It wasn’t fear for their well-being. It was the fact that Chris wasn’t there. That someone else was. Someone who didn’t know MC the way Chris did.

Is Kara there? Cam… God, Cam. That parasite would leap at the chance to play the hero. Is someone else pressing soft kisses to MC's forehead, whispering sweet nothings and telling them everything will be alright? Ugh, sickening.

Chris could picture it so clearly: Cam fumbling around, trying and failing to comfort MC with some idiotic joke. As if he had any right to be there. As if he had any right to hover over what was still theirs.

Clicking their tongue, Chris sneered. This was wrong. If MC was hurt, they needed Chris now more than ever. Not Kara. Not Cam. No one else. Chris had been the center of their world once, and deep down, they knew they still were.

MC needed Chris, whether they realized it or not. And so, there was no question. Chris would go.

Settling back in the leather seats of their car, Chris smirked. The driver sped toward the hospital. Already, Chris imagined the scene—MC’s eyes lighting up when they saw their former fiancé, stepping into the room to save the day. They'd remember then, wouldn't they? No one could care for them the way Chris could.

One last glance at their reflection, and Chris stepped into the hospital with a quiet, knowing smile. This wasn’t about helping MC. This was about reminding them—reminding everyone—who Chris was. The only one who truly mattered.

But when they opened the door to MC’s room, that look never came. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit Chris’ nose, sending a twitch of irritation through them. And then, standing in front of them, was someone blocking their way, their expression one of disdain.

"I suggest you move," Chris said, voice surprisingly calm. As if expecting anyone to bend at their will.

But they didn’t.

The person shoved Chris out of the doorway, slamming the door shut behind them. Security was called. They had the audacity to tell Chris to “fuck off.”

"I didn’t come here to see you," Chris snapped, pointing toward the door where MC lay. "I came here to see them."

"The only way you're getting near them is over my dead body," the person said, their tone cool but resolute. "And as you can see, I’m not dead yet."

Chris rolled their crystal blue eyes and brushed a hand through their blonde hair. "That can be arranged."

They seethed, gripping their palm so tight that the skin pulled, tearing slightly. The whispers of people in the hall faded into the background. Chris had a reputation to uphold. But it didn’t stop them from gritting their teeth, didn’t stop them from spewing out words that would only make things worse. They didn’t care. Not now. Not when MC was on the line.

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves it there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friend humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[sykesandskittles]

CHAPTER 7

Harlow

HIS LIPS ARE TOUCHING MINE, and I hate to admit it, even to myself, but my brain goes foggy. My knees go weak, and my heart feels like it’s trying to hammer its way through my ribs.

I hate this. I hate how quickly my body responds to him.

I suck in a breath and try to pull away, but Noah holds me tightly. His huge arms are like iron bands that are twisted around me, cadging me in. Holding me in place.

You’re already mine.

A fissure of heat cracks open inside me. I want so badly to belong to someone. I’ve always dreamt about that—finding my person. What would he look like? How would we find each other in this huge, crazy world?

But never, ever, in my mind’s eye did I see someone like Noah Sabastian as my person. And I’m not going to start imagining it now. He’s a hot guy who makes electricity zip through my veins. But that’s it.

If I’m being honest with myself, Nathan is more my speed. Quiet and a little awkward. Not handsome, but not hideous either, not that looks really matter all that much to me.

Swallowing, I pull my head back slightly and look Noah square in the eye. “Let me go.”

One side of his mouth curls up sardonically. “Freedom is going to cost you.”

I know he’s just referring to my physical freedom in this moment, but the prospect is tempting anyway. Mainly, because tingles have already started sweeping over my body, and honestly, a couple more minutes in his embrace, and I don’t know what I’ll do.

“What do you want?” I bite out.

“I want you to suck me off,” he says evenly.

I look at him like he’s an alien. “I’m not doing that here.”

After the words jump from my mouth, it occurs to me that I didn’t tell him to fuck off and dream on. I’m such an idiot. I just said I wouldn’t do it here. But that obviously implies I’d be willing to do it somewhere else.

Honestly, though, the thought of Noah’s hard cock in my mouth… sends heat coursing through me. Fuck. I’m more twisted than I’ve ever given myself credit for. But worse than that, I’m no better than every other girl on this fucked up campus.

“A kiss will do for now.”

The smile on his face tells me everything I need to know. This is all a game to him. This beautiful guy just loves toying with me, and I get the feeling, it’s more for amusement than anything else. Maybe he’s bored with the other girls, and fancies someone a little more challenging—someone who doesn’t automatically fall at his feet. But whatever his reason, I really don’t have time for any of it.

“My friend is waiting for me,” I say .

He laughs under his breath, which is really just a puff of air. “Sounds like a her problem to me.”

He leans in and brushes his mouth against mine. The heat from his lips sears me, and I suck in a breath. My head is swimming from the whiskey, which isn’t helping my situation at all.

“Don’t,” I whisper, but too late. Just as the sound leaves my lips, he kisses me. It’s a hard kiss, filled with unspoken words of longing and control—and fuck me, but his veracity actually turns me on. I melt beneath him. Like, every other fucking simp here, I fucking melt.

My hands find the muscles of his shoulders, and like a damn fool, I open my mouth, just slightly. Inviting him in. Inviting the devil into my

soul.

Electricity zips through my veins, and I find myself leaning into the kiss as his tongue twists with mine. He devours me, and I let him. In fact, I like it far more than I should.

“Hey, yo, Noah.” A voice breaks through the darkness, slicing through our little stolen moment. “Nicholas brought a fucking bong. You better get in here before it’s sucked dry.”

I’m breathless when he pulls away. With a devilish grin, he pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him. “You taste like candy,” he says, amusement in his tone. “I can see how someone might get lost in you.”

What a strange thing to say.

I blink at him. “No one has ever gotten lost in me.”

He laughs, and releases my chin, turning toward his bro. “We’ll be there in a sec.”

I catch a glimpse of the guy, just as he’s walking back into the house. I think that one is Nick. He’s tall with dark hair and built like a beast. As he turned away, there was a dark glint in his eye, and I can’t help but wonder if he intentionally interrupted our kiss.

Noah takes me by the elbow and guides me inside.

“I need to find my friend, Talia , ” I say, tripping over the little mounds in the sand. It’s a weak excuse to get away from him, but it’s all I’ve got.

He doesn’t respond to me, and with all the loud music, I wonder if he even heard me. I try to tug my arm out of his hold, but that just causes him to tighten his grip.

Perfect.

He pulls me through the crowd to a room in the back. As we pass through the living room and kitchen, I scan every face for Talia , but I don’t see her at all.

