#it’s all stories that are told and retold over and over again

[audarcy]

The original percy jackson series is about cycles of abuse and neglect, right. Were introduced to percy as a kid who has clearly been left behind by a school system that has given up on him, restless and unengaged and self-defetist because hes been given nothing that works for him and no one even tries to meet him where he is. Then hes told no, listen, your neurodivergence is amazing and you just need to be given something that actually utilizes your unique palatte. And thats obviously the uplifting idea rick wanted for his kids, right. But once we get to know chb the same cycles are happening there too. There are kids "left behind" there too for one reason or another, because their parents dont want to claim them, because their parents werent important enough to get a cabin. Do you get it, all the kids who dont fit the most common neurotypes get shoved into the same closet. Kids are being left in a cruel world to fend for themselves without the tools they need. Theyre dying because no one bothered to accommodate them. Its such an obvious parallel that the first chapter introduces a teacher whos written to be especially hard on percys disability and she turns out to literally be one of these monsters trying to kill him. Meanwhile sally jackson tells him she named him after Perseus because she wanted a redemption for a hero whos story ended in tragedy. Meanwhile every book in the series replicates a greek myth step for step until the moment they break the cycle. Annabeth, playing Odysseus, is talked down from her hubris and grounded by her friends. Percy, playing Heracles, meets someone wronged by the original Heracles and rights his wrongs by refusing to go down the same selfish path as him. Monsters are reborn because they are--as the books explicitly call them--achetypes. These kids are stuck inside the cyclical nature of mythology because thats what happens to mythology, it gets retold over and over again. But these are the kids who have to live it. The series ends with percy being offered immortality and he rejects it because he wants to use his godly favor to force them to break their cycle of neglecting their kids. The series ends with a declaration that we cant keep letting this happen. The very first book offees the same choice. It ends with percy refusing to keep the head of medusa as a spoil of war, refusing his heroic reward. He lets his mother have the head and use it to kill gabe. Isnt that fucking crazy for a kids book? Gabe wasnt a Monster. He wasnt going to Turn to Dust and Disappear in a narratively convenient way. He was a living breathing mortal dude and percy and his mom killed him without remorse. Break the cycle of abuse!!!! Dont let this happen again!!! Anyway thats why the original percy jackson series is Hey where are you going with our breadsticks

[niccolites]

i don't wanna break the heart of any other man (but you)

johnny (soap) mactavish x fem!reader, brother's best friend au. cw dub-con

read on ao3 here, originally based off of the very talented @ceilidho 's ask here

--

It starts with a ribbon in your hair, neat and pink, ripped out by Johnny’s hand. He laughs in your face, all gummy smile at the age of eight, grinning as you cry and try to get it back.

You are seven-years-old, and you don’t know why your brother hangs out with this bully. Even worse, the inaction. Your perfect big brother, reduced to a faceless bystander.

Lungs catch and then stutter, devastation as you learn and relearn the same lesson until it sticks. A boy can treat you how he wants, as long as he minds his ps and qs about it.

The world around you is defined in the short-term - the sky is blue, your mary-janes have a scuff on them that your mother is worried people are going to notice, and you hate Johnny Mactavish.

He becomes friends with your brother and steals him away from you. Best friends once, you and your brother. Now you've been replaced by some snotty little boy who is constantly yanking on your pigtails. In your own living room, your brother is silent when you run from the room crying.

He's your bully, a twist in your stomach when no one seems to understand this. You sit on the back step, hiccuping tears as you listen to Johnny and your brother have fun in the living room. Only Johnny seems to notice your tears when you come back in and sit, sullen, in the corner. His gaze is a living thing that crawls over you, something alive that shudders like a second skin over yours.

The defining story of your childhood is told like this, after the fact: Johnny keeps picking on you, one day he steals your ribbon and you cry. He keeps the ribbon to this day. Cue the hand on the heart and the coos from the audience. A hit every time, an instant classic.

(One part of the story that is always missed out when this is told and retold again and again is how you actually swing at him. The last time you’re on an even playing field because he unwillingly takes it on the chin.)

Respective parents swoop in, fussing and pulling the two of you apart. Injustice doled out swiftly as Johnny clings to that ribbon, as no one takes it off of him.

“Oh, honey, boys do that when they like you,” your mum coos at you. It's a pathetic attempt to comfort you, leaving you confused more than anything. Here is the sharp reality, your perfect hair undone and mussed. Here is the crack that distorts the image, smoothing over the edges and makes it more palatable.

Johnny catches this, mouth agape as he takes it in. There’s a red mark on his chin from your hand, blue eyes wide and watery.

You wonder if Johnny remembers this. You can see the exact moment that this registers with him, as if he had never considered the ‘why’ of what he was doing to you. And here was the reason, delivered to him from the woman who always gives him an extra cookie when he comes over to play. A click, the universe has righted itself. Something slotting into place according to some higher power. Path set, direction coordinated. Your ribbon clenched in his fist. Meaning applied, after the fact.

It matters to you, you suppose. A politically incorrect statement that alters the start of your life, for all intents and purposes. Here is the centre of it, tattered ribbon and throbbing knuckles, and a lie that is swallowed and turned into truth. Johnny probably doesn’t care. The centre of his entire infatuation does not matter as much as the gulf of the rest of it. Who cares about him snapping your training bra, what matters is the image of his fingers as they wriggle under the strap, the warmth of skin before the snap of plastic. Johnny’s vision of you seems to be half-eclipsed by what he does to you.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but Johnny is a lesson that the bitterness is quickly forgotten once the pill hits the bottom of your stomach. Well, then there’s just the acceptance of how things are meant to be, right?

//

What starts off as the play fighting of a rough child in puppy love becomes the earnest approaches of a lovesick teenager. Supposedly.

Before, maybe someone would have eventually stepped in. Maybe there is a finite number of times that a girl can come home crying after having her hair pulled before someone does start to get concerned. Maybe you were a few hundred short when puberty hits and Johnny makes a sharp pivot.

Gone are the shoves, Johnny sticking his foot out to trip you up. Pulling your hair and dashing away, as if unable to stand being near you. His attention is an ugly thing that sits between you. Even he doesn't seem equipped to handle it, breath always coming a little bit too sharp when he steals your teddy, eyes on your reaction even as he tries to dart away.

Now, Johnny is always near. He doesn’t shove anymore, just stands, always too close. You start wearing a training bra and he is a bit too focused about it. Asks you how it feels, gaze hot on your face, like he wants you to say something hot. (You know it doesn’t matter what you say, he’ll likely think that anyway). Petty at the age of 13, you spit into his drink to try and gross him out and he downs it like he had been waiting for it.

Years are not defined by time passing, but rather Johnny and his relationship to you. Years pass with the deterioration of the two of you, scratches in the wall to track the history of how bad everything spirals out of control.

You’re thirteen, and Johnny is pinging your bra strap. He's fourteen, and now he's a few inches taller which he starts using to his advantage, leaning over you when you try to get by him.

You're fourteen, and Johnny is telling you that he jerked off to the thought of you last night before smiling at your mother while you scoff in disgust. He's fifteen, and deciding he wants to start heavy-lifting, wanting to get in shape for you.

You're fifteen, and Johnny is begging you to come swimming with them, hands smoothing over your hips while you try to shove him off. He's sixteen, and he’s holding an enlistment pamphlet and asking how much you would miss him if he went.

You’re sixteen, and Johnny is yanking up your jumper and his breath comes out as a wheeze when he sees the light blue cups that he is convinced match his eyes. He’s seventeen, and trying to get you to drink with him, pupils blown as he tilts the bottle to your mouth and some of it spills over your bottom lip.

You’re seventeen, and Johnny is shoving his hand down the front of your panties, won’t you let him see his favourite girl before he leaves? You don’t know if he’s even really referring to you anymore. He’s eighteen, and he’s almost gone. The weight on your shoulders is heavier, the way it must be before it’s lifted. Almost out, the crack of light in a tomb, mouth watering for it.

He’s trying to be gentle with you, he explains, nights before he leaves. Your nipples are raw under your shirt from where he had yanked your shirt up and ducked down to bite them with a groan. You scowl.

Sitting in your room, your family downstairs. He had asked for a moment with you, for the third time that day and your mother had been charmed. She had been blubbering since she found out that he enlisted, back bowing as you seem to lift higher with each hour that passes.

He needs to make you understand what is going on between the two of you. Needs to make it clear to you before he goes. “We’re meant to be,” he says, patient, even as his hands flex, smoothing over your knees. A creak of bone against muscle, seconds away from wrenching your thighs open and taking what he believes he is owed.

It seems like some kind of stupid honour code. You’re too wriggly. He can have his pound of flesh but he wants the full slab. Maybe he thinks he has to earn it, wants you to spread your legs and let him in.

Fat chance. You tell him as much, delighting for a moment at the way that dopey smile drops off his face. You imagine punching him now, wonder if you could break his nose this time, you think you have enough anger built up to really manage it.

Before you get a chance to really think it over, he grabs you, hands hard on your hips. Yanking your leggings down, and you think that you were wrong, if you didn’t bring over the full cow he was just going to and wrangle that fucker himself.

Minutes later and he’s puffing hot breath into the crook of your neck, the head of his cock between the gusset of your underwear and your pussy. He had gripped your hand and guided it around his dick, up and down. You would stop, but his hand is manacled around your wrist, palm hot against the pulse of your veins. Two layers of skin between your respective flesh, nothing really.

He whines when pre-cum aids the way, huffs a laugh when he nudges against your clit and you tremble. Barely any slick between your folds but he hones in on it like he does with everything to do with you. Dips the head of his cock further down to catch it, forehead thumping against your shoulder to watch as his cock shines with the slightest bit of your juices.

Here is the body’s natural reaction to stimulation. And here is Johnny taking the explanation that he has been waiting for.

“A knew it,” he mutters, feverish as his hips stutter, your hand tightening for a second as he nudges against your clit again. “Knew you were wantin’ it, lovey. But you had tae act like a right cow, eh?” He chuckles, dark before he yanks your chin up (you had been staring as well, you realise with a flush of shame), slants his mouth over yours.

He’s still angry, thumb digging into the soft flesh beneath your skin as he drags his tongue over yours, sucking it into his mouth until you hiccup.

He’s big like this, eighteen, and the puppy fat had shrank off years ago. Shoulders hunches to reach you, hand cradling your jaw in place, almost ear to ear.

He pulls back and you loll forward, pressure that had been holding you in place suddenly gone. You reel with it, almost falling forward before he nudges you back again. He huffs, a mean thing into your temple, hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Ye wantin’ it?” he asks. You wonder if he actually wants an answer, know that he already has his confirmation between your thighs.

His hand squeezes your wrist, and you clumsily twist your palm when you reach the top of his shaft, morbidly curious. He told you how he liked to jerk off two New Years ago, did it how he thought you would do it for him. Prophesied.

His shoulders shake, moaning wantonly as if you aren’t in your bedroom with your parents watching TV just downstairs. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes on how your hand barely covers half of his cock as you stroke him. His hand thumps into the wall beside your shoulder, other hand flexing with his thumb on your wrist bone.

“Ah, fuck, dae that again,” he huffs until you do, again and again until he whines, head back into the crook of your neck as he drools into the collar of your shirt.

Both his hands are on your arse now, squeezing and kneading as he humps like a misbehaved dog into your hand. “I know you didnae mean it,” he mutters, pulling the spit soaked collar of your shirt down to kiss and lick and bite your collarbone. “You were jus’ missin’ me already, eh? A know, lovey, a know, there we are, just havtae show you the way sometimes, my poor wee angel, a forgive ye, a dae, a swear.”

He grips the backs of your thighs and squeezes when he comes, pushing until the head of his cocks kicks up near the entrance of your cunt, whining and shuddering through it. He pants as he comes back down, cock jerking idly in your now loose grasp, red hot against where you are now wet. Probably, mostly with Johnny’s cum.

