#it’s sad. isn’t it? to have suffered but have nothing to show for it.

[nightmarearian]

do you think the abyss healed Childe’s scars?

realistically I know it’s stupid graphics & model “limitations”

But do you think his skin looks as normal as it did before he fell.

Cause when they’re hit, an abyss monster.

They disintegrate.

Do you think Ajax’s scars healed like that? In the abyss? After it, too?

Do you think they burned? Or was it numb, as the darkened skin faded away with little, yellow, glowing particles?

That he has no evidence of his suffering for those three months in hell (and his only companion’s silence) but dull eyes no one wants to look at?

Callouses on his hands and feet that no one pays attention to? Takes care of?

That he shows his prowess and uncanniness and abyssal hunger because that’s the only way how? Yes. he is hungry and wants a fight. Look at him. He’s off. Broken now.

Look at him.

Please.

[razrbladekiss]

CRAVE | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: there’s only one thing that joel craves, and it isn’t the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him ‘til he’s blue in the face. and balls.

PAIRING: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. legal unspecified age gap.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT. alcohol consumption. pervy old man joel. reader’s dad (i’ve named him sorrrry) is there before joel gets pervy. some religious themes and also descriptions of religion in a negative light (this is MY experience with christianity, if you do not agree then please don’t read), no explicit smut but descriptions of what joel wants to do to youuuu so: mentions of piv, cock-riding, oral f!receiving, choking if you squint, dirty talk asf, joel being cocky which leads to his cock being sad and alone. reader is cunty. not proof-read ‘cus, once again, i’m a lazy bitch and i don’t have time for that. enjoy. 🫶🏻

An end to craving is an end to suffering.

Today’s last stream of sunlight fulgurates through the branches of your father’s prized Texas Ash, hitting perfectly the dime-sized crucifix situated comfortably between two pert tits sheathed in sheer black cotton.

Joel tries not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s been watching you all fucking night. Every time you get up, he’s been glued to your ass. Whenever you lean over, Joel can’t seem to pry his eyes away from your cleavage. The more he’s been drinking, the more brazen he’s been with his stolen glances.

When your father rambles about some work-related spiel—and you’re sitting so innocently across the way—he can’t help affixing his eyes to the swell of your breasts. Wondering what it’d be like to touch, and grope, and suck on them.

Your mother was right about him. For all of the years that she knew Joel while your parents were together, she’d always say that he was trouble. A good-for-nothing, splenetic, perverted old-man who was but a bad influence. And you never noticed, never cared. You always thought that he was a great friend, and a stand-up guy.

Until today. Until you saw him scrutinizing your form—in front of your dad—you had a lot more respect for Joel. But now you realize that your mother was right. He is a perv. But—fuck—do you love that.

You’re not sure what you enjoy more—disrespecting your insane Catholic mother, or knowing that Joel is undressing you with his eyes—but you can’t help yourself feeding into his fantasy.

“Daddy?” Your father hums, not entirely bothered by the fact that you’ve just interrupted his conversation. He smiles. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please, hon.” He hands you his empty bottle, mumbling something about how he was going to get himself one and that you don’t need to. But you insist.

The blanket over your thighs is being discarded, hiking your dress up with it. Joel gets a glimpse of your lace panties that he likes to imagine you wore just for him, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Bare, supple skin is on display as you get up from the deck chair. You turn to him with a prurient twinkle in your eye, and ask if he wants a drink too. “Yeah, another won’t hurt. I’m already pretty—“ he hiccups, “pretty far gone, anyway.”

Dad laughs while you saunter to the cooler and make a big show of bending over, completely unaware of the way Joel is trying to conjure up a plan to get you alone tonight. But then…

“Same ‘ere, bud.” He laughs before he’s nodding toward Joel. “Stay the night, if ‘ya wanna. I mean, you’re in no fit state to drive—none of us are—and I got a spare bedroom.”

His nose scrunches up, as if to decline, before you’re turning around with two unopened beers and a small bottle of wine. Your hand wraps around the neck almost romantically, leaving very little to his imagination.

“Yeah, you might as well stay, Miller.” You put down the beers on the table, still holding firmly the Merlot. “I’m stayin’. I got nowhere to be in the mornin’, and dad bought breakfast stuff.”

Two brown eyes are latched to each of yours, and you feel beads of perspiration roll through the valley of your breasts. Despite the evening cooling down, you’re stifling beneath his unyielding gaze.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” Joel concedes. He takes his can and cracks it open, lifting it up to cheers your father. “S’long as you’re makin’ me breakfast, Gary.”

Dad salutes and you smile, sinking into the purple cushion with a satisfied hum. You ogle Joel, biting fiercely the skin of your bottom lip. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel swigs his beer—letting your dad drunkenly ramble—and doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Wondering how he’s going to make you pay for torturing him like this.

But this hadn’t been your intention when Joel showed up to watch the Cowboys v Browns game this afternoon. In fact, him staying past nine o’clock was completely unintentional and if it weren’t for your dad pumping him full of Coors and Old Milwaukee, he’d be fast asleep at this very moment.

He supposes that he doesn’t mind, being here. Especially because he’s buzzed—still able to speak and think coherently, which is surprising—and gets to spend some rare time with you. Even if it is with your dad.

You watch them converse—the way that friends do—admiring how patient Joel is with him despite him being a little bit too inebriated for his own good. He’s the kind of friend that your old man needs; understanding, forbearing. And it baffles you that they’ve not known one another for longer than seven years, but surmise that they’d definitely be best friends in every other timeline because they just work so well.

But it’s the thought of them being friends—brothers—that urges feelings of unease. Trepidation. Gary’ll have a cow if he finds out the way that his so called buddy has been making googly eyes at his little girl’s titties for the last eight hours.

Joel senses the shift in attitude—you’re not teasing him now—and turns the topic of conversation to you. Dad doesn’t mind, though. Never minds talking to—or about—his kid.

“What made you stay in with us oldies tonight, huh?”

Wine is being swiveled around the glass before you take it back in one swig. A grimace flits over your features, but they both catch it.

“Didn’t feel like hittin’ the bars.” Candidly, you say. It’s refreshing. “Can’t be dealin’ with pervy old men tryna touch me.”

Less refreshing.

Joel’s blood runs cold, and you smirk. He swallows thickly the liquid acrimony bubbling from the chasms of his throat. He wants to screw that stupid grin off of your face—stuff his cock straight between those plush lips and throat fuck you ‘til you’re crying and gasping for air.

He just nods instead of saying anything.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you.” Dad says, not sensing Joel’s sudden frigid state. “Seriously. ‘Specially if it’s an old fuckin’ degenerate asshole—“

“Alright, Gary.” You halt the hate train, pouring the last few dregs of wine into your glass. “No need to get all protective. No old coot is comin’ anywhere near me.”

You look directly at Joel when you say; “old men can’t do what guys my age can, anyway.”

Dad grimaces. Joel scoffs. You can’t help smiling, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Y’know, you’re still my kid? And hearing this shit is nasty.” Your father tells you around a burp, and realizes that this might be the time to call it a night.

He’s never been able to handle his alcohol, especially after being married to your psychotic beer-loathing, hymn-signing, prayer-group-leading, holier-than-though moronic fucking mother.

He lets himself get too drunk too fast, now. Ever since she went back to Kansas—which was totally code for I fucked the priest and got extradited from the church—he’s really let his hair down, and you’d be lying if you said this version of your old man wasn’t the very best. Because he’s living his life the way that he wants to, now.

It’s nice.

“It might be nasty, but ‘least you don’t have to worry about me bringing home a man your age. Or even worse; older.”

Gary gets to his feet—knees clicking and cracking as he does so—and nods. “‘Spose that’s true, kid.”

Joel. Is. So. Fucking. Pissed.

As you say your goodnights—and put on a few lights so that your dad doesn’t trip over his own feet—Joel is mentally counting down the minutes until he gets you alone on this damn patio. He’s determined to make you regret the few little comments that you’ve made tonight.

“Don’t stay up too late. Y’know how cranky ‘ya get with no sleep.” Dad reminds you. “You too, Miller.”

You hum your response, lifting your empty glass and indicating that you’ll be retiring to your room soon, too.

“Night dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” He turns to Joel. “Make sure she ain’t up too late.”

He nods and shifts his gaze to you, eyes darkening. “Yessir. I’ll put her to sleep.”

Your father grunts and slides the patio door to close. Leaving his daughter and best friend alone together might be the biggest mistake that he’s ever going to make.

Joel watches him intently behind the glass door, heeding him stumble across the tile. He might be about to rearrange your guts, but he at least wants to be courteous.

Your legs squeeze together, for the only sound you hear is the reverberation of Joel’s I’ll put her to sleep in that sexy, beer-slick tone.

He sees it.

“She makin’ ‘ya squirm?”

You blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pussy.” Joel—as candid as ever—elaborates. “Is she flutterin’ ‘cus ‘a me?”

The fallout of a chemical bomb would be much more appealing than having to look Joel in the eye after such a lewd statement.

“Don’t worry if so. I have that effect on the ladies.”

“Makin’ yourself sound like a slut, Miller.” Coolly, you respond. Your hand is reaching for a can of beer, twining fingertips around the base while another pulls the tab.

Two eyes screw shut when a spritz of alcohol is flushing over your face, neck and chest. Droplets of Bud trickle between those perfect tits that Joel’s eyes have almost burned fucking holes into; forcing even the horniest man on planet earth to render himself utterly speechless.

You trail a finger through the valley of your breasts, collecting the sticky liquid before you’re putting it straight into your mouth; sucking it clean. Your eyes are locked on Joel’s.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. The sight before him is truly one to behold; his friend’s sweet daughter with her fingers between her tits out in the patio. Nobody’d ever believe him if he told them this. Joel probably wouldn’t even fucking believe himself.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ’ya?” Is what he says in response. He’s quick witted, you’ll give him that. “My tongue stuck in your pretty little pussy—“

Heat flashes over you.

“You’re fucking vile.”

“Ain’t that the way it’s meant’a be?” He lurches forward, and your eyes travel to the small opening of his shirt’s midsection that highlights perfectly the fact that he hasn’t a base layer beneath the flannel.

You see a small patch of hair; brown, and gray and seems a little fuzzy. It’s a sudden reminder that this man is a smidge too old for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.

“Don’t think so.” Trying to out-douche him, you respond. Joel’s thick fingers are twined together, hands resting over the peaks of his knees. “Think youre meant’a have some kinda respect for me. Y’know, as my dad’s buddy, ‘n all.”

Joel snorts a laugh.

“I’d have respect for ‘ya, but the way that peachy fuckin’ ass was in the air when ‘ya bent over the cooler tells me that daddy’s ’lil girl is more of a slut than me.”

Your jaw rolls. Reaction: gauged.

He inches nearer to you; slimy grin plastered across rough, rugged features. “Only pullin’ your leg, hon. I know you’re no slut. Too much of a prissy bitch—“

“Oh, really?” Irked, you spit.

Joel nods. Pushing at your buttons has never been much of a difficult feat. It’s something that he quite enjoys, actually.

“Mhm, yeah.” The man is leaning backwards in his chair, now. Arms folded behind his head; hands pressed against his dark curls. “Gonna have to prove that you ain’t like your mama.”

Your blood boils. And then it runs cold.

“Don’t gotta prove shit to you.” You defend. Very defensively.

“No, that’s right. Don’t gotta do nothin’, kiddo.”

You see the outline of his dick as it stiffens within the confines of his dark, navy-denim jeans. He’s actually getting off on this.

“Unless you want to—“

“Nah, I’m good.” You’re leaning back, now, lifting your legs to sit criss cross applesauce. The barely-covering-your-crotch sheer fabric of your thong catches his eye; a glint of something wicked flickers through them as he clears his throat.

If you’re playing the long game, then so is he. He can out-stubborn anybody.

“So I’ve heard.” He jabs, insinuating that you’re a prude. Again. “Can prove ‘em all wrong, if ‘ya wanna.”

It’s killing him, this. It’s torture. But he’s strong. Ish.

You shake your head, reaching for your almost-empty can of beer. You’re taking another long pull, making a dramatic show of tilting your head back and puffing out your chest as you do so. His lips purse.

“I’m good.” You tell him again with a syrupy smile. “Rather we just talk. Y’know—be civilized, ‘n all.”

His arms are moving to the sides of his deck chair, now. Joel’s tongue runs along his bottom lip. He gives a quick bob of his head.

“Yeah, we can talk.” His eyes zone in on your pussy; the engorged wet patch situated on the part of fabric that kind-of clothes your cunt. His mouth waters. “But what’ll we talk about, baby girl?”

Another surge of pleasure oozes out from between your thighs, turning what was once a purple thong into a jet-black one. Joel doesn’t mind, though. The sight is sweet; it’s prurient, in some sick way.

“Hm.” You pretend to think, all the while spreading your legs a little bit more. He sees perfectly the outline of your folds as fabric hugs and highlights the inner workings of your beautiful anatomy. “Why don’t we start with what you’re thinkin’ about, Mr. Miller?”

A weakness of his, that is. You referring to him as Mr. Miller has always gotten him hot. It’s innocent, almost. It’s like that’d been engrained into your brain by the god-fearing fruit-loop that brought you up, and you can’t quit saying it in these situations.

“Oh, doll. Not sure you’ll wanna hear what I’m thinkin’ of.” His tone is rough, now. Like 180 grit sandpaper against the wooden walls inside of your fucking brain. You hum.

Mentally, Joel’s cock is spearing open the tight hole between your legs; making you scream his name. He’s thrusting his prick up into your cervix while you ride him like he’s the last cowboy on earth, desperate to feel a kind of pleasure that no man your age could ever bestow upon you.

In his head, he’s picturing your crucifix dangling in his face while you’re pleasuring yourself on his length; glistening with sweat, and cum, and Sierra Nevada. Howling at his girth, speechless at the size of him.

He wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around the base of your throat and fuck you into next week; feeling damp walls contract and seize around his cock—

“No.” You snap him back to reality; halting his train of thought. “No, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure she can.