We step over the threshold into the garage, which is set up like a den. The furniture is plush, and there are a lot less people in here. It’s obviously the inner sanctum where the elite of the elite get away from the unwashed masses.

“Yo,” Noah says, flicking his chin.

Several people immediately launch off the sofa, creating space for me and Noah to sit. I sit on the edge of the sofa cushion, too nervous to completely relax. Noah, on the other hand, sinks right in, like he’s sitting

on his throne. Maybe he sees this entire town as his throne. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Everyone is just drinking, playing pool, or bullshitting, and I take the opportunity to look around. I recognize a couple of faces—Nick, and Nicholas, but I don’t see his twin, Jolly. He must be out there amid the partygoers somewhere.

But one strange thing I notice is that every girl here is slicing me up with their stares. I’ve invaded their territory, and they’re not happy about it . If only they fucking knew I don’t want to be here any more than they want me here. They can have Noah Sabastian for all I care. I’d be happy to

hand him over to any one of them.

As Noah talks in low tones to some guy next to him, I pull my phone out and text Talia .

Where are you?

I swear to God, if she ghosts me and doesn’t show up at this party, I’m going to be pissed. I didn’t subject myself to Noah’s attention, just for her not to show. I’m doing this for her. If she didn’t look so damn depressed this morning, I wouldn’t even be here. I’d be tucked under my blankets watching something mindless on YouTube.

Someone hands me a cup. “Here. It’s the good stuff. Not that swill they have out there.”

I scrunch my brows together, but I take it. I don’t know if I should trust a drink that someone just randomly gives me, but I also don’t want to be rude. I guess I’ll just hold it until I can find somewhere to ditch it.

“Thanks,” I say, looking at the girl who gave it to me. It’s Wyn. “Oh, hey!”

“Hey, girl,” she says with a smile, sitting in an empty chair next to the sofa, closest to me. “Harlow , right?”

“Yup.”

She laughs. “Everyone on campus is talking about you. I told you, right?”

I scoff. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Wyn takes a sip from her red solo cup and leans back in her chair. “I mean, you are fucking the hottest guy on campus, and that’s newsworthy at

ExU.”

I slide a quick glance to Noah, who is currently being fawned over by three very attentive sorority girls. I should probably feel jealous or something, but honestly, I’m just a little relieved his focus is diverted away from me for the moment.

“I’m not fucking him,” I say. “I’m here to meet Talia if she’d ever fucking text me back.” I glance at my phone again. Nothing. “Have you seen her tonight?”

Wyn shakes her head. “Nope. Sounds like you need a tracker on that girl. My friends and I all have an app that tells us exactly where the others are.”

That sparks a memory, and I gasp, sitting up straighter. “Oh, my God. You’re brilliant. Talia installed something like that on my phone a couple of weeks ago.” I search through my phone for the app. “I totally forgot about it.”

A couple of weeks before coming to ExU, Talia insisted we install tracker apps on our phones, so we could find each other easily on campus. Thank God! I mentally praise Talia ’s foresight.

I find the app and open it. It pinpoints Talia 's phone instantly, and it’s….on the beach, about a half-mile away. “What the fuck is she doing there?”

Wyn leans in. “Let me see.”

I show her my phone, and she squints, trying to orient herself on the map. She uses her fingers to zoom in. “Hold up, that’s weird. This stretch of beach here–” She indicates an area on the map “–is private. No one goes there.”

Something in her voice, the way she says that, makes my heart jump up into my throat. “I should make sure she’s okay. ”

Wyn nods. “I’ll go with you. Let me just tell Gabriel I’m leaving.” I wave off her offer. “Oh, no you don’t—”

“I know these beaches like the back of my hand. Plus, it gives me a reason to get out of here.”

I watch Wyn cross the room and whisper into a guy’s ear–handing off his shoulder. This must be the guy she’s dating, the guy she mentioned yesterday. He’s cute—I’m mean, all the guys around here are—but he’s not quite as beautiful as each one of the Sacred Sons. That level of perfection seems exclusive to them.

Wyn pulls away from the guy, and he nods. She heads back over to me with a smile. “Okay, ready. Let’s go.”

“Ah, okay.”

I set my cup down and get up to leave, but Noah’s hand flies over and grips my elbow, stopping me. “Where are you going?”

I open my mouth to say something, but Wyn beats me to it. She reaches over and removes Noah’s hand from my arm. “We’re going to the bathroom,” she says, annoyance in her tone. “Damn, Noah. Controlling much?”

I could just tell him where I’m going, but chances are, he’d stop me from leaving—or worse, he’d insist on joining us. Neither option is worth having a conversation with him about it, honestly.

“Don’t wander off,” he says with a growl, and I see the warning snap in his eyes.

Fuck him.

I’m finding my friend, and I don’t give a fuck what Noah says about

it.

[b0tsbby]

Signifying Meaning in Tristamp’s Vash and Knives S1 Designs and Visual Cues: Part 1

TLDR: How Everything but Stamp’s dialogue supports it’s characters

With the release of Trigun Stargaze looming over our heads, I wanted to look back at the Season of Trigun Stampede and really commerarate the efforts of Orange on what I think, was clever character design.

As I am not an Orange employee, I have no idea if any of this is true or even intended, but creativity lies in speculation, and analysis is really fun for me so here we go.

(If you didn’t know, I started this back in early 2024, but got hit with life and my short attention span. Better late than never.)

Tristamp spoilers and potential 98/Max spoilers.

Millions Knives

Part 1 goes to my almost favourite twin to think about, naturally. That means the elusive and infamous Stampede Millions Knives. I’ll be looking through both the character designs as they change throughout the season, with the omission of Nai and Vash on the ship as kids, as the twins hadn’t really diverged on their separate paths here.

Ep.3: A coat of one million knives

This is where it all begins. Episode 3, the alien man in a chromium coat of a million knives.

Now, Knives’ coat holds a plethora of meanings. It’s his shield, it’s his weapon, it’s what separates from him and humanity. It’s his comfort, his safety, his very own butterfly cocoon.

I feel the shield/weapon meanings are quite straightforward: This coat is impenetrable. It’s also deadly. It’s what Millions Knives shows up with to cover his ass at Jeneora rock, despite his very clear god complex.

And in that way, we’re already given simultaneously very little, and a lot to work off of, mimicking a lot of his Stampede arc in general. We can’t see past the coat, Knives has already been introduced as a mystery, but that in itself, tells us he doesn’t want to be seen. Doesn't want to be touched by both the hands and minds of the humans he deems less than him.

Furthermore, this coat is how he separates himself, physically and visually, from humanity. Beyond simply shrouding himself in mystery, Knives’s coat is aesthetically foreign and alien. It is how he ‘others’ himself on his first appearance. He’s not a part of humanity and dismisses embracing it even slightly. He is a singular, isolated entity. A herder among a flock of wild sheep. An angel among men.