He gives a heaving sigh, pushes his palms against the wall to look down at you. He likes what he sees - spit slick mouth, red neck, bare pussy with his cum staining you and your underwear.

“A willnae be gone long,” he says, as if you had been mid conversation. “A will come back f’ you, angel,” he promises, gaze hot on the crux of your legs.

You stare up at him, hand still loose around his shaft before you let go. A curdled desire settles in your stomach. Always for Johnny, and always half ruined at inception because it’s for Johnny.

Hours later and he’s gone. You sit at the breakfast table, your mother fussing in her upset about him being gone. Your brother is quiet as always, gives you a strange look. Johnny’s cum is dried out in your favourite pair of panties upstairs. You bite into a piece of toast, feel each crumb as it digs into your gums and dirties you.

//

It gets worse again after he officially enlists in the army. Before Johnny is the cute teenager that trails after your every move, intent and so so sweet.

Now he is Johnny, the childhood sweetheart. Before both of your parents had viewed you as scorning a poor lovesick puppy. Now you are a couple, constantly bickering about something or other. You insist that he is not your boyfriend, and are met with rolled eyes and knowing looks.

Johnny’s mother confesses that half of his calls to her are asking for you. You briefly consider moving to another country.

He sends pictures of his cock while he is away, the head red and you hate that you know how hot it would be to the touch. You reply and tell him to cut it off and he tells you that you’re the one.

Your mum doesn’t understand when you complain so heavily about him. Every complaint is met with a rebuttal, as if Johnny’s hand is at the back of everyone’s throat, puppeting everything that they say.

He’s too touchy. Because he loves you sweetheart, my god, I wish someone would want me that much.

He’s too close. God forbid someone enjoy your company.

Don’t you think he’s a little bit strange? He’s in the army, you dick, don’t you think you could be just a little bit nicer about it?

You feel half insane, the only one protesting the way that he treats you, the way he has always treated you. The capacity for cruelty has just shifted. Johnny has always worked within the parameters that were available to him. Sure, he can’t get away with yanking on your pigtails anymore, but biting a bit too hard at your neck has the same result. Tears in your eyes, and everyone tells you that this is how Johnny shows you he likes you.

After his first deployment, he gets so close to fucking you that you get spooked. Eighteen now, and suddenly ten years younger, Johnny taking something that doesn’t belong to him. You let him fuck up the length of your cunt, let him lick his cum off of you. He keeps his head between your thighs, eats you out like a man starved until you shake, tears in the corners of your eyes. Shame again, at how sloppy he is, spit and slick and cum everywhere. He likes it, likes how shameful you get about it. Laps that up too, tongue buried in you like he wants to get to the back of your throat. He always wants more of you than you think you have to begin with.

He lies back, barely sated but will at least lie still now and pulls you over to drape over his chest. He’s getting bigger, you think. Maybe he’s taking parts of you, squirreling them away in himself, until you don’t know you unless you find it in him.

You curve one hand over his barrel chest, barely any give in the muscle. He hums, a booming noise beneath your ear. “Tha’s all it took,” he murmurs, hand smoothing over your head like you’re a cat. “A bit ae missin’ me and yer as sweet as a kitten.”

You’re too tired to give a snarky response, though you briefly wonder if you can get away with pinching his side a bit too hard in retribution.

You know he’s going to be even more pent up the next time he gets back, that he’s going to think he’s owed your virginity. You refuse to give him another reason to tie the two of you together indefinitely. You think he’ll propose if he does, he has already been messaging you about it, asking when the two of you were finally going to walk down that aisle that he’s been building around you for years.

You go to a pub the next time he leaves, ignore his messages to call because he misses you so much. Sit at the counter until some sleazy guy who looks double your age saunters up and offers to buy you a drink. You shouldn’t, it is so dangerous. You barely have to cut your eyes towards him before he’s taking this as forwardness. Offers to take you home and immediately starts pawing at you in his truck.

You let him bend you over, the clink of a belt and its all over. You rock with each thrust, hating yourself for catching sight of the man’s hand on yours and knowing that Johnny’s is bigger.

You bring a hand down to rub along your clit, but the first whine that leaves your mouth brings the entire show to a close and you stand up, furious. The man wheezes in the seat as you barely say goodbye, wrenching your panties up and storming home.

Johnny’s been calling you, must be on whatever type of break he gets wherever he is, and you answer after the third missed call. Low timber floods your ear and warms your bones.

He’s so excited he caught you, been missing you so much, baby. Thinking about you all the time, he got in trouble for not being able to focus. Asks if you’ve been taking care of his pretty girl for him?

You let him yap in your ear the whole way home, wanting desperately for your vibrator. “You missin’ me too, baby?” Johnny huffs in your ear. You hum, absentmindedly in response. He’s on it, scenting blood.”Aye? Tell me, how much, eh? You been petting yourself thinking of me?”

You’re home, Johnny still trying to goad you on over the phone, the connection is bad but he seems to overcome it. Hulking, even over a wire to get to you. Maybe you could get him to talk through getting yourself off. It’s disgusting, but maybe you could give yourself a pass this one time. He’s allowed to do whatever he wants, where are your allowances? Johnny gets to hop back and forth over the line of propriety, you’re allowed one slip up before you return to your factory settings.

Your vibrator, hidden in the back of your bedside table, gone. You know it was him, know he binned it. Know he probably didn’t want anything getting you off except him.

You stare at the empty space in the back of your drawer, cold water down your spine that douses any flames of arousal you think you have ever felt and maybe will ever feel again. Anger is back, and so beautifully familiar. Johnny is still droning on, something about letting him see a picture of how much you’re missing him.

“I fucked someone else,” you say, voice gritty.

The line goes quiet. Small buzzes that make up the distance between the two of you, the call dropping and reconnecting. Universe bringing you back together again.

“That’s not fucking funny,” Johnny says, voice low in a way that you don’t think that you’ve heard before.

“Good thing I’m not joking,” you snap back. You feel frightened, eyes darting to the window as if he is about to start running in your direction, all the way across the globe. You wouldn’t put it past him. But never let it be said that you wouldn’t put your hand to the snapping teeth of a rabid dog.

He’s silent, breath heaving before the line goes dead.

You drop your phone to the floor and stand in the quiet of your room. A bird chirps in the distance, life reinstating itself even in the absence of Johnny. You crawl into bed and refuse to get off tonight. A competition where you are the only participant and the only loser too. Fitting.

//

You don’t see Johnny for months after that. Which makes sense, because he is across the globe. But the silence feels eerie, the way you imagine it might be for him. The thunder of a gun and the shutter after. Silence ringing, not due to quiet but because of the absence of sound.

He doesn’t message you at all during this period. Clearly he says something to his mother, because she gives you a frown at church that Sunday. “You must’ve done something,” your mum hisses at you, embarrassed that the story of childhood sweethearts that she gave birth to has become a story of a surly woman who cannot appreciate the man who loves her as he risks his life for his country.

You don’t bother replying. There’s no point, really. Everything has been set in motion and everyone had climbed on board. You were the one that derailed the track and upset everything.

You refuse to admit that you miss Johnny. That your phone buzzes and there is a moment where you think it could be him. For months, it isn’t. You feel like you’re floating out in orbit and your lifeline has gone silent on you. Drifting, the cold slowly creeping in, nothing around to propel yourself off of. Gain some momentum, do something.

You sit and wait for Johnny’s judgement day.

He gets back on a Friday, and he doesn’t come to see you. You know he’s back, because you can hear your brother on the phone to him, asking if he got back alright. You skulk around the corner, waiting for any mention of your name. If there is any, you don’t hear it.

You sit in your room, uncertain. The thing that you hadn’t considered is that while you had been complaining about how you and Johnny had been set up in the direction that you were going in, you hadn’t thought about what you would do if you weren’t doing this. You have derailed the train now, but you don’t remember when you got on, or how to get back there.

You mull this over, legs tucked to the side as you lean into the large bear on your bed. Won for you, by Johnny of course, at some fair when you were kids. Maybe you could leave. Nothing as drastic as another country, but another town maybe, escape the suffocation that comes with being here and everyone knowing you as Johnny’s girl.

Daydreaming, imagining yourself in a place where no one knows who you are, you are startled out of your thoughts when your window slams open. Soap hoists himself up and into your room, with an ease you imagine he must not have had before.

You blink at him as he stands next to your open window, gaze hot on you without saying a word. You shuffle a little, uncertain, refusing to speak first. You feel bizarrely guilty, as if you have done something wrong. Even though you know you haven’t. Just because a man decides he is owed your virginity, doesn’t mean you’re in the wrong for not giving it to him.

Still, you swallow an apology on the back of your tongue and it tastes like ash.

Johnny quietly reaches over and slams your window shut, making you jump.

“Y’know, a went around town and tried to figure out who ye cheated on me wae,” he says, at last, face darker than you have ever seen it. His hair is slightly grown out along the sides, mohawk less stark like this. Hair like he had when he was ten, almost.

“I didn’t cheat on you -” You try to interject, remembering your indignation more than anything.

Johnny lunges for you, hand hot around your ankle as he yanks you down the bed. “Who fuckin’ was it, huh? Y’ know, ave been tryin’ so hard wae you, thinkin’ that you’ve been missin’ me just as much as a have you, but instead you’ve been tryin’ tae hurt me, whorin yourself fae anyone -”

You reel your arm back to punch him in the face, and he catches your wrist just before you can make contact with his jaw. “I didn’t fucking whore myself out, I’m sorry that you’re fucking delusional -”

A hand in the length of your hair and he wrenches your head back, slamming his mouth against yours. It’s sore, all teeth as you both hiss and spit at each other. It feels like an even playing field again, even though you feel swallowed up in his bulk. His hand leaves your hair and grips you everywhere he can, like everything belongs to him already.

You feel white hot, letting him lick across the back of your teeth like he doesn’t want any part of you untouched by him. You hold onto his shoulders, letting him pull you all over, leans back and hooks a finger over your jaw. Pulls your mouth open. You realise what he’s going to do a moment before he does it, spit landing on your tongue. Instinctive to swallow it.

He moans wantonly at the sight, a sound that flushes you in embarrassment. For god’s sake, you’re in your mother’s house. He’s licking into your mouth, spit everywhere and making you feel sticky.

His hand slides between your thighs and you feel the moment that he finds out how wet you are, his hips stuttering a quick grind against your hip. “Jus’ for me, huh?” he asks, feverishly hot. He pulls back as he yanks your shorts off, panties dragged along with. Groans at the sight of you, wet and swollen between your legs. “Eh? Is this what ye did wae that fuckin’ boy?”

Your thighs shake, hands trying to catch his wrist as he slides two fingers into you, thumb mean against your clit. “What?” you croak, blinking up at him.

“Whatever loser you took home with you,” Johnny asks, hawk-like focus on your face. Strange for him, when your pussy is on show. “You take him back here and did ye let him dae this tae y’? Ye think aboot me when he brought his small dick oot?”

You don’t respond and he pinches your clit until you squeak, trying to buck away from him.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he coos suddenly, eyes no longer on your face but between your legs. “My pretty girl, you just need someone to show you, right?”

He fingers you, thumb intent on your clit until you start to shake, voice getting higher, Then he stops, fingers slipping out of you (when did it become three?), with a wet noise that if you were more in your mind, you would flush about.

You start to whine, and he flips you over onto your front, hikes your ass in the air and coos of the sight of your cunt throbbing at the injustice of it all. “A know, angel, A know. A want to give ye what yer wantin, but a don’t know if you deserve it,” he hums. Fucking liar, if the clink of his belt is anything to go by, then the hot stroke of his cock between your sticky folds that has you arching your back like a cat in heat. He’s trying to be teasing, but his voice shakes, restraint held together by a thin chain and he is a big man.