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ of stufin’ that warm ‘lil cunt with my big ‘ol cock, ‘s’all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Your tone is teasing.

Joel does not like to be teased.

“If you’d shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’d be able to finish.”

In a moment of pure, unapologetic submission, you nod. The skin of your bottom lip is getting fucking gnawed at by your teeth in an attempt to conceal a moan.

It works. Kind of.

“What was I sayin’…” He strives to recall his last few words; and then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Stretchin’ out that cute pussy ‘a yours.”

That cute pussy ‘a yours, is twitching. Fuck that, it’s pulsating.

“And you’re so sure of that? You being able to stretch me out, I mean.”

“Dead sure, angel face.” He quips. “I know for a damn fact that you’d be havin’ trouble takin’ my fat cock all in one go; be cryin’ for everyone to hear.”

Through long, thick lashes, you stare at him.

“You’d be seein’ stars; and not just the ones above us right now.”

You look up to the sky and hope to alleviate some of the mental pain being bestowed upon you right now. Which is entirely your own doing, of course.

Joel shifts in his seat so that he’s a little bit more sunken, able to heed clearly the sickly sweetness blanketing the chair you’re on.

“I’ll eat your pussy, too.”

Your attention is snapped back down to Joel, now. Your brows raise.

“Suck your soul right out from between your legs.”

“Oh, Joel.” You moan, a little. He lets his eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them again to find you taking off your panties.

It’s like Christmas fucking day, this.

“I’d love for you to take me right here; fill me up on one ‘a the sunloungers.” You’re getting off your chair, and Joel’s heart is starting to pound within the chasms of his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You’re walking toward him; thong in hand. Fingers wreathed through soaked purple cotton.

“Can’t think of anything that’ll bring me more pleasure than you fuckin’ me ‘til I’m crying. Or gasping for air.”

“You ‘n me both, beautiful.”

You smile. You give Joel your underwear, before you’re running your fingers through his hair and he’s letting a hand glide up the meat of your thigh and beneath your skirt.

“Just a shame, ain’t it.”

“What’s a shame, sugar?”

The feeling of his fingertips—calloused and covered in rough skin—is almost orgasmic. But you’re stronger than what he is. So you pull yourself away from his hold, and begin to feel an unwavering sense of need. You shirk it, though.

You’re leaning into him now, breasts pressed against his shoulder, lips touching the shell of his ear. Goosebumps prickle over his neck and you assume that they’re making their way down south, too.

“Huh?” He says to get your attention, for you still haven’t answered. “What’s a shame?”

Fingertips trace over broad shoulders enveloped in soft, warm flannel. You’re leaning closer; hot breath on his skin. Your lips part to whisper:

“If daddy ever found out about this, he’d kill ‘ya.”

“Baby—“

You’re taking the panties from his hand, and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. Fighting a blush—feeling very proud of yourself—your face remains straight.

You tap at his chest and walk away, but not before throwing a “night, Miller” over your shoulder.

Joel looks down at the ground, presently wallowing in some sort of self-pity. But then remembers the visible effect that his words had—and the way he looked at—you, and he can’t fight the stupid fucking grin pushing its way onto his face.

He might’ve just experienced blue-balls at his big age, but to see you submit to his gaze was absolutely worth it.

He just hopes you’ll never tell a soul about his dirty-talk. He has a reputation to uphold, these days.

[sapphiresaphics]

The number of people who try to quantify Caitlyn’s bad deeds to determine if she is redeemed or not is sickening. Especially because 9 times out of 10 they come to the conclusion that Caitlyn is beyond redemption and doesn’t deserve Vi or to be happy.

And what pisses me off is that this mindset is addressed IN THE SHOW ITSELF and it comes to a very different conclusion.

When confronted with her crimes by Vi, Caitlyn acknowledges them by shouting “I KNOW!” But then she turns around and says that no amount of good deeds erases their crimes. She’s talking about Jinx in that moment, but it’s pretty clear that she’s thinking about herself.

She’s so remorseful about what she’s done she’s looking for ways to punish herself. That’s why she goes to see Jinx. She’s looking for justification to keep hating Jinx so that her own crimes will be justified in capturing her.

But she doesn’t get that. Instead she gets a sad, depressed, suicidal little girl, who isn’t eating and who is empathetic to Caitlyn’s own grief. She even apologizes for killing her mother.

And Caitlyn can’t handle it. She needs to justify capturing Jinx so that she can wipe away her own crimes, and Jinx doesn’t allow her to do that. Caitlyn realizes that she’s responsible for a lot of the hate that caused Jinx to lash out in the first place. She’s responsible for what she did to the undercity to capture her. She’s responsible…

“No amount of good deeds can erase our crimes.” She says.

But the show Arcane doesn’t leave it there. Because the show doesn’t BELIEVE that sentimentality is true. Arcane proposes that yes, actually, you ARE allowed to break free from the cycle and choose to do good for yourself despite EVERYTHING you’ve done to others. That you’re allowed to change.

You can’t erase your crimes. But you can choose to learn and grow from them.

And this is the part of the “quantifying redemption” that many fans seem to miss. There’s no algorithmic formula to make amends for the pain and suffering you caused. And there shouldn’t be. This isn’t a numbers or points game. This is real life. And in real life things only change for the better when YOU choose to do better.

Caitlyn may never live down the pain she caused in the undercity. But she can CHOOSE to have empathy. She can CHOOSE to do the right thing. She can CHOOSE not to repeat her mistakes.

And that’s exactly what we see her doing. She lets go of her hatred of Jinx. She lets Vi try to save her sister. She re-establishes the council and ends the martial law. She resigns from the council and installs Sevika on it to help the undercity have a voice. She fights to defend the city from Ambessa and loses an eye in the process.

Nothing will ever truly wipe her slate clean. But that doesn’t mean she can’t try to do better going forward because it’s the right thing to do. And Vi is the person who is going to keep her grounded. She’s the dirt under her fingernails. Vi will always be her reminder to do good.

[i-starcreamed]

Can I request how Megs would feel if he fought his beloved, reader needs to beat some sense to him and help him from being blinded with hatred. (Tf one plz) Also I want a good ending cuz I'm still sad about the movie. And if it isn't obvious cybertronian reader.

MEGATRON X READER

Obviously Tf One spoilers! God this was so fun to write, I just hope I got their personalities right. I haven't written anything this long in a while !! Also I never knew I'd be so much of a Megatron enjoyer until this movie...yeah, it took me this long.

[ cybertronian! reader Angst and eventually fluff, could be pretty rushed tbh but I just want him to healll. Very NOT canon to the movie

You knew it wasn’t your D-16 the moment his optics changed. Or maybe it was the way he distanced himself from you and your friends in a matter of hours--maybe minutes. It was a subconscious, subtle shift, but one you wished you could have talked him out of.

You suppose you saw the changed D-16 once you made it to the hideout of the High Guard fliers. Your once-kind, responsible lover was gripping Starscream by the neck, his hold tightening with every word from the flier beneath him.

You glanced at Orion, Elita, and Bee, all frozen in horror. You panicked and you stepped forward, placing your servo on his shoulder. Before you could continue, he whirled around, optics burning with a cold, harsh light—practically glaring at you.

“Y/N…“

“D, what the hell are you doing?!” You demanded, your voice steady despite his glare. “This isn’t like you, this isn’t the way, come on.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his optics locked onto Starscream again. He was seething, the flier grinning through the pain wasn't helping your case either.

“Come on, do it! Do it, don’t be a c-coward!” Starscream sputtered through glitching vocal processors, even as D-16’s servo squeezed harder, threatening to crush the life from him.

D-16 narrowed his optics, “I’m not a coward!” He roared as Starscream’s cackling turned into garbled screeches

You attempted to push him away, roughly shoving him by the shoulder. “D, stop it!” He shoved you back. The sudden force sent you stumbling, and when you steadied yourself, you found yourself staring down the barrel of his arm cannon. His orange optics were locked on you, but for a fleeting moment, they softened. It was like he didn't recognize you, but then he hesitated.

“Stay out of my way, from now on.” He said lowly, as if his words pained him. “Please.”

His hesitation vanished as the cannon swung back toward Starscream. You stood there, stunned, until Orion and Elita rushed over to pull you up. Then you just stood and did nothing.

You watched in horror as D-16 continued to declare himself as someone they should follow to victory. Oh, you knew how much he wanted Sentinel dead now. Hell, you did too. But you weren’t sure if this was the right way. You weren’t a bad bot. Neither was D-16, he never was. You had to do something...before things got bad.

You recalled the moment just before he…snapped.

___

“Y/N, don’t you see? He’s been lying this whole time.” “Yes, D. I see, I know. But—“ “I want him dead. I just-I need..I need to see him suffer. Look what he did. To you. To me. To us. We could have been..so much more.” He placed his servo over your spark, right above where your transformation cog was. He used to dream of you two racing together, having fun. Hell, flying even. Back then he didn’t know what he would transform into. “We can still be more, D. We have a bigger purpose now, we were given the ability to transform by a prime himself. We just need to..show everyone the truth. And we will. Then we can—“ “It’s not enough.” He blurted out, pulling you closer as if it was the last time he’d hold you. “You deserve so much better. I promise you, Y/N. I promise you he will pay.”

___

Things only got worse from there. You reached your breaking point when you saw D-16—no, Megatron—vanish Orion himself. You couldn’t believe it. They were like brothers. And now, your beloved had become something else entirely. And yet, you still felt helpless.

You rushed over, avoiding and pushing the other bots as you made your way to where D-16 stood. They all cheered him on as he was trying to lift Sentinel into the air. He was going to kill him. He really was.

“D, stop it! Look what you’ve done!” You shouted, stomping your way forward, frustration boiling inside. You slammed your shaking fist into his shoulder. Primus, you were pissed at him right now.

“Please, please! Tell me what the hell you’re doing. This wasn’t a part of the plan.” You pleaded with him, hoping you’d somehow get him to react. Instead, he inched closer, the same stance you’d expect of someone challenging you. “No, you’re wrong. This was the plan. It was what had to be done. How can I get you to see that.” He visibly calmed for a moment, reaching out a servo to brush against the side of your faceplate. Despite everything, it’s still him. And he loved you.

You hesitated, then stepped back. Oh, how it pained you. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand your goal.” You said, barely above a whisper. Time seemed to freeze, and he slowly lowered his arm. In an instant, you watched his gaze darken.

“Then you’re just in my way.”

__

Your hopes were revived as Orion, now as Optimus Prime, came back, the matrix of leadership implanted into his chest. Optimus had saved the life of Sentinel (perhaps a little undeserved), knowing there was another way to deal with this. But now he has to save..practically all of Iacon. Maybe just maybe, between the two of you, you can stop Megatron.

The fight between the two friends wasn’t solving anything, you only feared they’d end up killing each other. You got rid of your fear, inserting yourself in the fight just as they managed to gain some distance from eachother. He grunted as you shoved him harder this time, his footing a bit unsteady from his existing injuries.

“What are yo—“

“I told you, stop. This,” you punctuated every word with a shove. “Is. Madness!” You panted, glaring up at your lover. “Come back to me, D. This isn’t the real you. I know it isn’t.” You pleaded, he responded with an irritated grunt.

“I, am Megatron. Not D-16, I am not that bot anymore. Y/N, stand down-“

“No! You stand down! You’re acting foolishly right now! I won't just stand here and watch you destroy yourself and--” You yelled, going straight for him to push him again, but he stopped you with a raise of his cannon. You froze in your tracks.

"Back down, Y/N." He said with a growl. You narrowed your optics, leaning your frame right up against the barrel, hearing a light clink.. The glow illuminated your armor. For a second, you saw his optics widen. He paused, licking his teeth. "I don't want to fight you. But I-"

"But you will if you have to, right? That's what you were going to say? Do it then," Your voice cracked, "I have nothing left to lose."

He huffed, so be it. He lunged towards you, and you raised your arms, blocking the strike. You opened up to move his blaster out of the way, leaving your side open to his incoming fist. It collided with your side, sparks flying from the contact. You grunted, stumbling back. When he came at you again, you caught his arm, pulling him close until you were face to face.

"We're both being foolish right now, are you happy yet? You panted, he grits his teeth.

"Quit saying that!" He growled, shoving you away. He shot his cannon, the blast flying past your side. You slid to avoid it, earning another blast from him. He fired his cannon, but the shot missed. He was aiming wide on purpose. You blinked, you knew his aim wasn't that bad...primus, he really was missing on purpose. If you weren't fighting right now, you'd swoon.

"Are you missing on purpose?" You asked incredulously.

"No! I.. yes..no! Listen to me, Y/N. We can end this now, if you let me do this one thing."

"You've already done enough. D..."

"Don't call me that."

He lunged again, but this time, you sidestepped, charging into him and sending him crashing to the ground, the side of his face hit the ground. You managed to pin him momentarily, struggling to keep him from standing.

"This isn't what you want. Trust me.." You paused. "Megs. Please."

He tensed beneath you, then slightly loosened as you called him 'Megs.'

"This is revenge, it won't help you feel any better. Not long-term. You'll only continue hating and hating, I can't bear to lose you like this. It's...it's tearing us apart." You shuddered, loosening your grip.

Eventually, you felt his breathing slow to a decent pace, slowly, you climbed off him, kneeling beside him. He sighed. "I..I don't know how to stop." He quietly said. You leaned forward, placing a servo against his jaw. "I can help you. I will help you. Megs, you have me with you. You have..Optimus with you. We're all with you."

You both knelt silently for a moment, gathering each other's thoughts. Finally, he had the courage to look up at you. You might never see those big yellow optics of his again, but at least now they weren't so cold. They held some type of sincerity. "I'm..so sorry." He breathed out.

You almost sighed in relief. "You're still angry, and that's okay, alright? Now it's my turn to promise you, we'll deal with this differently. It won't feel fair at first, but it's the right thing to do. Stand up." You gently said, extending your servo out to him. He slowly took your servo, his grip as gentle, almost afraid of breaking you. Primus, how he regrets hurting you. You can see it written all over his face. He was blinded by rage, he was indeed acting foolish. His optics briefly flicked to Sentinel, still on the ground and honestly, grateful to still be in one single piece. He turned away before the anger could return.