But not a God.

The shape of the coat resembling a blanket is not lost on me. Please take note of the bubble formations that are littered everywhere on it, mimicking bubble wrap.

So we have a coat that looks like a blanket (warmth, safety) and is textured closely to what we could perceive as bubble wrap (again, protection but also comfort), and considering the coat is an extension of himself, (I can even go as far to say that, it is quite literally made of himself), his mental state is manifested into the physical. He is a man (or, more accurately a plant) bubbled up, kept safe and warm in his own embrace, much like his mind is coddled, isolated and protected by only his own ideas. Someone stubbornly stuck in their own world, in their own head.

While his 98/Max iterations are not any less intimidating, Stampede Knives (in S1 anyway) takes a completely different visual direction because truthfully he is a different character.

Alas, there's one more thing we can relate his coat to.

Most importantly, Knives' coat is a cocoon. I believe this was confirmed by Orange themself, but nonetheless it’s the most logical connection we can make, because I can distinctly remember the theme of butterflies in another Trigun iteration.

It’s a great callback to the symbolism in 98, and extends the butterfly metaphor across the whole season. We’re seeing what comes before the butterfly, the cocoon, where the cocoon symbolises, not vulnerability but metamorphosis.

And I think in a Stampede season 1 context, this is a huge revelation.

Hold that metamorphosis thought though. Let’s keep going.

Ep. 9: Where Knives doesn’t know who he is either.

I struggled analysing Knives design as a teenager for a while. It contradicted a lot of the ideas and cues I picked up in his older design.

Until I realised that’s the point.

While Tristamp takes a different direction in constructing Knives as a character, I’d like to assume some significant Maximum events still will occur in some way for the purpose of this. In that way, this is the first time we see Knives as a child, sometime after the fall but significantly before the July incident, the midpoint between his initial strike against humanity and the event that would lead to his resurrection as the brand new Millions Knives.

That said, Knives design choice here actually communicates his mental state and the strength of his morals and values at this point so incredibly. He is, conflicted, at best. Scared, confused and too unsure of himself to confidently embrace his planthood, instead still wearing clothes like humans and a cape to cover himself, over his plant undersuit.

Teenage Knives’ design comes across a lot like an underdog, a heroic saviour from the shadows. This is where he establishes himself as Millions Knives, but doesn’t exactly dismiss the existence of Nai, the boy raised by a human, and ‘betrayed’ by a human, completely. Millions Knives exists as a name, but still holds no real meaning yet. He’s fear driven with no real goal at this stage, despite what he says…as usual. He is also still the Knives that hasn’t constructed an identity to distract him from his underlying trauma.

Spoiler for Max and Trigger Warning for Self Harm up ahead: In Max we are shown that Knives bites his nails to the point of bleeding after discovering his sister. While it’s purely speculation, the inclusion of a bandage around Knives right arm could allude to some self harm occurring behind the scenes. Knowing he works with Conrad at this stage though, it could also suggest an undergoing of various experiments or tests.

Ep. 11 - 12 : Something to desire, someone to lose, somewhere to belong

And here comes the truly terrible pinnacle of Knives arc in S1, one I’d almost rather forget entirely. But like unraveling an onion while crying through it, at this point we get to the core of his design.

Right off the bat with the metamorphosis theme! Knives in the finale, represents a freshly emerged butterfly. His design signifies the birth of a whole new form. (He did jump out of his cocoon shaped coat so).

Many of the basic design ideas from episode three can be repeated here. Knives rejects humanity completely, going so much as to not wear anything not fashioned from his own skin. Knives takes some superior pride in his planthood. Though fitting for his character, there’s a bit of circular logic in how this is presented to us.

Orange takes a really interesting approach by making his ideal physical image the height of human desirablity, something so conventionally perfect to human standards.

Now If you’ve dabbled in art history you know, the obsession with the ideal human form in highly religious, mythical contexts and political settings is not really hard to find in classical art. However one distinct group really stands out when analysing Knives whole, thing, and that’s the Ancient Greeks (and Romans, if I may add dear Lady Justice.)

“Classical Greek sculpture aimed to depict the human form in its most beautiful and balanced state.” - Anna Gustafsson via The Collector, (2024)

Like most archaic societies, art was made as a tribute to gods, goddesses and heroes, this was naturally no different for Ancient Greece, particularly in sculpted works. My main idea turns to the aesthetic conventions of these sculptures, with idealistic realism of the athletic human form being the ultimate goal.

The Ancient Greek obsession with the human body and athletic skill was so prevalent during the Classical era, that athletes competed in the nude to essentially show off. Damn.

The artistic resemblance is something I find noteworthy, and if I’m being honest deeply appreciated as an art kid who loved theory more than the actual art-making, a lot.

And oh how well it works with this particularly narcissistic iteration of this character. While I’m not stupid, and aware that Orange could simply have made the decision to get some money out of reliable ‘ol fan service, it’s also not, completely out of character. It’s incredible funny how Knives finds a sense of safety in being different, and yet, he couldn’t fall any harder into the trap of conformity any harder if he tried. Finding his insecurities around his planthood in his childhood pretty easily, it makes sense why subconsciously he’d find pride, in not being human, but being human better than everyone else actually. I wouldn’t expect less from someone who renounces humanity while using quotes from checks notes the fucking BIBLE.

There’s a sadness to this idea as well. While I do think Knives finds some form of solace in being ‘perfect’, his objectification because of this decision almost feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Knives does becomes an idea, a dream, an exotic fantasy, for better or worse. In my opinion, this type of attention, is not something he’d want, but it makes me wonder, with his cult and all, how different from Vash he really is, simply masking the want to be admired, accepted, desired by humans with indifference and superiority.

P.S I also just like how this reference insinuates he’s so fucking dramatic and living life with a bizarre form of theatre kid main character syndrome ANYWHO-

It’s here we see even in his design, Knives starts to adopt the same human mentalities that triggered this existential flight or fight response of his to begin with.

What really supports this point for me, is the fact his design changes (or is ‘revealed’) after he makes the conscious choice to cut the rope of Vahs’s grappling hook, dropping him into the tank below. (Someone else please pick up on this umbilical cord symbolism, because i do not have the space to do it in this essay! Sublime level of detail.)

I’d like to first thank my bestie and much more knowledgeable beta reader @rainbowfoam for bringing this next point to my attention. There’s really a constant push and pull between this idea of rejection and subconscious embracing of humanity. The whole concept of his ‘nudity’ also could be tied back to the book of Genesis. Knives reverts to a state back before the forbidden fruit of knowledge was bitten. After all, Adam and Eve had not known shame before committing this sinful act.