He holds you still with a hand on your hip, the heat of it sinking into your skin. You can hear him beating off, using your slick to aide the way as he stares at your holes. You feel like you want to cry, sitting on display for him to get off on. You do, but it also makes you feel piping hot all over. There’s a sickness in him and he’s been dosing you up on it for years. Viral disease, his spit in your mouth until it clogs the back of your throat and finally takes root in your bloodstream.

“Was thinking about this so much,” he murmurs, as if caught up in a dream. “Wanted tae be the one to make y’ a woman - “

“It was bad,” you manage, throat dry, gaze on the opposite wall. The slick noise behind you stops and you can only hear the sound of his breathing. His scrutiny of you on the back of your skull pulling you down. You don’t know why you’re saying this. There is a cliff edge and you want to say you stepped off of it with your next words, but you’re already freefalling, and you’re hoping for the crash into him rather than the cold dirt. “I didn’t know him, I didn’t get off, and I thought about you and how good that you would have made me - “

Half a sentence in and he sinks in, cock splitting you open. He groans, loud and shameful as you whine, thigh kicking until he stills it, pushing down to get further into you, It may as well have been your first time, it takes a few shallow thrusts and Johnny reaching down to rub at your clit to ease the way before he manages to get balls deep into you.

“Oh fuck,” you wheeze, full. At capacity. You can’t think beyond the stretch of yourself around Johnny, air knocked out as he pushes more weight onto you.

“Fuck, this fuckin’ cunt,” he groans. Hands smooth over your arse, spreading your cheeks to better view what he’s doing to you. “Knew ye would be so good, dreamed ae this - ah - you just wanted tae deny yerself. Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give ye what ye need.”

Then it starts, the pulling out just bottom out again, fast and hard and any air you manage to suck in is immediately shot out.

Your head lolls to the side, you think you might be drooling onto your sheets, but can barely find it in you to care. His balls slap against your swollen clit, so loud and yet you cannot remember why you should care about that beyond getting him to keep doing that. You realise that your muttering please, over and over again, not even aware of it.

He shifts to the side, and suddenly his thrusts are deliberate, and you tense up even more. No pause, no grinding out, you come and he keeps going, grunts as you tighten up and spasm, sobbing into your sheets.

It’s like a point is being hammered into you. You suspect if you hadn’t admitted that you didn’t come with the other guy, then Johnny wouldn’t have given a shit. But this is purposeful, a lesson being taught until only the whites of your eyes are showing. It always did so many times for you to take a telling, Johnny coos in your ear. Thank god he’s here, he’s got you.

He comes with a groan, mouth hot against the back of your neck as he mouths at your nape, teeth a little bit too sharp for your liking. Damning, feeling his cum in you. No part of you, untouched.

//

You want to say it gets worse from this point again. You think that it has actually just always been the same level of awful, the scale has just broadened.

Johnny tells everyone that you’re engaged after you let him cum in you again. There’s not even an engagement ring. Spitting in anger at your future being decided for you again, Johnny interprets this as you being upset he didn’t take you ring shopping. Drags you to the bathroom and fucks you on the sink with your ankles over his shoulders.

It’s relentless. There is a hairline fracture along the tender tissue of your brain and Johnny has pried it open to fit himself, crawled in and made himself at home.

He tells you that you were made for him. That he had came first, that he had wished for you and you were delivered to him. Guides your hand to his ribcage, tells you there is one missing. “Would give that an’ mare,” he vows, hands swallowing up the arch of your torso, a perfect ring made with the circle of his hands.

He’ll probably marry you the next time he’s back. He can barely be held back from it just now, that leash he places in your hand even if he yanks so hard that the control is all just for show. Just another link between the two of you, his neck yanked back to you up at you.

He sleeps in your childhood bed, muscular arm a band around your waist. There’s a version of you in the corner. She’s still weeping and now only you know. A tear against Johnny’s shoulder and he shuffles closer, tucking you under his chin. “Ave got ye, angel,” he slurs, half-asleep.

You feel restricted, unable to move. And it soothes you to sleep.

//

(Johnny begs you to suck him off just before he leaves for his next deployment. His come tastes bitter as you swallow. Go figure.)

[supernovatx]

important (out of order) info from the afterparty for anyone that missed it:

-they’re probably gonna rebrand dnpg to just dan and phil and move away from just doing gaming content (although they did say they’re down to keep the blue/purple colour scheme)

-they retold the story ab phil breaking his rib, apparently it’s bc the boxing was originally supposed to alternate between them winning but the dan winning ending had a move where Phil had to throw dan over his head and during practice phil accidentally threw the fight choreographer’s entire body weight into his own rib and broke it lmao

-one conspiracy they didn’t use was darry (dan x harry styles) bc they thought it was weird to talk about harry styles on stage every night and wanted to keep it to just being about them. they also apparently had a whiteboard full of conspiracies for the show

-craziest m&g experience was someone who told them they were pregnant during tatinof and then their ten year old child came around the corner “like a jumpscare” (dan’s words)

-they did really really try to tour in as many places as they could but had various legal/visa issues and said that if they do another tour they will keep fighting to perform in as many places as they can

-dan spray dyed Phil’s hair blue!! huge

-phil put the father philip coat (?) on wrong during the tit video and they didn’t realize until they were watching it on the livestream

-they said they do plan to put the tit song on Spotify also huge!!! they also tier ranked all of their show songs and dan said the introverts song wasn’t camp (disagree heavy btw) and said that they’d think about releasing it as a music video

-sister daniel was wearing nude underwear and apparently the first underwear dan bought was from a gay p0rn website and had a giant fake bulge in it and he flashed multiple people in rehearsals so they fixed it

-Phil’s silicone muscle suit was also from a p0rn website and it initially came in a size too big so it was gigantic and he had to email to ask for a size down, and when he tried to put the new one on his face got stuck in it so he asked the wardrobe people to cut the back open and make it a corset

-they praised the Australians who were watching at 6am on a Monday lol

-they also praised pj and Sophie for their incredible craftsmanship as they should!!

-they addressed “wt md if” and said they have no idea what it is and that it almost made it into phan twitter 5 but they thought it would take too much explanation

-tit song started as dan sending the melody and lyrics to ben with a voice memo recorded at 3 am

-slight tease for a phil book??? maybe??? he said he’d like to

-dan addressed dystopia daily and said she was a little too niche and he was shocked how well it did for how niche and post-ironic it is, and phil said he was scared to come on bc dan didn’t tell him anything about it beforehand

-they do plan to release the tit merch but it takes a while to get it all together! dan said a few weeks at the earliest

-other possible names for tit were “dan and phil vs the world” again and “all or nothing,” which was phil’s suggestion apparently but they decided against it bc it was too gaming-channel exclusive

-both of them said the hardest part of tit was the choreography of the song, phil especially said he had a really hard time with it

[piningforstan]

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Not really any? Let me know if I missed one

A/N: All Most of my oneshots are inspired by songs I guess😂 I’m thinking there might be 2 or 3 parts to this one

Stan lied.

To everyone.

Perhaps it was delusional to think that it didn’t apply to you. You, your reasoning was, were special. At the end of the day he crawled into bed next to you and pressed his cold toes to your calf, laughing as you squirmed away. You made grocery lists together and raided the aisles for food and supplies. It was you that he whispered his fears and hopes to.

So you thought nothing when he lied to the tourists, lied to the banks, lied to the man who “dropped” his wallet (Stan had pickpocketed it and you forced him to return it). You thought nothing when the lies bled into your daily life, domestic bliss disrupted with the occasional white lie. You told yourself: everyone does it.

It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

The room in the Shack that you stumbled upon on accident one day while looking for warmer blankets. “My brother’s room,” he told you. The brother, that you knew, was dead. You let it be, didn’t ask questions. But if it was his brother’s, why did all of the books say his name? Stanford Pines. Scrawled in margins and on the wall like a hasty addition. You didn’t have time to inspect it too closely, but the handwriting looked too neat to be Stan’s — tidy and cramped, unlike the sprawling letters you had seen him print on your paychecks.

STNLYMBLE his license plate read. It wasn’t his brother’s car, he affectionately retold stories of his time in the vehicle before. Maybe it was a tribute of some kind?

A million instances that accumulated in your mind like clutter in an attic, each one a box that you labeled and tucked away for later.

The first snow had just coated itself over Gravity Falls when the sleep talking started. You were roused awake by Stan twitching and muttering, the alarm clock blinking the time at you from the nightstand.

Too early. You rolled over, trying to grasp at the last remnants of your dream. It wasn’t much longer before he was muttering again, louder this time, hands clutching at the sheets and his face scrunching in unmistakable pain.

“Portal…help…” whatever disturbed his dreams made no sense to you here in the real world. You listened quietly. “I promise, Ma…I promise.”

Segments of promises and reassurances, bits of stories that you hadn’t heard before and couldn’t parse out yourself. It didn’t concern you at first, chalking it up to stress — about the Shack during the cold winter months, or maybe whatever work he did in the basement.

And then they became more specific. Unsettling.

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. An accident.” Sweat glistened on his forehead and wet the dark curls at his temples. The weirdest part is when he would whimper: “I’m sorry, Ford. I’m sorry. The portal…”

The portal, the portal, the portal — the one reoccurring connection to all of the sleep talking.

The dreams were worse during the holidays; Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. It was sometime after the beginning of the new year and you were nestled into one another on the couch when you asked him, “What’s the portal?”

Stan kept his gaze on the TV but his body stiffened beneath you. “What?”

“The portal.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

You don’t know why, but you sensed that you’ve crossed a line, somehow, said something wrong. In an effort to lighten the mood, you injected a hint of humor in your voice, “You’ve been sleep talking lately and you keep mentioning a portal. Is it a bad dream or something?”

“Or something,” Stan coolly replied.

A beat passed between you, tension palpable. The TV flickered off. Stan untangled himself from you without a word and started up the stairs. You stumbled after him.

“Stan, what is going on?”

“Nothing,” he said, whirling on you, one hand braced on the rail. “I’m tired is all.”

You steeled yourself for an argument, aware of it approaching like a storm on the horizon. “For weeks — months — you’ve been having these awful dreams and talking about someone named Ford. And a portal.”

Sometimes you wake up in tears. Sometimes the pain in your voice is enough to make me nauseous. Sometimes you cry for forgiveness.

“S’probably nothin’.”

“Nothing? Stanford, I know something is wrong.”

You had both made it to the landing now, an old fashioned draw. Shadows thrown across his face, Stan possessed an unpredictable air, sharp and glinting like the blade of a knife in the dark. It slipped away just as quickly as the image had impressed upon you. Did you imagine it?

His features arranged into a semblance of shame, sheepish in nature. “I jus’ don’t wanna talk about it, alright? I’m sorry you had to deal with that. You ain’t gotta worry about me, doll.”

You wanted to press the matter. Wanted to know why he was being elusive and why his explanation rubbed you the wrong way.

But you didn’t.

A month or two passed. Spring lingered in the woods, melting snow and glimpses of greenery. You hadn’t mentioned the portal or the dreams again. Stan would go some nights without sleeping at all. You knew this only because you would wake up at night and roll over, expecting his warmth and finding the bed cold and empty.

“What are you doing in the basement?” You asked one day when you were feeling particularly brave. Stan was your kind-of boyfriend, after all, and you asserted to yourself that you had the right to know where he spent most of his time.

Stan, shoveling food in his mouth, shrugged and replied in a muffled tone, “Science stuff.”

He was off doing science stuff when you poked around the entirety of the Shack, searching for this alleged basement. How could there be no doors? You patrolled the perimeter of the building and spotted a cellar but it refused to budge. It unsettled you that couldn’t find an entry to the basement and hadn’t thought to even look before now.