"I didn't want to hurt you," He whispered.

You softly scoffed, gently nudging him. This time, without any defensive intent. "You controlled yourself better than I did. I wanted to beat your aft, D-- Megs." You joked, earning a small, bittersweet smile.

You took your servos in his, softly smiling at him. You turned to Optimus, who was just as relieved as you were. "Optimus, do you think Megs and I can help rebuild Iacon? The way it's supposed to be?"

Optimus smiled gently, looking proud. "Of course you can. We all can." He looked at Megatron, his gaze firm but kind. "I am glad to have you back, friend."

Megatron nodded, still tense but..accepting. One day, they'll be as brothers again. You just know it. "As am I." He said, turning to you. His gaze softened. "Y/N...I love you."

"I love you as well, Megs."

[miniwheat77]

141 + König finding out reader has had long term struggles with Self Harm.

This was a request, you can find the ask here.

!CW! Self harm, talk of attempted suicide, (sorry if I missed any.)

König:

Tears stream down your face, you’re looking desperately for anything. Any kind of Razor or sharp object. It’s late at night, you can’t find anything. Usually you would just break a mirror, or anything glass around you. But this isn’t your house. This mirror isn’t yours to break. You’ve done so good but recently, it’s been hard. You’re struggling every day. You managed to cover up the scars to enter the military and hid them very well with your uniforms. You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the bathroom you’re in, trying to calm yourself. You don’t hear the bathroom door open because you’re in your own head. You don’t notice anything until large hands are grasping your wrists. “It’s okay, liebling.” His deep accented voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He sees the old scars that litter your wrists, holding onto them tightly. “You’ve made it so far, done so good. Why ruin that now?” He mumbles. His hood covers his face but you can see the sadness in his eyes. “I’m just struggling lately.” You sniffle. “It’s okay. We all struggle.” He breathes. He holds onto you tightly, he’s trying to ground you, bring you back down to earth. “Look at me. Take a deep breath with me.” He breathes. “You’re okay.” He takes in a deep breath, and you follow him. Taking in a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He lifts your hand up so that he could get a better look. There’s clearly years of scars littering your wrists. Tears stream down your face. “I didn’t think that you would like me.”

König laughs bitterly behind his hood. “Sweetheart.. nothing is going to change the way that I feel about. Especially not scars. Scars mean you’re healing. Heilung ist alles” he lifts your chin up to look at him. “When you feel like this, you tell me. Verstanden?” He is stern. “Understood..” you look down. “Now, time for bed. I got you.” He scoops you up, carrying you back to your bed.

Ghost:

Your hands tremble, blood pooling at the bottom of your wrist before dripping onto the linoleum flooring. Your right hand holds a razor, now coated in your own blood. It’s a curse. The way that you relied on the shiny metal to ground you. Bring you back to earth. Your eyes are bloodshot, tears stain your cheeks. You should have been better about locking the door, because the handle twists, and Ghost steps inside. You scramble up, throwing your wrists behind your back. “Shit- sorry.” He mumbles, voice deafening as he notices the blood on the ground. “Are you hurt? What happened?” He takes a step toward you. “I.. I just scratched myself earlier. No big deal.” You lie.

He narrows his eyes, eyeing the way you’re holding not just one of your hands behind your back, but both. “Let me see them.” He demands, taking another step forward. “There’s no need for that, I’m okay.” You laugh. He grasps hold of your arms, pulling hard on you. A cry leaves your lips and he forces you to show him what you’ve done. Not only are there fresh cuts, but there’s more. There are some faded, clearly from years of self harm. He swallows hard, choosing not to say anything. He pulls on your arms, forcing you toward the sink, running the fresh wounds under the water. “Deep breath.” He mumbles, reaching into the medicine cabinet and pouring peroxide over the wounds. You hiss and try to pull away but he keeps you there. He helps you bandage up, not saying anything and you worry about what he’s going to say. He doesn’t say anything, instead, pulling you into him and hugging you tightly. “No more. I mean it. I will chain you up to a pipe and you will suffer if you do this ever again.” He grumbles. Hearing you laugh. “I mean it Y/N. No more of this. You’re too good to be doing this to yourself.” He hides the fact that he has tears in his eyes.

Captain Price:

His eyes catch a single glimpse by accident during a meeting. He often wondered why you only ever wore long sleeves but now, it all made sense. “Y/N, my office.” He nods. You nod your head, following behind him. He opens the door, closing it after you walk in. “What did you need?” You ask. “What did you need me for, John?” You ask. He grasps hold of your wrist, pushing your sleeve up. You try to pull your hand away but he has a tight hold on you. They’re old, none are new. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a past with this?” He asks. You swallow hard. “I don’t know.. it was just something really dumb that I did as a teenager. I stopped right before I joined the military.” You mumble. “Do you still feel this way?” He asks. “I’ll always feel that little devil on my shoulder, but I can control it now.” You shrug. He nods. He grasps your hips, pulling you into him. Kissing you a little harder than he usually would, pressing his forehead to yours once he pulls away. “You come to me whenever you feel like hurting yourself. Okay?” He is stern. You nod your head. “I love you. And I need you here with me.” He lifts your hand up, kissing your wrists. You weren’t sure how you ended up being with someone so kind, someone so gentle with you. But you needed it. You almost never felt like hurting yourself when he was around you. He was too supportive and reassuring. He did his best to keep you safe and that’s everything to you. “I love you too John.” You smile. Kissing him again.

He lifts you up by your thighs, setting you on top of his desk and cupping the sides of your head to kiss you even harder. “I’ve got you now, we all do. And I’m proud of you for doing so good. So fucking proud of you for overcoming this.” He breathes.

Soap:

You only ever wore shorts when you were alone. Because you had scars on the tops of your thighs. They were easier to hide. You forget to set your alarm one night, so Soap makes his way into your room to wake you, catching a glimpse of one of your exposed thighs. Seeing the small white lines. They’re old, but the meaning behind them breaks his heart immediately. He swallows hard, sitting down on the side of your bed, running his fingers along them. When he leans down and kisses them, you stir in your sleep just a little, eyes opening. “Johnny? What are you doing?” You mumble. “You didn’t tell me.” He mumbles, you realize he’s running the pad of his thumb over the raised lines. Your lips part slightly and you can’t explain yourself. “I’m sorry…” you breath. He looks up at you. “Do you do it anymore?” He asks. “Not for a couple weeks.” You breathe. He nods his head. “Every time you do this to yourself, I’ll do it to my own thigh.” He looks at you, what he says is toxic. He knows it.

“What?” You ask. “Every little bit of damage you do to yourself, I will do to myself. You cut yourself, I cut myself. And I’ll look, everyday if I have to.” He mumbles. “Johnny.” You sigh. “No. Your skin is too fucking beautiful for this. You’re better than this.” He breathes. He leans down. Kissing your forehead. “I’m here now. I’m here to talk to, vent to. Anything. I’ll keep you safe. But you have to promise me you’ll never do this again.” He raises his pinky up, like you taught him. “Promise?” He swallows hard. You smile, eyes filling with tears. “Okay Johnny.” You link your pinky with his. “I promise.” He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. Hand cupping your scars. He didn’t want to draw his hand away from you. He hated that you’d do this to yourself. You were so perfect. Too good for this.

Gaz:

Gaz is who found you. It was an accident, but he didn’t know it. You had cut too deep. He found you a few minutes later.

He sits beside your hospital bed, eyes burning and bloodshot. He’d almost lost the love of his life. And not even at the hands of a terrorist. It burns him inside, how he didn’t know sooner. It stings even more that you hid it from him. He went through your entire house, finding razors taped under the sink. He threw everything out. He was mad, sure. But he was heartbroken. Shattered by the fact that you were struggling so hard but chose to keep it to yourself. When your eyes flutter open and he sees you, you’re confused at first. “Kyle? What happened?” You ask. He nods to your wrists, and you move them to look at yourself. Blood running cold. “You barely made it.” He mumbles. “I.. I didn’t mean to.” You mumble. “Why?” He asks. It’s the one question he almost never got to ask you. “I.. I don’t know.” Tears stream from your eyes. “I almost lost you. You would’ve left me. With unanswered questions. With nothing.” He sighs. “I’m sorry Kyle.” You cry. He lowers his head. Tears spilling from his eyes. He sniffles, trying to force them back. But he can’t. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just.. I get so angry at myself. I was just trying to take my anger out. I didn’t mean to.. to..” you can’t even say it. He sighs. “You come to me. No more of this Y/N. If I lose you…” he can’t finish his sentence without his voice breaking. “I’m here. I have you now. No more of this. We’re getting you the help you need. And I’ll be right there with you along the way.” He stares at you. You nod your head. “Okay.. okay Kyle.” You breathe. He was right.

[monstrousvoice]

A Chance

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Relationship: Toshinori Yagi/All Might X Female Reader

AN: With my love of BNHA coming back, so too does my undying love for Toshi rise from the depths to inconvenience everyone who tries to have a conversation with me lasting longer than 5 minutes. This drabble was inspired by the following mood board as part of a challenge prompt in the discord server I’m in!

Tags: Fluff, Knight!Toshinori, References to past sexy times but nothing explicit

Summary: You are given the chance to pursue your own happiness with the one you love.

Read it on AO3!

“It really is unconventional my dear.” Your mother clucked her tongue at you before blowing on her steaming tea and taking a careful sip. You took a deep breath to keep your composure. It took nearly all your courage just to speak the words you had been sitting on for months at this point, and you had been prepared for a far harsher response. You gently swirled your spoon in your own tea cup, watching as the sugar cube melted away. You hated this blend, but it was Mother’s favorite and you needed any help to get her in a good mood.

Your father says nothing, simply watching you with a stoic expression. His tea cup sits full and untouched.

“I am…aware, of how odd it is-” Mother scoffs at your words.

“If you are so aware, why even entertain the idea? Honestly child.” She rolls her eyes at you. You bite your tongue, and take another deep breath.

“I simply think after all he’s done for us, for me, that he would be a good choice,” Another scoff. “And that he would…” make me happy, you want to say but don’t. Mother didn’t care about things like happiness in marriage. Marriage was a tool in a royal’s arsenal, like anything else.

“Oh yes, everything he’s done for us, and every neighboring kingdom from here to the coast! The man has no loyalty! He would sooner give up the crown to an invader than fight them! He has too many ties to too many people.”

“That isn’t true!” Mother narrows her eyes at your raised voice. You stiffen and look to your lap in a show of submission. “I-I am sorry. I just…”

“It is a foolish idea.” Mother takes another sip of her tea, opening her mouth to further admonish you for your proposal, but your father speaks.

“I disagree.” He rumbles. Mother closes her mouth with a sharp ‘click’. Your father may be content to let her rule the castle, the staff, and you as she sees fit, but every once in a small while he steps in. Those few times are almost enough to convince you he may care for you in some way.

“Father?” You prompt.

“He was born here. He trained here under my own father’s best knights. He has helped our neighbors as his warrior spirit demanded, but never to our detriment. Now that he can no longer fight the same way, why not reward him for his servitude?” Father blinks passively at Mother, the wisdom of many years of leadership in his eyes. Mother looks at him in shock, her own protests sounding weak now that she doesn’t have his support.

“Bu-I-! He is-! Why, he is too old now my lord husband! He-”

“He is as old as I am, and that brings wisdom and experience.”

“Wh-what of heirs!? He could never-with our daughter-!”

“Men older than us both have produced children before. It will be fine.”

Mother looks like she wants to protest further still, but you don’t pay her stuttered words any more mind. You stare at your father, a man you have spent most of your life fearing in some capacity. Fear of failure and disappointment, fear of losing him and leaving your home in disarray with no king to lead them.

Fear of being married off to some horrible man that would decide your fate, who would crush and break you under the weight of unwanted motherhood and wifely duties you would have no choice but to complete. Of one day suffering the quiet shame of having a husband who brings strangers to bed, of being an object meant to look pretty and nothing more.

And within this moment you dare hope that your life will not be as sad and grey. 

Father looks at you and nods his head. You stand, your fingers twitching with the effort to hold back your excitement. Never before have you so badly wanted to hug Father, but you refrain. It would be improper, Mother has always said. You bow low instead to show your gratitude.

“Th-thank you Father. Mother. I must-...I need to step out for a moment, please excuse me.” And with that you rush out the door to the private study and nearly collapse against the stone wall opposite you. The cool, rough texture against your palms and catching the fabric of your gown helps ground you.

This is real.

You can-you can marry the man you love. Bring him into a life of luxury and happiness you’ve wanted to give him for so long-

The click of the door behind you opening and closing echoes in your pounding head. With hazy eyes you look to see Father standing behind you, proud and tall as ever. He is smiling softly at you, a gentleness you didn’t think he possessed. It's an odd but not unpleasant expression to see on his face.

“I…” He starts, lifting a hand into the air and holding it there, fingers pinched. With a sigh he drops his hand back to his side, looking to the floor.

“With age comes wisdom.” He begins. “I regret many things when it comes to how you were raised.” You blink in shock at his words. You can see in his face…a quiet longing you hadn’t noticed before. It makes something in your heart squeeze.

“I wish…I wish I had been…” He sighs, his shoulders slumping as he looks to you. “I had you trained and molded to take charge of the kingdom after my passing, consort or no. I made sure you knew every battle tactic, every political game, every form of self defense I could cram into you to make sure you could be safe. I just wish I could have taken the time to…let you be you. To be my daughter, not just my heir. I wish I could have gotten to know you.”

The back of your eyes burn. You swallow and blink. You cannot show such clear emotion, not to anyone.

Well…to one person and one person only. 

That person is not Father.