So, Knives presents himself as this pure, unadulterated form, even if he has already had a bite of the apple, even if the knowledge of Tesla and humanity has injected him with shame and fear. He knows, but he wants to desperately go back to when he didn’t. When he was but a child under God’s gaze. This driving force to go back, and rewrite his story is an integral part of his character in S1.

Meaning and what can be associated with humanity in each brother’s eyes is actually incredibly important. Ya know, one of the obvious conflicts that drive Trigun!

Humanity to Vash means, change, a chance to grow. Humanity to Knives, means violence and betrayal and exploitation etc.

So when we see Knives reject human norms like human clothing to the best of his ability in Trigun Stampede Season 1, we are seeing a Knives that is still emotionally affected and steered by his childhood fears enough to consciously reject his perceived idea of humanity. We are seeing a Knives that is still consciously driven by his hatred for/fear of humanity more than his concern for his sisters.

And that fear for what he believes humanity stands for, unfortunately, is a part of him. It is a part of who he is after Tesla. Take that away…and you don’t have any semblance of Nai anymore.

So why I say having Knives in that silly ass plant marked under suit exclusively, was such an incredible design choice is because it shows that Knives is at a middle point in his arc where yes he’s crossed the line to controlling, abusive but he still closely holds the genuine childhood fears of Nai to motivate him. He still holds the hopes of Nai with him. To reiterate, he’s prepared to do anything to rewrite his childhood, to give the child within himself another chance.

But that never happens and the reality that he can’t go back and recreate the love he felt on Ship 5, is staring him in the face as he hurtles to his death. It’s why some of his last words to Vash in the finale were so significant. Not all of Nai died when he saw Tesla. Nai truly died at July.

To conclude, a lot of the themes in Tristamp revolve around the formation of identity in this post-fall landscape, and how each character changes so rapidly. Knives is no exception to the very messy and adolescent struggle of being shoved into adulthood while still desperately, irrationally clinging to the frayed ends of an unattainable childhood. I think if there’s one character really let down by his dialogue, it’s this guy. I’ve come to hope that that too, was furthering this idea of him holding an invisible wall between the audience and his true character. (Quite a lot implies that the Knives of this season is a big fucking fraud but idk.) In that regard I love dissecting Knives specifically, because I find this iteration particularly enigmatic.

If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading! And I hope this was a somewhat interesting read. Part 2, Vash’s analysis, will be up in a day or two.

[stansthemans]

Would you ever write Ford giving fem!Stan oral sex as teens? I’m just dying to see Ford be a munch

So originally my idea for this was “hey lets practice on each other for no ulterior motives lol i don’t jerk it to this nightly” but then i was like “hmmm feelings plus a light splash of ford being a creepy peeper” so enjoy!!!

She’s got the entire house to herself. It’s an almost impossible occurrence. Ma comes and goes, running the appropriate errands to keep the household going or catching lunch or card games with her girlfriends, but Pa is almost always set up down in the shop. Few things sour his mood like even the vague prospect of missing out on a sale.

But today, her parents are out of town, up in the city visiting Shermie and his wife. That alone affords Stan a world of freedom, but Ford is also out for the afternoon. Something about some nerd lecture at the civic center. Stan could go out and do something too. She could hit the beach, meet up with friends at the pier. She’s got some pocket change. She could catch a movie. She could watch tv, bake a cake, head to the gym to practice at the bag.

Or she could take advantage of an empty house and get in a few rounds of orgasms.

Yeah, orgasms sound good. Those sound really good. On a usual day, touching herself goes one of two ways. Either she has to make quick work of herself in the shower, because God help her if she’s in there too long wasting water, or she has to do the infinitely riskier move of waiting until late, late at night, when she’s sure her brother is deeply asleep in the bunk above her.

And that’s always agony, because invariably, her thoughts always turn to Ford, to imagining that her fingers are longer, thicker, one more in number than they actually are, and as she imagines that her hands running over her body are actually her brother’s—her brother who is right there, so close—as that pleasure builds and builds, it takes everything in her to stay still enough, silent enough, that she doesn’t wake him and expose her secret.

Fingering herself is usually not as fulfilling an experience as she wishes it was, but today, the house all to herself, Stan can indulge, and indulge she does. She closes the curtains against the harsh afternoon sun and leaves the bedroom door open just a crack. She has the house to herself, but it would be a good idea to leave herself the opportunity to hear any potential noises. Stan pulls the comforter of her bed completely off and arranges her pillows and sheets into a nice little nest. She wiggles out of her shorts and panties and then heads for Ford’s side of their shared closet.

This is maybe a little weird, but she just wants a little bit to get her going. After all, she’s not fooling herself in any way to think she won’t be imagining Ford the entire time. Ford’s side of the closet is, of course, neater than hers, his shirts and sweaters all hanging up perfectly and organized by sleeve length and color. Stan sticks her face directly into the red section and inhales deeply. Ford is, without question, a teenage boy, and he smells like it, sweaty and funky and never really using enough soap or deodorant to cover it. However, he also wears cologne, and unlike nearly every other boy that Stan knows, Ford actually has an idea of how much is too much, and he never crosses that line. The juxtaposition between the natural and artificial scents that make up her brother is more than enough to make Stan dizzy.

A few more deep breaths, and Stan is ready, warmth settling low in her stomach. She flops onto her bunk and pushes her shirt up and over her breasts. She gives attention to her nipples first. This is the easiest part to imagine that it’s Ford touching her. After all, six fingers aren’t required to pinch and flick and tease here. She’s very sensitive here, and it’s only a brief moment before she can feel the slickness gathering between her legs. On a normal day, she would get to it, would shove two fingers immediately into herself and get to work, but she’s got time to be slow, to explore, and when she does finally spread her legs wide, when she does finally slide her hand down her stomach, down to her core, she’s a little taken aback by just how wet she actually is.

Stan shudders as she drags two fingers slowly around her clit, down through the folds, and back up again. Take it slow, she reminds herself. She’s not in a rush. She can enjoy working the outside for a little bit before moving in. She holds her breast in her other hand, can feel her heartbeat picking up in time with her heavy breaths. She imagines that it’s Ford’s hand. His hands are so big. He would be so easily able to cup the entirety of her breast in his palm, massage into the soft, yielding skin with his strong fingers, his thumb kneading into the hard nub of her nipple.

Stan pinches herself just as she slides her fingers over her clit. She lets out a gasping whimper at the sensation, a noise that sounds deafening in the otherwise silent room. For a moment, she freezes, and then the situation catches up to her again. She’s alone. There isn’t anyone else in the house, won’t be for hours. That’s part of this entire thing. She can not only take her time, but she can actually make noise.