“You wouldn’t want to see it, it’s boring,” he would tell you and you would believe him, his large hands roaming over your skin. “I can think of much more fun things to do up ‘ere.”

It worried at the back of your mind constantly, this idea that you were just another victim in Stan’s lies. Were you being dramatic?

The answer came to you in the dark of the night, moonlight spilling over the floor in silvery bars. Stan woke you as he staggered out of bed, muttering and bumping into the dresser that now hosted a mixture of your clothing. You sat up.

“Stan, honey? Where are you going?”

He never ceased his muttering to answer, persisting down the stairs in his sluggish manner. You grabbed a robe and threw it over yourself, following after him. After several more attempts to get his attention, you came to the conclusion that his sleep talking had now progressed into sleep walking. You knew you should’ve woken him but you curiously trailed behind, through the living room, the kitchen, and into the gift shop.

A blue glow from the vending machine washed over Stan as he ambled towards it, thick fingers pushing the buttons. Was he just hungry, sleepily venturing for a midnight snack? You wouldn’t put it past him. You reached out a hand, ready to rouse him from his trance, when a strange whirring emitted from the vending machine.

Shock rooted you in place as the machine didn’t release any food but rather swung open miraculously on its hinges, disclosing a corridor instead. Stan never even hesitated as he just continued on, broad shoulders and bedhead disappearing around the corner.

Rendered motionless for several moments, you finally decided to go after him. Where was he going? He could hurt himself.

You shuffled into the corridor. An uneasy feeling descended upon you like the legs of a spider, brushing against every inch of your skin. The chill cutting through your robe told you that you were being led further under ground, finally emptying into an enormous room.

And it wasn’t even the size of the room that surprised you, but rather the gigantic metal contraption crouched to one side. From what you could tell it wasn’t working. A huge, darkened eye stared at you from the middle of the rafters.

A window?

A portal.

Stan had ceased his dreamlike ambling to stand before this machine, gazing up at it like it might offer him some kind of absolution.

Your voice, small and afraid: “Stan?”

The trance broke, a taut rubber-band snapped in the way that his shoulders rounded and he glanced around in confusion. You could only imagine the look on your face as he turned to you.

Your name left his mouth, panicked. “What are you doing here?”

“Stan, what is that? Where are we?” Hysteria gripped you. “What’s going on?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Stan replied.

“Did you…did you make this? What is this?”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go upstairs. I can explain all this. A’right?”

“No, Stan, I’m tired of all of the lies and the sneaking around. I’m staying here. And you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

A defeated expression crossed his face. He went over to a panel of controls and leaned against it, hip and elbow. “Ya know I would never hurt ya on purpose, doll. I-I care about you.”

You wanted to soften. But you held yourself strong, heart fracturing. “Stan?”

“I guess I don’t know where to start.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then slowly began to unravel the story that you had pieced together over the time. Except, this time, details were changed— the truth, you realized, not the altered version he had given you.

Everything you thought you knew about this man, this man that you loved, disappeared and took on a new form. The childhood in New Jersey accompanied by a twin brother. His years as a drifter a result of his father kicking him out, not a pursuit of freedom and independence. Even the Mystery Shack, his name, wasn’t his.

Stanley Pines, he said.

Stanley. Not Stanford.

And his brother wasn’t dead but lost in time, and he was trying valiantly to find him again.

“All of this, all of the lies…are for him. It’s my fault that he’s gone and I need to fix my mistake.” Stan’s voice had taken on a strained edge, on the verge of tears. “I’ve made so many but this one…this one I’m close to fixing.”

“You come down here to work on a…portal,” you said, not sure what else to say.

“It’s the only way.” Stan took a step towards you, then thought better of it. “I-I didn’t wanna lie. But I had no idea how much you would mean to me. It was one lie an’ then another and I couldn’t take any of ‘em back. Not without you lookin’ at me like how you are now.”

“I trusted you,” you breathed.

“I’m still me.” He flinched. “Well, kinda. Besides the name and everything. That hasn’t changed. The way I feel about you hasn’t changed.”

“What do you mean? Everything has changed,” you snapped, “Everything I know about you is a lie! I don’t even know what to think right now.” You shook your head as if to dislodge the torrent of thoughts. “You led me to believe that you were someone else. That your brother — who is actually you? — died. I grieved him with you, Stan. And you just lied to me again and again like it was nothing. How do I know I can trust you?”

“I’m tellin’ you, I didn’t want —”

“To lie? But lying is what you do best. It’s all clear to me now. I-I can’t do this. I need air.”

Your feet carried you without permission, away from the strange basement and the portal and Stan. Stanley. Not Stanford. You heard his heavy footsteps as he chased after you, one hand on your shoulder and spinning you to face him.

“Don’t go. Please. I can make this right.”

“No, you can’t.” You fought back tears as you looked at him, so heartbreakingly handsome and wounded and earnest. “I can’t be with someone who I don’t even know. Everything about us has been built on lies.”

He didn’t try and stop you as you stepped out of his grip and back into the gift shop, nor did he follow you. You shoved out onto the porch and into the greying, mushy snow, gathered in piles in the corners of the forest. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t be here.

[noneorother]

The case for (at least) two stories in GO season 2: Bildad

This chapter will be more enjoyable if you read the first post "The Kiss"! Another blatant instance of inconsistency and topic of much debate has been Bildad's wig(s). His hair seems to change all the time, and the headband is never quite the same. What if I told you that if you stop focusing on the hair, and count the stripes on his headbands, a clear picture emerges? Sounds insane right? Here's the entirety of episode 2, arranged by number of headband stripes Crowley has in each scene.

I'll put screenshots in case you don't want to rewatch those two sillies again for 4 minutes. But be real... who doesn't? A pretty clear pattern emerges when you arrange the scenes like this : more stripes = more intimacy and trust between Crowley & Aziraphale. For stripe 1, we only get the opening scene where Crowley "destroys Job's goats".

This scene could live on it's own in the story, theoretically. Aziraphale never interferes with Crowley as he destroys the children, because it's all hunky dory up in heaven. The very next scene we see Crowley questioning Job and Sitis, starting to doubt his job, and he's got two headbands and two stripes for most of the rest of his hijinks with Aziraphale.

Until the very end of the episode, where we are back to one headband, but two stripes. The hair is short again, and the headband is neat, and this stumped me for a long while. If you only count the number of headbands and hair length, this scene clearly belongs with the first, and story-wise, would make little sense. But taken with the other two-striped scenes, it paints the complete picture of the saving of Job's children together as a team. I've taken the three headband/stripe scenes out of order from the show and put them at the end. The only time Crowley has three headbands is when something deeply intimate is happening between Azirpahale and Crowley. The first instance is quite early on, for the whole of the reveal of Crowley's crows to goats pipeline.

Interestingly this is also where we get the cryptic line "I am not the angel you knew". Next is a little interlude inside of Crowley's "destruction" of Job's children, where Crowley admits to Aziraphale for the first time that they are "Temporarily not on different sides". It's also this part of the scene where we find out, surprisingly, that Job's children are unrepentant little shits, and Jemimah realizes that Crowley is actually, technically, a demon.

And now, after a brief break of two striped shenanigans, we return to three stripes Bildad in the basement, where he manages to tempt Aziraphale into admitting that heaven's morals are a little wacky, and into tasting food for the first time.

But this scene starts with Satan's great wind (LOL wow, a fart joke in between all the morality? Good Omens would never...), where Crowley curiously remarks "Hmm, they've started early". All of the cryptic & meta commentary dialogue is clearly happening inside the scenes where Crowley is wearing three headbands. Given that the three headbands portions of the story make little sense on their own, we could conclude that Job is a story retold three times, each consecutive time adding layers of context to the story, and quite literally, onto Bildad's head.

part 1 of this nonsense : The Kiss

next part : Heaven’s files.

This is going to have to be a multi-part series, but hey, almost no one is posting season 2 metas anymore so the people have to get their crack from somewhere. With thanks to everyone over in our @ineffable-detective-agency as usual.

[davinashifts333]

PICTURE NOT SO PERFECT Part Diez.

(Rafe Cameron SMAU)

TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER; talks of past trauma from sexual assault/grape. please do not read if you cannot handle those topics. thank you.

August 15th, 2022.

The day ran pretty smoothly, Rafe and I had lunch, went shopping for somethings for Baby Routledge and just spent the day together. Later in the afternoon when we met up with Kelce was when it really would get eventful as Kelce didn’t even know what the video he sent out was back then. OCTOBER 31ST. FIVE YEARS PRIOR. It all started my first year at the Kook Academy, Sarah, Kiara and I were the three favorite Freshman, the bait for the Juniors and Seniors who had their eye on us. I was 14, crushing on my childhood friend/best friend’s brother and we were all invited to a Halloween party at Topper’s house. Excited to be living again after losing my dad. The night was wild, drugs, booze, games, hook ups beginning in every other corner of the house but, I was pursued by the host. Arm thrown lazily over my shoulder as Rafe watched him in pure rage. Little to my knowledge he would end up being the one to spend the night with me but, not in a good way.

"Yo! Let's get these pretty ladies some beverages, what would you like?" His eyes solely pinned on me in an almost predatory way. Kiara and Sarah speaking for me as I felt a tingle of anxiety boiling up in my chest. It continued that way, us drinking, dancing and being pulled into the "It Crowd" scene by Topper. Rafe and Kelce doing their own thing around the party until Sarah started talking to a guy and Kie decided to set up shop outside to smoke a joint. I was okay at first, hanging with Kelce until Topper found me again, hands finding their place on my hips in a rough manner. A few drinks after and all I could remember was being directed up some stairs into a dark room that was enveloped in the scent of cologne and weed. My back hitting a mattress as a heavy weight landed on me, his chuckles burned into my brain as I felt his cold hands tearing off my lower layers of clothes. In seconds I felt that searing pain between my thighs, rough, unwanted. I fought as much as I could to move but my body was stone, too weak in comparison, too tired to fight and everything went black. I woke up what felt like hours later to Rafe's voice shouting at Topper. A shit eating grin on Topper's face as he watched a video on his phone, he sends it to Kelce with a text captioned 'Watch it or don't but, I need you to mass text this. ASAP.' And with that Rafe's first collided with Topper's jaw. He dropped to the floor like a weight that lost support and Rafe's hands clasped my cheeks, so gentle and so in tune with me. I couldn't focus on what he was saying but I trusted him with my life as he guided me out of the room after helping me dress and out to his truck. Yelling at Sarah and Kie for leaving me alone during the walk. I gripped his arm tighter as he did, almost as if telling him to not be upset with them. I couldn't feel my legs at that point as he lifted me into his truck and secured me in the passenger seat.

PRESENT DAY

Kelce's jaw remained unhinged, the shock clear on his face as he remembered finding Topper and the two of them never speaking of it again. He struggled to find the words as Rafe and I sat across from him, my nails digging into my palms as I retold the story and Rafe finished.

"Y/N/N, I'm so sorry. I never watched the video but if I had, I never would've sent it out. I was so drunk I just did what the text told me to. I don't kno-. How can I fix this?" His eyes sincere, glossed over. Kelce was always a sensitive guy, focused on his future rather than the gossip of Kildare.

"Do you still have access to your iCloud account where he sent the video?" Kelce nods and quickly begins logging into it.

"I'll send it to you right now but, how can we prove it was from Topper?" I look between the two. Standing up slowly and with shaky hands lifting my sundress to reveal a scar on my inner thigh near my knee.

"I have to watch the video but if this is able to be seen in it? We can prove it was me in the video, and Topper's ring caused it. " I could feel the rage steaming off of them both as they knew, they all had similar rings, Topper's had a diamond on the sides, which caused the cut a long with his grip. We say our goodbyes to Kelce and he hugs me tightly before leaving, feeling more betrayed and upset at himself than anything before I sit back down on the sand. Rafe following suit.