“I married your mother because of the things she could teach you, the benefits she brought to our home.” Father steps closer to you. His arms lift, as if to reach for you. He freezes, hands shaking before he forces them down to his sides again. “I wish to give you a chance to be happy. If only in some small way. A way I never got to experience. Go to him, and you will be happy with him, I’m sure.”

Father has taken time out of his day to meet with you, to hear your proposal. He agreed to your proposal and gave you his blessing for the man you chose. He is standing before you and restraining himself from giving you a hug.

You take the final step to close the distance between you both, and your stiff arms wrap around his even stiffer form. You feel his hands slowly and carefully come to your back and rest there.

It is awkward and stiff and slightly uncomfortable.

It is the first hug you’ve ever received from Father.

You will cherish its memory for the rest of your life. He has made you happier on this day than you have ever felt.

Well, perhaps not happier than the day you met your fearsome and brave knight. It is close, however.

“Thank you Father. If it is acceptable, I wish to go see him.” Father’s arms drop from you as you step back, and he nods his head. You turn and rush down the hall.

~~~~~~~

You ignore the whispers that trail after you as you hunt through the castle hallways.

“Ah, her royal highness the cold fish. Wonder what has her in such a hurry.”

“Her highness is moving rather fast, do you think something’s happened? She’s normally so stoic and cold.”

“Just like her father, that one. Unfeeling and scary.”

Their words sting, but you hold your head high. You had thought you had been getting better at interacting with the staff, but apparently not if they still gossip in such ways about you. Your knight had been trying to help you be more approachable and open to others, considering he shined with charm and charisma like a beacon, but apparently you needed more work. 

It didn't matter right now, in any case. You have more important news to share with him. 

A tall figure, a flash of blonde, catches your eye down the corridor. You race after it and round the corner to see your knight and his young charge walking away. 

“Toshinori!” You call, and the two figures freeze, turning to look back at you. You rush closer, breathless and excited. Neither of them are in their full set of armor, only wearing the thickly padded tunic that has your kingdom's blazon proudly on display. You take a moment to admire the way your knight’s cloak drapes over his broad shoulders. 

He may not be as strong as he was when younger, but that thin, tall frame holds strength and resilience you can't help but love.

“G-good morning to you both. I apologize for the interruption-” You start, nodding at Izuku who stares up at you with shining eyes. Toshinori straightens up, his smile professional and calm as he addresses you. 

“No trouble at all, your highness.” He bows low to you, and for a moment his hand twitches as if to reach for you, but he forces it still. Izuku jolts as if shocked, quickly blowing low as well with a muttered ‘good morning’ of his own. He's still learning proper protocol, Toshinori had told you. The boy shows great promise as a knight and you know Toshinori is more proud of this boy than he is about any other accomplishment he has in his long career. 

“If I may, Ser Knight, I would like to speak to you about something…” Your eyes dart to the boy at his side. “Urgent.” Toshinori catches on, his eyebrows raising in surprise and slight concern before he turns to his student.

“Young Midoriya, make your way to the stables and complete your usual duties. I will find you later.” Toshinori smiles at the boy with a tenderness that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. The urge to kiss the laugh lines on his cheeks is nearly overwhelming, and you barely stop yourself from doing so. You need to talk to him first. 

Izuku hurries down the hallway with an eager stride, no doubt wanting to impress his teacher when they meet back up. With your own barely restrained enthusiasm you grab Toshinori's hand in your own and drag him to the closest private spot you know of. He stumbles for a moment as you pull him, letting out a choked noise of surprise. You can feel calluses from years of hard labor under the pads of your fingers, rough skin and scars that make your heart flutter with excitement. You've had those hands on you so many times, and now you know for certain you can feel them again for the rest of your life. 

If he wants such a thing, that is. 

“Y-your highness-! What is-” You ignore his questions, making a beeline for the nearest hidden alcove you can think of. It's a hidden spot right outside the entrance to the gardens, one you and Toshinori are very familiar with. Memories of his fingers, long and thick as they brought you to completion over and over while pressed against his chest flash through your mind as you pull him closer. It seems the same thoughts are on his mind as well, judging by the growing pink blush spreading over the bridge of his nose.

The sunlight bleeds through the leaves of the many trees planted, flowering blooms bright and colorful as fat bees buzz to and fro across them to collect nectar. A slight breeze picks up and you watch, mesmerized, as the golden hair of your knight seems to shine as it’s ruffled.

To think, you’ll be able to see him like this everyday for the rest of your life…if he accepts that is.

His voice startles you despite it being a whisper.

“My love, what is wrong? Did something happen…?” Despite the concern you see in his eyes, his mouth pulls up in a shy smile. “Or were you looking to…” One of his hands cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone in such a tender way it makes your very soul ache. Your eyes flutter shut as you turn into his palm, pressing a kiss against the rough skin. His blush deepens.

“I am flattered darling but is this really what you would consider ‘urgent’? You had me worried for a moment!” He chuckles, a deep soothing sound that sends shivers down your spine. You squeeze your thighs closed at the sudden rush of heat you feel at the sound. You manage to find your voice and speak.

“N-not entirely, beloved…” Your voice comes out as soft as his, a whisper to be carried away on the wind. Toshinori pulls you closer, his free arm wrapping around your waist to settle on the small of your back, his long fingers spreading to grip the meat of your ass. You squeak at the feeling, your hips pushing closer to his where you can feel his cock hardening under his tunic. He hums in interest at your words as he buries his nose into your hair.

“I was speaking with-...with Mother and Father today-” You feel him stiffen against you, and not because of arousal. He pulls back to look you in the eye, but his arms stay wrapped snugly around you. Toshinori’s brow is furrowed with concern as he looks at you.

“Are you alright? I know talks with Her Majesty can be…difficult for you. Is that why you came to me?” His eyes widened in panic. “A-and here I am trying to-! I am sorry love, you must be upset and I’m just-” You can feel his arms loosening from where they hold you tight, pulling away to give you space you most definitely did not want at the moment. You grip his wrists, tugging his hands back into their rightful place on you.

“No! No, I’m not upset please! Please-” You nuzzle into the hollow of his throat, “please hold me. I want to be held.” Your lips brush against his skin as you whisper and you hear him choke. Those strong arms wrap around you once more.

“Ah, a-as you wish…” Toshinori’s voice comes out breathless, and you feel him press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“It was a good talk. I was…” You pause, trying to think of the best way to phrase your question. “I was granted permission to…to court whomever I wish…”

You feel him suck in a sharp breath, his shoulders tensing under where your hands grip him to hold him close. You can hear the sound of his heartbeat where your head rests against his chest, and you know under your cheek is the very spot where his scar resides. You want to spend eternity like this, just being held by your knight like you’re something precious for once.

“...Truly? That's-that's fantastic my love…” You hear Toshinori gulp above you, his arms tightening their hold even further. 

“I think so too. I wanted to ask…” You pause and breathe deeply, grounding yourself. He wouldn't say no, there was no reason to say no. “I wanted to ask if you would consider…allowing me to court you, Ser Knight? And to one day be my King Consort.” You press a kiss to his cloth covered chest, right above his heart.

“My love…” You feel his hand, rough with callouses, cup your jaw and angle your head up to look at him. Piercing blue eyes that glow with resilience and determination stare into your own. “There is nothing I would love more, than to be by your side.”

And he seals this promise with a kiss.

[calp0sa]

what do you like and dislike about airy?

CRAZY MESSY INFODUMP INCOMING OH LORD

well there’s nothing i truly dislike about airy, because everything about him just makes him who he is. i just wish we got more insight to him as an Actual person rather than his host facade, even though that was sort of the point of one 17-18, i feel like the fact that he’s pretty much a regular ass dude went over most people’s heads (Not mine though because im really smart and could beat albert einstein in a rap battle) i know the mystique is the most prominently interesting aspect of the whole show… but yknowwww it’d be nice to know a little more about him personally considering how we now know he’s far from a one-dimensional character and shouldn’t be taken at face value (i am side eyeing a huge chunk of the one fandom as i say this) now okay if i were to talk about everything i like about airy we’d be here til the next solar eclipse but i’ll try to jot down everything i can. airy, to me, is the most fascinating object show character there is. i swear every time i observe something about him it’s like i’m opening a matryoshka doll as i dissect his character further and further… every rewatch of one i notice something, whether it be minuscule or glaring, there’s always something for me to brutally analyze. see, and here’s where i contradict myself, because while it’s frustrating not having much official trivia on him, i actually quite love how mysterious he is. i love how he seems like he knows a lot more than he lets on. i love how his caginess only sparks more questions. and i love how FESTERED he is. how you can tell there was so much that led up to him being so numb and stagnant… it does nothing but pique my interest. and i love how this festered-ness parallels with the contestants. i can’t help but feel as if the true extent of airy’s suffering was reflected through those on the plane, how the contestants went through so many fluctuant stages of sadness, denial, hopelessness, anger… all in the midst of isolation akin to airy’s forest. it makes me wonder if ONE served as catharsis to airy. not just a purpose or a distraction, but something to spark resonance within a desolate soul. speaking of distraction, it’s really interesting to me how reliant airy is on escapism, and this is most evident in how he literally takes on such a gilded and contrived host persona to the point where it’s difficult for the viewer to discern who he is OUTSIDE of “airy”. big fan of how the show basically tricks us into thinking he’s this ruthless malevolent all powerful entity until it takes us by surprise and reveals that he’s Just Some Guy, and it could’ve been anyone in his place. but this isn’t to defend him… no… airy was definitely a selfish and inconsiderate asshole (sorry yall) he just isn’t as awful as everyone makes him out to be. airy is not evil, nor is he good, he just kind of sucks LOL. and i love him for that honestly! the thing about this is he should’ve stopped and asked himself “what am i going to gain from this” yet he was so absorbed in trying to hoist himself out of that inevitable pit of dread that he did not care if he destroyed everything else in the process (Might i add that this is a huge parallel to liam’s impulsive vengefulness… i swear i could go on and on about how those two are brothers from another mother) another interesting thing about the hosting stage of airy is the chance that he probably did feel some sort of regret. especially after the shock of breaking his face, being confronted by harsh genuine emotions after such a long time… an iota of the pain and fear he assumed was long gone… as well as the crushing reminder that he basically threw himself and all his senses away just for a stupid game. What a loser amirite. even if he had some semblance of a wish to end ONE, he knew he couldn’t. i’d imagine he told himself mockingly “yeaaaa you basically dug yourself into this, you’re not backing out any time soon” (even though he could’ve easily backed out he was just a loser ass COWARD!)

i didn’t know the paragraphs had character limits! interesting. anyway i can’t help but wonder if airy made that effort to take care of liam in an attempt to break the cycle, the cycle of destroying everything else, including your very self, for the purpose of One thing. maybe airy thinks violence and spite is just a huge waste of time yes of course, but i think he understood liam to some extent (remember what i said about resonance 😁😁😁) i just love how everything about airy is so subtle, yet so major, so jarring and confusing yet when you piece it all together it makes such a scary amount of sense. i love making sense of how nonsensical he is. (of course i do. i am possibly the biggest fan of nonsense there is) now i will add a funny little thing i like about him. i like how he’s all impatient and snarky. and i know you’re probably thinking “franklin how in the abraham lincoln’s bootycheek do you think he’s snarky” Listen, it’s really funny once you actually notice it. there were so many instances where he sounded exasperated with the contestants. my personal favorite being

“yes, as long as you are here, you can’t die”

>”WE CANT DIE?”

“Yes… that’s… what i just said 😐”

he has this barely noticeable “oh my god can you let me do what i need to do” attitude and it’s SO funny. i like to imagine he rolled his eyes a lot while he was hosting. its really funny to imagine. and its also funny to imagine him smiling like an idiot like he did hosting in one 17. that scene was really cute it makes me want to run into ongoing traffic and get continuously ran over by 12 different semi-trucks. if you ignore how miserable the contestants were (sorry contestants) it’s actually really endearing how excited and eager airy was when he got ideas for challenges. i bet he felt so proud of himself it’s honestly kind of sad. he’s sad. what the hell. he really thought he was the SHIT when he said “riches… immortality… whatever your heart desires 😌” Oh my god he’s so pathetic don’t even get me started MY ONLINE CLASSES ARE STARTING I GOTS TO GO BUT ANYWAY FEEL FREE TO ASK FOR AN ANALYSIS ABOUT LITERALLY ANYTHING AIRY RELATED I HAVE MORE THAN A HUNDRED BIBLES’ WORTH OF SHIT TO SAY ABOUT HIM BYEBYE THANK YOU FOR ASKING THIS

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

I wish people wouldn’t make Liam’s funeral about the band’s “current friendships” or daydream about them all hanging out today. None of them were close for nearly a decade now except Liam and Louis. There’s tragedy and loss involved for all but the others were there to show respect. If it was his birthday party instead of his funeral, only Louis would be there. Maybe Niall would drop by. Harry wouldn’t have even acknowledged it. This sounds bitter bc it is. Harry’s his ex coworker who went years without communicating and probably “reconciled” in large part to control his image. Louis's loss is profoundly different and he deserves the support instead of this ridiculous notion that the band is equally suffering and crying into each other’s shoulders.

Liam and Niall used to post their FaceTime during the pandemic too. An OG 1D fan started this chain of 1D guys hanging out after 2015, and I added to it, but it seemed pointless after a while.

The post revealed that, through the last nine years, Harry wanted nothing to do with 1D. His friends are the Fulwell guys. He vacations with James Corden, he hangs out with Corden and Winston’s families and kids, he goes to the Euros matches with them, he is Ruby Winston’s godfather and he hangs out with Ben’s dad. He is friends with Niall if any of them.

“We don’t see what happens behind closed doors,” some fans say. Let’s not lie. Coming in the same car and leaving together is the clearest way for Ben and James to signal their longterm partnership with Harry. The link here gives a 10-year timeline. Niall, Louis, and Zayn don’t work with them in the same way. It’s very clear in the video mentioned here.