Stan presses down harder on her clit and lets herself indulge in a louder moan. Some part of her thinks that maybe it’s a bit ridiculous, but it also feels good. So she does it again. She does it again and again until she’s ready to do something that she knows is going to rewrite her entire brain.

Stan stuffs two fingers deep into her pussy and moans her brother’s name. She doesn’t stop this time. It feels too incredible. She hikes up a leg and pumps her fingers wildly. She whines needfully, “Ford! Oh God, Ford!” She adds another finger and then another. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. “Ford, oh, more. I want—Sixer, more, please, please!”

Stan begs a phantom for something she knows she can never have, something she isn’t supposed to want, but God, does she want. She grinds her hips up into her palm, wishing it was his. Wishing for Ford’s hand, his mouth, his cock. Wishing that he wanted her like she wants him.

She’s so close. “Sixer, fuck, oh fuck! Fuck me! Please! Ford!” And she comes hard, panting her brother’s name over and over as she strokes herself through it.

She keeps her fingers inside as she comes down, feeling her pussy clenching around them. She lets her leg drop back down to the sheets, bringing that hand back to her chest, lightly teasing at her nipples again. She imagines her brother again, his warm presence enveloping her, skin to skin. “Hmm,” she hums in contentment. “Sixer.”

“Stanley?”

Stan’s blood turns to ice in her veins, and the entire beautiful fantasy is shattered. Her eyes fly open and land on her brother—the flesh and blood of him—standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes blown wide as he gapes down at the disgusting display of perversion she presents.

Stan stares up at him, incapable of moving, of breathing, of anything other than a slowly encroaching panic. How much of that did he hear? How much did he see? All of it or even just a second. It doesn’t matter. There is no way that she can spin this into anything other than what it was, and so now he knows. He knows that she doesn’t look at him with anything close to innocent eyes, that she sees him and she wants him in this sick way. He knows, and he’s going to hate her.

“Stanley,” Ford says again, and Stan braces herself for everything that will follow. It’s going to kill her, but she deserves it. She deserves everything he says.

But Ford doesn’t say anything else. His eyes bore into her, roaming up and down, and then, suddenly, he’s in the bed too, his big hands dropping gently—so gently it makes her tremble—over her knees. Slowly, he pushes her legs apart, opening her up again. One hand stays curled over her thigh, and the other encircles the wrist of the hand she still has not taken away from her pussy.

Ford’s thumb presses down on her two middle fingers, applying pressure to the sensitive area. Stan can’t help but gasp. “Stanley,” Ford says a third time, drawing her hand away and exposing her to the intensity of his unblinking gaze. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“I—I—“ Her throat and mouth are desert dry, and she still can’t breathe.

Ford’s hands move in a burning trail down her thighs, coming closer and closer. “You were saying my name,” he says. “Moaning it.” His thumbs rest over her labia and pull gently, opening up her hole. “Do you do that often?”

Stan whimpers, her head spinning. What is going on? Why isn’t he yelling at her?

“I asked you a question, Stanley,” Ford says. “Do you think of me when you finger yourself?” And then his thumbs move up and slide over either side of her clit.

Stan moans loudly at the jolt of pleasure that shoots up her spine. “Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, I—oh God, Sixer!”

Ford’s thumbs keep moving. “How often,” he asks.

“Every time,” Stan confesses, her hands curling into her sheets.

“You want this,” he says, his voice low and gruff. He shifts his hand, and a finger slides inside her.

Stan keens, her back arching up. She moves her hips, seeking more from him. “Need it,” she cries.

Ford pumps his finger in and out. “God, Stanley,” he says, and his voice is only full of awe. “You’re so wet.”

“For you,” Stan promises him. “Just for you. Sixer, I—please!”

“Amazing,” Ford says. “You’re so—I want to make you come again. I want you to scream again. What do I do?”

“I—what?” Stan reels. She’s too dizzy to think.

Ford leans over her, filling up her entire world with just him. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide. “I want you to come, screaming my name again,” he says. “I want to make that happen. How do I make you feel good?”

Stan’s brain is complete mush, and she doesn’t really think before blurting, “You could eat me out?”

Ford’s eyes flash and narrow. “Has anyone ever done that to you before,” he asks, his jaw tight.

“N-no,” Stan stammers. “I’ve—uh—I’ve never done anything with anybody.”

“Good,” Ford says, growls. “Good. It will only ever be me.” And then he surges forward and kisses her. Stan moans, opening her mouth for his tongue. She wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him. “You’re mine,” he says against her lips, possessive and desperate. “Tell me.”

“Only yours,” Stan promises. “I’ve never wanted anything else.”

He kisses her again, and this time it’s achingly gentle, so perfect that it finally eases the last of the tension from her body, and Stan relaxes fully into her brother’s hold, surrenders completely. She’s his. He wants her to be his.

For a long moment, it’s just that, just arms around each other, lips moving gently together. Then Ford pulls back, only enough to press his forehead to hers. “I—um—I’ve obviously never done anything before either,” he says, nerves creeping into his voice. “You have to tell me. I want you to feel good.”

Stan holds his face in her hands and says, “It’s you, so it’s going to.”

“No,” Ford says insistently. “No, I want you to feel—I want this to be so good for you, Stanley. Just tell me what to do.”

And he looks so serious and earnest that Stan can’t do anything but agree. “Ok,” she says. “For starters, you should take off your shirt at least.” She tugs at the sleeve of his dorky little button up. “Maybe pants too.” While Ford does that, Stan remembers that she’s still got her t-shirt on too. She slips out of it, and Ford freezes above her. “What?”

“You’re naked,” Ford says simply.

And Stan can’t help it. The laughter bubbles up out of her in a snort, and then she’s giggling uncontrollably. For a moment, Ford puffs his cheeks at her in a ridiculous pout—made all the more ridiculous by his ruffled hair and lopsided glasses—but then he laughs too. “Really, Poindexter,” Stan asks.

“All right,” Ford says.

“It’s just—you were fingering me a minute ago,” Stan says.

“Ok,” Ford says, exasperation creeping into his voice.

“You watched me get myself off and you definitely could have darted out of the situation the second you realized what was going on,” she continues.

“I concede to the first point but disagree with the second,” Ford says. He reaches out, trailing his fingers from her cheek to her lips, down between her breasts and over her stomach. He stops just above the patch of hair between her legs. “Not a chance in hell could I turn away from this. I’ve wanted you for so long, Stanley.”

“We—we’re nuts, huh,” Stan asks, trembling a bit.

“I don’t care,” he says.