"You sure you want to watch it? I can if you aren't comfortable doing it. Even though I might lose it a bit if I do bu-." I cut him off with a nod. It had to be me. With that, we headed home to the cottage, the Pogues all there waiting when we arrived. My hands shaky as I walked to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. Airdropping the video to my laptop and opening it. I mute it before I hit play and see not only my cut, now scar but, Topper's ring and his initials, the same ring he still wears to this day. I was finally going to get closure that I never sought out, out of fear.

TAGLIST:

@bee-43 @frankoceanluvr11 @houseofblve @lalaloopsieparty

[toasterbob]

I would like to present you all with a snipped of the first chapter to my Lestappen Medieval AU :)

(The chapter will probably be published today, so if you like the snippet, come back in a couple hours to read the whole thing!)

“Max Emilian Verstappen.” Sebastian only mumbled the name, but Charles understood him nonetheless.

Something in him stirred at the name, an unsettling chill creeping down his spine. He knew it… He just couldn’t remember why-

Sebastian, obviously having noticed the confused pause, added, “The Lion of-”

“Oh!” Charles’ breath caught in his throat, his eyes going wide.

Of course he knew him.

The Lion of the North, Lion Slayer, Red Bulls’ favourite weapon, the Storm…

Charles had heard of all his names, rarely ever the one he’d been given at birth, because the others were what Verstappen was known for. The stories, the retellings, the myths… They were whispered late at night, told to children to keep them inside after dark, retold at feasts by the people who’d actually encountered him.

Charles had never known which to actually believe and which to take with a grain of salt, but one thing he was sure of - this man, the knight that had slain so many men, won so many battles, was a menace, no one he’d ever hoped to meet without proper protection or at least a fighting chance to get out of the encounter alive.

And now he was here, in Charles’ kingdom. In his palace.

But as a prisoner, he reminded himself to rid himself of the goosebumps spreading over his arms and shoulders.

His eyes flickered back to the king, Sebastian giving him an agreeing nod. A silent understanding.

“Where is he?”

It was Fred Vasseur who answered Charles’ question. He was a newer addition to the advisors, but his opinions were already valued deeply by them all. Vasseur always seemed happy, cheerful even, but on this day even he had replaced his smile with a stern look, leaving a hollow feeling in Charles’ stomach.

“In the dungeons. He was found injured in the woods, riding on his horse, but was easily shot down by Sir Carlos.”

“Injured?” Charles frowned, the information not really making sense to him.

“Yes, we suspect he’d been in battle previously and seemingly fled from it.” Mattia Binotto joined the discussion, his arms crossed over his chest. Charles had to fight the urge to roll his eyes - a feeling present whenever Binotto dared opening his mouth - and instead listen to the man. “By the time Verstappen was brought to us he had already lost consciousness, making it fairly easy for us to bring him to the cells.”

Now, Charles was perfectly aware they were talking about a horrible man, one some people didn’t even see worth being called that anymore and would opt for the word monster instead, but he couldn’t help the small pinch of worry blooming in his chest. He would feel the same way whenever his man would come back from battle, scarred and wounded.

Again he didn’t have to voice his concerns out loud, Sebastian already having read his questions off the expression on Charles’ sharp face.

“We had a physician look after him first that tended after the most fatal wounds. Remove the arrow from his shoulder.”

“Hm.” Charles hummed, the worry parting, making space for another emotion.

Curiosity. He wanted to see the man he’d heard so much about, take him in with his own eyes… The desire didn’t really have a reason, no sese behind it, but it was there nonetheless, burning under Charles’ fingertips.

Nobody took note of the way he flexed his hands at his side, his eyes zoning out and in focus as they resumed their earlier discussion with the prince still standing amongst them. He was caught up on everything anyway, no reason to not have him listen in.

“I have sent out messengers to both Mercedes and McLaren as you requested, your majesty.” Binotto said.

“Good.” Sebastian nodded, eyes flickering between his advisor and Charles, who was still standing there uselessly. “I assume that there might’ve been a fight on the Mercedes grounds. They’ve had their fair share of disputes over land with RedBull lately… But even if that wasn’t the case, they still deserve to know we’ve finally caught Verstappen.”

“I am sure Sir Lewis will be thrilled.”

It was Sir Kimi who had spoken, his voice snapping Charles back into reality. He hadn’t noticed the knight yet, although he should have as Kimi was positioned to the right hand side of the throne. Kind of symbolic as Kimi Räikkönen over his many years of service had become somewhat of a right hand man to the king - despite his title of knight, which technically wouldn’t allow such a position to be given to him.

But no one could deny the benefit Kimi’s advice presented to the court and Sebastian valued him greatly, not only as a consultant but also a friend.

“Probably, yes.” Sebastian chuckled, the sound coming out a little strangled. His eyes found the ground, brows pinched together. “But we must not forget that Verstappen is our prisoner, whatever will happen to him will be our decision.”

“Mine too?” Charles challenged, reminding everyone of his presence by straightening up and crossing his arms over his broad chest. The fine fabric of his garments stretched uncomfortably over his chest, a reminder to finally get his tailor to come in and take his measurements for new clothes.

The king hesitated, blue eyes fixating on his protegee for a moment. Then he nodded, chest rising heavily under a silent sigh. “Yours too.”

Charles’ lips finally pulled into a grin, but the internal celebrations seized in an instant when Sebastian opened his mouth again, his voice much firmer this time, the hint of the king Charles got to experience so rarely shining through.

“But you shall not see him before I allow you to.”

“What?!” Charles exclaimed, his voice echoing through the vast room, loud and outraged. “Why should I not?”

“He is dangerous-”

“You said he is hurt and locked up! What oh so horrible thing could he do to me in the position he’s in?”

“That is not what I meant!” Sebastian half-rose from his throne, eyes burning with a fire that was extinguished as quickly as it had flared up and he let himself sink back into his seat. Pinching the bridge of his nose the king exhaled, gaze finding that of the prince. “I do not want you near him, Charles. Do you understand?”

Charles dug his heels into the ground, hands balling to fists so tight the nails of his fingers dug into the soft flesh of his palms. But with the twenty or so pairs of eyes staring at him, he knew protest would only come across as disrespectful. So he unclenched his jaw as he nodded.

“Yes, I understand.”

Technically it wasn’t a lie. Not even when Chalres did sneak down into the dungeons after excusing himself. He’d only said that he understood, not that he agreed with the king's decision.

[tryagainstarlight]

Cursed to wander. Cursed to travel roads already done. Cursed to repeat, over and over. Cursed to listen to these voices who are meant to guide. Cursed into despair, torment, and death. Cursed into losing oneself. Cursed into being the lead actor in a play told eternal.

And so I ask, and so we all do, about this blessing disgusted as a curse :

Oh, Universe.

At whom were you so angry at?

Blessed to watch. Blessed to see battles already won. Blessed to know how it ends. Blessed to see it all again. Blessed to guide The Lost One, in torment and obligation. Blessed to revel in Guile, Glee, and Joy. Blessed to be oneself behind a mask without a past. Blessed to recast the lead into their role and watch it all unfold.

And so I ask, in return, about this story retold:

Oh, Audience.

To whom is watching the show?

[callme-naomi]

this is the same story - the prequel - retold from another POV.

Nanami's POV.

Reader is referred to as 'she' and 'her' here. Reader's POV here

When his parents came over to visit, Kento had slightly expected them to bring up this topic, and when they called him for 'a little talk', he knew what was bound for him.

"Son, it's time you take a wife." his mother began.

"I understand, but I need some time to stabilize-"

"Your career is already stable enough, son. You're a fine lad with a good work, all the girls would want to marry you." She tried to convince him.

"They wouldn't want me to marry all of them, I imagine." He tried to quell the mood.

The truth was, Nanami Kento had always learned to live alone. Ever since high school, when he moved out, and till today, he had been accustomed of living by himself.

He had never even talked to a girl, (if you don't count his cousins) let alone live with one. He wasn't sure he'd treat his wife the way she wanted and deserved to be treated. And Nanami Kento never took a responsibility he couldn't keep.

And he still thought he could do better with his job. At office, he could either focus on finding a girl, as his parents had subtly implied on him to do for the past few months, or could focus on his work, and with the ladies in his workplace? He chose the latter.

He wanted to make sure the girl he marries has a good life with him, one the both of them won't regret living.

"Son, this is serious," his father intervened, directing his son's gaze on himself, "you're our only son, and we're one leg into the grave already. I would want to see you married before I die."

"Father, you won't have to wait that long." He always hated when his parents talked of themselves dying.

"I hope so, son. Because, you have to understand. It's now time for you to marry. You've lived alone for long enough. Bring a girl, someone to light up your home. Grow your family."

"I understand. But, I still need some time." He tried to ask them. I need time to figure out how to do this.

"I understand, son, but now, I've taken my decision."

Kento's heartbeat sped up.

"I don't know when you plan to marry her, that's your thing to decide. You can get engaged or something, but we are going to find a match for you. This way you can wait as long as you want, but at least we'll have done our part."

Alright. At least he doesn't have to find one for himself. He cradled one hand in the other as he nodded. "Whatever you wish."

"Unless," his mother asked, kindly looking at her son, "there's someone you have in mind."

"No. Not at all."

Mr. and Mrs. Nanami were nothing if not efficient. When they say they'll get a job done, they'll get it done. And so it did not surprise him when within five days they called him again.

"A friend of your father's told us about this girl." She showed him a picture of the girl she found.

"We're thinking of arranging a meeting with her," his father told him proudly. "She's good-looking, and from what my friend said, she can housekeep, and she's good at cooking too. And she's not too loud or anything, very polite and sober."

"What's her education?"

"She's gotten a degree in [degree name]," his mother responded, and Kento was fairly impressed. "She doesn't have a job, though. She doesn't need to, anyway."

He found no reason to object, so he said yes. If they have taken the initiative, might as well follow it.

And for the first time, he felt unsure - or for use of an easier term, nervous - of himself. He, always the strategist, found himself analyzing all sorts of plans in his mind, the many ways he could steer the conversation and leave a good impression, until finally the day came.

He held himself as was expected of him - the nice, honorable, composed son of the Nanami household, and he had to admit, he was pleased to meet her. She was soft-spoken, spoke when needed, and he could see her skills around the house, in the paintings, in the gardens, in her younger brother's knitted sweaters, and in the food that was served.

When the two of them were left alone, he could feel his heart thumping so loud he expected her to ask where this drumming was coming from. Fisting his hands against his suit, he asked the first question, "I was told that you had a degree in [degree name], and I've found it quite a unique choice. What persuaded you to do it?"

That finally got her to speak. And from then on, it was smooth sailing. Starting a conversation was always the hardest but continuing it wasn't.

When he and his family returned back home, Kento quietly observed his parents' reactions before he gave his own. Safe to say, they were pleased with the girl, and when they asked for his opinion, he said yes.

It was only a matter of months from then.

As he saw his house change to accommodate another member to his family, he found himself mentally bringing up all the possible things that could go wrong, and all that could go right. What if she wasn't the one? What if he couldn't be the one for her?

But Nanami Kento was experienced in trying out new things. All he had to do was prepare a plan and walk by it. He just had to figure out how to do it.

But that was the thing. Marriage had nothing to do with studies, or finance exchanges, or boss-employee debates. It was a completely new field for him.

But, he thought on his big day, as he stood at the altar, awaiting her among the gazes of hundreds of people, maybe he could learn to figure it out.

******

On his first meeting, he learned that she had a love for gardening.

On his second meeting, he learned that she had always wanted to go to Turkey* to watch the hot air balloons display at Cappadocia.

On their wedding day, he found out that she can run in heels.

On their first day, he learned that she likes to have her hair tied in a bun.

On their second day as newlyweds, he learned that she enjoys being in the kitchen.

He found out that she likes to hum when she's doing the dishes.