We all build relationships based on our end goals. Harry wouldn’t waste the energy with Fulwell if it wasn’t goal-driven. To be clear, it’s not a crime to be friends with Fulwell. But emphasizing business connections at this particular event is such poor, poor taste.

Like I said before, Louis is a ride-or-die guy who will always support his guys, but you, anon, are perfectly correct. If Liam had a birthday party, Louis would have attended, and Harry and Zayn wouldn’t have even acknowledged it. And fandom— including me— would probably have scoffed at him for it. Harry had many chances to support Liam through the years. Many chances where it would have meant everything to Liam. Harry didn’t.

We can all learn and change in retrospect. However, fans have no power to change whatever these men decide to do. No matter how many think pieces we write, these guys are who they are. We can’t make them better or worse men. We can’t fabricate a nonexistent relationship.

They have the power; they control their lives, and they control the narratives in their fandoms.

Life isn’t a fanfiction. We can’t simply fantasize a happy ending or write a reunion into our blogs where we’re deliberately misinterpreting their own words, or tag away a sad ending. [media take]

They, not we fans, are the agents of their own friendships. They, not we, are the arbiters of their image with regards to supporting or ignoring their ex-bandmates. They decide what values they want to uphold. They decide whether to be good men or vacant industry puppets. They. Not us.

[akirathedramaqueen]

No rest for the wicked

What often keeps my mind occupied and worried for the last couple of... weeks, or even months, maybe, is what might happen to Stolas's relationship with Octavia in the near future.

We know something bad is brewing. The trailer gave us enough information to freak out but learn nothing from it. I think though that I have found yet another foreshadowing, and I am sad I did. I was not sure if I should post it since predictions and speculations are not quite my style, but fuck it, I’ll roll with it. I want you to suffer with me <3 Besides, after yesterday's @tealvenetianmask's wonderful post about Stella and how society enables her behavior, and my rambly reblog, which delves more into Stolas's relationships with Octavia and how they are affected, I decided I need to let it out of my system.

So, you see... while I believe this screenshot is our last hope for us, the Stolitz nation—that these two dumbasses will have ANOTHER chance to talk properly...

It implies that something arguably worse than their breakup is going to happen. Something on the 'whole palace is in ice and Stolas is in immediate mortal danger' level of 'worse.' Something bad enough to make them forget all the shit they’ve gone through with their disastrous miscommunication and unite to face a common threat.

Andrealphus.

Something that would make Stolas to leave quickly and forcibly. Run for his life. Disappear, sweeping off his trail, without Octavia knowing...

And let her think he ran off with Blitzø.

Are you gonna run off with him and leave me behind? Go away, where I can't find you?

Make her run around the palace looking for him and not being able to find him. Because he isn’t there.

Daddy! Daddy... I had a dream! A really bad dream! I was looking all over the palace, and I couldn't find you anywhere! You weren't there!

And the worst part is that it would make her assume the worst: that he left her behind just for a weird red dickhead.

Why?

Because Stolas's relationship with Blitzø has caused a rift between the prince and his daughter.

Because he, unfortunately, has never told her what kind of mother Stella is, or what she has done to him. She is left to believe everything was okay until that imp came around, seduced her father, ruined her family, and wrecked her home.

Because Stolas grew distant and forgot about the important stellar event he promised to show her. Was he wrong for it? Of course not! Stella made everything to throw him off the rails completely that morning. But Octavia still has the right to be upset.

Not to mention that she’s nowhere to be found since that night in Los Angeles… Why isn’t she around? Is she resentful toward him? Is she being kept from him? Or is he keeping her at arm's length because of the assassination attempt and his deteriorating state of mind? What happened?

I can already see how Stella and Andrealphus could use all of it against Stolas, grooming Octavia and simmering her in hatred for him. Bluntly lying about true reasons Stolas fled.

Stolas kept silent about the abuse he survived, hoping to protect Octavia and let her live a perfect childhood. But instead, she won’t have a single soul to support her, since Stolas will be chased off and hated. By her. Surrounded by vultures who now prey on her, who have couped her father and forced him to break the solemn, earnest promise he made to her.

What?... No! No, no, never! I'd never do that. Never...

How fucking tragic is that?

[esoteric-crow]

hey actually isn’t there something kind of really sad about the fact that the hardest difficulty (that isn’t just like. hell or hell. which is just ‘haha hehe Blow up.’) is called Dante Must Die. i think about it a lot. i can’t quite put my finger on why it makes me miserable but maybe someone else can.

but you know what i CAN talk about and i DO have actual fully formed thoughts about?

regenerating like crazy is great. but isn’t there something kind of inherently fucked up about the fact that, because of the regeneration dante and vergil have, neither of them will ever have tangible evidence to themselves or others of their suffering? asking themselves, was it really that bad? did it even happen at all? no matter how much you put vergil through hell and how afraid he is inside, there will never be a mark on his skin that says “i have suffered”. the world leaves no proof, nothing to take home from this experience aside from a more broken mind. vergil doesn’t say his feelings, or even allow them to surface properly, because that’s a kind of vulnerability he cannot handle. the only way he could perhaps earn someone’s sympathetic care is by expressing what he has suffered through, but he cannot verbalize that. and he looks perfect. unmarked by time or trauma. there isn’t a single part of his body that could scream out for him that something horrible has happened that he cannot figure out how to deal with alone.

and dante is just as poor off. and he’s very difficult to figure out emotionally to a passerby. dante purposefully puts on a happy face every day, and to the majority of the world, it’s convincing. there’s certainly no evidence to themselves contrary. not a scratch on him. but he is like kind of constantly getting the ever loving fuck beat out of him. stabbed and jabbed. when you look at him, you see happy, sweet, goofy dante. for all the years of pain he’s gone through, there isn’t a single marred inch of his skin that could tell you even a day of the agony unless he told you. and why would dante do that when he can pretend it simply isn’t happening until he’s alone and can sit with the terror that’s constantly in him and the loss he’s been living with, over and over losing people and being surrounded by the ghosts of their presence. whether the ghost is a wayward descendent, a gun, or just a lingering smell of ash in his childhood home. but that will only be private. he can be the walking dead, he can treat himself like shit, but his body refuses to show anything for it. and he’s certainly not going to die.

obviously, the same thing can be said for the opposite side of the spectrum: scars can be a constant reminder in the mirror of what happened that you cannot erase, always to some degree a part of you. among other stuff. so both sides of the coin are full of The Pains and The Anguishes.

on a side note, i really like when people give them like, one scar. i don’t really have a favorite one that people give vergil but i really like dante with just the one bigass gnarly one in the middle of his abdomen from the rebellion gettin jammed in there. his One scar. a treate. like it defies his regeneration somehow.

i love making a scarred up guy. i have plenty of scars n marks myself, and i feel like they should definitely be more normalized, so like, no this post isn’t anti scars or something. they’re normal and not ugly or whatever the hell people try to say. this side note is probably entirely unnecessary, but i’m tired and i’m worried about someone misunderstanding me i think. anyway i’m trying to say ooh scar angst yeah but sometimes No scars is also fucked up too. that’s the point here.

to sum up: i believe there can be something Fucked Up and angsty to be said about the fact that the sparda boys heal perfectly fine, but only externally. it is 3am. this is not articulated as well as it could be i don’t think. aaaand post.

[syrupfog]

Oldest sibling Sanji.

He was born before Judge was experimenting with in-utero genetic modification. For a few blessed months he was just a normal baby.

He doesn’t remember that, of course. By the time his four siblings come along, he’s scarred and warped— but not like them.

Judge isn’t able to get rid of his emotions, but he’s able to break him down. Even at four, looking at his infant siblings with dead eyes, Sanji feels nothing but pity for them. He’s strong, but Judge tells him they’ll be stronger.

All except Reiju. The zero. The failure.

In this world, their mum sacrifices herself and only Reiju escapes unmodified. She’s smaller than the rest, cries when the others are silent, has NEEDS that the others don’t.

Sanji pities her most of all. But knows, even this young, that he has to be the one to protect her.

It feels like a secret, that Sanji watches Reiju cry and it makes tears well up in his eyes. That he watches Reiju run to their mum for comfort and all he wants is to be in those arms as well. But when Judge spots him being WEAK, he’s dragged to the lab again. So he hides it.

He watches Reiju suffer at the hands of their brothers and father, but he also watches Reiju take in that love from their mum that he so badly wants and so rarely allows himself to indulge in. It’s a catch 22, and he’s only eight.

And then their mum dies.

The one good thing in his life is gone and Sanji shuts down, gives in to the training that Judge has tried to foist on him since the beginning.

He feels himself dimming inside, yearns to be able to turn his emotions off entirely, like his brothers, because it HURTS.

The only thing that keeps his head above water is Reiju. Knowing that someone has to look after her, has to keep her safe, because their mum was the buffer but she’s gone now.

Late night trips to the kitchens start. Sanji carries Reiju there as she bawls.

He patches up whatever needs patched and then, sloppily and clumsily, cooks for her. Because that’s what their mum would do— hot chocolate for rough nights, bread for bad days, soup for sad hearts.

He’s not good at it, but it’s all he can think to do, and Reiju needs him.

But it can’t go on forever.

And when Judge finally gives up even the experiments on Reiju, decides that nothing will ever make her useful, when he throws her in the dungeon and declares her dead to the world, Sanji knows he had to get her out and away.

Sanji’s twelve and Reiju’s eight and he knows enough now to realise she won’t survive in Germa, she needs out. And he’s too young but he’s cunning because he needs to be, smart because he has to be.

And when Judge informs them of a pirate ship coming to talk treaties, Sanji makes plans.

The giant ship is easy to spot and surprisingly easy to board, the smiling whale figurehead practically glowing under the cover of nightfall.

And twelve year old Sanji simply walks into the crowded mess hall of the Whitebeard Pirates and announces himself by throwing a sack of treasure pilfered from his own father onto the table, the clattering as it spills out silencing the hall.

“I need you take my sister,” he says, staring up at a man larger than even his own father. “This is what I have to pay you, but I can get more.”

Laughter breaks out. Talk of “this kid’s trying to sell off his sister!” and “I tried to do the same back in my day”.

But Whitebeard observes him in silence, gaze piercing. “Why?” he asks.

“She’s not safe,” Sanji pleads, more emotion in his voice than he’s let show in years. “She— she’s not strong like the rest of us!”

Whitebeard leans forward, towering over him. “You’re one of the princes,” he says.

“Yes,” Sanji gulps, taking a step back.

“Your father has told us you no longer have a sister.”

He states it simply. Like it’s just a fact.

“He— he’s WRONG,” Sanji shouts. He steadies himself. “He locked her up. She’s not dangerous! She’s just— normal.”

“Safe passage, then,” Whitebeard says, sitting back and stroking his mustache. “We’re pirates, son, not Marines.”

“She can fight!” Sanji argues. “She can be strong!” Just not strong enough for Judge.

“Please. I’ll do anything. Tell me what to do.”

Everyone else has long since been thrown into silence, and Whitebeard looks around their drawn, serious faces. “I cannot promise her safety,” he tells Sanji. “As I said. We’re pirates.”

“Anything is better than here,” Sanji says.

Judge doesn’t notice Reiju is gone for a month.

Sanji lives.

He wakes.

He trains.

He spars his brothers.

He eats.

He sleeps.

Sanji lives.

He did not know how much harder life would be when he became the only one in his home who CARED about anything.

Still. Sanji continues. He lives.

Sanji is 23 and emotions are harder to access. They’re there, he’s still him, but years of nothing but relentless training and sparring and experiments have beaten him down. He’s muted. Dulled.

Sanji is 23 and the head of a Germa division.

Sanji is 23 and he opens the paper.

He reads about two members of Whitebeard’s crew who have been caught by marines and sent to Impel down. A man rumoured to be Gol D Roger’s son. A woman with pink hair and no ancestry to speak of.

He doesn’t believe it’s her. He hasn’t heard about her in over a decade.

It would be illogical. SURELY the Whitebeards wouldn’t have KEPT her. His useless, loving little sister.

But maybe.

Maybe.

Sanji is 23 and he boards a ship alone, looking for answers. Judge doesn’t question him now. He has freedom now.

He doesn’t make it to Impel Down, because he runs into another ship first. A ship with the figurehead of a lion and a tiny crew of just eight members.

They’re hurtling at top speed; the only reason they don’t sink into Sanji’s ship is his ability to make quick turns.

They DO still hit it. There’s a lot of damage, most of it to his hull.

“We’re in a hurry,” a woman with orange hair says. “We can’t help you; we’re headed to Impel Down.”

It’s meant to scare him off, but it sounds more like a provision.

“I’m coming with you,” Sanji says.

Their captain is weird. He doesnt object, allows Sanji aboard, but he keeps his eyes locked on the horizon.

“We’re on a time crunch,” a blue haired man says, and then they’re bursting through the sea again.

Sanji learns that the other man in prison is the captain’s brother.

He learns that all these pirates know his sister; that she was with Ace in a country called Alabasta.

He learns that she grew up well.

The captain says Reiju keeps Ace out of trouble. She’s a voice of reason. He probably would’ve been in Impel Down years ago, otherwise.

Through it all, their green haired swordsman watches him in silence.

When they’re practically at the gates of Impel Down, he pulls Sanji aside. Says he doesn’t trust him. That Sanji seems nothing like his sister, and that he remembers her tales of cruel, heartless brothers.

Sanji thinks she wasn’t talking about him, but he doesn’t KNOW. Maybe he was heartless and has simply chosen to forget that bit. Germa programming is a merciless thing.

“I’m only here to make sure my sister is safe,” he says, rather than negate the allegations.

“You don’t have to trust me further than that.”

The swordsman studies him. Nods. “Watch your back,” he says.

Then the ship’s captain is swinging straight up to the front gates and Sanji finds himself running after him along with everyone else.

Impel Down is long and harrowing and Sanji’s more and more convinced every minute that this is a crew of monsters.

They’re powerful.

As he fights alongside them he starts to feel a certain level of… freedom. No longer surrounded by hundreds of drone soldiers is exhilarating.

Reiju and Ace are in the lowest level, and Sanji feels a bone deep exhaustion as he grabs the swordsman by the wrist to force him in the right direction.

But they find them.

They’re there. They’re okay.

Reiju’s grown. She’s made it to adulthood. She’s free.

Sanji almost breaks down into tears seeing her right before his eyes; something he hasn’t done since the last time she was in his care.