Ford finishes kicking off his pants and then settles himself between her legs, draping them over his shoulders. He rubs his hands soothingly over her shaking thighs and says, “Ok, begin lesson.”

“Nerd,” Stan says automatically. Ford doesn’t retort in the way he usually would. He just keeps staring at her, his fingers moving in the same slow, soothing trails over her skin. Stan isn’t really sure if it’s making her more or less nervous. Her stomach is definitely doing crazy flips almost like it wants to bring up everything she’s eaten today because her brother—her twin brother—is lying with his face between her legs, and she isn’t wearing any clothes, and he saw her fingering herself, heard her moaning his name and—

“Stanley,” Ford’s gentle voice cuts through her panic. His hands aren’t moving anymore. Still on her legs, his fingers are holding tighter, almost digging into her, not enough to bruise, but God, wouldn’t that be something. His eyes—they have exactly the same eyes—are locked directly onto hers, even as he turns his head slightly and places a feather light kiss on the inside of her thigh. “It’s ok,” he says. “We don’t—we don’t have to do this if you—“

“No,” Stan cries. “No, I want—“ She reaches for him, and he releases one of her legs to intertwine their fingers. She doesn’t know how to tell him just how much she wants. “I just—“ She pulls in several deep breaths, squeezing Ford’s fingers. He squeezes back, and it helps to ground her.

“I want you too,” he says. “Just tell me what to do.”

He doesn’t let go of her hand. Stan lets out her last deep breath slowly and says, “Ok. Ok, so I’m still—I’m still kind of wet.”

Ford’s eyes flicker down to her pussy, and he nods. “Yes, you are.” Stan’s stomach flips again. His voice is definitely lower than it was even a second ago, and it’s not any kind of weird act.

“That’s—um—that’s a dig deal,” she says. “Being wet. Because, like, if you just attack the thing, that’s not good.”

“Noted,” Ford says. “What’s the best way to do that?”

She has no idea because this is entirely new territory, but Ford clearly isn’t going to let her just lie here. He’s not going to stop asking until she gives him an actual answer. “Ok, so you—you know the parts, right? Like if I say clit you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes, I’ve seen diagrams,” Ford says, and Stan lets out another semi-hysterical laugh. Oh boy. It’s going to be like that, huh.

“Ok.” She needs to stop saying ok so much. “Ok, so don’t go right for the clit. Or—or if you do, start slow and not too much pressure. But the folds—that’s—“ She needs to just make a decision, something concrete. “Use your tongue. Like—like you’re licking ice cream off a spoon.”

Stan expects Ford to turn his entire focus down to her pussy, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her face, and that, coupled with his tongue licking a slow, fat stripe up her cunt, lights every single nerve in her body on fire. She jolts, and Ford holds onto her tighter, fingers still wrapped around her, and his other hand sliding to her hip. He licks again, just as slow, and Stan whimpers.

When Ford squeezes her fingers again, she knows he’s looking for his next instruction. “You can—oh—you use the tip of your tongue too. Get—yes—get in there, kind of—kind of trace it?”

He starts with the outer lips, and when his tongue dips between the folds, Stan whines. She actually whines, and that should be embarrassing, but it just feels too good. Ford explores every inch of her, his hand wide over her lower stomach, keeping her from bucking up into his face. He traces over the opening of her hole, but he doesn’t go in, and she wants him in.

“Inside,” she gasps. “Put your tongue inside.” He immediately follows her instruction, and Stan cries, “Oh my God!” Ford’s fingers tighten around hers, and he pushes in deeper. She’s just about to tell him to try curling it when he takes the initiative on his own. “Fuck, oh fuck!” Stan grabs at the sheets, curling them tight enough in her fist that it’s a wonder they don’t rip.

“All of it,” she pants. “Sixer, Sixer, do them all!”

Ford pulls his tongue from inside her and begins to alternate between flat, slow licks to dipping between her folds. Occasionally, he dives inside her again, pulling out after she moans his name. It feels like he’s making out with her pussy. It’s torture, and it feels so fucking good. “Sixer, please, please, I want more!”

He doesn’t exactly pull off her, but he moves back just enough to say, “You’re so wet, Stanley. God, it’s—you taste amazing.” She whines again. “Are you wet enough yet? Can I—can I lick your clit now?”

“Yeah,” she pants. “But first—put your fingers in me again.” She arches as he slides one long finger into her hole. “Another.” A second joins it, and Stan moans. “One more.” For a moment, she has to just lie there, marveling at the feeling of Ford’s fingers filling her up. It’s better. It’s so much better than when she does it. She knew it would be.

“God,” Ford breathes. “Stanley, you—“

“Slow,” she says. “In and out, but go slow.” He never fully leaves her, drawing his fingers out to nearly the tips before pushing back in again. Slow but as deep as he can go. His breath comes out in hot pants against her cunt. “Ok, ok, you can—oh God—kiss it or—or lick—my clit—“

His lips close over it, her entire body feels like it’s on fire. She can’t stand it. “Ford, Ford!” She pulls her fingers away from his, and he growls against her, which—holy shit. “Wait, I just—“ She grabs for his three middle fingers, the ones that on his other hand are thrusting in and out of her. “Curl them, like this, and then—shit, shit—make them walk like—“ She uses hers over his, shows him what to do, and then he mimics the movement as he presses the flat of his tongue against her clit.

Stan screams. “Fuck, oh fuck, Sixer! That’s—more, please, more!” His tongue swirls over and around her clit, and his fingers dance inside her, and Stan pulls his hand up to grab at her breast. He finds her nipple and pinches, and Stan grinds her pussy against his face.

She can hear herself making noises that don’t sound entirely human. Amidst it all, she begs. “Stanford, please, please, I’m so close! Fuck, fuck! It’s—“

“Do it, Stanley,” Ford demands. “Come for me.”

His lips close over her clit again, and this time he sucks on it, and Stan’s entire vision whites out. Never in her life has anything felt so good. The pleasure rolls over her in waves, and Ford never stops licking her, and she can’t stop moaning his name. Her entire body is shaking, every movement of Ford’s tongue another jolt of lightning down her spine. His fingers swirl inside her, and he groans her name against her pussy, and it’s too much. Stan feels like she’s going to shake completely apart.

Somehow, her trembling hand finds his head, and she pushes weakly at him. Ford’s eyes meet hers, and his pupils are blown so wide they’re almost completely black. The sight of him there, between her shaking thighs, staring at her like that, is too overwhelming.

She doesn’t feel the tears falling down her cheeks until Ford pushes up onto his forearms, his entire expression changing as he says in alarm, “Stanley? Stanley, are you ok?”