He discovered that she loved wearing random pieces of jewelry - a simple pendant, or a bracelet.

He learned her favorite snack, so he would pick them up on the way back home. He learned the type of outfit she liked on men, and would wear that.

He learned her favorite season and the weather that made her, as she said, want to dance all day and her favorite time of the day to walk with her outside.

He learned how to make her the tea she usually likes - not too sweet, nor too strong, just the right amount of milk.

He learned the name of her favorite bookstore to bring her books from her favorite author.

He learned how to make a French braid for her, because it was the hairstyle she loved but could never make, and painting her nails perfect enough to not spill onto the nailbeds, because why not?

He would bring her her favorite flowers on random days, just to learn the way her face would glow when she smelled them.

He memorized the way she drew one large breath in before she began to talk, the way her hands would move, her face being a mirror of expressions, and how she would always have this one strand of hair flying around her face that she would push back.

Especially when she would take his glasses and put them on her face, just for laughs.

He learned the signs. How she would scrunch her face just before she cried, in one attempt to keep it in. How she would smile brightly before she blushed. How she would scowl at anyone who dared to stare at her husband for a minute too long.

The tip tap of her feet as she walked around the house. The way of drumming her fingers against any random surface. Covering her mouth when she laughed loud.

He learned how to dance for her - a simple waltz - because he knew how much she loved doing it.

He learned the feeling of her hand in his, the way the ring he bought her - again, the size he learned of her finger - would feel against his palm, the way she traced circles on his hand.

He learned the way she circled her arms around him when she wanted to cuddle with him.

He learned the look of her sleeping face, as he would see when he came home late from work and found her waiting for him.

When Kento began this journey, he wasn't sure how he would lead this. Or even if he will, to begin with.

He hadn't known he could love someone he hadn't known before so much. But as he feels grateful for having had her, he learned that he could love someone. He had learned to love her.

*you can put any destination you want!

[leynaeithnea]

Thank you Jorge-Rivera-Herrans

I spend the past three hours obsessing over EPIC (again)

The storytelling is the most beautiful thing in existence.

When I say I love multimedia cinematic storytelling.

This.

This is what I mean.

The music

The lyrics

The vocalists

The audio design

The storytelling

The production

The passion of the creator

The fandom

The themes and questions of morality

The complex and lovable and hate-able characters

The animators incredibly talented visualizations

The fact that this is retelling a story that has been told for more than two thousand years and still keeps getting retold, people from different millennia and all centuries have listened to and read this story

Everything about this is the peak perfection of art, storytelling and the phenomenon when humans join forces brought together by a vision and passion and pouring their heart and souls into a project to create something that will be forever unique

I am so grateful to live during a time where this exists.

[valeisaslut]

VAAALLL. VALLLLL. i’m actually sobbing hysterically and listening to mitski on my TV right now, what have you done. i need to type a little something for you, even if you’ll probably get about 1000 of these LMAO

val, you are genuinely the most talented person i know. i mean that with my whole heart, with everything i can offer you. collide is and will always be a masterpiece, it’s absolutely beautiful. you can just feel the passion and the love woven into every single word, it’s admirable. collide has made me feel things in writing i didn’t know was possible, every emotion at once. and that’s because of how amazing your writing is, it made me feel all of those emotions. collide genuinely changed something for me, i can’t even imagine how you must feel! i want to thank you for writing something so beautiful. for giving me something to look forward to even when things were hard. and mostly, thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet so many amazing people, including yourself! i genuinely adore talking to you, your ideas and your silly voice messages always make my day. you’ll always have a special place in my heart. i always look forward to your little rambles you post, or a new chapter (duh) and that’ll never fade. you think just because collide’s over i won’t be stalking your page like an obsessed wife? THINK AGAIN BABEEE.

as for collide itself. FUCKKK. fucking hooked us in with earth shattering smut and then delivered the most perfect piece of literature i’ve ever read in my LIFE. the angst wasn’t just angst, that was storytelling. you told the story of so many people’s lives, and that’s what makes it art. the way it touches people is ART. i admire you forever for taking so much time into making it accurate and real. you didn’t sugarcoat it, you retold it. AND THE ENDING?? i’m still crying as i write this, that was the most perfect ending i could’ve imagined. idk what i was expecting, but that was the best. the marriage? i’m in tears. the CHILD? i’m in fucking shambles. you ended collide in the most perfect, soft way you could. with pure love and yearning and i’m a FEIND for it.

thank you again my precious baby val, i love you so much!! be so so good to yourself, YOU DID THAT BABE. you literally followed your dream, you should be proud of yourself. take imposter syndrome and shove it up the devil’s ass because YOU. DID. THAT. take care of yourself, be gentle with yourself, have fun, and keep writing beautiful things.

—your wife, mia ! 💗

MIA. MIA MIA MIA MIA MIA.

i don’t even know how to respond without crumbling into sparkles and sobs because this?? this is soul-shattering. life-affirming. you’re everything, you hear me?? everything. i just read this whole message in a puddle of tears and pink love and i swear i could physically feel the warmth radiating off your words. mia, you have been the sun of collide nation since day one. and not just the sun—the entire mf constellation. the light we’ve all been orbiting around. you have no idea how much your presence, your passion, and your love has meant to me. soul-deep doesn’t even begin to cover it.

you say you’re grateful for this fic, but i’m the one on my knees thanking the universe every day for bringing you to me. for real. you could’ve read chapter one and never looked back. but you didn’t. you stayed. you felt it. you laughed with me. cried with me. screamed with me. guessed plot twists like a psychic lesbian and then doubled back to sob harder when they hit. and now here you are—at the end—and you’re still holding me with both hands like that. what the hell did i do to deserve you???

your words made my entire life, mia. i mean that. this story is stitched together with so much pain and hope and hunger, and you felt every thread like it was sewn into your own skin. that’s not something every reader does. that’s something you did. and your love for these girls—our girls—i swear it echoes through time. the way you described the art of it? the way you understood what i was trying to say with silence, with music, with ache and softness and ruin and healing??? i felt seen. i felt like the lucky one. because this story may have come from me, but it lived because of you.

you’re my wife for a reason. soulmate certified. federal lesbian bonded. and if you think for one fucking second that this is the end of us, THINK AGAIN. collide may be over, but you’re stuck with me forever. i’ll be haunting your inbox, crashing your house in a suit, dragging you to the red carpet of my next breakdown. we’ve created something so real here, mia—not just a story, not just a fandom—a home. and you built it with me.

thank you. thank you for seeing me, believing in me, and reminding me what it means to love through art. you’re it, mia. the girl with the glitter heart and the mouth of poetry. you’ve given me so much joy, so much comfort, so much reason to keep going. i love you more than any language knows how to hold. please never doubt how much space you take up in my heart. it’s yours.

thank you for staying since the beginning. thank you for being the sun. thank you for making collide ours.

— your forever writer and wife, val 💌

[strawbeerossi]

I Can See You

18+ Content. Minors DNI

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Description: When a new agent joins the team, she's beloved by everybody and Aaron admires her dedication. He admires it so much that he fantasizes about her in every possible scenario to the point where he has to distance himself. One day, she confronts him.

Content Warnings: Power imbalance with leader/team member , reader is flirty with Hotch and loves seeing him flustered, he gets tired of her running her mouth, exhibitionism kink (kinda?), spanking, reader is gagged with a necktie, praise, degradation, fingering, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 2.6K

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Tags 🏷️ @beardedhotchh @pastanoodles11 @morgthemagpie @x0xonatalie

This has been rewritten twenty times. I had to post this before I deleted it all over again. So, I'm sorry in advance if it isn't like my usual writing.

Aaron Hotchner was the stoic, fearless leader of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He took pride in his strength and dedication to his career, even if most people didn’t understand how he could pull countless hours in a career field that took a physical and mental toll.

His life revolved around his job, his son being his other top priority, even though he really couldn’t very well balance things the way he intended. His loyalty to his career took a good amount from him as well. It could drain his sanity and a divorce came out of it.

He was tough, keeping his composure through some of the worst things imaginable when most others would crumble under all the pressures of a demanding career as well as a failed marriage. However, it numbed him from the horrors, making him tense all the time.

That is, until Y/N showed up at the BAU for an interview to take over an available position. She was the top of her class at the academy. She was physically, academically, as well as mentally strong enough to handle the job and she had a backlog of receipts to prove it. 

Her life was spent with training, her father being a general in the United States Marine Corps, wanting his daughter to follow in his footsteps. 

Imagine his shock when she used every piece of knowledge she had in order to get into the FBI. 

It was a smart career choice for her. She could handle herself in the toughest of situations, being trained how to get through the most intense of scenarios. She also liked putting in her thoughts and ideas to a group who openly accepted them, nothing being shut out because she was the youngest of the team.

She was an asset.

Aaron had told her plenty of times how lucky they were to have her, how she was a tremendous addition to an already powerful group of profilers. She had a lot to learn but she was pretty well off. 

Y/N loved her career and her team. However, Aaron Hotchner piqued her interest. He was well known as the leader of the BAU who has had a rich career and he had many written articles and other pieces of information that retold the stories of the most intense cases he ever had to get into.

It didn’t help that the man was sex on legs. 

He was attractive, the smallest things he did captured her attention in such a way that there were vivid fantasies and daydreams of things they could do. She liked to think that she could show him things he hadn’t seen in years, if ever..

So, that was when she was planting subtle seeds. There were lingering touches and flirting that would make Derek Morgan blush. It was innocent enough, the casual flirtatious remark that would have the unit chief flustered, cheeks a shade of dusty pink.

The idea of being with a member of his team seemed wrong. Not only was it a ton of paperwork but it was also an H.R. nightmare.

It couldn’t stop him from fantasizing though. All the ideas he had about bending her over his desk, his tie forced into her mouth in order to muffle the cries and moans that would spill from her lips.

This was dangerous territory to tread. Yet he liked the game, the risk of it all. The problem was that he couldn’t very well just come on to her, the biggest risk factor being the word spreading across the office. That was the last thing either of them needed.

These vivid fantasies forced him into hiding, his office being the place he’d be able to be alone in. The same office where he’d glazed his knuckles with cum just thinking about the sheer idea of having Y/N under the desk, her lips enveloping his cock like she was made for it. 

It was one of those days where he had to hide away, the quiet nature of the office being contributed to paperwork being caught up on and files being put away. Aaron was doing his best, gazing at an open file while he was tapping the back of the pen against the desk. 

His mind was quite adventurous today, his cock hard and luckily concealed by the desk he was positioned at. All Y/N did was sip her coffee from a straw, her lipstick staining the metal straw from the tumbler as she was enthralled in her own paperwork. 

Somehow, that was enough to have him trembling in his office chair.

It was pathetic, like he was reliving the times of being a horny teenager who got turned on by damn near everything in sight.

However, it wasn’t long until he heard a knock against the door, gaze tilted upwards. That was when his worst fear entered the room. Y/N. The one who had him hard as a rock at his desk, the one who had been giving him hell for the months she’d been working there.

“Y/L/N. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to drop off a file for your review.” Her words were soft as she held it up. “Also, can I talk to you?” 

Fuck.

“Of course. Shut the door.” 

The minute the door was shut, that was when that suffocating sexual tension was filling the room, so bad that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe until she left. “What’s the problem?”

“Are you mad at me? Because you haven’t spoken to me. You actively ignore me.” Her boldness was something he expected, the woman not being one to lightly word anything. 

“Of course I’m not mad at you. I don’t see why you’d think I’ve been avoiding you.”

“You run straight to your office! Don’t bullshit me, Hotchner. What did I do?”

“Nothing! You’ve done nothing.” 

She didn’t believe him, eyes narrowing as she leaned back in the chair behind her. She was sure why he ignored her. Or maybe it was just a delusion she had where he actively wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.