But there’s no time for that, because now they’re only halfway through, and they have to fight their way back to the entrance of the prison.

Still, the emotions on the way back up are lighter. The captain has transformed from serious to goofy, his crew equally relieved and relaxed. Reiju and Ace fight in tandem, weakened though they are, but Reiju keeps coming back to him, to check on him.

“I can’t believe you came for me,” she says at one point, in awe. “I’m not a kid anymore, I can handle myself.”

Sanji scoffs, fighting off a number of guards with his longsword. “You made the news,” he says. “I had to make sure it was really… you.”

She doesn’t respond again— because they’re separate by pits of poison— and the next time they’re together and not out of breath, everyone is back on the Sunny.

What a name. Sunny. So unlike everything Sanji has ever seen in Germa.

Ace and the captain are raiding the kitchen.

It’s barrels of grain and coolers of meat. Sanji follows them and finds the whole situation sad.

“You can cook, can’t you?” Ace asks, looking up from swallowing a piece of barely cooked pork. “Reiju always used to talk about that.”

Sanji blanches. “Not— it’s been a long time.”

It has. He’d given it up, along with everything else he’d cared for, once he had no one to share it with.

“You can?” The captain asks. He’s eating a steak RAW. “Cook for us, Sandi!”

“Sanji,” Sanji says. He surveys the kitchen and its rough shape. “I can… try.”

There are cheers. Some of the crew members walking through the door join in with a general sentiment of “glad it’s not me this time.”

Sanji cooks.

He cooks and cooks and cooks.

And it’s not GOOD. He’s out of practice. His hands are made for swords, not knives.

But it awakens a spark inside of him. A feeling of childhood. The good parts.

Reiju sits and watches him. She observes him.

When dinner is served— a slightly burned curry with next to no spices because they HAD next to no spices— she makes him sit next to her.

Sanji’s already making plans on how to get back to Germa. To cover this up so Judge never knows. So Reiju can keep being free.

So at least SOMEONE can be.

But his thoughts are interrupted when Reiju leans forward. “Luffy,” she says. “I need a favor.”

“Okay!” says Luffy, his cheeks still full of meat.

“I need you to take my brother,” she says. “As a member of your crew.”

She bows as she says it, as low as she can go.

“Hey, wait a minute—” Sanji says.

“Sure,” says Luffy. “He can cook!”

“Hold on,” says Sanji.

“I’m only doing what you did for me,” Reiju tells him. “I’m not the only one who needed out.”

“I’m fine,” Sanji says. “Really. I’m okay.”

“Too late,” Luffy says. “Welcome to my crew!”

“No—“

“Your sister’s great so you must be too!”

“Luffy,” the swordsman speaks up.

Ah, Sanji thinks. The voice of reason.

“Reiju said that her brothers were evil, didn’t she?”

Luffy shrugs. “I wasn’t listening to that bit.”

“My OTHER brothers,” Reiju corrects. “Sanji is the one who got me to the Whitebeard pirates.”

“Cheers to that,” Ace says, tipping his glass. “We appreciate it. She’s the only one in our division who can—“

He falls forward and starts to snore into his curry.

Reiju faces him. “If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me,” she says. “Let me have a brother again.”

Sanji pauses. “Judge won’t just let me go,” he says.

“Oh, we can fight a judge,” Luffy says. “They’re old guys with white hair right? Easy!”

“Judge is a king of a small kingdom,” a woman with dark hair and dark eyes says. She turns to examine Sanji. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“If we’re fighting someone, I’m in,” the swordsman says.

Sanji still has objections, but they die on the tip of his tongue as Reiju grabs his hand. “You did this for me,” she repeats. “I’m doing this for you. You need this. But if you can’t do it for you, do it for me.”

His protests die on his tongue. “I will… try. But I will need more to work with. This kitchen doesn’t even have a colander.”

(The colander, he finds out later, is in the bath. They use it as a bath toy).

Sanji, age 24, is the cook of the Straw Hat pirates.

His dishes aren’t amazing, but he’s learning.

His fighting style is erratic. Whenever word of him reaches the papers, he has a different weapon. He says he doesn’t know what he wants to use, just what he DOESNT want.

Sanji, age 24, is free in a way he never even thought to consider.

The highlight of his days is sparring with a green headed swordsman, who fights with a ridiculous number of swords. An unnecessary number.

Sanji is age 25 when the king of the pirates docks the Sunny up against a floating restaurant run by a gruff old pirate captain who never ended up stranded on a rock.

But he’s about to teach a cook how to fight anyway.

[justwritedreams]

If I was your man | Wooyoung

Idol Wooyoung x Assistant Reader

Word count: 4505

Genre: suggestive, fluff

Author: maari

Warnings: One heavy make out scene, woo little jealous

Note: I've been planning to write this since march last year, you have no idea! It's totally based on the song if i was your man by the vamps

Summary: What if Wooyoung was your man?

⩥ Ateez Masterlist

Ateez Taglist: @foxinnie8

Wooyoung had just left the recording studio when he saw Y/N sitting on the sidewalk with her phone in her hand.

It had been like this all day, he didn't want to stare for so long but she wasn't like other days.

Y/N used to admire when the group was recording a music video or something, even though she was just the assistant to Ateez's stylist she loved the recording set, the dream of becoming an actress had been left behind for a long time but the luck of being able to watching behind the scenes was an opportunity she wouldn't miss for anything, especially since Y/N was allowed to watch.

But on that particular day, she didn't pay attention to the exhausting hours of recording. She was too busy looking at her phone every two minutes, she seemed anxious for some reason.

Wooyoung noticed that in the last few days Y/N was happier, even talking more since she was always more introverted. He didn't know why but there was something on her phone that had changed her mood.

From happy and excited to anxious and worried. A change in such a short time that anyone would notice.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” asked when he approached and she looked at him in surprise, she hadn't noticed his presence there.

“Yeah, it’s just-” Y/N pondered, sighing. She needed to talk to someone. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." he sat next to her, keeping his backpack over his shoulder and faced her.

Her gaze down, avoiding contact with him, revealed that she was embarrassed and probably didn't know how to ask what was bothering her.

And she really didn't know, at least she didn't know how to say it without sounding stupid.

“You’re a man and you know how most men's minds work, right?”

"Something like that." he smiled sweetly, wanting to make her feel more at ease.

Y/N bit her lip, trying to find the right words but all that came to mind was that she should be sincere and direct.

This made her not notice that Wooyoung was looking closely at her extremely inviting lips.

“When a guy shows signs that he likes you and even went out with you but then disappears without explaining why, and comes back later as if nothing had happened. What does that mean?"

Wooyoung swallowed the answer he wanted to give and looked back into her eyes, seeing her watching him expectantly.

He didn't want to be rude or too direct and end up hurting her more than she already seemed to be.

Or be too playful and she ends up interpreting it as if he was making fun of her.

It was very clear to him, whoever she was going out with definitely didn't like Y/N the way she thought and probably didn't want the same thing as her.

But her eyes were begging for an answer, as if she needed direction on what to do. And had to be sincere.

“Maybe his priority right now isn’t what you guys are having.” Wooyoung responded carefully and saw her face change expression, from worried to sad.

He didn't like seeing her like that. The last person who deserved to suffer for someone who wasn't worth it was Y/N.

The two didn't have a huge age difference and just like Wooyoung, Y/N knew what it was like to leave the family behind to follow your dreams in a place where you have to learn to fend for yourself.

Y/N was a sweet, polite and respectful person, she would do anything for everyone without expecting anything in return. He knew her well enough to know that she deserved so much more than some asshole was trying to give her.

And that didn't even have to do with the fact that he had a slight crush on her.

Well, maybe it has.

“So he doesn’t like me.” Y/N concluded, her voice even a little deflated and Wooyoung couldn't control the urge to put his hand on her shoulder.

He wanted to hug her, the way he used to hug his members.

It wasn't fair for her to be like this because of someone who didn't treat her like she should be treated.

“I know that if it was me in his place, I would never waste your time like that.” He took a deep breath and took his hand to the strand of Y/N's hair that fell in front of her face, placing behind her ear and she looked at him at the same moment. Although Wooyoung was different from most Koreans, who didn't like to show affection through physical contact, Y/N never crossed that line but Wooyoung was too close, in a way they had never been before. “If you take your hair out of your eyes, you'll be able to see what's in front of you."

After saying that, Wooyoung got up from the sidewalk and walked out in long steps while she just looked at him with her mouth open. In addition to being shocked, she was confused.

He hadn't said it the way she was interpreting it. Right?

[...]

Three weeks had passed and nothing had changed.

Well, not for Wooyoung.

Y/N was still involved with the asshole who had hurt her, she sent him messages all the time but the situation hadn't evolved.

From what she had shared with Wooyoung, the guy still kept disappearing without a good explanation and came back as if nothing had happened to ask her out.

Wooyoung knew that wasn't an explanation but rather a lame excuse, which she always believed.

The phone fell into the water? Lie.

He has to restore his phone and lose their conversations? Lie again.

He slept on the bus and his phone was stolen? The worst lie he's come up with so far.

They lived in Seoul, it was safe even to walk around in the early hours of the morning with a 50-inch TV on your arm.

Wooyoung hated all of this. He knew why the guy always wanted to take her to the dark of the cinema and it wasn't the same reason she had in mind.

Y/N wanted to go out with the guy because she was enchanted, he wanted to go out with her to sleep with her.

It was so simple and Wooyoung was so angry because she didn't see the malice in the intentions.

At least now Y/N and Wooyoung were talking a little more, although it seemed like she was a little shy when she was around him. He had given her a clue and apparently Y/N hadn't understood, so his crush would continue to be a crush until she realized he was there, ready to do everything differently than the other guy.

“Sorry for the delay, Wooyoung, Mrs. Park was busy with another group’s outfits and ended up taking your clothes by accident.” Y/N held out the bag with the tour outfits that Wooyoung would wear to the next concert.

"Don’t apologize. You could have brought it tomorrow morning, you didn’t need to leave the house at that time of night.” he said after holding the bag and saw her wave her hand in the air as if to ensure that it wasn't a problem.

“I didn't want to stay at home and I know you're traveling tomorrow so.” She shrugged and tried to smile but it wasn't quite a smile.

Wooyoung raised his eyebrow.

"Are you ok?" he asked, worried.

She even opened her mouth to say yes, but not even her body wanted to lie, not again. So no sound came out and she shook her head.

"I'm an idiot." she laughed, without any humor and saw Wooyoung look both ways trying to understand.

Knowing that Y/N wanted to vent, he gave her space to go to the living room and sit on the couch while he followed close behind and dropped the bag on the floor as he settled in next to her.

“Let me guess, it’s that guy.” it wasn't a question, Wooyoung knew the answer.

“I thought something very serious had happened to him because he hadn't seen my messages for 6 days.” she explained and Wooyoung paid attention to every word. “But he posted a few hours ago that he’s at the cinema with another girl and his parents.”

Wooyoung felt his heart beat faster with anger.

He was tired of seeing her waste time with that guy, tired of seeing her run after someone who didn't want to be with her. He was tired of seeing that idiot treating her exactly the opposite of how he would treat her.

If he had one chance, just one.

“Why do you insist on talking to him?” he asked and she remained silent, trying to find the answer. “I mean, do you like him so much to live like this?”

“I don’t even know how I feel about him anymore.” Y/N admitted, looking to a random corner in the room. “He was a nice guy and we have a lot of things in common. He was the first guy I went on a real date with in a long time but… I feel like I'm being an idiot.”

Wooyoung bit his lower lip, he wanted to agree quickly but he didn't know if it would be appropriate.

“Do you want my honest opinion?” asked and she looked at him, nodding slowly as she analyzed his expression. “I don't think it's fair for you to sink your heart even further every time he responds to you with an excuse and the next day he shows up living his life as if he doesn't care about you. You’re worth more than that.”

Y/N looked away and started playing with the fingers on her own hand. It wasn't the first time she thought this, but her reason always conflicted with her emotion when it came to this matter.

“You can have any guy in the world, Y/N.” he confirmed and she laughed, shaking her head.

She had known the boy for a while and knew how good-natured he was, but when didn't hear him laughing along she raised her eyes to look at him.

She laughed again, lightly, and when she realized he was serious stopped laughing immediately.

"You’re serious!" she stated, perplexed. “I mean, you really are serious.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked deep into her eyes, Y/N held her breath as realized that Wooyoung was closer and how her mind could only think that his facial expression was extremely… sexy.

“You’re beautiful, funny, kind.” He wet his own lips with his tongue and looked down at Y/N's mouth. She felt her mouth go dry and swallowed, mirroring his reaction. Did Wooyoung always have his lips so full? “I would treat you right. If I was your man…” he rested his hand behind Y/N’s body on the couch and got close enough to feel her labored breathing. “Just me, you wouldn’t waste your time.”

Y/N was left with nothing to say because the sincerity in his words caught her completely off guard, she wasn't expecting it but that didn't stop her mind from starting to entertain the idea.

He was always very polite and respectful towards her, never went overboard with jokes and made the atmosphere happier. And she couldn't even say anything negative about his look.

Wooyoung was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life, the type that would make her drop everything for him, the type that she would fall madly in love with if she weren't so confused.

But the blindfold that blinded her eyes seemed to be falling apart as Wooyoung sighed each word so close to her face, making the room increasingly hot and the air lacking.

She never imagined hearing that kind of thing from him, from a man who had the entire world thrown at his feet.

“I-I don’t know what to tell you.”

He brought the thumb of his free hand to her lips, shushing her.

"You don’t need to say anything." he whispered and she felt a shiver on the back of her neck. That short, new distance between them was making her feel dizzy, Wooyoung's scent was so intoxicating that she couldn't think about anything other than how much she wanted him to get closer.

And in fact, it was as if he was reading her mind, as he not only began to move closer but brought his hand to her cheek, creating a warm and subtle contact. Y/N's breathing was ragged, she was panting at the way he was looking at her.

When their noses gently touched and their eyelids threatened to droop, they were interrupted.

“Wooyoung-ah, did you see my-” Hongjoong’s voice echoed through the apartment, making them both move away suddenly and Y/N jumped in fright, feeling her heart stop in her throat as she saw the oldest appear in the room . “Oh hi Y/N, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, I…” she got up from the couch, completely distancing herself from Wooyoung who looked impatient, clearly anxious. “I needed to bring Wooyoung’s clothes.” she explained quickly and Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, taking turns looking between her and his friend who was taking a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. The two seemed very suspicious and hadn't even done anything. “But I’m already leaving.”