She isn’t. She isn’t. She needs him to—

Ford starts to sit up, starts to move away, and that’s the opposite of what she needs. Stan reaches for him, and Ford immediately comes closer again. She grabs him, yanks until he crawls over her, and Stan finds his face and pulls him into a kiss.

She completely forgets that he’s just been eating her out, that his face is soaked with the mess of her arousal, that she’ll taste herself on his tongue. None of that matters. She just needs to kiss him.

She falls back onto the mattress, and Ford goes with her. His kiss pushes the air back into her lungs. The weight of his body spread over her keeps her from flying away. His hands on her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks, reminds her that she’s whole, she isn’t broken or shattered.

“Stanley,” Ford says against her lips. “Stanley, love, please, are you—“

Love.

Stan kisses him harder, kisses him until it feels like her lungs are about to explode in a good way. Then, finally, she can pull back and look at him and marvel at how beautiful he is.

“Stanley.” A quick peck of his lips to hers again. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

Stan shakes her head. Opposite. Complete and total opposite. “Brain’s oatmeal,” she says, although really it’s more of a slur.

Ford’s brows shoot up over the rim of his glasses. “I’m sorry, it’s—“

“Oatmeal. Melted.”

“Your brain is melted oatmeal,” Ford repeats, and then the worry finally washes from his expression and he starts to laugh. Stan tries to pout up at him, but soon she’s laughing too.

“You’re so mean,” she says, grinning. “This is your fault. All your fault that my neutrons aren’t firing right.”

“Neurons,” Ford corrects.

“Whatever, dork,” Stan grumbles.

“If your neutrons were firing, we would be dealing with a much more dire situation,” Ford says. Stan rolls her eyes. “So,” Ford says, settling himself over her, hands petting at her hair.

“So what?”

“So it was worth it to follow my suggestion and have you give me verbal instruction the entire time, wasn’t it,” Ford says.

“Sweet Moses, are you I-Told-You-So-ing me right now,” Stan complains.

“Yes,” Ford says plainly.

“You deserve to be Wet Willied,” Stan declares, “but I’m still working on getting feeling back in my arms, so you’re off the hook for now.”

“And your generous forgiveness has nothing to do with the apparently mind melting orgasm I just gave you,” Ford asks with an arched brow.

“You’re gonna eat those words just as soon as my bones resolidify,” Stan promises. “I will have my revenge.”

Ford leans down and kisses her, slow and deep and punctuated with a rolls of his hips. “Looking forward to it.”

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Undead! Knight! x Princess! Reader Headcanons

Ko-fi link: ☕️

It was horrible enough to always be in your room in your family’s castle as a normal princess.

It was even worse when you were a cursed princess and had to be drugged so your curse didn’t spread.

In reality the curse wasn’t really a curse. Just a consequence of genetics.

Simply put, it was your parent’s fault. You see your mother had never told your father that her parents were some of the most evil sorcerers in the land.

It was easy for your mother to cover up the horns and bat like wings with her magic. She thought your father’s human genetics and royal divine blessings from the castle’s magicians would rid any child of hers of her shameful lineage.

But unfortunately, life likes to play the games, and the truth always come out one way or another.

So imagine your father’s surprise when his divinely blessed baby girl came out with black and purple hair, dark purple eyes with vertical slit pupils and black nails. Looking exactly like her maternal grandmother.

It was then your mother was forced to tell her beloved husband the truth.

Your parents still loved you, but you were to be kept inside the castle at all times.

Very few were trusted to be around you. You never had a true childhood celebrating festivals like the other nobles and village children.

Then, puberty hit and your magic started to develop. It started off small like levitation, purple auras, and energy balls. Then it increased to your presence killing flowers and plant life, and a more bat-like shadow.

Finally, the royal sorcerers developed pills for you to take to reverse your progress. It came at the price of your emotions and very sanity.

And so one day, when you were 13, you skipped taking a couple of them and ran away from your personal knight, and into the village . It didn’t last long, but it felt good to touch grass and have wind brushing your skin.

This cycle of running away from the different personal knights your parents got you continued until you were 20. That’s when the royal sorcerers divulged in a dark magic, and revived your kingdom’s greatest knight who had tragically died as a young man defending your kingdom to be your personal knight.

Sure, he’s been dead for over 100 years and missing an arm, but that can easily be fixed with a regeneration spell.

That night, Benedict Solomon, arose from the grave with orders to protect you.

Still in the armor he was buried in, he barged into your room and got on one knee.

“Here..to serve…you…”

You were surprised your family would go so far as to make an undead knight for you, but at least he looked tolerable.

The long dirty finger nails and extremely cracked lips were unnerving, but at least his body and skin seemed to be doing ok.

Besides, you’d run away from him again just like you did all the others so it doesn’t matter what he looks like.

That night, you sneak away into the night and head towards the village.

You cross the bridge, and you feel a strong hand on your shoulder.

“No…bad! Stay..in castle.”

You push his hands off you and continue onward.

Your back hits the ground as Benedict pins your body.

“I said no!”

His feral golden eyes dilate, focusing on you like prey.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll go back to my room!” You exclaim, pushing him off you.

His hand is tight around your wrist as you walk back to the castle. You look back at the village and see the dancing people in the tavern.

Benedict throws you into your room, locking the door behind him. He opens the drawer and pulls out all the pills you threw away.

He puts four in his hand and shoves them down your throat.

You scream as the pills go down your throat, almost choking you. You cough and Benedict strokes your face.

“Good..girl..beautiful.”

For the rest of the night, you face the window because Benedict has been staring at you like a statue making sure you don’t make a run for the door.

You hear the floors creak, and Benedict closes the window and curtains. He then sits on the bed, and starts spooning you. His arms tight like a corpse’s grip.

His cracked lips kiss your cheek.

You try to move away, but he wraps his legs around yours.

“No escape.”

For once, you realize that you can’t get rid of him like the others.

And so you spend the night with his split and cracked lips on your skin. Wary of his mouth opening up and sinking his teeth into your neck.

[e4rth-to-myl0]

Vi loving Caitlyn no matter what

Vi noticed something was off with Caitlyn, since the war and losing her eye. Caitlyn would always have her eye patch on, Vi only saw what her eye looked like once when she initially lost it. Even when she didn't wear her eyepatch like in the shower her hair would always be covering her eye, Vi saw her once moving her hair on purpose to hide her eye. 

He never said anything, not wanting to push her in any way but, he couldn't help but feel hurt by Caitlyn not wanting to be vulnerable with him and trust him. One night he walks into her (their) room and hears something coming from the bathroom, he freezes and listens closer and hears soft sobs from the other side of the door. Concerned, he goes over and knocks on the door, “Cait?” He calls out softly. He hears some rustling and sniffling before she responds, “Yes?” She tries to sound like she wasn't just crying but Vi can hear it in her voice; he's always able to see through the mask she puts on when she's in pain. 