“I see the way you look at me, Aaron.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You think I can’t tell? You think I didn’t notice the way you make it a point to brush against me? The way that you wait for me before you even attempt to walk down the hall?”

Fuck. She was a better profiler than he gave her credit for.

“I don’t know-”

“You think I also didn’t notice the way that you looked at me when I was sipping my coffee? The way that you just had to run into your office before anything could be noticed? Aaron, you’re a profiler. You should do better at hiding your reactions.”

The words had him flabbergasted, mouth open in disbelief from the indication that he’d be turned on by something as small as her sipping a straw. Too bad she hit the nail right on the goddamn head.

“This isn’t appropriate. I advise you to leave my office.”

“Walk me out. Or are you too afraid to show me how right I am?”

The silence after that was loud. It was like Aaron had to collect himself.

“That’s what I thought.” Y/N taunted, making the male finally stand up from his desk. That was what caused her to shut her mouth entirely, looking at her boss wide-eyed as if she’d just gotten in trouble.

“What? You’re not gonna talk anymore? I think you’re getting too smug with this.” He spoke, voice low as the tone of authority took over. He walked to the office door to lock it, lowering the blinds soon after to avoid the whole office looking inside.

“Nothing to say?” He asked, arms tucked over his chest as Y/N was slowly looking away. “W-well..”

“Pathetic. I knew you were all bark and no bite. It’s a shame.” He tsked, head shaking with disapproval. “Now get up.” 

Y/N was slow as she was standing up, her face flushing as she could feel arousal soaking into her panties at his authoritative tone, his eyes dark as he watched her body rise from the chair before her arms were behind her back.

“You’ve been pushing my buttons ever since you started with the flirting bullshit.” His veiny hands were moving to remove the tie from his neck, eyes watching her figure as she seemed frozen; a deer in headlights.

“I think it’s time to give a cocky little brat what she wants. Open your mouth.”

With an eyebrow raising, Y/N slowly let her mouth fall open. The moment she felt the tie being stuffed in her mouth, she barely had time to process what was happening before she was being bent over the desk.

There was a mess of files and other items that she’d landed on, head tilting to the side as she let her eyes stay on Aaron.

He looked at her with hunger, like a predator stalking its prey and ready to pounce at any given point. The normally beautiful honey colored irises were clouded over with deep lust, his hands running down her hips while he was situated behind her. 

“You need to be taught to respect your unit chief. I’m not gonna tolerate your behavior any longer after this.”

The woman was keeping her eyes on Aaron, body making an effort to push back against his for any ounce of friction. “Ah! No ma’am.” The man began, hand roughly coming down to give her clothed ass a rough slap. 

The sting had her moaning around the tie in her mouth, tears brimming her eyes from the pleasurable pain, body jerking when three more hits were coming down. “You’re not getting what you want. You are too entitled and I’m sick of it.”

His hands were moving to grip her hips, thumbs running over the skin under her shirt just to feel the warmth of her soft skin. “Let me know if you want me to stop at any point.” He spoke, tone hard yet his demeanor softened.

Last thing he was going to do was do anything that she was uncomfortable with. 

When there was an indication that she wanted him to keep up with his motions, his hands were moving to bunch up the skirt around her hips. Aaron’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Look at how wet you are.. I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” His hand was running up the back of Y/N’s thigh, continuing onward until the palm of his hand was flush against her clothed cunt, the warmth radiating against his hand as he was adding pressure, chuckling at the muffled whine.

“So desperate. Gonna fuck you with my fingers, think you can handle that?” He asked, finger slowly moving to push her wet panties to the side, thumb making its way to her clit, eliciting another muffled moan. As his hand was pulling back, he let his middle finger slowly run through her folds, the arousal generously coating his finger before he was slowly pushing it into her tight heat.

He could’ve came in his pants right there, mouth open slightly as he was greeted with warm, velvety walls that were tightening around the digit from just how desperate the woman was. “Keep still.” He warned, watching the hips try and rock against his hand.

“You were talking so much shit earlier. Now look at how desperate you are,”

The words caused Y/N’s body to shudder with anticipation of getting more than one finger, playing his game and cooperating.

“There we go. See what happens when you listen and you’re not combative and smug? I just might like you better with my tie in your mouth.” He snickered, a second finger slowly sliding into her dripping cunt as he worked on scissoring her open. “Fuck, you’re such a pretty little thing.” He praised, unholy sounds of squelching filling the room from her wetness.

As his fingers curled upwards, he couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips as soon as she was gasping around his tie, his fingertips pushing the spongy spot inside of her that had her eyes fluttering shut, drool from the corners of her mouth due to the tie starting to run down her jaw.

Thankfully, Aaron had an extra so this wouldn’t be suspicious when the other profilers were surrounded by Y/N after the deed here was done. If anything, this appeared to be a typical conversation between one of the team members and their leader.

When her walls were spasming around his fingers, he took the opportunity to slip both fingers out of her cunt while chuckling at her whine in response to that. “Such a needy little slut. Don’t worry.. I’m gonna take care of you. Just gotta keep quiet.”

The words made Y/N’s pussy clench around nothing, a muffled moan filling the office as the sound of his belt being undone chased behind it. After tossing the belt to the side, he pushed his pants down along with his boxers. 

“Shh, I know.” He whispered as if it were a secret between them when he could hear her whines of impatience, his hand wrapping around his hard cock, hand giving it a few lazy tugs to prepare himself. He let his thick tip tease her folds, spreading her slick around as if the two needed lube. “Alright. Ready?”

With one hand on her hip, he was slowly pushing his cock into her tight cunt, groaning lowly as he watched her pussy envelope his shaft, swallowing him to the hilt while her hands were holding onto the desk tightly.

He waited a solid minute for her to adjust, his hand rubbing her lower back in an effort to soothe her, wanting to have her as comfortable as possible. 

When she was giving him the sign she was ready, he was rolling his hips slowly, the man letting out a soft breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. Bringing both hands to grip her hips, it wasn’t long until he was doing deeper, faster strokes. 

“Fuck, bite my tie harder, darling. You’re being too loud.” He murmured, hips continuing to slam into hers as a thin layer of sweat was collecting on his forehead. With the desk rocking at a rhythm with Aaron’s thrusts, it was no surprise when some papers or files were falling to the ground around the desk. 

He wasn’t gonna worry about that now.

Currently, he was too focused on the rough snap of his hips against Y/N’s, the sound of skin crashing against one another as well as their combined noises filling the office, the desk making its own audio debut as he got a bit rougher as he was fucking her pussy raw.

“Fuck. I’m gonna cum.” He growled, cock twitching as he could feel Y/N’s tight cunt clench him in place, his hand now reaching down to find her throbbing, desperate clit to bring her to relief. 

As soon as he could feel her velvety walls pulsating around him and the feeling of her creaming on his cock, that was it for him. His nails dug into her hips, no doubt leaving crescent moon marks while her cunt was milking all the cum that Aaron had to offer.

“Y/L/N,” He spoke, chest rising and falling as he was working on catching his breath, his hand moving to her mouth to retrieve his now soaked tie. 

“You need some lessons on manners for that fucking mouth of yours.” His voice was low as he was pulling his cock from her warmth, watching his cum leak out of her pussy before slowly pulling her panties back up. 

“I think I know just the way to help you though,” 

[hyrule-in-a-pokeball]

I liked how Breath of the wild and Tears of the kingdom re-contextualize old Hyrule myths

In real life, real events get warped a little with every retelling. Its sort of like evolution. Its the big fish effect. Someone catches a big fish, and every time the story is retold, the fish is a liiiittle bigger. Now imagine in ancient times, some animal is menacing the local village. Finally someone gets fed up and heads out with a sword and kills the animal. He's a hero. The story is told over and over again, the animal gradually evolving into a mighty supernatural beast, and the hero, who in reality was just some guy who was brave or dumb enough to get in a fight with a wild animal, has become this mythical figure. Surely one who could defeat such a beast wasn't even a normal human! He must have been the son of a god! (Many such stories.) A completely normal event or place can be mythologized into magical nonsense.

We see a lot of this in Zelda, and their "real world" inspirations in Tears of the Kingdom. The dark world, a different dimension, an evil, dangerous, warped reflection of Hyrule

Many ancient legends in Hyrule (Minish cap, Twilight Princess, Skyward Sword) make mention of islands in the sky, and an ancient people who live there. In one story, that ancient people even founded the kingdom of Hyrule.

And those examples are all fine and dandy. But lets look at something a little more controversial. Lets look at how ancient beliefs, and a certain someone's appearance, were warped into traditional Hylian iconography.

Power, Wisdom, and courage. the 3 virtues that are held above all in Hyrule. The ancient legends say that when one has these three virtues in perfect balance, the triforce will respond to them. But in ancient times, these virtues weren't just abstract concepts. They had entities attached to them. The Boar, The Owl, and The Dragon

We've learned that these three creatures held symbolism to the Zonai and ancient Hylians. The Boar represented power. The Owl represented wisdom, and the Dragon represented courage. We also know that at least one ancient warrior wore these symbols on his body, and doing so likely represented that he had mastered all three of these virtues. A wise, courageous, and powerful warrior

3 objects representing Power, Wisdom, and Courage, worn together as a whole

Over time, the animals that these virtues were associated with would have likely fallen to the wayside, but the virtues themselves would remain. And so, over the centuries, the 3 piece symbol was gradually simplified until...

But thats not all!

The hero himself. A male who wielded the master sword, who had greenish skin and blue eyes. Legends told and retold would likely change his appearance over time, as tends to happen. Eventually, that green skin became green clothes, and the his very race, likely forgotten altogether, changed to Hylian. Over time, green became the color of heroes in Hyrule, and simple aspects of the ancient hero's appearance, altered beyond recognition through countless legends, became important hylian iconography that represented a hero. A blue eyed boy, garbed in green, wielding a magic sword

[heyitsspiders]

Lucifer x Transmasc! Reader - Falling for the Fallen Angel - Chapter 5

Out Flying

You wake up and you feel pretty good considering everything that happened. Lucifer makes you feel even better.

Intimate kissing

You slowly woke up, dull aches coated your body as you shifted. You opened your eyes before sitting up, rubbing your eyes. Where were you? It took you a moment to fully take in your surroundings. Oh, it was just your room. 

You look down at your body. You were now shirtless with bandages wrapped around your torso. You felt pretty good considering you had been stabbed and had part of your wing ripped off. You gasped quietly as you looked at your torn wing. It was repairing itself. Very slowly, mind you, but it was, like a lizard regrowing its tail. It felt so weird. You flexed your wings and winced in pain. 

Okay, so, not doing that. You sighed and leaned forward, your elbow resting on your thigh and your head on your propped up hand. What now? You couldn’t get up, you didn’t want to risk reopening any wounds or somehow hurting yourself more. You suddenly jumped as you heard the door creek open. You turned and locked eyes with Lucifer, who’s eyes widened and a huge smile spread across his face.

“Twist!” He ran up to you and wrapped his arms around you, “You’re awake!”

He pulled away quickly, his hands on your shoulders as he looked at you with worry, “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

You gave him a wide smile, “I feel good considering I was brutally attacked. Better than I would have expected. Just some aching and dull pain.” It was nice to know he cared so much about you.

He sighed with relief, “I’m glad, I was able to heal your wounds for the most part. I didn’t want to accidentally mess up anything so I let your body do the rest. You sinners have insane healing.”

He glanced down at your banaged body and you couldn’t help but shift nervously under his gaze, your face starting to warm up. He quickly looked away and cleared his throat, his cheeks turning faintly pink. He looked back at you with a soft smile and warm eyes and you realized he was missing his white overcoat. Ah, it must still be dirty. He wrapped his arms around you again, bringing you closer to him. You leaned into this warmth as you returned the hug. He felt so safe. 