“Don’t you want to stay a little longer? Do you want to have some tea?” Hongjoong offered and she shook her head.

“No, tomorrow I need to wake up early anyway, you know how Mrs. Park is.” She smiled shyly and he nodded.

“It’s a shame you won’t come with us on tour this year,” he said. “Isn’t it, Wooyoung?”

Y/N tried to hide her ears burning with embarrassment as she slowly turned to face Wooyoung.

"Yes!" he responded promptly, getting up from the sofa, looking at her again, leaving her shy. “I even spoke to our manager hyung, but Mrs. Park needs you.”

“No more than one of us.” Hongjoong spoke, catching the attention of both of them who looked at him with frowns and he simply smiled innocently.

“Well, maybe next time.” she cleared her throat, running her sweaty hands over her jeans and as soon as a silence settled in, she sighed. "I'm already going. You guys need to rest too.”

Hongjoong walked over to hug her briefly.

“See you in a few months. Try not to miss us so much.”

“This is going to be an impossible task.” she laughed and they walked away. "Bon voyage."

He nodded in thanks and Y/N went towards the door, being accompanied by Wooyoung, she lowered her head shyly and put back the shoes she had taken off while being watched by Wooyoung.

“I know I'm going to miss you.” he spoke quietly and she suppressed a smile.

Y/N looked at him as soon as she stood up straight again and saw him come closer to hug her tightly, she closed her eyes at the contact and gave in to the hug. It was hot, it made her heart beat even faster and her legs trembled as if everything she had felt when he was clearly going to kiss her before wasn’t enough. She wondered if he could feel how anxious she was, how fast her heart was beating because of him.

“Don’t forget what I told you.” he whispered close to her ear, making every pore of Y/N's body tingle.

Now she not only wondered if she would give him a chance, but already imagined the answer and what good would come from it.

[...]

To say that Y/N wasn't nervous would be a huge lie.

She spent the day thinking about Wooyoung and she didn't know what time he would arrive back home but she wanted to see him.

In the last few months, after the trip to start the tour, she and Wooyoung spoke every day, sometimes via video calls, but always via messages. They had created a stronger bond, they were developing an intimacy that made Y/N feel safe.

Safe enough to be sure of what she wanted.

She wanted him, it was simple.

For a few weeks she repressed and even refused to believe, reinforcing everything that could go wrong, but on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel everything she felt when she talked to him. There were no games with Wooyoung and she liked that.

Well, she was in love with him. That was the truth!

She actually questioned herself for how long she had felt this way and hadn't even noticed because she was too busy seeing someone who didn't exactly see her, who didn't make a point of being with her like Wooyoung did.

And now, knowing that the tour was officially over and that he was coming back, it made all the butterflies in the world rest in her stomach. Even though they hadn't actually specified something, she was waiting for a text or call from him.

The doorbell to Y/N's apartment rang, making her jump back and almost let the glass she was washing run through her fingers. She hurried to let the glass dry in the sink and dried her hands behind her back to run to the door.

And she was even more surprised when saw Wooyoung standing in front of her apartment when she opened the door, she even lost her speech, making him laugh lightly.

“You- when- what-” she stuttered, blinking several times to make sure she was seeing right.

“I’m not even going to get a hug?” He asked and she sighed.

As soon as she nodded, Wooyoung entered the apartment seeking her body in a tight bear hug, which lifted her slightly off the ground while he buried his face in her neck, causing new goosebumps to run through her body.

Y/N took the opportunity to take her hands to the large strands of his hair, it was a little longer since the last time they saw each other.

“I didn’t know you were back already.” she spoke quietly and he placed her back on the ground, pulling away to face her with a wide smile.

“I've almost arrived now, actually.” he broke the hug to take off his shoes while he rested his hand on the door to close it and she frowned. “I just had time to leave my bags at home and take a shower.”

Y/N felt her heart warm.

“You should have rested a little…”

He shook his head.

“I couldn’t wait.” he confessed, shrugging and she smiled shyly. “I needed to talk to you.”

She swallowed the anxiety that had settled in the pit of her stomach and clasped her hands that were sweating cold.

"Me too." admitted and he looked at her hopefully. “Come on, I don’t want you to stand there at the door. Come in."

Y/N held Wooyoung by the hand and pulled him inside, leading him to the living room, but he didn't even sit on the sofa, he stopped her with his hand and she turned to face him.

“Did anything change?” he asked, directly and she sighed.

"Yes." she replied quietly but firmly. “You told me you would treat me right.”

He nodded and didn't look away from her.

“I would never hurt you.” he said, convinced.

"I know." she smiled lightly. "I trust you."

Those words seemed to sound like music in his ears and he smiled widely, they didn't need to say anything because the sparkle in both their eyes was enough. Wooyoung approached, placing his hands on Y/N's face and she felt her heart flutter but didn't stop him, in fact she approached just like him.

Resting her hands on his arms, she saw him touch their foreheads making her lose herself in his scent while she felt tickled with their noses touching lightly, she smiled lightly but it didn't last long as he kissed her in the same second, making her closing her eyes to truly enjoy the feeling of having his warm lips against hers.

She didn't know how it was possible for her legs to be so weak, but it was what his lips moving against hers was doing to her body. She could lose herself forever in the wet and hot sensation but he had other plans, he sucked her lower lip as he brought with him to break the kiss and make her let out a gasp.

Y/N squeezed his arms as if to ensure she could still stand, however his hands went down to her waist where he hugged her firmly while her hands went up to his shoulders.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” he spoke against her face, which took in the air she needed, still with her eyes closed.

“So we have to make up for the lost time.” Without the strength to face him, or else she wouldn't be able to stand, she kept her eyes closed.

Wooyoung began a new kiss, this time faster and more passionate, the voracious lips made Y/N lose track of the entire world around her, the only thing she wanted was to be there, in his arms.

They actually took advantage of everything they had missed in the last few months, Wooyoung's hands squeezed Y/N's waist without hurting while hers went up to the back of his head, pulling him closer.

There was no space between their bodies and neither of them wanted to stop there, it seemed little compared to the need they felt, they needed more. He then took the opportunity to walk with Y/N and ended up pressing her against the wall next to the sofa, it was enough to press his body against hers, who sighed at the contact.

Breathless, he kissed her neck and she just tilted her head to the side, giving him free access to do whatever he wanted with her skin and it wasn't a wasted opportunity.

Wooyoung didn't just distribute kisses but also light bites and licks that made Y/N's throat dry while her hands could only grab his hair, it was difficult to control the moans that insisted on wanting to come out of her mouth.

He then moved his hands to her thighs, just below her ass, and lifted her up. Y/N took the opportunity to wrap her legs around his waist and when she felt him hard against her hips, she couldn't suppress a low moan.

She opened her eyes to find Wooyoung already looking at her with desire, his dark eyes burned for her as much as hers burned for him, without having anything to say, they began a new kiss, hurriedly in which their tongues met quickly, making bodies brushed against each other for the first time that night.

While Y/N had her back pressed hard against the wall, she scratched the back of his head with desire, feeling her body practically erupt. It was then that she grabbed the t-shirt he was wearing and pulled it up, giving a clear indication of what she wanted, he broke the kiss once again to let her take the piece off.

He smiled proudly when he saw her admiring his chest, she seemed mesmerized by his abs, but he wasted no time in doing the same to her. He lifted the light fabric tank top she was wearing and Y/N helped him by lifting her arms so that the piece didn't get in the way of their warm torsos meeting and when that happened he brushed his hips against hers.

“This is so much better than my dreams.” she said, breathing heavily.

“Did you dream about this?” he asked, panting.

She nodded and looked at him firmly.

“Every night since you left.” She admitted, making him smile mischievously.

He moved closer to kiss her again, but this time they were interrupted by the shrill doorbell. They stared at the door as if to guess who was there and Y/N made to get off Wooyoung's lap but he grabbed her ass and kept her there.

“The person leaves, nothing is more important than that.” he whispered and she laughed softly, agreeing.

He took the opportunity to kiss her collarbone and began distributing wet kisses to that area, making her dizzy.

“Y/N?” her eyes widened when she heard the male voice on the other side of the door.

Wooyoung stopped what he was doing to look at her and she looked at him completely surprised.

That couldn't be the…

“I needed to talk to you. You don’t respond to my messages anymore.”

Devil in person.

“Is that- that guy who was making a fool of you?” Wooyoung asked and she nodded.

He changed his expression, he wasn't happy at all with that interruption.

“I know you’re home, I can hear your whispers.” she felt her jaw drop.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and Y/N actually considered going to the door to throw the abused person out of her life, but Wooyoung was holding her so tightly that it didn't look like he was going to let go anytime soon.

“I know a way to make him go away real quick.” he said and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, curious about his answer.

“You’re not going to hit him, right?”

He snorted.

“Okay, no, it was my first idea but I have another one.” he replied and she nodded.

He placed her on the floor carefully and began to take off the pants he was wearing, making Y/N open her eyes wide and covered her mouth with her hand to hold back laughter.

He pulled her by the hand and made her stand next to the door, on the side where the asshole wouldn't see her and then Wooyoung opened the door quickly, in his underwear, clearly hard and with swollen red lips.

“It wasn’t her whispers.” He leaned against the doorframe and Y/N had to control her laughter. “It was moans.”

Y/N's jaw dropped and she really wanted to laugh.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Wooyoung replied to the question ironically. “Leave my girlfriend alone and get out the door, unless you want to hear her waking up the neighborhood.”

He closed the door in his face and faced Y/N who was holding back her laughter, he softened his expression and approached her, pulling her by the waist.

"You’re crazy." She placed her hand on his arms.

“Hey, I didn’t tell any lies.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he just pulled her back onto his lap, grabbing one of her thighs. “I’m going to make you scream my name.”

[crooked-wasteland]

Sir Pentious and the Importance of Narrative Structure

There are some aspects of Hazbin Hotel that leave me genuinely blind-sided. Like standing on the sidewalk when you suddenly witness a catastrophic car crash only for someone on the other side of the road to get distracted from rubbernecking and cause a second collision . That is the only way I can describe the feeling I get whenever I think about how the series handled Sir Pentious.

I have never seen a show fumble such a big plot point, not once, but twice and in the same exact way. First in the episode where the characters are engaging in “trust exercises”; the narrative entirely neglects the cast of Husk, Pentious, Angel, and Nifty for a very rudimentary plot that feels straight out of season one Steven Universe for Vaggie and Charlie. Instead it skips to them returning to the roof as a group and Angel Dust carrying Pentious and that is the end of the series attempting to show this bond until the second to last episode. Which also just does nothing with the first opportunity to watch that assumed relationship actually come together.

We never saw them actually help each other during the Turf War, but there was an opportunity that would have worked even with zero changes to the rest of the series to rectify that fact and it would have only cost at most 90 seconds of screen time:

Just have these characters talk to each other and treat it like it means something.

And it’s not hard to figure the reasoning of the writers was to have the reveal that the side characters didn’t leave be the big cherry on top this episode’s happily ever after. Instead, it's a completely forgotten plot point that only keeps the audience from ever believing these characters cared about each other enough to mourn one of them being killed off in the most abrupt way.

Sir Pentious’ death was pathetic. The heroic buildup to him buying the others time is undercut by his actual uselessness. And that compounds the problem with the fact his death is an intentional joke, but simultaneously supposed to be an impactful character moment? That isn’t how you get an audience to laugh while crying.

The art of achieving that dram-ody effect is fundamentally based on two grounded principles: familiarity to the character and pacing. Building up to sadness is a process, and trying to achieve something as primal as sadness requires some surprisingly complicated setup. In an undeveloped prefrontal cortex, the brain is still hardwired to mirror as a form of empathy. It’s why so many young fans can say without irony that Pentious dying is “Sad”, because they are caught off guard by his sudden passing to then be inundated with the named characters crying and being sad. They are sad because the characters are sad, but there was no one crying for Pentious like the characters are, not without a psychologically concerning degree of parasocial attachment. It’s “Sad” as in its “disappointing”, but the animators intentionally attempt to highjack the wave of disappointment to convince a child audience that they are feeling a different kind of grief.

And it didn’t need to be anything special, even a cookie cutter “Power of friendship” scene would have still fixed that gap enough to at least allow for a course correction later on and presenting the characters as more fleshed out. If time constraints were really that large of an issue, setting yourself up to succeed by laying the foundation to fix these narrative gaps is the only way to rectify it. Especially with announcing an already pre-approved second season that the crew would have been parallel planning for and thus had knowledge on where to save certain aspects for later.

To be frank, this is why people remember Helluva Boss’ first season so favorably, but it ultimately suffered the opposite issue. Season 1 of HB had a better grasp of setting up plot points early and giving themselves enough space to keep people theorizing and allowing them the opportunity to adapt the characters and narrative dynamically. The whole allure of the series originally was anticipating the payoff for these “mysteries”. It is just that the series had no intention of utilizing those mysteries for any meaningful narrative and quickly killed them off to focus on a predictable and uninteresting ship.

And I am sorry to snatch those rose-tinted glasses, but the first season wasn’t good, we just had clear narrative gaps that felt intentional and anticipated a story/arc/effort where there was no intention behind the scenes to really dedicate any resources to it. And alternatively HH is being handled far less skillfully from the jump, so it attracts the audience that will dedicate themselves to it (children) without any expectations in regards to quality.