“I'm coming in,” he says as he opens the bathroom door, Caitlyn is standing at the bathroom counter in front of the mirror in her silk robe, her hair freshly washed and her eyepatch on in a way Vi can tell she scrambled to put it on before he opened the door. She's looking down, trying to hide her face but Vi can see that she'd been crying, her face slightly wet and red. “Cait,” he says in a voice so soft it makes tears well up in her eyes, he reaches out, cupping her face gently. She leans into his touch, like she always does, “What's wrong?” He asks in a voice just barely above a whisper. She shakes her head, “Nothing” she mutters, Vi doesn't buy it and tilts her head up slightly. 

He meets her eyes, searching them, begging silently for her to tell him what's wrong. She looks away and pulls away from his touch completely and rests her hands on the counter top, head hung, “Just, my eye,” She mumbles in a small voice. “Are you in pain?” He asks her with concern as he leans closer to her, “No, it's not that,” she mutters as she shakes her head slightly. “Oh, then what's wrong?” He asks, he really doesn't want to pry but he can't stand seeing her hurting. She sighs, gathering the courage to speak, “I- it makes me feel…undesirable,” She mumbles, her head hung as she refuses to meet Vi's eyes, knowing she'll break down if she meets his steel gray eyes. He moves close, draping an arm around her shoulder, “Undesirable? What do you mean?” He understands a bit but wants her to fully say what she means, “It makes me feel ugly and- and weak…this scar, this reminder that I wasn't strong enough and that I'll never be good again at the one thing I could do,” As she speaks, hot tears stream down her cheeks and drip onto the counter top as her grip on it tightens. “The one thing that made my mother proud,” Caitlyn whispers, her voice broken and almost inaudible. 

Vi's heart shatters as she speaks, he doesn't say anything and just holds her tighter. Caitlyn lets go of the counter and grabs onto Vi, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobs softly. He lets her, just holding her and comforting her until she stops and lifts her head, sniffling. Vi meets her eyes, his hand on her cheek again, wiping away a tear that drips down her cheek before his other hand moves up and gently brushes just under her eye patch. The love and hurt for her showing in his eyes, he doesn’t believe anything she said for a second and Caitlyn can see it just by how he’s looking at her. 

As she sees that look she raises her hands and slowly lifts her eyepatch up and off her head before looking up and meeting his eyes. His heart swells at the trust and vulnerability Caitlyn is showing him and she can tell by the look in his eyes when he sees her. Her eye is mostly white due to the scar across it, but that beautiful blue can still be seen underneath, those blue eyes Vi fell so hard for. Now instead of a bright ocean blue it was more of a pale sky blue, but Vi still loved it nonetheless. 

Those beautiful blue eyes Vi could get lost in, like a sailor lost at sea. They are silent as Vi looks at her like she’s this otherworldly being, this beauty that no mere mortal can have; all love and care spoken through his gaze and the hand that’s still on her cheek, directly under her eye. 

“Cait, you’re so beautiful,” He tells her in a voice that is so soft and quiet it causes a few tears to start falling down her cheeks again. “You are so strong in so many ways and amazing at anything you do,” He says, trying to pour his heart out as best he can as he still struggles with his own past, emotions, and ability to truly let someone into his life again. “Don't feel like you need to hide from me, I love you no matter what,” he says softly. “I know, I love you too… I didn't mean to make you feel like I don't trust you or care,” she mumbles “I'm just so used to dealing with things by myself, but I know you're like that too,” she says, her head tilting up and meeting his eyes. “We have each other,” she says and leans in and kisses him softly, this outpour of emotions: love, trust, care, unspoken promises, and words of comfort.

[antinousletmehit]

Okay so I just really wanted to know about antinous and his sister's backstory and relationship

What's their bond like? Does he actually care about her under all that attitude? What are there interactions like? Do they work together well? What about their parents?

Idk I just love the way you write, and I'd like an elaboration on them please and thank you :)

I HAVE BEEN ITCHINGGGG FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME THIS

Okay so basically Antinous sees his sister as a extension to himself. He still cares about her yes, but also he just sees her as another part of himself. Any compliment she gets is a compliment to him, and any insult she gets is an insult to him. But he still cares about a lot more than he can admit.

As for their parents, his father left for war and their mother was very shitty. They lived in poverty and their mother only cared for herself, going as far as to punish those two for anything they did wrong. But since Antinous cares too much for his sister, he took the beatings that were originally his sister’s.

Eventually though, when they grew up a bit I’d say like Antinous was in his early to mid teenage years he took y/n and ran away from his mother’s house. Tiny issue, they were now street rats. Which meant Antinous—being the oldest—had to go out and steal food for him and his sister. (I have a lot of one shots written for when they were younger.)

As for interactions, he tends to spar and play fight with her. He claims it’s to help her with self defense, but it’s really just so he can spend time with her more without seeming weak.

Working together is a bit of a tough one because those two can’t seem to agree on anything, but if there’s a suitor that’s been particularly annoying they’ll set aside their differences, and pull off a string of elaborate pranks to entertain themselves.

Antinous is also VERY protective of his sister and will literally beat any suitor who even THINKS about touching her in anyway, shape, or form.

He’s like a mixture of a shitty but also not shitty brother?? Emotionally speaking he’s terrible at comforting her and often makes it worse, and doesn’t bother to apologize. But protectively he’s willing to fight even a god to keep her safe.

[petrichormore]

I’m too lazy to analyze it someone do it for me but that part in the convo q!Bad had with q!Baghera where she says something like “The workers could have a family, they could be someone else’s egg” and q!Bad responds with “yeah I thought about it, that’s when I stopped uh…”

because that seems very important to me. it seems like a confirmation of the fact that q!Bad saw these workers as mindless drones and Walter Bob as an outlier, an mistake on the federation’s part. And then when Ron essentially confirmed that it wasn’t, that they all have feelings, he stopped.

Stopped what? Stopped seeing workers as nothing but extensions of the federation? Stopped psychologically torturing Ron? Stopped keeping him in a damp cage? Stopped resisting the urge to care?

Stopped what? No matter which option you pick, you learn that q!Bad thought about the workers in a certain light, learned information that potentially severely contradicted his belief, and then reflected and adjusted his own behavior accordingly. If the “that’s when I stopped…” was about to end in “torturing him” that feels like a huge… something… about q!Bad and his supposedly “unhinged” nature.

There are a couple natural conclusions to that sentence, almost all of them make q!Bad seem a lot more… something… than I’d originally given him credit for.