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes before pulling away. Lucifer moved to sit next to you. “So,” he started. “What happened?”

It took you a moment, your memories from the previous night fuzzy. You recounted the events, explaining what the attack looked like and what they did. Your body ached as you retold the story, as if it was happening all over again. His eyes sharpened as you told him, but it was quickly gone. He rested a firm hand on your shoulder, aggression lingering in his grip. You were thankful that it wasn’t towards you.

“They won’t hurt you again, darling.” 

While he was threatening the person who hurt you, you couldn’t help but melt. You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and his intimidating stature dissipated, instead shifting into a soft one.

“You know, last night was the first time I even tried to fly,” you began, “and despite the circumstances, it felt pretty freeing,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. For that brief moment you felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, like you were no longer chained to the ground. 

Lucifer smiled and nodded, “I get that. Flying is a great feeling.” He looked away nervously before looking back at you. “I know you can’t fly right now, but, uh, would you like to join me on a little trip?”

You looked at him and then back at your sore body, “I’m not sure on how well I can walk-”

“Nonsense, I’ll carry you!” He said as if it was nothing. And to him, it was. His angelic strength easily lifted you like you were the air itself.

He gently grabbed you and carried you bridal style, you settled into his arms as he gracefully walked out of your room and down the hallway. Your heart pounded quickly in your chest as the demon king cradled you.

Sudden panic hit you, “But wait- my job! I need to work.” You have had too many days off recently, you had to keep working! What would Charlie think? Oh, you didn’t want her to be mad at you.

Lucifer laughed and tore you from your worry, “As if, darling. You are injured, didn’t you just tell me you weren’t sure if you could walk?”

You grimaced. You hated feeling useless but there was no point fighting Lucifer on this, it was clear he wasn’t going to budge. Plus, he was right. While sinners have incredible healing capabilities, you still needed more time. You sighed and continued to let yourself be carried by the King of Hell to the lobby. 

Angel Dust looked at you from the bar and raised an eyebrow, “Damn Baby, you sure do waste no time.” He teased, downing more of his drink. 

Husk didn’t seem to really care, continuing to wipe the counter and occasionally taking sips from his bottle. Charlie ran up to the two of you, bouncing with a wide relieved smile on her face.

“You’re okay!” She cheered, hugging you while you were still in Lucifer’s arms. She broke away and looked at Lucifer, “Where are you two going?”

Lucifer smiled, “I was going to show him around the sky.” As he spoke his wings unfurled.

“Oo! Have fun!” Charlie smiled and turned back to Vaggie and what looked like blueprints. 

Wait, blueprints? 

You tried to crane your neck to get a better view but Lucifer opened the doors and the blueprints were now blocked by doors. Lucifer smiled down at you as his wings shot up and came down powerfully. Before you knew it you were in the air, the wind playfully whipping through your hair. You gripped onto his vest and squeezed your eyes closed as he held you tighter. 

Once he began to glide peacefully, you finally opened your eyes. You gasped, the view was breathtaking. As the wind gently whistled through your ears you soaked up as much of the sight as you could, taking in every little detail you could make out. The two of you glided down over the city and you could see the demons below you go about their day as usual, shoving past one another to get where they needed to be. With another powerful beat of his wings the two of you were propelled forward, weaving through the tall buildings. Lucifer held you close to his chest the entire time and you never feared falling. You knew if you did he’d be right there to catch you. 

Lucifer spun upwards in the air, tossing you into the air. Before you could yelp in surprise, Lucifer’s arms were wrapping around you once more, his soft lips pressing against your forehead. You felt dizzy with adrenaline as you smiled up at him. Lucifer loosened his grip on your body and shifted to holding your hands. You were now being held from a frightening drop only by your hands, but still you held no fear as Lucifer looked down at you with a huge smile. He flew up, holding your hands so that the two of you were eye to eye as if you two were standing on thin air. The two of you spun in the air, stopping high up. It felt like time stopped as you and Lucifer hovered in the high for a brief moment before gravity started to weigh down. 

As you two fell, Lucifer brought you into a warm embrace before kissing you passionately. You moved your hands to the back of Lucifer’s head, pressing his face further into yours as he lowered his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. Blood pumped loudly in your ears as the ground came closer but all you could focus on was Lucifer. You gripped his hair as your tongue playfully begged to be let in. Lucifer grinned before allowing you to do so. The two of your tongues danced as you fell. Your desire grew, one of your hands trailed to the front of Lucifer’s head as you now held the side of his face affectionately.

Just as the buildings came into reach, Lucifer spread out his wings and the two of you jolted back into the sky. He pulled away as he turned onto his back, lovingly holding you against his chest. He floated along the currents as if he was simply in water. He rested one of his hands on your head as you laid against him. Your heart was beating a million miles per hour. This was amazing. 

The two of you floated and drifted through the skies for a while, it was very tempting to fall asleep but you wanted to be awake for every moment you had with him. Your head was nestled comfortably against his chest and you could hear the thump thump of Lucifer’s heart. You breathed in the calming scent that he gave off, those crisp honey apples dancing around in your head. You sighed contently closed your eyes. You’d never felt happier than right now. Lucifer’s fingers lightly played with your hair as his other hand rested softly yet firmly on your back to keep you from falling. 

Lucifer’s grip tightened and you opened your eyes and peered up at him. He smiled at you nervously before leaning over to kiss your forehead. He opened his mouth as if to say something but shook his head. He held you closer as he flipped back over and landed smoothly in front of the hotel. He gently set you on the ground, letting go of you and instead reaching to hold your hand. You smiled and held his hand as you two walked into the hotel. Your hair was a wild mess from the wind and your cheeks warmed as Angel looked over at you and whistled. 

“Someone had a fun time.”

You used your free hand to cover your face as the two of you continued to walk. Lucifer walked you to your room, opening the door for you and bowing, smiling all the while. You rolled your eyes before giving him a kiss and walking in. You sat on your bed and realized you had been shirtless this whole time, the only ���shirt” you had being the bandages. You rummaged through your clothes before slipping into something comfy. You flexed your wings, they felt better than this morning. 

You flopped onto your bed and stretched. Lucifer sat down on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand reaching over to once more play with your tangled and messy hair. You winced as he pulled at a knot.

“Sorry, darling,” He said softly, waving his hand as a comb appeared. “Can you sit up for me?”

His voice was like honey to your ears as you sat up, your back to him. He hummed and started to gently brush your hair. The tangles slowly unraveled under his soft and precise motions. The comb felt like heaven against your aching head and helped rid you of the feeling of filth that came with tangled hair. As the comb slayed the last knot, he set it to the side and pulled your back to his chest. You leaned into his warm, cozy embrace. You were hunched over a bit which allowed him to rest his chin on the top of your head. He hummed happily. 

“Darling,” He started, you could hear the smile and excitement in his tone. 

You peered up at him, looking at him with curiosity in your eyes. He pulled you so you were now facing him properly, his eyes sparkling. 

“I have a surprise,” he is practically vibrating with excitement, “I’m moving into the hotel!”

[redrobinsrobbingrobin]

Something so profoundly beautiful about sitting here listening to someone sing about the same story thats been retold over and over again in every love story, listening to someone sing a story that was originally told thousands of years ago, and humans all around the world being able to enjoy it and connect with it.

Stories are profoundly beautiful

[jedineedlove]

Macaque's Death & Samadhi Fire Timeline?

Hello Everybody I am currently making a LMK Fanfic for the first time and I thought to go back over the episodes for more details and research for it. As I did I had some thoughts come to mind and thought I share them with all of you for some feedback.

I am far from saying this is canon or anywhere close to facts but something about the Samadhi fire and Macaques death has me puzzled I went back to episodes and scenes of those shown or mentioned and I came to a conclusion.

Once again I am not saying this is fully true but I think we have the timeline of those events of the LMK Universe wrong. Many and I mean many say and even draw out the events of those two being during the Journey of the West but I thought something about that was off as I looked through flashbacks of those events.

Let me start from the very beginning. It started with seeing the flashback of Macaque's death as LBD threatens him and reminds him that she brought him "back to the mortal plane".

In this picture, you can see Macaque & Wukong fighting against each other staff to staff. This is a scene paired together with Macaque's death this is advertised as the fight that ends him. Many even a majority believe that Macaque died like he did in the JTTW to Wukong after he tried to interrupt the journey.

But I don't think that is true something caught me off guard, it was the outfit that Wukong is wearing in this scene. He is wearing his armor and he is lacking his golden fillet. Many may say the fillet is glamored and he was allowed to wear armor somewhere down the line on the journey but I don't think so if you look at what he looked like during the flashbacks the show gives us.

In these flashbacks from the memory scroll, Wukong is solely in his pilgrim clothes with the fillet in clear view. Not only that but the book image of Wukong has the fillet with no armor in sight.

You may argue but what about the Samadhi Fire scenes. Well, I also believe that did not happen during the JTTW either. In this universe from what I have seen and heard the Samadhi fire was not added to the novel. Tang referred to the Fire as "said in legends" when he retold what he knew about it not "as said in the JTTW".

Also When Mk and Tang went to FFM to find the Vase. When Tang told MK about the history of it. He mentioned that the goddess Quan Yin filled it with an immense amount of water to help Wukong fight a demon Tang could not remember the name of.

In our JTTW there is only one demon we know of that could be referring to, Red Son. BUT Tang does not seem to recall the name of a major enemy of the JTTW being the fanboy of the novel as he is. Also, he does not mention the fire begins the need for the water only a demon.

The two legends are not linked until DBK and PIF tell their story of it. Even during the tale of the vase he refers to the story as being from legends not from the novel JTTW again.

This brings me back to the outfit that Wukong wears his pilgrim (fillet) outfit vs the armor using the mechanism of using character design to tell a timeline. As well as the JTTW itself some are going to argue that maybe he was let loose from the fillet early but I doubt that the fillet in the original telling could only be removed by Buddha.

Tripitaka had no control over that and during Sun Wukong's journey to redemption no way would Buddha remove it and even give Wukong the armor to go fight Macaque unless like I said earlier this fight happened after the JTTW.

That also goes for the Samadhi fire during the ritual Wukong wears the armor but no way would the pacifist and leader of the group allow his violent streaked student on the journey to enlightenment and spiritual journey to wear armor anytime for any reason or take off the fillet if he could. I do believe that the fights between Macaque and Bull King from the story happened but instead of dying on the journey Macaque died after the journey after a fight went too far. Even more, I believe that Macaque was revived sometime before or after DBK was sealed under the staff as by this image.

In this image from Macaque's point of view (During Shadowplay) you can see the feathers of Wukongs hat but also notice he is fighting fist to fist this is also not a flashback from his debut episode. Looking back at the fight again and there is nowhere anywhere during that episode was this scene possible. It was cloudy and Wukong did not use that much power, this image shows it being during a sunny day or a full burst of Wukong energy in the background.

But he never burst during this fight to make that light possible and the only time he did lift a similar pose was at a clone of MK that Macaque made he was not actually there to see this view. Meaning this had to be some time before this episode.

You can tell this was also after his death because Macque already has the X over his eye.

I also say it was after DBK sealing because of it being fist to fist from the first image I showed aka the death scene photo it was staff to staff but Wukong here is staff less. I wonder where it is?

I followed the change of Wukongs outfit and his lack there of a staff during scenes to come to this conclusion

To check out I do not accept the shadowplay Macaque made for references because he uses Wukong fillet and feather headgear together.

He uses that outfit when describing them still as friends but we saw in season four that Wukong wore the yellow hat, not the feather especially not the fillet when they were the closest of friends like he described.

Nowhere had the two headgears been seen together except here and I think that was because Macaque just wanted to drill it into MKs head who the hero character was meant to be because at this point Macaque saw him as too naive and not very smart. So used the two iconic pieces of Wukong to let the kid know.