[kikyoupdates]

Love Bite ⭑˚🩸⭑ 𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟

yandere!vampires x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, original characters, vampire!ocs x fem!reader

Desperate for money to pay off your debts, you sign up for a program that allows you to sell your blood to vampires. At first, everything is fine, and you’re finally able to make ends meet. But they soon begin craving more than just your blood.

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Once again, Xavier stands before you.

“Hi,” you greet, smiling awkwardly. “It’s nice to see you again. How are you doing?”

You’re not really sure why you keep bothering with the pleasantries, because it’ll probably end the same way every time. With him tilting his head at you and furrowing his brows in confusion.

You have to remember that for him, this is purely business. Maybe even less than that, actually.

He’s here to sate his appetite, and you are simply a means to an end.

“I’m fine,” Xavier replies, still frowning and no doubt wondering why you keep trying to make small talk with him. He then gestures towards one of the chairs. “Are you ready to get started?”

You nod and quickly sit down. Even though you came back here of your own volition, now that he’s about to drink your blood again, you can feel how fast your heart is beating in anticipation of the pain.

There’s no point in being scared. I need the money. I did it once, so I’m sure I can do it again.

“Whenever you want,” you tell him, white-knuckling the armrest of your chair. “I’m ready.”

Xavier takes a moment to settle beside you. He seems to be waiting just in case you refuse, and while you appreciate that he won’t do anything without your consent, the longer he takes to get started, the more nerve-wracking this whole thing is.

Finally, he bridges the distance, uses an arm to gently hold you in place, and presses his lips against your neck.

Just like last time, it fucking hurts. You can’t even pretend otherwise. There’s a reason why this program isn’t more sought-after. Not only do most humans live in fear of vampires, but the vast majority of people also aren’t desperate enough to sell their blood just to make ends meet. It’s a scary, painful experience, and it comes at a cost to your health, too.

This program was made deliberately for people like you—the hopeless and rundown.

You almost wonder what the other people who’ve signed up are like, but you decide it’s probably better not to meet them. Nothing good could possibly come of so many sad, pitiful souls gathering together in one place.

Anyways, what were you saying again? Oh, right.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

You tremble in place, doing your utmost not to grit your teeth and tense your muscles too much. The pain is one thing, but the sensation of having your blood drained—feeling it be directly siphoned from your body—is what’s truly horrifying. It feels wholly unnatural, and you’ll probably never be able to get used to it.

Still, you put on a brave face. You chose this, and right now, it’s the only option you have.

But apparently, you're not doing a very good job of being convincing.

Xavier pulls away and frowns. “You look like you’re suffering,” he remarks. There’s some blood on his lips, and you swallow at the sight, trying not to let it unnerve you.

“I’m fine,” you reassure. “This is no big deal.”

The last thing you want to do is scare him off. You need him to keep coming back. To you, the money you get from this is every bit as vital as the blood flowing through your veins.

Without it, you won’t survive.

Xavier narrows his eyes, and you fear that he’s starting to become rather annoyed with you. Perhaps he’d prefer someone else. Someone who isn’t such a baby and knows how to suffer through the pain without letting it show.

But instead of berating you, he does the exact opposite.

He apologizes.

“Sorry,” he sighs. “It’s been a long time since I drank someone’s blood like this. Up until I was admitted entry to the city, I lived off the government-issued blood packs, so I didn’t have to bite anyone. I suppose I should learn how to be a bit gentler.”

Uh... what?

You weren’t expecting this. You weren’t expecting this at all. Granted, he was very vocal about not wanting to force you into anything, but he never really struck you as the compassionate type. His expression is usually so stern, almost as frigid as his ice-cold hands.

But right now, he actually looks a bit sheepish.

You’re not sure if it’s the tenderness of his gaze, or the fact that someone’s actually treating you with empathy for a change, but either way, you find yourself blushing.

“I-It’s alright,” you say, glancing off to the side. Looking into those clear blue eyes of his is proving to be far too difficult a task right now. “I mean... it does hurt a bit, but I expected as much coming into this. I think I just need some more time to get used to it.”

“No. I’m sure it can’t be pleasant, so it’s up to me to do it in a way that isn’t quite so unbearable.” He lightly taps you on the hand, beckoning you to look at him again. “I’d like to try one more time,” he says. “With your permission, of course.”

Fuck. Here you are, selling your blood—which is quite possibly the least romantic thing in the world—but all of a sudden, you’ve got butterflies in your stomach.

It’s his fault for being so damn handsome. Or maybe you’re just not thinking clearly from all the blood loss.

Yeah. That must be it.

“Go ahead,” you reassure, adjusting your position and exposing your neck again. You take a deep breath, trying to relax, and you remind yourself that no matter how much it hurts, eventually, it will end.

Xavier’s fangs pierce your skin again, but even though you wince, you feel as though it’s slightly different from earlier. The way he’s drinking your blood is slower, more deliberate. It still hurts, no question about it, but you can tell that he’s now being conscious of how he does it.

Somehow, just the fact that he’s making an effort to hurt you less helps you cope a lot better than before.

“Huh? A different vampire has personally requested me?”

You blink, holding your phone against your ear. Just moments ago, someone from Plasma Inc. called to inform you that you’ve got another client. The news comes as a surprise, especially since you’re pretty sure Xavier is the only vampire you’ve ever met.

“Um... you guys don’t happen to show the clients files of the people who’ve signed up for the program and rank their blood in terms of tastiness, right?”

It’s a stupid question, if the sigh the employee lets out is anything to go off. You felt like asking it anyways, though.

“Of course not,” they reply. “This is actually a very peculiar case. We normally match clients and donors randomly, but this particular client apparently caught a glimpse of you in the building. Certain vampires are more perceptive than others and can sense when someone has appetizing blood. He was adamant about meeting with you, but naturally, the choice is yours. Rest assured that we will never disclose any of your personal information to him, so you’re welcome to refuse.”

As if you would ever refuse an opportunity to earn more money. These people are seriously underestimating just how desperate you are.

“I’ll meet with him,” you agree. “Just let me know when I should stop by.”

This is a good thing, right? Assuming he likes you—which, it sounds like he already does—you’ll be able to meet with two clients regularly instead of one.

Paying off your debt is finally starting to feel like more than just a dream.

Not much time has passed since you last saw Xavier, but once again, you find yourself walking down the pristine, glistening white hallways of Plasma Inc.

“Before you go meet with your new client,” the doctor begins, “I feel the need to mention that there are limits to how frequently you can come in. We can’t in good faith let you come back too often and give away your blood, otherwise it comes at a detriment to your health, and we are liable for it. So, please understand that we will monitor how often you come in and impose restrictions. We won’t allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

Damn. Well, that does make sense, and you suppose it’s a good thing, ethically speaking.

But financially speaking—for you, at least—it isn’t exactly ideal.

Still, you nod in agreement. “I understand. I won’t do anything to get you guys in trouble.”

The doctor smiles and ushers you along. Well, it’s fine. Even if you don’t do this all the time, they pay you quite generously, most likely to incentivize people into signing up in the first place. And now you have two clients instead of one, which means that you’re bound to get paid more often anyways.

Besides, this isn’t a permanent solution. It’s only to help keep you afloat until you pay off your debt to Johnny.

Once this nightmare is over, you’ll finally know what it’s like to live a normal life.

“Go right ahead,” the doctor gestures, and since you’re starting to get used to this whole process by now, you step inside the room without any hesitation.

Then, you lock eyes with your new client.

He’s tall. Really, really tall, as if being a vampire wasn’t already intimidating enough. His eyes are even more piercing than Xavier’s pale blue ones. They glisten like shards of topaz, bright and beguiling. You haven’t yet realized that your lips are parted open in awe, and all of this feels suspiciously like déjà vu. Like when you first laid eyes on Xavier.

It turns out that vampires really are ridiculously attractive.

“Yay, you’re finally here!” he exclaims. He runs up to you, and without warning, pulls you into his arms.

Naturally, you flinch at the sudden contact, and even though he’s going to be biting your neck later, you’re pretty sure that this isn’t exactly appropriate.

“U-Um,” you stammer. You try to push him away, but he’s a million times stronger than you, so you may as well be trying to move a wall.

He squeezes you and lets out a pleased sigh. “I knew it. You really do smell amazing. I can only imagine how sweet your blood will taste.”

Oh, boy. He’s sniffing you.

This already doesn’t bode well.

Mercifully, he pulls away quickly enough, stopping to flash you a sharp-toothed grin. “I’m Felix,” he introduces. “Man, you’re even prettier in person too! This day just keeps getting better. I really struck gold here.”

You can’t tell if he’s a big flirt, or a creep, or if he’s just really excited to drink your blood.

Regardless, you don’t make any motion to leave.

No way in hell are you leaving without your money.

“I’m [Name],” you say, nodding your head a bit. “It’s nice to meet you, Felix. I heard that you requested me specifically, so... hopefully I won’t let you down.”

His grin gets even wider. “There’s no way you will. I’m confident about this. I don’t think I’ve ever met a human who smells as good as you do.”

“Um... thanks.”

You’re not really sure what else to say. He’s a lot different from Xavier, though, that much is for sure. He’s infinitely more expressive and doesn’t seem too concerned with keeping things professional.

Regardless, he’s a client, and unless you give him what he wants, you’re not going to get paid.

“Should we start now?” you ask, already sitting down.

Felix nods eagerly. He’s practically vibrating, incapable of containing his excitement. You suppose it’s a bit endearing. It seems like he’s really been looking forward to this, and money aside, it’s nice to be able to make someone happy.

You adjust the top of your shirt to better expose your neck, and you swear that Felix gulps at the sight.

“Whenever you’re ready, just—”

The rest of the words don’t make it out in time. He grabs you by the shoulders, forcefully, then bites into your neck without even bothering to ease you through it.

A sharp cry escapes your lips, and you whimper, doing everything you can not to scream again.

This is bad. Unlike Xavier, he’s making no attempt to be gentle. He’s slurping from your neck greedily, and even though he’s already pierced your skin, his fangs dig deeper, in a relentless pursuit of everything you have to offer.

Tears blur your vision. Holy fuck, it hurts. You never imagined that it could hurt this much. It was already bad enough before. Will you... even be able to handle this?

You moan softly, and even though you’re doing your best to hold it together, a few tears end up spilling down your cheeks. You can feel how damp your skin is. Not just your face, but also the tender spot on your neck that Felix keeps burying his fangs into.

The pain makes you pass out for a few moments, but it’s better this way, because when you come to, Felix has finally stopped.

His lips and chin are completely stained with your blood, and he makes no attempt to wipe it off either, unlike Xavier.

To make matters even worse, he actually has the nerve to smile.

“Amazing,” he mumbles. He doesn’t seem awfully concerned with the fact that you’re only semi-conscious right now, and instead presses his body closer to yours. “[Name], you really are amazing. I’ve never had such delicious blood before. Most humans taste disgusting to me, and it’s a pain just finding something I can stomach. I don’t think you understand how much it means to me that I’ve finally met someone like you.”

Sure, it sounds like a crappy situation, but you’re having a hard time sympathizing with him after he basically just mauled your neck.

You wince and press a hand against the bite mark, and when you pull your fingers away, you’re horrified to find that they’re completely coated in blood.

Sh-Shit...

Felix leans into your line of sight, still grinning widely. “Hey. I have an offer for you. I’m sure they must have told you that there are restrictions to how often you can sell your blood, but if you’re here, it’s because you need the money, right? So, how about we also meet up outside of our scheduled appointments? That way, I can drink your blood as often as I want, and you can make more money. And by that, I mean that I’ll pay you double what you’re getting here. Hm? How does that sound?”

Double?

As in, two times as much?

You blink repeatedly, suddenly completely lucid. The pain is still there, clear as day, but what you’ve just heard has imbued you with a new sense of bravery.

Felix clearly doesn’t know the meaning of holding back. You doubt he cares about hurting you, which means it’ll be painful as all hell, every single time. Honestly, if you really wanted to, you could drop him as a client altogether. He seems like the type that’s difficult to keep in line, especially when there’s something he wants.

But it’s obvious that he really, really likes your blood, and apparently, he’s willing to pay a steep price for it.

With that kind of money, you’ll be able to pay Johnny back even faster. You’ll be able to treat yourself to a nice meal every now and then, to put your feet down from time to time and get a proper night’s sleep.

Forget just surviving, you want to know what it’s like to actually live.

“This is strictly between the two of us,” Felix continues. “It has to be done in private, without anyone finding out. The laws on this stuff are pretty stingy, and I’m sure neither of us wants to get in trouble. But I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Just a few moments ago, when you saw the bloody mess he made of your neck, you were actually considering never seeing him again. The pain was simply too much. You’ve suffered a lot, but even you have your limits.

Alas, in the face of money, you are nothing but a pathetic, subservient fool.

“Okay,” you mumble weakly. “Let’s do it.”

It’s probably a big mistake.

But you’re too desperate to care.

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[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

[sapphic-agent]

The Bakugou lemmings really continue showing their colors.

They are bitching, sobbing and moaning that Bakugou didn’t get what he wanted in the end. That it was unfair. That it’s a slap in the face to him. That all of that was for nothing. That he didn’t get to fulfill his dreams. That he is suffering and is sad and miserable.

To which I say: Don’t come crying to us about how it isn’t fair for Bakugou…

When he went through worse at age four.

If anything, Bakugou got off easy.

He's in the top 15 (for reference, best girl Momo is stuck at 20) and starting his own agency. He never had to answer for what he did and was never condemned for it by anyone. Got to go through the majority of his life with his shitty attitude, no one bothering to clock his shit when anyone else would have gotten jumped. Hell in most cases he was praised for it.

Bakugou, despite consistently being awful, faced almost zero repercussions for it. Dropping in the ranking and Izuku declining his offer is literally nothing compared to what he's done.

He deliberately tried to push someone into suicide